FMS/Tales from a raider/FS-Leader1
From Create Your Own Story
It took a while to get the leader of the raider band that helped the town against the super mutants to talk, but eventually I was able to.
"Bitch," he said as I walked by. "I thought you wanted to fucking talk?"
I stared at him. Bitch. Bitch. That is all he called me. While I appreciated what he did for the town, he was still a raider, still scum. Even his help did not come without strings. They just wanted supplies, and as one of the only settlements in his territory, he had no other choice other than to have his band scavenge local plants and try to bring down local widelife. Exploiting a town was much easier. And, of course if the town had been wiped out by the super mutants, he and his murderous, thieving band would have had to figure out how to become farmers. But his "name" for me was really starting to get to me. Bitch bitch bitch. It seemed like that was the only thing he called women.
"Yeah, when you have learned to say something I care to hear," I shot back at him. I admit, I had learned to talk tougher, in order to get him to even talk to me. "Right now I just hear you yap yap yapping like a fucking feral mongrel."
He threw his head back and roared, his chest rippling with mirth, his eyes twinkling with it. He didn't even look friendly laughing. He just looked mean, ugly, and sinister. It was strange to see how he would react one way, when I expected something else.
After he stopped, he eyed me for a few minutes. I stood there, just watching his eyes. While he may not be a feral dog, his eyes darted around like one, caged. He was a wild beast, with human intellect, and the cage just helped accentuate it.
"Sit," he barked. At first I almost protested, being addressed like the bitch he had named me. Sit bitch. Good bitch. Let me scratch behind your ears. Or shoot you in the head to put you out of my misery. I bit my tongue, seeing that indeed, he did seem willing to talk. I had worked all this time to try to get him to open up that I bit it, and said nothing. Instead, I sat beside his cage, just far enough away that he would not be able to reach me if he tried to grab.
I sat, turned on my pip boy, and we started talking.
His parents were simple people, living in a small town, not much different from the one he and his raiders had saved. During the day, they farmed the land surrounding the town proper in groups, one person always standing watch for bloatflies, radroaches, feral dogs, raiders, and all other manner of creature out to kill them. They would work together, in small groups close to each other, so if something attacked, they could face it together, with the person on watch warning if something came too close. As a community, they survived. Attacks normally managed to be stopped or avoided. Sometimes people were hurt, but rarely did people die. Which was good, since their community was alone and isolated. They did not have an influx of others to help replace the few who did die.
At night, they would go within the walls of their town, hiding behind the barbed wire and scrapped timber, tires stuffed in holes to try to keep things from slipping through the cracks in the boards. The fences were more garbage than fence, but it created a wall to help try to keep invaders out. They would huddle together over the barrels, fires burning to warm their hands, to cook some meager meat, and to illuminate them as they talked with the other members of the community.
It was a hard life for a 6 year old. Working all day, with a little play at night while everyone else was chatting and huddling. A stick. An old piece of chalk, an old whiteboard in one of the rooms of the residence, what was left of a pre-war school. He was the only child in the community now, most others being dead or grown up. One woman was pregnant, but the old people often remarked that it seemed harder and harder for the women to get pregnant. Other couples tried. He could see them, tumbling around back in the old shed, or sneaking off with a quick kiss to find a secluded spot between the junk wall and a building. He had watched a couple here or there, the girl squealing, the guy doing something in her pants. The two taking clothes off, then moaning and spasming and kissing and all manners of strange, gross stuff. He didn't understand it. Girls were strange, and anyways, all the girls were old, like his mother. But his mother was his mother, and he loved her anyways, especially when she would sneak him some cookies or other sweet she had found. A Dandy Boy Apple she had managed to trade for, or a gum drop she had managed to find in the old ruins piles. A couple times, even a treasured Nuka-Cola. It was warm, and flat, but it tasted wonderful, compared to the irradiated water he normally drank. And it did not make him feel nearly as sick as the water did. But, that was the way life was, in this world. Everything made you feel sick. At least they had radaway. Once someone started puking, skin turning slightly grey, or white for the blacks, the town leader would poke their arm, hook up that bag, and give them a couple days. Greg remembered being so sick after drinking from a strange water that he thought he was about to die. It helped make him feel better, but he hated that poke to get it in him.
"Wait," I interrupted him, "Why didn't anyone stop them from going off like that and having sex? I mean, were they married?"
"Fucking hell, no. The town was having no new members. Had to breed them bitches. Sometimes they would fuck right in the middle of the communal sleeping area. The other folks would pretend to ignore them. How else you imagine they were going to get more people in the town? Was nobody coming around to join up with us."
I nodded, then let him get back to the story.
Sex was basically a free for all. As long as your partner was willing, you could do whatever. Greg's parents were one of the few older traditionalists, choosing only to sleep with each other. When a woman got pregnant, it was a celebration. The women enjoyed it because she was lavished with food, with gifts. She was able to take a break, later in her pregnancy, and not work the fields, staying in the town and enjoying the shade, no danger, purified water. When a woman would be found to be pregnant, the town had a celebration. That was the first time Greg got to taste what they called beer from before the war. Of course, as a 6 year old, he hated it.
One night, while everyone was sleeping, the alarm bell was sounded. It cut off shortly after. Greg woke up groggily, rubbing his eyes, as the adults grabbed guns and rifles from the cabinet. As he ran outside, he saw them, the super mutants. Huge, menacing creatures. Green skin stretched over large muscles. The sentry's body slumped dead against the bell that was cut off quickly. He watched the red blood leak out of the smashed skull of the sentry as around him, the townspeople disappeared behind walls and started shooting.
One of the green skinned nightmares grabbed the dead sentry, ripped his leg off, and stumped around like a hulking brute. Greg watched in horror as he took the leg and beat one of the other defenders to death with it. His mind could not comprehend what was happening.
The brute stomped towards him, and he heard a scream, saw his mom dart passed him, pulling the trigger on the pistol she held in her hand, screaming something. The brute grinned, and swung the leg at her legs, bowling her over. She landed, looking right at Greg, and her voice finally sunk in.
"RUN! Hide! Get away Greg! Run away!" The brute hit her in the head, and her eyes rolled back. Greg felt warmth rush down his leg, staring into the face of this horrible monster. He turned and ran. He ran blindly, wildly. Finally, he found a hole, in the side of one of the unused buildings, and crawled into it. He pushed further inside, feeling the wall scrape against his skin, scratching and scraping and drawing blood. He eventually made it into the basement of the old place, and hid there. A small window in the basement allowed him to see what was going on. His ears allowed him to hear. The sound of guns going off, the sound of bullets bouncing off other surfaces. The sound of screams as people were killed, or taken by the monsters. The resistance to this invasion ended quickly as the green skinned super mutants marched through with efficiency. They may have been hulking brutes, but they were organized and thorough. Soon, everyone in his town was dead or captive in hastily assembled metal cages, made of boxes and shopping carts. Then, things got worse.
Three days they stayed, ripping arms and legs from the dead, taking bites out of them. Smacking their lips and remarking on the taste of this person or that person. Sometimes, they took bites out of the people while they screamed and cried until finally shock forced them to pass out. The super mutants laughed, enjoying their sport. The surviving women were rounded up, and Greg saw the gross stuff the boys and the girls would do with each other, while they giggled and moaned and made strange sounds. One of the women was his mother. He watched as the hulking super mutant that had tripped her with the sentry's leg ripped off her clothes. He watched as the brute lifted his loin cloth, grabbed both of her legs, and spread them. He shoved his penis at her exposed middle, while she begged and pleaded and cried. Then, his penis pushed into her middle, and she screamed. Shivers ran down Greg's spine as he heard it, never hearing a sound like that from a person before. The super mutant shoved his penis into her, right here her legs were spread. He pulled back, then shoved into her again. Each time, she screamed again, and Greg's eyes could not leave her. Each time he pushed, her entire body moved with the force, slammed backwards as he shoved forward. When he pulled out, Greg could see blood covering his engorged penis, dripping from his mother's exposed area. She was no longer screaming, just whimpering and huddled in on herself. The super mutant laughed, then started again. Soon, she no longer screamed. She no longer did anything. Greg watched as his mom was ripped apart by the super mutant's penis, as he savaged her body beyond the point of human endurance, and as the light went out of her eyes while the super mutant brute continued fucking her.
His dad screamed her name, and was grabbed by another super mutant. This one was hungry. His dad tried to hit, to kick, to punch, while the one super mutant roared with laughter. Grabbing his leg, he drug him back, then opened his mouth and brought that leg to his face. Teeth clamped over his leg, and Greg's dad roared in pain. A chuck of flesh came away in the super mutant's teeth, and he chewed, still grinning ear to ear while watching his dad try to crawl to his mom. He crawled away and the super mutant stood up, grabbing his other leg, and taking yet another bite. On and on this game went, with the super mutant laughing as his dad tried feebly to crawl towards his mom, her body being broken by the brute. As the light in her eyes went out, he started screaming himself, trying harder to crawl to her, even as his blood wet the parched earth from multiple areas. He never made it. The super mutant brute stepped on his back, and even from as far away as he was, Greg heard a snap and pop. The brute picked up his broken body, and as Greg's dad tried to feebly hit him with the last of his strength, even adrenaline could do nothing to a broken body that had lost that much blood. The brute brought his head up to his mouth and took a loud, crunching bite out of the top of his head. Greg's dad died as the brute played in the grey mush that was once his brain, before it too was eaten.
Other women were not as lucky, and survived the super mutant's repeated rapes. By the end of the third day, the women left alive were not much different than the women who were dead. Eyes seeing nothing. Empty shells from minds that had abandoned them after their bodies were tortured, brutalized, and used. The super mutant's semen left in gushes from broken vaginas, and the super mutants kept on using their torn and bloody holes. Three days where the super mutants ate these people he grew up with. Raped these women he grew up with.
On the third day, they left, leaving parts of bodies scattered around. Leaving walls and paths between buildings painted red in blood. The few who survived were taken off, for what horrors, Greg could not imagine. As he looked around the broken town, nothing moved but him.
The leader of the first band interviewed. His parents dies to a supermutant attack when he was 6. He hid and watched it all, as they raped his mom, the other women of the community. As they ate his dad. His mom, eventually, after they were done with her, and her body was already broken and lifeless. He watched the same things happen to his neighbors. His friends. Three days later, the super mutants finally moved on.
He lived for two years alone, surviving off mud puddles left by the rain, bugs found under fallen tree branches, plant leaves. Random scraps of rotting food left behind by one group or another.
He finally was caught when he was 8, trying to steal from a band of raiders. They taught him a painful lesson, but then enlisted him as a member of the raiders group. He rose quickly, learning to fight, learning to kill. While he was young, he was swift and agile. And smart, figuring out ways to kill. As he got older, as he left puberty, he developed into a large and intimidating man. Soon after his 17th birthday, he challenged the leader of the band, and lost. He was cast out, but he had learned. He found stragglers, formed them into a band. Small at first, it grew until it was one of the larger roaming bands in the wastes.
He made the band tough, and pushed them hard, culling the weak quickly, to either die, be exiled, or be sold as slaves. Women he took care of. His band knew not to kill the women. The last member to kill a woman died slowly and painfully at his hands. Not because he cared about women. They could hurt them. They could make them cry, make them bleed. He didn't care. As long as they were capable of bearing offspring, and of being able to take care of themselves (So not maimed or crippled), he didn't care what his men did with them. They were nothing but bitches, there for breeding and release of sexual energy.
