Filed under: Game Posts
After a good twenty-minute walk through the bustling city, the three travelers reach the outskirts of The Den. A large wall build from rocks, dirt, debris, and various scraps of old structure barricades the wilds of the outside world from the relatively tame insides of the town. As they follow the wall north, it suddenly drops off at a point where the solid ground meets a steep, rocky cliffside. Past the sudden drop, they can see the remnants of an ancient city far below; skeletal and lifeless. Huge buildings spring up from the cracked, scorched cement - boney silhouettes standing against the backdrop of a barren mountainside. The sun peeks over the tops of the colossal mountain range, offering a surprisingly breath-taking view, despite the rampant destruction.
After taking a moment to enjoy the view, the sun finally disappears on the horizon. They glance around, looking for something that resembles a junk yard. In the distance, farther along the cliffside, they spot a rusty, chain link fence. As they approach closer, they can see piles of old junk stacked high above the ground. After a minute of searching for an entrance, they spot a large gap in the chain link fence. Two scrappy looking guards lean against the buckling fence on either side of the gap, each holding a rifle and smoking a cigarette. When they spot the three onlookers, they straighten up and glance at each other quizzically.
Well, this has got to be it. There’s no sign or anything that indicates “Big Norm’s”, but there’s nothing but abandoned buildings and shanties as far as the eye can see. What do you do?
Not your cup of tea, but…
“You’re a lucky man, Mason.” DeAngelo says as he shifts in his seat and chomps on his cigar. “You need cash, and I need a babysitter. The last Wolf Pack I dealt with got smoked, so now I’m trying to put together a new one. Got a couple of candidates in mind, and they just might have some potential. They’re pretty green, but they look like they can handle themselves.”
DeAngelo grins and lifts himself out of his chair before offering Mr. Meth a grimy glass full cigar ashes and spat-up phlegm. Assuming Mason turns it down, the fixer hobbles his way over to the bar has he continues to speak.
“I don’t like dealing with newbies, Mace. But I don’t have much of a choice. I need you to keep an eye on them. Not that I trust you anymore then I trust them, but I least I’ll have an easier time tracking you down, should they get any bright ideas. Let’s make this simple. You tag along, make yourself useful, and make sure they don’t screw me. If everything turns out, you get a cut of the deal. How’s that sound?”
Babysitting… It sounds like bitch-work, but at the moment, bitch-work is the only thing that’s paying. What do you do?
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