New Vegas: Sheason's Story - Chapter 138: Sympathy for the Devil

It was just after ten in the morning, and the rain was still coming down. The black droplets of poison water were striking the glass door to the balcony with such force that it was like the glass was being hit with hundreds of tiny stones. I stood at the door, coffee cup in one hand, cigarette in the other, and watched as the rain left dirty streaks of soggy, radioactive soot in their wake. I could barely even see the rest of The Strip through the murky, grey-brown haze.

“Damn, it’s still coming down, isn’t it?” I heard Veronica say from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, and gave her a nod. Like me, she was drinking coffee. I guess it was a good idea to make more than just three cups worth.

“Yeah. It should stop soon, though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I already checked out the weather station at X-17… er, the Big Empty,” I said, honestly not sure if I’d told her all the details about that particular anecdote. “I had Jeeves in my ear the whole time, trying to walk me through the facility. Problem is, the only things still working in that fucking place are the weather scanners. If the radar is right, then the storm should end naturally in a couple of hours. But I can’t figure out how to stop the rain earlier than that.”

“Stop it?” Veronica asked, a bit confused. “Wait, back up. Are you trying to tell me that there’s a weather control station somewhere in the Big Empty?” I shook my head.

“No. Well, yes. I mean…” I sighed. “Not anymore. The last time it was used… it… the actual control systems got burnt out.” Pangs of guilt washed over me again; the one thing that could’ve stopped this torrent of poison rain, and it was my fault it was broken. “I talked with Jeeves and Doctor Zero about fixing it, and they both agreed: it can be fixed. But only if I work on it for two days straight.”

“When did you say the storm would end naturally again?”

“A few hours, at most. Noon, if we’re lucky. Probably closer to two, though. About all I can do right now is make sure Yes Man’s securitrons keep patrolling the streets, and get them to try and clean up the rads once the rain stops. But there’s way too much ground to cover for a measly two dozen securitrons to deal with everything…”

“Are you going to fix that weather station eventually?” Veronica took a sip of her coffee, holding it with both hands obscured by the ends of her sleeves. I nodded.

“Yeah. It might be useful, if I can get it up and running again. But then again, Ulysses thought it was responsible for the sandstorms in the Divide, so who knows.” I paused, taking another sip of coffee. “That said, I’m going to make sure absolutely everything is labeled correctly this time.” Veronica looked at me curiously, and I just kept staring out the window. “But there’s no sense rushing to fix it now. I can’t fix it before the storm ends, and I’ve got other things to worry about.”

“Like what?”

“Like that gang the Omertas traded with for new hookers. Cachino called them Los Zorroz. He told me about a meeting they were gonna have later tonight, and I’m gonna do my best to crash that party. Speaking of,” I set my coffee down on a nearby table, and extinguished my smoke in the ashtray before turning to Veronica. “Do you think we can get in another round of fight practice today?”

“Yeah, sure we can…” Veronica still looked just a little confused. “Just one thing. You said you’ve already been to the Big Empty this morning?”

“Yup.” I nodded.

“Isn’t it… you know, really kind of… big? How’d you get there, do all that stuff you just said, and get back here already? Didn’t you only wake up, like, an hour ago?” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the Transportalponder! and twirled it around my fingers several times.

“It’s amazing how fast a person can travel if one has the right coordinates.”

“And if you have the wrong coordinates?” she asked tentatively.

“Probably teleported into solid rock somewhere, or something else equally horrific,” I said with a shrug.

“So, what’ve you got for me today?” I asked, following Veronica into the gym: just another one of the many underground facilities beneath the Lucky 38. The place was a huge room filled with exercise equipment, free weights, weight machines, punching bags, and a large boxing ring right in the center. I don’t know if it was the lights or what, but everything down here seemed to be washed in a brown, almost sepia-like color.

“Well, we’ve already covered most of the basics,” Veronica said as she made her way to the sound system mounted in the back wall; she had her box of vinyl under one arm, and her record player under the other. “I was thinking today we could cover some techniques I learned in Knight Webb’s Applied Violence class.” She nodded at Boone as she walked straight past him. He was too busy on his back, benching a barbell, to take notice.

“Shouldn’t you have a spotter or something?” I asked, pausing in front of Boone. He just gave a noncommittal grunt and kept lifting.

“He does have a spotter,” Arcade’s voice sounded from around the corner. He emerged with a pair of water bottles in hand. “But he’s just too impatient. I told you to wait until I got back with more water!” Arcade grabbed the middle of the bar, and guided it back to the mounts with a metal clunk.

“You were taking too long,” Boone grunted, wiping his forehead as he finally sat up. “We’re burning daylight.” Arcade shook his head, and tossed Boone one of the bottles; he caught it deftly. “Thanks. Wanna do a set yourself?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Arcade said with a smile.

Amusing as it was to watch the two of them going at it, I suddenly became aware of a change in atmosphere. Veronica must have already set up the record player, because I could hear the sound of several types of drums and… is… is that the sound of somebody shaking maracas?

Please allow me to introduce myself,

I’m a man of wealth and taste,

I’ve been around for a long, long year,

Stole many a man’s soul and faith…

“You ready to get started?’ Veronica asked from the center of the boxing ring. She’d ditched both the robe and her semi-powered armor completely. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun, and she was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a t-shirt, and had a pair of boxing gloves on her hands. I climbed through the ropes and she tossed a spare pair of gloves my way.

“What’re we listening to?” I asked, lacing up the gloves. Before I was even halfway finished, she swept my legs, knocking me off balance, and followed up with a kick to the chest. It wasn’t hard, but it did the trick. I flew backward, landed against the ropes, and by the time I looked up, she was tossing away her gloves.

“Beggars Banquet. It’s my favorite Rolling Stones album,” she said with a grin, folding her arms across her chest. “It fits, because Applied Violence was one of my favorite classes growing up. You already know how to fight dirty like a street brawler. Now it’s time you learn how to truly fight dirty.”

After an exhausting workout, I got myself cleaned up, and Yes Man let me know of an interesting development. That’s how I found myself in the car park around noon.

“Stripe?” I asked aloud, my voice echoing through the darkness. “Sasha? You guys down here? Yes Man said you two wanted to talk to me.” I hit the switch with a clunk, and the lights flickered on… but not all of them. Several of the lights were either obscured by mud or destroyed completely. The ground was covered in more than just the decomposing remains of the animals Stripe had eaten, but piles of soft peat, damp soil, and other refuse. Each one of my footsteps was punctuated by a damp squish. As I made my way to the parked deuce, a growl echoed off the concrete walls.

“Helloooo… Alpha…” Stripe shuffled around from the other side of the deuce, with Sasha delicately held in one paw. His eyes twinkled in the shadows cast by his heavy brow… and maybe it was a trick of the light, but he looked even bigger.

“Greetings, my friend!” Sasha bellowed. The brain under the barrels barked. “It is good to see you! We have much good news, and many things to discuss!”

“Yeah?” I said, smiling at the minigun. “What’s up?”

“Stripe! Покажи ему! Grab the plans!” The next thing I knew, Stripe was pressing the blunt edge of his claws into my chest, knocking the wind out of me.

“Here.” Stripe growled, handing me Sasha. “Hold him a moment.” I grabbed the minigun, and Stripe swung around, sticking his head in the back of the deuce. I had to step back – his tail was swishing back and forth as he rummaged around in the back.

“We have been working hard, and we think this plan has potential!” Sasha said happily. Stripe pulled his head out of the deuce, clutching a pile of papers in his mouth; as he emerged, I heard a bark, and Roxie stuck her head and paws out of the back, resting on the tailgate and panting happily.

“Yeah, you mentioned a plan the other day. What is it?” Stripe cradled the minigun with his massive paw, and opened his mouth, allowing me to grab the papers.

“You will see, it is best plan! Wouldn’t you agree, Stripe?” The massive deathclaw nodded his head.

“Да!” Stripe let out a growling chuckle as I looked over the papers. They were pretty crude – like a three year old with a crayon had been let loose – but the closer I looked, the more I realized that they were actually schematics. Pretty detailed schematics, at that…

“Are you… you guys can’t be serious,” I said, once I finally figured out what this would build.

“Of course we are serious, Курьер!” Sasha let out a deep, bellowing laugh. “You like what you see, да?”

“It’s…” I flipped through the pages, marveling at how something so crudely drawn could be so complex. “It’s absurd. It’s insane. It’s absolutely nuts. I love it!” I looked up at the two of them with a smile, and they started laughing. “I just… I only have one question. Who drew these? I mean, no offense, Sasha, but you don’t have opposable thumbs. Or… hands of any kind. Stripe, did you do this?”

“Doh-hoh-hoh-hoh!” Sasha laughed, the brain tank glowing and bubbling slightly with the sound. “Of course not! Stripe’s claws are made for slashing, and the killing of teeny-tiny baby men of enemy team! He is not good with detail. He is more broad-strokes fellow, you understand.”

“But… then who…” I looked back at the drawings again confused.

“Why, it was Roxie who helped us, of course!” Sasha said happily.

I stood there in stunned silence, staring at the minigun. My mouth worked uselessly for several seconds, opening and closing, but no words came out. I heard a bark, and my attention was drawn to Roxie, still perched on the edge of the deuce’s tailgate. Except there was something different: the cyberdog had a black sharpie clutched in her jaws.

At first, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to accept it. But the more I thought about it: if Roxie could drive the deuce and a half, then why couldn’t she also do a bit of artwork on the side? Sure! Why the fuck not?

“Good dog,” I said with a shrug. Roxie barked, dropping the marker, and panting happily.

The air crackled with ozone and electricity, and I stepped off the teleport platform.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Jeeves’ voice wafted at me through the speakers. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey man,” I said with a smile, blueprints in hand. “Sasha and Stripe have an idea. I wanted to see if I could get your help fabricating some of the parts.” I spread out the many drawings on Jeeves’ table, and immediately the holograms changed into scanning beams.

“As always, I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir.” Jeeves’ said. “Was there anything else?”

“There is, actually. Did the Think Tank ever design any spy stuff? Listening devices, GPS trackers, that kind of thing?” The holographic bars twitched.

“Yes… yes, I believe I have just the thing for you, sir.”

“Attention citizens: Seek shelter immediately. The rain is radioactive. Drinking it will kill you. Attention citizens…”

It was quarter to eleven at night, and I watched as one of Yes Man’s securitrons rolled up and down one of the many streets in Freeside. The rain had stopped several hours ago, but I made sure Yes Man kept the robots patrolling the streets and broadcasting their message. A few of the robots were already clearing up the bigger puddles on Vegas Boulevard and Freemont street, but that process was slow, and they wouldn’t get to some of the back streets for quite some time.

I couldn’t worry about all the details of that little diversion right now, however. It was almost time for me to crash that Los Zorroz party. That’s why my Corvega was parked in a graffiti-lined back alley, just around the corner from the warehouse. I did one last check of my inventory, securing all my weapons, tools, and my helmet, before pulling the grapnel gun out of my duster.

“You ready for this?” I said aloud, aiming for the roof.

“Of course! This should be easy,” Sue replied.

PKCHOONT!

I shot up, vaulting onto the roof with ease. There were a few large puddles of black water up here, but they didn’t seem to set off my Geiger counter, so I started running. I reached the other edge of the roof and jumped, firing the grapnel gun again. For a terrifying half second, I was afraid that I’d misjudged my aim… but the dart landed on the edge of the warehouse roof, and it drew me up with a mechanical whirr.

And then I realized I had misjudged my aim, only in the opposite direction. My shoulder and the top of my helmet slammed into the wall, and it was all I could do to scramble against the wall, desperately searching for a handhold. My hand found purchase, and I shoved the grapnel gun back in my coat before reaching up to try and pull myself onto the roof.

“Ghh… fkk’n… sonu’va…” I grunted out through gritted teeth, until I finally pulled myself up, rolling onto the roof. “Damn… I think I need more practice with that…”

“I’ll say,” Sue chuckled. “But hey, look on the bright side: at least we’re still alive!”

“Fair enough,” I shook my head, and looked around the roof of the warehouse, trying to find a way inside. It was mostly rusted A/C boxes and a few spinning turbine vents… but there was one large skylight in the center. Even through the dirty, broken glass, I could see some lights from inside spilling out. Carefully and quietly, I opened the skylight and climbed down onto the lighting grid in the warehouse’s ceiling.

“Man, how long we gotta wait here, anyway?” I heard someone say from below.

“Oh fer Christ sake, man,” another voice said. “We just got here. Besides, you know th’ fuckin’ Omertas. They’re always late.”

“You’d think they’d be more grateful. I heard some of their girls escaped last night, they need some new merch.”

I couldn’t see where they were. The sounds echoed off everything, and there were tons of shelves obscuring my view. I just kept quiet and crept along the metal bars, trying to find them. That’s about when I heard some soft sobbing – followed by a crack of someone getting slapped.

“Shut the fuck up, puta,” one of the thugs said. The sobbing didn’t stop. “I said SHUT UP!” There was another crack, and the sobbing stopped.

“Take it easy, man,” I heard another thug say. “You get too rough with the meat, the Omertas won’t pay up.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

I switched my eyes to thermal. I had to find them now, and the acoustics weren’t helping. I saw a blob of heat somewhere ahead of me. I was too far away to see any individual shapes, or figure out exactly how many of the thugs I was dealing with, but at least I knew where they were now. My eyes shifted back to normal and as I made my way over to them, the thugs kept talking.

“You think the Boss is gonna show up?”

“What, Cachino?”

“No, you stupid fuck, not the Omertas boss! The Boss.”

“Ohh… right. Pfft. No. Why would he?”

“He has before.”

“Nah. He’s not gonna show his face this time. Not with all that radioactive water everywhere. Besides, he knows we can handle this deal. It’s a milk run.”

“Wait, you actually believe that crap those robots are spoutin’?”

“Well sure. Or did you miss that fuckin’ mushroom cloud the other day?”

“Good point.” He paused. “You think it’s true what people’re sayin’?”

“About what?”

“About… you know, the nuke. I’ve been hearin’ people talk… they say it was the Courier who set it off.”

“The Courier? The fuck would he do that?”

“I dunno. Something about some kinda… fight, I dunno. Something that happened in the Divide. People said he launched the nuke, because there was something there he tried to kill. Something worse than him.”

“Man, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Pull yer fuckin’ head out’ve yer ass, an’ stop believin’ everything people say.”

“Hey, fuck you! I didn’t say I believed it! I’m just tellin’ you what I heard, is all.”

I finally came to a stop and looked down. There were five thugs of all shapes, sizes, and skin color right below me, all armed with submachine guns like MAC-10’s and Uzi’s. One was carrying an assault rifle – an R91 – slung across his chest. They were surrounding a group of about 8 girls (also of various skin colors) all huddled together in a circle under one of the lights. Each one of the girls was fitted with an explosive slave collar.

And then I noticed what all the thugs were wearing: red. Each of them was wearing at least one article of clothing that was a vivid, bright red. A shirt, a hat, a bandanna… So, Los Zorroz must be the gang Boone told me about the other day. I almost felt ashamed that I hadn’t put it together earlier.

“Fuck, man, I’m bored,” one of the thugs said. He was sitting on a nearby box with his gun pointed at the girls. One other bigger thugs – a black dude with a red bandana wrapped around one of his biceps – smacked the one sitting down upside the head.

“Quit bitchin’, motherfucker. Nobody cares.”

“Fuck you say?!” The guy tried to stand up, but was shoved back down real quick.

“He’s got a point,” said another thug – a Hispanic looking dude wearing a red beanie and a dirty wifebeater. “Where the fuck are they?”

I was looking around as they talked, trying to figure out what my opening gambit would be. I couldn’t just drop down and try and shoot the bastards. Well, to be fair, I could, but if I did that, then there was a chance that one of the girls would get hit with a stray shot – or worse, one of these assholes might detonate the slave collars. I couldn’t let that happen. I needed to divide these assholes. Take them out one by one.

I switched my eyes to the EM vision. All around, the lights and all the wires glowed with white energy on a blue-black haze. I traced the path of the wires, trying to figure out where it led to – and my eyes were drawn to a bright white box on one of the far walls. I switched my eyes back to normal, and saw that it was a fuse box. Jackpot.

I drew the Pulse Gun, switched my eyes to nightvision, took aim, and fired. A flash of energy briefly lit up the warehouse before the fuse box overloaded, causing all the lights to explode.

“What the fuck?!” One of the thugs shouted. “What just happened?” The thugs below me all looked up into the darkness, pointing their weapons. But I was already invisible, and moving along the scaffolding.

“Shit. I think the fuses blew. Carlos, go check it out.”

“What? Why do I gotta –” Before he finished, he was shoved in the direction of the fuse box by one of the other thugs.

“Just get goin’, fuckhead.”

The Hispanic dude pulled out a flashlight and walked away from the group, grumbling the entire time. I snuck over the top of one of the shelves, following him as he walked to the fuses. He shone the light on the box when he got close enough, and came to a halt.

“¿Qué carajo?” He leaned in to get a better look at the melted metal box. “Did this thing explode’r somethin’?”

He didn’t get an answer. Instead, he got me dropping down off the shelf, and landing boot-first right on top of him.

“What the –” His legs buckled and his face smashed into the wall; I reached over with an invisible hand, grabbed his wrist holding the Micro Uzi, and jammed my knee against his arm. It snapped with a crack and he let go of the gun, crying out in pain. The SMG clattered to the ground, firing off a burst – which drowned out the sound of me smashing his face into the concrete wall a second time.

“What the fuck?!” I heard one of the thugs yell. “Carlos! What’s goin’ on?”

PKCHOONT!

“Spread out!” I heard another one of them cry out. “There’s someone here. Daryl, stay with the meat.”

I switched my eyes to thermal, and watched as three of the four thugs started moving through the warehouse, all of them with their guns drawn. None of them were looking up, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself:

Guards don’t look up. This’ll be easy.

“Man, I don’t like this…” one of them said, trying to navigate through the warehouse.

“Shut up an’ keep lookin!” the black dude with the R91 yelled back.

“Easy for you to say, you gotta fuckin’ flashlight!” He cursed under his breath, tripping over a box in his way. “I can’t see a thi – MMFT!” I’d dropped down behind him without a sound, and grabbed the back of his head with my cybernetic hand and placed my other hand over his mouth. I twisted, and his neck snapped with a satisfying crunch.

PKCHOONT!

“Marvin?” I heard one of the thugs yell, turning to the sound. “Oh, fuck… what the fuck is goin’ on?”

“It’s just some asshole tryin’ to fuck with us! Find him!”

While those two were busy on the opposite end of the warehouse, I made my way back to the scaffolding above the girls. There was just one thug watching the girls – or, rather, he was looking around, pointing his MAC-10 wildly at nothing in particular. I looked closer, and realized that he had a remote in his free hand – that must be the trigger for slave collars.

“What the fuck is goin’ on…” He muttered just as I dropped down behind him with one of my combat knives drawn. I slipped into VATS, and brought the knife down on the hand holding the detonator. It sliced cleanly into his wrist, and he dropped the trigger just as I kicked out the back of his knees, let go of the knife, and grabbed the gun with my cybernetic hand. I forced him to point it up, and it discharged into the ceiling a few times before I ripped it out of his grip, and shoved him to the floor. The girls gasped and shrieked – especially when I brought my transparent metal fist down onto the back of his head, and didn’t stop until I hit concrete.

“Find someplace to hide,” I whispered just loud enough for the girls to hear, the therm-optic camo flickering as I picked up the detonator. I crushed it in my cybernetic hand, and the shattered pieces fell to the floor with a clatter. “I’ll be back.” The girls didn’t move, but that was hardly surprising – it was still too dark for them to see anything.

PKCHOONT!

“It came from over here!” The black dude with the flashlight was doubling back towards the girls. He didn’t notice me drop down right behind him, and remained oblivious until I knifed him in the kidneys. “AUGH! WHAT THE FUCK!?” He spun around, swinging a massive fist behind him, trying to hit me. I ducked and grabbed the end of his rifle; he fired it, but all the bullets went wide, straight into the wall behind me.

So, how did I retaliate? By kneeing him in the crotch, pulling the rifle out of his hands when he doubled over in pain, and jamming the stock right into the center of his face. He practically flew backward, crashing into the shelves in a bloody heap. I spun the rifle around in my hands, and fired off a round in the middle of his face, just to be sure.

PKCHOONT!

“Oh shit… oh fuck… oh shit… oh fuck!” The last thug was absolutely terrified now. He was backing up, trying to make his way toward the door. The hand holding the gun was shaking like he was bursting for a piss. “What the fuck… what the fuck is going on?!”

PKCHOONT!

“AUGH!” He yelled, as the grapnel wrapped around his leg, and he unexpectedly (from his point of view, at least) was drawn up to the ceiling, hanging upside down by his leg. I hit the button on my belt to shift back into visibility, grabbed him by the boot, and slid a sharp, tiny metal device into his boot heel as he thrashed around madly in my grip.

“HOLY FUCK!” He yelled as I gave him a nice shake, before unhooking the grapnel from his leg. “Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me, man! Fuck!” I grabbed him by the collar and turned him around so he was right-side up again, and held him over the drop.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I growled at him, the red lenses of my helmet lighting up his face. “I want you to tell all your friends about me.”

“WHAT ARE YOU?!” His voice wavered like he was on the verge of tears as his legs dangled helplessly over the drop.

“I’m Ba- I’m the Courier,” I said, correcting myself. I’ll be honest – I was grinning like an idiot under the mask. Doing the whole ‘Batman’ thing is really fun! Of course, it may have helped that during this whole exercise of picking off the mooks one-by-one, I had that Rolling Stones album playing in my head. I certainly did have Sympathy for the Devil, because right now the Devil was ME!

And then I dropped him.

It wasn’t that high of a fall – maybe less than two stories – so he screamed, fell in a heap, and after thrashing around on the floor for a bit, he scrambled back to his feet and ran out of the warehouse, screaming like a moron.

“It’s all right,” I said, dropping off the shelves near the girls, and turning on my Pip Boy’s light. “I’ve taken care of them.”

“Wh… what… how did you…” one of the girls asked breathlessly; the rest of them kept hiding in the shadows as I approached. “Who are…”

“I’m the Courier,” I said, holding my hands up to show them they were empty. “I’m here to get you out of here. I can get those explosive collars off your necks as well, if you’ll let me.” I didn’t walk any closer, and was going to let them come to me. They were terrified enough as it was, and I didn’t want to freak them out any more.

“But…” one of the other girls in the back spoke up. “That other guy – you let him go?”

“Don’t worry,” I said with a nod. “He won’t get far.” That wasn’t entirely true. I’m sure he’d get far enough. But with that tracking device I planted in the heel of his boot, he’d lead me straight to their hideout. If that comment earlier about ‘the Boss’ was any indication, then I was on the cusp of something much, much bigger… and I needed to get as much intelligence as I could about who (or what) Los Zorroz actually were.

“Are… are you for real?” asked another girl. “You’re really going to help us escape?”

“Of course,” I said with a shrug. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a superhero. I do this kind of thing all the time.”