Chapter 14

Carrying two scavenged bundles of clothing over her shoulder, Jessica arrived back at the train station to find it deserted, save for a Legion scout and Jericho, who was pacing back and forth along the tracks. He spotted her and let out a sigh of relief.

"What's the story, boss?" he eyed the bundles over her shoulder.

"Just a little reconnaissance." She said, looking around for Septimus, "where did they go?"

"Bombed out building down da street." The raider pointed in the opposite direction and led her a block away. They passed a line of scouts hidden in the rubble around them, and across a second picket which indeed blocked the entrance to a three-story bombed-out ruin. Some of the ground floor walls were still standing, providing a few small areas of privacy and seclusion. Jericho led her past the guards and across a courtyard, into one of the few remaining rooms. It had faded, peeling, flowery wallpaper, a wardrobe with broken legs leaning awkwardly against one wall, and a sun-bleached desk with a rickety old chair beside it.

Septimus was standing in the middle of the room, speaking to a prime decanus. When he saw Jessica, he waved the man off. "Ave Immune! What did you find?"

"A way in." Jessica said, setting her bundles down on the desk, "There's a hotel next door. A few floors up there's a radio tower you can climb across. It drops right into the second floor of the hospital. No mines. No guards." As she spoke she untied the bundles, revealing raider clothing she had scavenged from the explorers she had killed. She had managed to wipe most of the blood off of them. They looked no dirtier than any other raider gear.

Jericho's eyes narrowed as he watched her, wondering why she had kept them.

"Hmm… sounds convenient. Almost too convenient…" Septimus said, mystified, "They must have guards. Sentry shifts. Alarms…"

"Yer talkin' like a soldier, pal." Jericho said, "Dem raiders aren't dat smart, eh? No Education. No trainin'. Hopped up on chems all fuckin' day. Smart wasters stay in settlements. Da dumb ones are raiders."

"You sound as if you speak from experienced, Amicus." The Centurion replied evenly.

Jericho crossed his arms. "Maybe I do. What's it to ya?"

"Nothing." The Centurion addressed Jessica, who was silently laying out each item of clothing, "you really do keep strange company, Immune. But your methods are effective."

She smirked, and gathered up one set of clothes. She plopped the bundle into Jericho's arms. "You haven't seen my methods yet, Septimus. Jericho, put those on, would you kindly?"

"Uhh…" Jericho glanced down at the clothing in bemusement, "why, boss?"

"Because we're going into the compound." Jessica said simply.

The former raider stared at her, and then burst out laughing, "What da fuck? Okay. Yeah. Sure thing boss. Fuck off!"

Septimus' hand found the hilt of his blade, "stay polite, savage."

"Screw you!"

"Jericho!" Jessica said sharply, regaining his attention, "we're just going to go in, stir up a little trouble, and get out in time for Septimus to take advantage of it…" everything's going to be fine. Don't worry so much…

The former raider glanced down at the disguise in his arms and sighed. "Alright, boss. But you owe me."

"Absolutely." She watched him leave the room to find a place to change.

She and Septimus were alone.

He said, "I feel inclined to agree with your friend, Immune. The raiders will die regardless. I have twenty men here to do the job."

"Do you know how many raiders there are?" Jessica asked, "Do you know what they're armed with? The layout of the building?"

"I do not." He admitted, "But I know my men are strong. One Legionary is worth twenty raiders."

"Maybe. But they have guns, Centurion." She said, reminding him of his rank, "So let's stack the odds in our favor."

"Why risk yourself?" he asked impatiently.

"Why risk your men?" Jessica shot back quietly,

Septimus winced and turned away.

She watched him carefully, noting the way his shoulders had tensed up. She said, "Vorenus told me about what happened to your Centuria."

The Centurion turned back slowly, watching her with an apprehensive look.

"He said he had to talk Caesar into saving your life." She said quietly, staring into his brown eyes.

His voice was soft. "Are you judging me, Immune?"

"No!" Jessica shook her head, "But I think you judge yourself."

He bit his lip, "You may be right."

"Septimus, you will not gain your honor back by losing a quarter of your men. Half, even, against Raiders."

He took a confident step towards her. "I would lose more allowing you to come to harm, Immune. I promised your brother that I would ensure your safety."

"He also said I could do what I wanted." She replied playfully.

"He did." The Centurion agreed carefully, a slow smile spreading across his face, "but-"

"So I'm going to do this."

"You do not have to. You are Caesar's Immune. Every man here would lay down his life for you."

Jessica raised her eyebrows and propelled herself off of the desk, bringing them almost nose to nose. God... he was very close. He smelled of sweat and leather. She could see every scratch and dent in his armour, and every scar – marks of victory from countless battles. She looked up into his eyes and asked, "Would you?"

His gaze flickered momentarily from her eyes down to her lips and back. He said, "in cordis pulsatio, Immune."

She bit her lip and said, "Do you know the difference between you and I?"

"I am sure there are plenty." He laughed softly.

Jessica smiled at him, "you and your men – you are …machetes. Great big sharp weapons which take Caesar's enemies to pieces."

The Centurion smirked as he considered the metaphor. "I will not argue that."

"Yes. And a machete is a proud weapon, Septimus. But using one properly takes training. It takes strength. It takes effort. It is a clear and obvious threat. Even from a distance."

"And you are not."

"I am a scalpel. Smaller, but much sharper, and easy to conceal. I can do just as much damage – kill just as easily but with far less… noise. And in not so obvious a way."

"Any strikes with such a small weapon must be precise."

"Yes." Jessica smirked and stared up at him, "I know exactly what I'm doing, Centurion."

Septimus considered her words for a moment, his brow knitting together. He asked, "and so what is your plan? How is a scalpel more effective here than a machete?"

"Every faction has divisions. Every organization has a leader. Behind every leader is a lieutenant, ready for promotion. Why fight your enemy when you can make him fight himself for you?"

The Centurion gave this due consideration. He said, "that makes sense, but I am still not comfortable."

"You have me, Septimus. Might as well use me." The comment came out lower and huskier than she had intended, and a blush spread across his cheeks.

"And if I don't hear gunfire?" there was a little uncertainty left in his voice, "What if you have been discovered and captured. What if you are being hurt?"

Jessica shot him a flirty wink, "…then I guess you're just going to have to follow my brother's orders and come rescue me."

The raider gear was a poor fit, but faction disguises always were. She had been forced to tie off the stained tank top undershirt, and hitch the belt up as tight as it would go to fit around her waist and hold up the torn jeans. It still hung off her hips at an odd angle. The outfit all stank so very badly, yet was a perfectly passable disguise.

Jericho's hairy chest was bare save for a bandoleer and a half-tire mounted on his shoulder as a spaulder. On their new approach to the Statesman Hotel, they took the long way around a large central crater, dodging a small amount of radiation. Jessica wanted to avoid any chance of them running into a raider patrol.

"So what's goin' on with you and that Legion guy, Boss?"

Jessica turned to her friend and raised an eyebrow, "Are you judging me?"

"Me? Naw. If ya wanna fuck 'im den fuck 'im. Ain't my business. I just thought, ya know…" Jericho shrugged, "he's the enemy and all…"

Jessica shrugged. "In my experience, an enemy is someone who intends to do you harm."

"Well yeah, but… it's just weird. I mean... he's Legion and he's got a thing for ya."

"Lust does strange things to people, Jericho."

"Yeah…" the ex-raider's eyes darkened, and pain and regret entered his voice, "some men don't know how ta handle it well. Trust me, boss. We get… handsy. We get rough. We get stupid. We… take… stuff. Things we want. And we do things we want. Sometimes without asking. Stuff that oughta be given as a choice, if ya know what I mean…"

Jessica gave her companion a sidelong glance. She said, "And some men have a conscience and are smart enough to recognize how wrong that is… no matter whose orders they follow."

Jericho looked away. "Yeah… well too late is too late. For everyone. So just be careful, is all I'm sayin'."

"I'm being careful, Jericho. Some men act as you say. Others will follow you. And they'll do what you want them to."

"So… yer just messin' with his head? Leadin'im on?"

"I'm… planting seeds and letting them grow," She said carefully, "we need allies. When was the last time you met a man who could take a feral Reaver in hand-to-hand combat?"

"Not too many people I know could do that." Jericho admitted, "Da Lone Wanderer. Maybe some brotherhood?"

"Well our friend Septimus can." She shot Jericho a playful grin, "And he really likes me. Think of it as… insurance."

"Ya ever considered what that might mean if ya piss him off?"

This gave Jessica a moment's pause. He was right: she would not like to take on Septimus in a fight. The man was a soldier, raised and trained practically from birth. He could kill both Jericho and Jessica quite easily.

She said, "but what should I have done? Make him an enemy from the start? Think of it like this, Jericho: What's the only thing – the one emotion which might which might override Legion loyalty in a Commander if things get serious? I feel more safe with things like this, not less."

"I'm just sayin' is all, Boss."

"Well… we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it."

They had reached the hotel lobby door. Jessica, this time armed with a hunting rifle, carefully pushed it open, allowing Jericho to sweep through, shotgun first and scan the lobby for any new raiders.

It was empty. He lowered his gun as Jessica stepped through behind him.

He said, "it's a big gamble, boss."

"Everything's a gamble, Jericho. A bad gambler plays with the hand she's dealt. A good one plays her opponent's hand against him."

Infiltrating the raider compound proved a little more harrowing than Jessica had anticipated, but not by much. The hotel was empty, and it did not take more than twenty minutes for Jessica and Jericho to find their way to the fallen antenna. The afternoon was waning into evening. Jessica crept across first on her hands and knees, her rifle slung across her back. Below her, the raiders passed back and forth, joking with each other. One pair got into a fight.

Another wandered off by himself, stumbling slowly passing directly underneath the fallen antenna array, directly underneath Jessica. She froze as he paused there, swaying gently from side to side.

Then he looked up.

Jessica's breath caught in her throat and she froze, staring straight down into the raider's eyes. He blinked myopically a couple times and then looked down and stumbled further down the street. He pulled an inhaler from his pocket and took a hit from it. Jessica heard him mumble something about Brahmin before he settled against a slab of rubble.

She let out a long breath and kept moving forward until both she and Jericho found themselves in a staircase on the second level of the hospital. Jericho pulled her aside "Yeh spend much time around Raiders, Boss?"

"A little." She said.

"Well… we respect strength, alright. You show everyone what you're about early and get them ta back da fuck off if ya don't like'em. They'll respect ya. There tends to be two kinds'o raiders. Most are junkie fuckwits, and then there are a few smart ones who always run the show."

"Which were you?" she asked.

Jericho slapped his chest, "I was da smart kind. That should be obvious."

"Quite." Jessica said neutrally, "Excellent advice. Thank you, Jericho."

The second level was full of raiders in various states of undress and inebriation. It was actually very quiet, full of mattresses and the sound of coughing or snoring.

"So what's our plan here, Boss?"

They stepped aside as a group of drunken raiders stumbled past. Jessica kept behind Jericho, horribly aware that her looks alone could get her into significant trouble in such company. She opened a door to reveal a hospital room with a couple of beds and a surgical tray with medical instruments. Three raiders were there, sleeping two on one bed, and one on the other.

She quietly shut the door and continued down the hall to the next. Within that room they could hear heated voices. There was a sudden cry of fury and the sound of a smashed bottle. Jessica stepped back and out of the doorway just in time to avoid the quarrelling raiders which crashed the door open, struggling with each other and yelling, all barely coherent. All around them, Jessica could hear the protests and surprised exclamations as the raiders all around them were dragged out fo their drug-induced slumber by the noise.

"Krong is strongest!" one snarled, his bright orange Mohawk shining against the shadowy corridor. An enormous green hand had been painted across his chest. "I will tell! I will tell the-hurk!"

"Shut the fuck up ya race traitor sunnuva bitch!" the other, younger raider shot back, punching him in the throat. This younger raider had a shaved head and a missing eye.

Jessica ignored them, and peeked around the corner into their room. It had been trashed, with broken glass and tipped bookshelves. But a computer console sat on a desk in the corner.

A perfect opportunity.

"Jericho." She prompted as a curious crowd quickly formed to watch the impromptu deathmatch.

Jessica and Jericho slipped into the room, and the former raider took up station at the door, his combat shotgun held across his chest sending a clear message to the surrounding crowd: this is our space now.

Jessica strode over and took a seat in front of the computer. It was encrypted, as they usually were. A seven letter passcode was required. She pursed her lips, staring at the options before her. She had always enjoyed hacking. Most pre-war computer security keys belonged to a pre-selected set, and the complete list was always available to someone who knew their way around the software. From there hints in the programming would lead one to the correct answer. Most consoles would lock out after three tries, but for those skilled enough in the sciences there were ways around that too.

Of course if they were smart enough to realize that the attempt counter always reset on reboot, most Wasteland idiots and the average prospector would sit there for hours picking two options and then rebooting the system over and over again, but Jessica preferred to approach the challenge with more finesse.

TESTING

OPTIONS

WINNING

RATIONS

TRUSTED

PROMISE

CORDIAL

OVERLAY

She tried TESTNG first. One letter matched. That ruled out PROMISE and OVERLAY. It also ruled out WINNING, as the ING would have resulted in more matches.

OPTIONS

RATIONS

TRUSTED

CORDIAL

She tried OPTIONS next. Zero hits, but it ruled out both OPTIONS and RATIONS. Two options left:

TRUSTED

CORDIAL

Jessica sat back and stared at the console. She could see the symbols hidden in the lines of code, which would reset the attempt entry counter, or remove one of the two remaining options, leaving the correct password behind.

Boring.

A scream of pain came from the hallway outside, along with the triumphant yelling of the raider crowd.

She paid them no mind. She idly opened up the drawer beside her and removed the raider stash of fourteen bottlecaps, slipping thirteen of them into her pocket.

TRUSTED or CORDIAL?

To hell with it. Why not have some fun?

Jessica flipped the last bottlecap and covered it with her other hand before it landed. Heads – TRUSTED, tails – CORDIAL.

She lifted her palm to reveal the bottlecap upside down.

CORDIAL it was, and she pressed the key. With a satisfying ding, the console granted her access. By most Wasteland standards it did not contain much, but by Jessica's standards the console contained a cache of information. Notes and diary entries from one of the Raider leaders, a man named Hardball.

I can't fucking believe this. After everything we went through during the Mutie war, we get fucked. I thought it would be different. We helped the motherfuckers! All the scabs and the cucks. All those Big Damn Heroes in the Talon Company took all the credit, but we fought in the war too, and the Wanderer acted like it was such an act of kindness, not to immediately kill us when it was over. He called it charity – just letting us go.

We never catch a break. Time to take what we weren't given.

- Hardball

The Legion attacked us again yesterday. Killed three of my crew and forced us out of the subway tunnel and into the ruins. We were hunted like rats. This is bullshit. I'm thinking it's time to find some allies.

- Hardball

Ran into a new crew deep in the ruins. Noxy and his Greenfists. They got a good operation going. Even made a hospital into a home base of some kind. He wants us to join and I'm in. Tired of being hunted by assholes. Times like this you need strong friends. Maybe now we can finally take what we deserve!

- Hardball

Hahahaha! Raided a Legion Caravan today! Noxy's got a good setup going here! Between the Greenfists, the Furies, and my Psychokillas we're more than a gang. We're a fucking Army! They was fighting back but they all shit their pants when Krong showed up. Never seen sons of bitches run so fast! Hilarious! We rounded up all of them and brought them back with us.

- Hardball

Noxy gave the prisoners to Krong. The son-of-a-bitch worships him. I know that Krong makes us the strongest, baddest motherfuckers in the Wasteland, but this is fucked up. It ain't what I signed up for. The Psychokillas gotta make our own way. We can't stay in the inner city. The Legion will come for us sooner or later if we stay here, Krong or not. I'm gonna try to pack up my crew and leave.

- Hardball

"Boss?" Jericho called out.

Jessica glanced over. The fight had ended. The younger, one-eyed raider had won. He was covered in blood, and struggling with Jericho.

"Let him in and shut the door, would you?" She asked sweetly.

Jericho obeyed, gently closing the door behind the young raider as he stumbled in, snarling at both of them. "Hey! Step da fuck away from my… computer…?" he straightened up, giving Jessica a long, thorough examination, his one good eye lingering on her legs and chest.

Jessica swiveled in her chair to face him, resting her elbow on one of the arms, one of her legs crossed over the other. She gave him a welcoming smile and said, "you must be Hardball."

"And you're one mighty fine piece of ass." The raider replied, "What you say me and the boys set up a train on you." He grinned, "I bet you'd like it."

"Shut it, kid." Jericho growled.

"Ya wanna go, old-timer? I just fucked up one of the Greenfists! Ya don't wanna mess wiv me."

In response, Jericho jabbed the man in the face with the butt of his combat shotgun. He grabbed the youth by the scruff of his neck and dragged him over to Jessica, who was daintily examining her nails, still seated in the same relaxed pose.

Hardball the Raider made to protest, but went silent when Jericho pressed the tip of his combat shotgun against the young man's skull. The older man said, "do I look like I'm trembling in my boots, kid?" he looked up at Jessica for instructions. "What do we do with him, boss?"

Hardball's eyes bugged out. "Boss? You working for a girl?"

"We're partners." Jessica corrected, "Friends, even."

"That come wiv benefits I bet. Hur hur hur!"

Jericho once again laid in with the butt of his rifle, knocking the young man to the floor. "Yeh best listen." The old raider warned him, "My trigger finger's gettin' real itchy."

"Jericho's quite a tough man. I watched him fight five legionaries and win. It's a good idea to be our friend, Hardball."

"Yeah?" the raider looked her up and down, "and what's in it for me?"

"I've read your journal. You don't like the setup here."

This made him pause. "You can help me leave?"

Jessica laughed lightly she leaned forward in her chair so that she was nose-to-nose with the Raider. "Leave? Why? I can make you King. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Just tell me everything…

Hardball led them back out into the hallway. "There's three raider tribes here. The Greenfists, the Furies, and the Pyschokillas. My people."

As they wound through the raiders, Jessica noted the color patterns and symbols which were painted on the walls, and sometimes on the raiders themselves. As with all raiders they were hardly uniform in their appearance. Nevertheless, patterns emerged. A green hand was painted outside various doors and on the chests of some of the raiders. Quite a few of them had dyed their hair orange. They tended to be armed with nail boards and assault rifles. A few more had wiped red paint across their eyes, and carried baseball bats and hunting rifles. The Pyschokillas usually had blue mohawks and were armed with switchblades and shotguns.

Hardball continued in his explanation, "Rag leads da Furies. He's okay I guess. Doesn't seem to love the killin' so much, but he's got the biggest group an' he keeps'em feed and watered fine. Noxy leads the Greenfists. He's the one what found Krong and got this place set up."

"And who is Krong?" Jessica asked.

At that very moment a shrill but tinny voice rang out from the ancient hospital's pre-war PA system. "All gather for offerings to Krong the Strong."

Hardball grinned at her. You're about ta find out."

He led them through the upper hallway which was suddenly swarming with raiders, laughing, shouting and swearing at one another. They were all heading in the same direction. Buffeted from all sides, Jessica did her best to follow Hardball as they turned a few corners and descended some stairs into the large foyer waiting area. Yellow light poured across the foyer through enormous bay windows, and Jessica could see clouds of dust dancing through the sunbeams. There was a skeleton dangling by one foot from a hole in the ceiling high above. The hospital had been under construction when the bombs fell, and the scaffolding had been left behind. Raiders were climbing up and settling atop it to get a good view. Despite the size of the space, it felt claustrophobic and stuffy. She was thankful for Jericho's constant presence at her shoulder.

Jessica's gaze was drawn to the darkened area beyond the triage desks. A pitch black room, its entrance surrounded by a barricade of enormous sharpened I-beams the floor was caked with dried blood, and gut bags hung from the awning above the desks. The stench of rotten flesh was overpowering. Something enormous was stomping around inside the darkened space, but Jessica could not make out a shape. Just formless, menacing shadow.

Chains hung loosely from three heavy beams had been driven into the floor in the centre of the chamber.

The three raider gangs had each gathered together, forming a half-circle around the posts and the darkened entrance. Hardball took his place in front of the Psychokillas with their blue mohawks had draped themselves all over the scaffolding. To their left were the Greenfists, body paint and orange hair. Last, near the hospital's front entrance, were the Furies, with their red warpaint and baseball bats. All counted, Jessica estimated that there were around eighty men in the room. Before the Furies stood a beast of a raider, carrying an enormous sniper rifle in one hand, and an equally imposing beard upon his chin. He was armed with a sniper rifle, and a grim expression. Scowling, he met Jessica's gaze and she quickly looked away.

A short, energetic figure emerged from the Greenfists. He wore a pre-war fedora, cocked at an absurd angle, and a mininuke casing for the breastplate of his armour.

"That's probably Noxy." Jericho whispered in Jessica's ear. She nodded in agreement.

The man spread his arms wide and the crowd fell silent, aside from a few fearful whimpers. Jessica quietly searched the raider bands, and could make out prisoners, kneeling in the centre of each group.

"Hello, my family!" Noxy called out jovially. His voice was even more shrill and nasal in person than he had been over the intercom. The crowd responded with cheers. He waved them into silence. ""My beloved brothers and sisters," the lanky raider repeated, "another day dawns, and we are victorious! It has been a good week. Six raids!" the crowd cheered, "eight prisoners!" another cheer, and Noxy seemed to grow with confidence, "and thirteen dead Legionaries!"

The cheer transformed into thunderous applause. A grin broke out across Noxy's face. He preened, adoring the crowd's attention and participation. He stepped forward, arms spread, "this is just the start, Fam. Together we are strong! Strong like Krong! The Legion dies daily, yet our numbers can only grow!" His manic eyes were filled with the kind of reverence Jessica usually saw in Legionaries when they spoke of Ceasar.

The crowd screamed their approval, but Noxy raised his hand to silence them, "and who gave us this victory?"

The question was clearly rhetorical, but the cheering redoubled. Particularly amongst the Greenfists, who beat their chests and started chanting Krong's name.

Noxy pointed back into the darkness behind him. "Who brings the sunlight?"

"Krong! Krong! Krong!" the crowd answered, taking a spiritual joy in their well-rehearsed routine.

"Who brings the water?"

"Krong! Krong! Krong!

"Who brings the fire?"

"Krong! Krong! Krong!

"Who brings the food?"

"Krong! Krong! Krong!

"Who brings… the ammo?"

The crowd laughed and jeered, "Krong!"

"Who brings the blood?"

"Krong! Krong! Krong!

"Who makes the Legion tremble in fear?"

"Krong!"

"To whom do we owe our gratitude?"

"Krong!"

Noxy's voice reached a frantic, fever pitch, "To whom, my brothers and sisters, do we owe our allegiance?"

"Krong!" the crowd's cheering rose to a deafening volume.

"That's right!" the raider proclaimed, "so bring forth your offerings and sing for Krong the Strong!"

The crowd began to chant, growing louder and louder. "Krong! Krong! Krong! Krong! Krong!"

There was a deep, earth-rumbling roar from the darkness and the raider army cheered. Noxy's band of Greenfists all broke out into song.

Eat the Meat for Krong the Strong!

Drum the Beat for Krong the Strong!

Seek the Meek for Krong the Strong!

Cull the Weak for Krong the Strong!

Man the Guns for Krong the Strong!

Chosen Ones for Krong the Strong!

As they sang, the prisoners were produced – four in total. An elderly man in Wasteland rags was dragged out by the Pyschokillas, a protesting trader, and his swearing, biting, leather-clad bodyguard from the Furies, and a last prisoner from the Greenfists themselves, screaming and kicking at the shins of her captors.

"Oh no…" Jessica let out a sharp breath; it was a child. The small figure struggled mightily against Noxy's grip, but the raider was unfazed.

The prisoners were brought to the central posts and chained up by their wrists and ankles. The child kicked and spat, dangling from the post.

"Krong!" Noxy cried into the darkness as the rest of them retreated, "Krong, I give you… our offerings. And our eternal devotion." He fell to one knee.

An enormous shaped melted out of the shadows. Jessica's eyes widened as she took in the unnatural bulging muscles and green skin. The creature's enormous shoulders had simply kept expanding, so that its head jutted awkwardly out of its chest. Even so, it had to duck under, and step sideways through the low doorframe.

She had begun to suspect, on seeing the gut bags and the blood, but she had held out some hope that she was wrong.

Krong was not a human at all. It was some kind of misshapen supermutant.

It surveyed the crowd of raiders with its drooping, bloodshot eyes. Dried blood caked its chin, and ran down its chest. The tiny child chained to the posts froze, quivering in fear.

"Umm… Jericho?" she asked quietly, leaning towards her companion, "what is that?"

"A supermutant overlord." The former raider whispered, his face pale, "boss, we gotta get the fuck outta here."

"What about the kid?" she hissed.

"What about her?" Jericho shot back.

"She'll die!"

"You can always make more!" he snapped. Jessica turned to shoot him a deadly glare. He gazed back in defiance before they were both shushed by the surrounding raiders.

The Overlord raised its arms, each thick as a tree trunk. "I Krong! I… am strongest!"

The raiders whooped and hollered, pumping their fists. Below the din, the prisoners' whimpering intensified. Jessica found her gaze drawn to the little girl, trembling in terror.

"I stronger dan all you puny humans!" the freakish supermutant abomination declared, its voice rattling the windows.

"My lord…" Noxy squeaked, motioning at the posts, "your offerings."

The Overlord stepped towards the posts, and Jessica tensed, preparing to step forward herself. But Jericho grabbed her by the upper arm and shook his head in warning. To her relief creature did not approach the child. Instead it grabbed the elderly man first, surveying its prize. The Raiders jeered and chanted "Eat the Meek, Kill the weak! Eat the meek! Kill the weak!"

With no apparent effort, the overlord lifted the whimpering old man by the face and held him up for all to see. "Dis one… is WEAK!"

"Eat! Eat! EAT!" the raiders all chanted, working themselves into a frenzy.

Krong lifted the whimpering man to its mouth and took an enormous bite out of the side of the captive's head, leaving an enormous bloody hole behind. Jessica caught a glimpse of gooey red and purple brainmatter amidst broken shards of skull.

Chained to the next post over, the child let out a shrill, piercing scream of terror.

The supermutant roared, chunks of skull and hair and brain falling from its mouth as stumbled sideways. It clutched at its head. "QUIET! QUIET! QUIET!" the Overlord began to thrash around, knocking over the I-beams and leaving massive holes in the walls and desks all around as it worked itself into a frenzy.

Noxy reacted quickly, speeding over to the little girl and planting his hand over her mouth. Silence fell.

Krong paused for a moment, on its hands and knees. It glared with alien venom at the trembling child and raised one meaty finger. "NO NOISES! Cook dat one! Cook it… wid sauce!"

With that, the creature grabbed the corpse of the old man and dragged it by the foot back into the darkness, leaving a bloody trail on the floor behind him.

Noxy grinned and rose to his feet, as the creature settled back into the darkness. Jessica could hear the crunching of teeth and the snapping of frail bones.

"Our offering has been accepted, my Fam!" Noxy declared joyfully in his ear-assaulting nasal tone. "Take the rest to the Butcher!"

"So, Boss…" Jericho said conversationally as the raiders around them dispersed, "Overlords are strong enough ta fuck up Brotherhood Knights with Power Armour. He'll tear through our buddies outside like they was toilet paper. What's the plan?"

Jessica's gaze followed the child as she was dragged through a side door into another part of the hospital.

"Honestly…" she admitted, "I have no idea."

Next chapter will be a lot of Jason.