Fallout - Chapter 96: Reckoning (Patreon)

Jace did not go out on an inspection today, nor did he help with the power armor modifications. Instead, he stayed at the base to receive a guest.

Kessler, the mayor of Bunker Hill.

She had not come alone. Stockton and a squad of Bunker Hill guards accompanied her.

So did thirty prisoners with their hands bound behind their backs, all tied together with a single long rope and marched forward like livestock.

Jace received her in the underground base's reception room.

Kessler wasted no time on pleasantries. She sat with her back perfectly straight and her hands neatly on her knees, then got straight to the point.

"General, this has nothing to do with Bunker Hill. Stockton works for me, but he had no idea what was happening. These were schemes his subordinates carried out on their own. I'd stake Bunker Hill's reputation on that."

Jace did not answer immediately.

He quickly weighed what he knew about Kessler.

Kessler was the mayor of Bunker Hill, the largest neutral trading post in the Commonwealth. Caravans carrying tens of thousands of caps' worth of goods passed through it every day, putting one of the Wasteland's busiest trade hubs under her control.

Yet her own living conditions were absurdly modest.

In the southwest corner of Bunker Hill, beside Dr. Kay's clinic and pressed up against the wall, stood a single run-down wooden shack.

Low, cramped, and drafty, it looked no different from the temporary shelters used by ordinary merchants. There was nothing about it that suggested the home of a mayor.

The furnishings were as bare-bones as possible: a single bed, a small nightstand, a broken chair, and a small table.

The walls were nothing more than wooden boards patched with sheet metal. No decorations, no carpet, not a single unnecessary piece of furniture.

The only thing in the whole place that looked remotely official was an office terminal. There was not even a storage box.

She controlled some of the Commonwealth's most valuable trade resources and enormous amounts of commerce, yet lived more frugally than an ordinary merchant.

She granted herself no special privileges and pocketed no private profits. Everything Bunker Hill earned went back into settlement security and keeping trade running, while she simply made do with whatever was left.

Leaders like that were exceptionally rare in the Wasteland.

Jace had already made his decision.

"I believe Bunker Hill didn't know about this."

Kessler's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, though her expression remained composed. She nodded solemnly.

"Thank you for understanding, General."

"I hear Bunker Hill's been having a rough time lately?" Jace suddenly asked.

Kessler was silent for a moment before answering frankly.

"Yes. Bunker Hill survives entirely on caravan trade. The Raiders around us have been getting more aggressive lately, and we have no choice but to pay them protection money regularly in exchange for peace."

Jace picked up his cup, took a sip of water, then said something that left Kessler completely stunned.

"Would you like to rejoin the Minutemen?"

Kessler froze.

After several seconds of silence, she looked up at Jace. Her voice was low, but absolutely firm.

"We would."

"Good." Jace nodded slightly. "I'll have the Minutemen station troops at Bunker Hill again. While we're at it, we'll help renovate the settlement's facilities."

This time, Kessler was genuinely at a loss for words.

Before coming here, she had imagined countless possible outcomes. Even the best one involved paying compensation, handing over the culprits, and barely putting the matter to rest.

She had never expected Jace not only to spare Bunker Hill from blame, but also to offer troops, assistance, and repairs.

This went beyond leniency.

He was throwing a lifeline to a settlement that had been barely holding itself together.

Kessler bowed sincerely.

"Thank you for your generosity, General."

Jace waved it off and asked casually, "By the way, where's Stockton?"

"Waiting outside," Kessler replied, sounding somewhat helpless.

After exchanging a few more words, Kessler remembered the people outside and glanced toward the door.

"Would you like to take a look at the Institute informants we captured?"

Only then did Jace remember the thirty prisoners still waiting outside to be dealt with.

"Let's go."

Outside the entrance to the Sanctuary Hills base, thirty people crouched obediently in the open, tied together in a long line by rope.

They wore a mismatched assortment of Wasteland clothing. Some had merchant leather jackets, others wore ragged canvas coats, and a few were dressed in respectable pre-War shirts.

Stockton stood beside the line, personally guarding them.

He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken, his face covered in stubble, and it was obvious he had not slept in two days and two nights.

What surprised Jace was that Nick was there too.

The Synth detective stood quietly nearby in his old trench coat. When he saw Jace emerge, he raised a hand in greeting and quickly walked over.

"General."

"What are you doing here?" Jace asked.

"Kessler sent someone to Diamond City and asked me to help verify their identities," Nick answered truthfully.

Jace nodded and looked over the thirty people crouching on the ground.

Then his gaze stopped.

Several of them had thick bandages wrapped around their faces. It was clearly not ordinary treatment for combat injuries. Their entire faces had been covered, leaving only their eyes and mouths exposed.

Jace frowned and turned toward Stockton.

"You didn't just grab a bunch of random people and bring them here to fool me, did you?"

Stockton's face instantly went pale.

"General! Absolutely not! Every one of these people is a confirmed Institute informant. I personally led the investigation and checked them one by one. We have solid evidence on every single one!"

"Then what's with the bandages?"

Stockton faltered.

Nick stepped forward at the right moment.

"General, they really are the right people."

He glanced at the bandaged prisoners and explained evenly.

"They had facial reconstruction done by Doctor Crocker at the Mega Surgery Center in Diamond City. They deliberately changed their appearances so they could operate undercover."

"That quack?" Jace frowned even harder.

Nick hesitated.

"His reputation isn't exactly great, but his surgical skills are actually pretty good..."

"Doesn't he like taking Jet while he's operating?" Jace interrupted.

Nick immediately fell silent.

The optical lens in his eye flickered faintly.

As a second-generation Synth, Nick had never needed medical treatment himself. His knowledge of Diamond City's clinics barely went beyond knowing the locations and the doctors' names.

He had no idea Crocker had that kind of habit.

But the information immediately reminded him of an old case.

Earl Sterling, the bartender from the Dugout Inn, had disappeared without a trace. No body, no sign of life. Everyone had assumed the Institute abducted him.

But if Crocker really used drugs while operating, then a "medical accident" on the operating table...

Stockton remained pale beside them, his nerves taut the entire time.

Jace gave him a brief glance.

Stockton was a core member of The Railroad and controlled the Commonwealth's largest caravan network, yet the Institute had infiltrated his people thoroughly while he remained completely unaware.

At the end of the day, it came down to poor management and a failure to keep his subordinates under control.

A hard warning was enough to make the lesson stick.

There was no need to destroy him over it.

Jace looked away.

"For Kessler's sake, I won't hold you responsible this time. But if something like this happens again..."

Stockton lowered his head and said nothing.

Only then did his tense shoulders finally loosen.

Jace turned toward the thirty bound informants.

His gaze slowly passed over them.

Some lowered their heads and refused to meet his eyes.

Others gritted their teeth, resentment written across their faces.

A few simply stared blankly ahead, having already accepted their fate.

Jace remained silent for two seconds before settling on a decision.

Then he spoke.

His voice was not loud, but it was cold and clear enough to carry across the entire clearing.

"Listen carefully."

Every prisoner immediately looked up at him.

"You're Institute informants who infiltrated the Commonwealth. Under the rules here, every one of you should be shot."

Several people began trembling, fear spreading across their faces.

"But I'm willing to give you parasites one chance to survive."

Hope immediately flickered in all thirty pairs of eyes, driven by raw survival instinct.

"We can really live?" someone asked shakily.

"I'm giving you the chance." Jace's voice turned colder. "Everyone line up. I'll number you from left to right. Odd numbers get executed on the spot. Even numbers walk free."

The line immediately erupted.

Cursing, pleading, and crying broke out all at once.

Several people tried desperately to shrink backward, only for the guards beside them to kick them back into place.

Under the threat of raised guns, the prisoners finally managed to form a crooked line.

Nick stood beside Jace and watched him slowly draw his pistol, resting one finger on the trigger.

He thought to himself,

He's not actually going to do this, is he? Thirty lives split in half, with life or death decided by a number?

Jace raised the pistol and aimed at the person on the far left.

The man's legs went weak with terror.

He wet himself and shook uncontrollably.

"One."

The gunshot cracked through the clearing, startling crows from the distant treetops.

The man dropped, twitched twice, then stopped moving.

"Three."

A second gunshot.

Another body fell.

"Five."

"Seven."

"Nine."

Nick's expression did not change, but the optical lens in his eye contracted slightly.

The prisoners sank into complete despair.

They all understood now.

Jace had never intended to call out an even number.

The supposed chance to survive had been a lie from the start.

Jace did not pause.

He walked steadily down the line.

Call the number.

Raise the gun.

Fire.

His movements were clean and efficient, without hesitation or doubt.

He barely even needed to aim.

Before long, the gunfire stopped.

The clearing was thick with the smell of gunpowder as wisps of pale smoke drifted through the air.

Twenty-six bodies lay scattered in pools of blood.

Out of thirty people, only four remained alive.

They stood among the corpses, splattered with blood, their faces white as paper and their bodies shaking violently.

Two could no longer stand on their own and had to support each other.

Trashcan Carla.

Cricket.

Lucas Miller.

Doctor Weathers.

Jace lowered the smoking pistol and holstered it.

He knew all four of them.

Trashcan Carla was a junk and building materials merchant who frequently traveled around Sanctuary Hills.

Cricket was a well-known female weapons dealer, always loaded down with guns and ammunition. She sold the legendary submachine gun Spray n' Pray, which dealt explosive damage and packed vicious firepower.

Lucas Miller was a traveling armor merchant who roamed throughout the Commonwealth.

Doctor Weathers was a medical merchant who traveled the caravan routes.

All four were recognizable merchants with names of their own.

"You four."

All four flinched at once.

"Go back to running your trade routes. Remember, not every cap is worth earning. Know where the line is. There won't be another chance."

"Now get out of here!"

The four reacted as though they had been granted a pardon.

They turned and fled, stumbling over themselves in their desperation to get away.

Nick remained where he was, silently watching their retreating figures for a long time.

The evening breeze stirred the dust across the ground, gradually thinning the smell of gunpowder in the air.

The blood on the dirt slowly darkened from bright red.

Cold bodies lay motionless where they had fallen.

Jace turned toward the base entrance and casually instructed the nearby guards,

"Make sure the bodies are cleaned up before you leave."

With that, Jace walked into the base.

The heavy metal door slowly closed behind him, shutting out the lingering smell of gunpowder.