Fallout - Chapter 134: The Beasts Are Unleashed (Patreon)

The arena's heavy doors slammed shut behind Jace, cutting off the thunderous cheers as abruptly as a receding tide.

Only dull echoes remained in the passage, along with a cloying mixture of smells: sweat, cheap alcohol, rust, and a faint trace of something sickly sweet and metallic.

The Nuka-Cola neon tubes lining the walls had been dead for two hundred years, yet under the slanting light spilling in from the arena, the twisted glass would occasionally catch a faint, cold gleam, like light reflected in the eyes of a dying man.

Gage was standing at the bend in the corridor.

His back was pressed against the wall, both hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, his knuckles drawn tight. His entire face was lost in shadow, making his expression impossible to read. Only his jaw was visible, pulled taut like a bowstring at full draw.

It wasn't anger. Anger at least carried a certain strength.

This was tension born from anxiety, calculation, and a fear of the unknown all tangled together.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he jerked his head up.

"Boss."

The word came out strained, with a barely noticeable tremor.

"The other leaders... they're all waiting for you."

Jace glanced at him and nodded, his tone as casual as if he'd just agreed to an afternoon walk.

"Perfect. I was just thinking I should meet them."

The corridor leading to the VIP box was cleaner than the passage behind them, though only by comparison.

Several makeshift wooden tables were cluttered with empty liquor bottles, rusted cans, broken gunstocks, and a flat disc resting near the corner of one table.

It was oval-shaped, with a matte, non-slip shell. A dark silver voice-recognition ring was embedded in the center, and beside it was a small engraved name.

Arsie.

Jace's gaze lingered on the key for less than half a second before moving on, as though he'd merely noticed a pebble by the roadside.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he'd laughed to himself, but nothing showed on his face.

A guard stood outside the private room.

He wasn't particularly muscular. In fact, he was rather thin. He wore the neatly cut dark gray jacket typical of the Operators, with a well-maintained 10mm pistol holstered at his waist. The holster was secured, and his hand hadn't gone anywhere near the grip.

He was trying hard to look calm, but the rapid movement of his Adam's apple betrayed him.

"B-Boss..."

He swallowed, his voice dry.

"There's a rule... Would you mind leaving your weapons here first?"

Jace didn't answer immediately.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Gage beside him. The instant the guard spoke, a fleeting glimmer had appeared in Gage's eyes.

If Jace refused, Gage might be able to find some opening to save himself.

Jace looked at Gage, then reached out and gently rested a hand on the guard's shoulder.

The touch was light, but the guard's entire body stiffened.

"So what you're saying is..."

Jace's voice was almost friendly, like he was speaking to a nervous new recruit.

"You want me to go in alone, unarmed, into a sealed room when I have no idea what's waiting inside?"

The pressure on the guard's shoulder slowly increased, like an invisible weight being lowered onto him little by little.

"Y-yes..."

Jace stared into his eyes.

Then he suddenly smiled.

"Sure."

He withdrew his hand.

The guard's shoulder relaxed slightly, but his trembling only got worse.

Jace removed his two heavy Magnums and placed them muzzle-down in the guard's arms.

Then came the Cosmic Knife, sheath and all.

After that, he removed the three grenades from his left hip one at a time, stacking their considerable weight in the guard's arms.

Finally, Jace reached into the storage pouch on his back and pulled out a thermobaric bomb, the last contingency he'd kept in reserve for himself.

He carefully placed it on top of the pile of deadly equipment.

The guard's arms visibly sagged under the weight.

"Careful."

Jace patted him on the shoulder. This time, the touch was almost reassuring.

"If you drop that, this entire floor is getting melted through."

The guard's face instantly turned white.

Jace turned around, pushed open the door, and entered without looking back.

Out in the hallway, the guard remained frozen in place, clutching an armful of lethal weapons while cold sweat ran down his temples.

A pale blue figure emerged from the shadows like a ghost.

One hand reached around from behind and clamped firmly over the guard's mouth.

The other drove a dagger into the back of his neck, severing the spinal cord with precision.

He didn't even manage a muffled grunt before his body went limp.

Before he could fall, another pair of hands caught every weapon in his arms, preventing even the slightest clatter.

The newcomers were all wearing Type 92 Powered Suits, two red lights glowing faintly on each visor in the darkness.

They were Minutemen scouts.

They dragged the corpse into a corner and covered it with a filthy tarp, then neatly arranged the General's weapons on a rack outside the door.

After that, they melted back into the shadows as though they had never been there.

Inside the private room, a solid pre-War wooden table dominated the space.

Its surface was heavily worn, with bullet marks and scorch marks still visible along the edges. Dark liquor had been spilled across it, and several overturned glasses reflected the harsh white glow of the ceiling light.

People sat on three sides of the table.

Mason was on the left, his bald head gleaming beneath the light. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he leaned slightly forward like a wolf ready to spring.

Nisha sat on the right, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. Her fingertips tapped out an irregular rhythm against the tabletop, and there was a trace of interest in her eyes.

Mags and William sat opposite them.

Mags, the older sister, was as composed as stone.

William, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. His gaze kept moving between Jace and Mags.

The head seat was empty.

Jace walked straight over and sat down without the slightest hesitation.

Gage automatically stepped half a pace behind and to Jace's right, lowering his head as he stood there.

He looked like a respectable aide.

He also looked like a prisoner waiting to hear his sentence.

Mason was the first to react.

He rose slightly from his seat and lowered his head.

The gesture was small, but its meaning was unmistakable.

The Pack acknowledged Jace's strength.

Nisha didn't stand, but her fingers stopped tapping, and the curve of her lips shifted slightly.

William was just about to offer a few flattering words when Mags quietly pressed a hand against his knee beneath the table.

There wasn't much force behind it, but it was enough to shut him up immediately.

Jace let his gaze pass over their faces before leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed, as though he were sitting in his own living room.

Then, as if something had suddenly occurred to him, he turned his head toward Gage before looking back at Mason.

"Oh, right."

His voice remained casual, but the atmosphere in the room seemed to freeze for an instant.

"How exactly did Gage convince you?"

He paused, appearing to give the question some thought.

"Or rather, how were you so sure he genuinely wanted Colter dead?"

"I heard... Colter treated him pretty well."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

After becoming Overboss, Colter had given Gage an unrivaled position as his second-in-command.

Gage had effectively been allowed to act as Colter's sole strategist, with full authority to coordinate affairs between all three gangs. Every gang leader knew that Gage was the one who truly handled things.

The distribution of resources throughout the park, external negotiations, personnel assignments. Colter had handed all of it to Gage and almost never interfered in day-to-day management.

In practical terms, he'd handed Gage half the authority of the Overboss.

Compared to the leader Gage had followed early in his Raider career, Connor “The Harvester”, Colter had treated him remarkably well.

Connor had grown wary of Gage's abilities, deliberately set him up, then stood aside and left him to die, hoping someone else would do the dirty work for him.

Colter, on the other hand, had never suspected Gage of plotting to seize power.

He had never sent people to monitor him, never restricted him, and never taken credit for his accomplishments.

Even after their relationship deteriorated, Colter had never seriously considered killing him.

He hadn't even realized that Gage was secretly plotting his overthrow.

They were practically closer than brothers.

Raiders might generally be depraved, treacherous, ungrateful, and utterly ruthless, but there was still at least a little humanity left in them.

If you ate your boss's food, used your boss's resources, wore what your boss provided, then stabbed him in the back before you'd even finished wiping your mouth, even Raiders could see that you were a piece of trash.

Anyone with half a brain understood that you couldn't allow that kind of precedent.

Never underestimate the power of example.

Once someone did it successfully, the people beneath them would eventually learn to do the same.

Jace's gaze settled on Gage.

Gage lowered his head even further, almost burying his chin in his chest.

"Didn't any of you ever consider..."

Seeing Gage like that, Jace slowed his speech. Each word seemed to strip another layer away.

"...that this might have been a trap set by Colter?"

"What if he wanted a convincing excuse to wipe all of you out at once, absorb your gangs, and finally unify Nuka-World for real?"

"Did that possibility ever occur to you?"

Mason answered first, his tone carrying the implication that Jace simply didn't understand.

"Boss, you don't know how many gangs Gage has been through."

"Oh?"

Jace looked interested.

"And how many of them did he screw over?"

"More than a dozen."

Mason held up two fingers and waved them slightly.

"Not one of those gangs ended well."

Jace slowly turned his eyes toward Gage.

"You're quite the 'professional' at this, aren't you?"

Gage's lips moved.

Under the harsh light, his face looked as pale as paper.

"Those gangs... destroyed themselves. They were stupid, lazy, addicted to chems..."

His voice faltered.

"I just... got out before they collapsed."

Nisha laughed.

The sound was thin and sharp.

"Destroyed themselves?"

She tilted her head, studying him like an insect struggling beneath a pin.

"One or two, maybe. But more than a dozen?"

Her smile widened.

"Only an arrogant idiot like Colter would believe that."

A brief silence settled over the room.

Mags lightly tapped one finger against the table.

She intended to change the subject.

"General."

She used the title Jace had given himself.

Jace raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Were you talking to me?"

"Yes."

Mags's expression didn't change.

"As Overboss... what is your first order?"

Jace looked at her for two seconds.

Then the corner of his mouth slowly curved upward.

"You've got a good eye."

He leaned back again and let his gaze sweep over everyone around the table.

Mason.

Nisha.

Mags.

Gage.

Then he finally spoke.

His voice wasn't loud, but every word pierced the room like an icicle.

"All right. Then here's my first order."

The room grew so quiet that they could hear liquor slowly sliding down the sides of the glasses.

Jace looked at them and spoke each word clearly.

"All of you, kill yourselves."

He smiled faintly.

"How does that sound?"

No one immediately shouted in anger.

No one drew a weapon.

The only movement came from the traces of liquor still clinging to the sides of the glasses, slowly sliding downward beneath the light.

The room remained silent for three seconds.

Then someone laughed.

Nisha.

She tilted her head, still smiling.

"You're joking, right?"

"No."

Jace leaned back in his chair.

His eyes moved slowly across every face at the table, as if he were counting cans on a shelf.

His voice was clear and cold.

"Look at what this pre-War amusement park has become. Whips everywhere. Shackles everywhere."

"Power abused without restraint. Human dignity ground into the dirt."

"You sit here drinking pre-War liquor while enjoying the blood and tears of your own kind."

"Every second I spend around you makes me sick."

Jace finally exhaled the frustration he'd been holding back for so long.

Then the corner of his mouth curled upward.

It resembled a smile, but somehow looked more like the edge of a blade turning beneath the light.

"Seriously, right now I want to cut every last one of you apart, slice you open, and tear you to pieces."

The air in the room seemed to thin.

Mags was the first to lose her composure.

The face that had remained as calm as if she were attending a business meeting visibly drained of color beneath the light.

Her lips tightened into a pale line.

William instinctively recoiled.

The legs of his chair scraped sharply against the floor.

Gage's eyes, however, lit up.

It was the look of a desperate man standing at the edge of a cliff who had suddenly spotted a vine within reach.

Restrained.

Suppressed.

Yet blazing with frantic hope deep inside his eyes.

Mason shot to his feet.

His chair toppled backward and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

He planted both hands on the table, his knuckles turning white as veins bulged across his temples.

"Don't push your luck!"

His voice thundered from deep within his chest.

"We're letting you become Overboss because we respect your strength. But so what if you can fight?"

He glared at Jace.

"Everyone outside belongs to us."

Mason searched Jace's eyes for even the slightest hint of hesitation.

He found nothing.

"Then why don't you call your men?"

Jace's tone remained calm, almost as if he were commenting on the weather.

Mason didn't hesitate.

He slammed his thumb against the communication button on his wrist.

It was linked to the Pack's core enforcers throughout the stands.

One press should have brought at least twenty heavily armed Pack elites rushing into the room.

Three seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

Mason pressed it again.

Still nothing.

The corridor outside remained as silent as a grave.

The smile on Nisha's face froze.

She looked down at the communicator at her waist and pressed it.

No response.

She pressed it again.

Then a third time.

Each press was harder than the last, until her knuckle seemed ready to sink into the button.

William no longer cared about Mags trying to keep him calm beneath the table.

He pulled out his own communicator and pressed it again and again.

The color steadily drained from his face.

"Sis..."

His voice tightened.

"The people outside... none of them are responding."

Mags didn't answer.

She simply stared at Jace.

Her expression shifted from calm, to brief panic, then settled into a clear, calculating focus.

She needed to find a way to distance herself from all of this, and fast.

The only sound left in the private room was the useless clicking of communicator buttons being pressed over and over again.

Mason finally lowered his hand.

He didn't sit down. His chair was already lying on the floor.

He simply stood there stiffly, as though he'd suddenly forgotten how he was supposed to carry himself.

Nisha wasn't smiling anymore either.

Gage remained half a step behind Jace's right shoulder, his head lowered.

His lips moved faintly, as if he were muttering something to himself.

Or perhaps he simply had no idea what expression he was supposed to make.

Jace leaned back in his chair as though none of the desperate scrambling of the last few minutes had happened.

"So..."

His voice was lazy, like he was asking what everyone wanted for dinner.

"How do you want to die?"

Outside the private room, bodies lay scattered throughout the corridor.

None of them moved.

They covered the floor like a field of Razorgrain harvested by a single sweeping scythe.

At the far end of the passage, two red lights flickered in the darkness of Josie's visor.

She picked up a blinking communicator from the hand of a corpse.

Then gently crushed it.

Nine minutes and forty-two seconds had passed since Jace entered the private room.