Chapter Text
After you’re done stroking Mason’s ego (and other things), you head out to meet the new pack members. Nothing like a group of newbies to put your eye to the test. None were very interesting, except for one shifty eyed fellow who might be an Operator in disguise. Nisha never bothered sending anyone else now that you were there. You’d still out a few pack members as Disciples every so often just to keep Mason on his toes. He loved seeing you root out “traitors” in the crew. He definitely liked the idea of being important enough to infiltrate. Which, considering your position, was more than fair.
“Hey Overboss. Making trouble? Good.” You move to the sidelines quickly to let him through. Did not need to get involved in that business. You had your hands full as it is.
“Hey, watch it!” You turn to snarl at the guy who'd barked at and elbowed you, but you freeze when you see him.
Holy shit.
“What? You deaf?” He tries to push past you but you plant your feet firmly on the ground.
“Hey, man, you better lay off. That’s Beta.” One of the pack veterans mumbles.
“I’m supposed to be impressed? What the hell kind of name is that anyway? Beta. Just another word for bitch.”
Well, Lil Bobby always had a mouth on him.
“Easy, Beta. That’s one of the Overboss’s men.” Another pack veteran whispers to you, knowing you’d bite anyone’s head off who called you a bitch. Quite literally. Raider psychos aren’t known for their flowery vocabulary after all. Just ask the decapitated body rotting in the gorilla cage.
But, you’re not stupid. You’re also not going to let a former mayor get away with calling you that.
“Sorry, stranger.” You bow heavily and the pack nudges each other, confused but intrigued.
“Yeah, whatever.” He pushes past you but you put a hand on his arm. Gently, so as not to spook him.
“What’s your name?”
“MacCready.”
“Ah, MacCready. I’m Beta.”
“Yeah I heard.” He notices that you’re a woman now, and feels slightly bad about the bitch comment. Makes sense that it took him a while, considering you're bald save for one patch, and not very curvy. “Well, what do you want?”
“I see you have a sniper there. Are you any good with it?”
He smirks. “The best.”
“Would you perhaps show me some pointers?”
“Do I look like a teacher to you?” He asks, dripping with disdain.
“Please?” And yes, that is the magic word.
“Eh, what the hell. Boss is taking forever anyway.” The pack makes room for the two of you, circling up and like they're ready for a show. Bobby pays them no mind.“Alright Beta, show me what you got.”
You lift the rifle from your belt and get into stance.
“Not bad, but your feet should be wider apart.”
You know for a fact your stance was fine but if he wants to show off, you’ll oblige. You adjust and he nods appraisingly. “So do you guys have targets around here? Gonna need to see you in action before I can help more.”
“Yeah, we keep the bitch- uh, dogs over there. You can use one of them,” a rookie pipes up helpfully.
“Actually I would really like pointers on how to reload, MacCready.”
He gives you an exasperated look. “Are you serious? How can you be a raider and not know how to reload?”
You shrug innocently. “I always find loaded guns on the people I kill. I just use those.”
“Really. You’re telling me you never reload that heavily modded rifle you’re carrying?”
You sigh. “Fine. I want to see how a good sniper reloads. You need to be quick and efficient and precise.” That’s obviously true for all guns but flattery will get you anywhere.
“Alright, fine.”
He’s clearly enjoying this, and barely able to act like he has better things to do. The Overboss is currently engaged in some lively chatter with your Alpha. So I guess that makes MacCready the Overboss’s Beta.
"My rifle is always loaded but I can go through the motions with you. Step one, you duck behind cover. I know you raiders like to just run out into the open, but a good marksman always finds cover. Next you grab y-“ he stops abruptly when he reaches down to his leg and feels only fabric.
“Next you make sure you have enough ammo? Or does that come before step one?” You wrap his ammo belt around your neck like a scarf, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“How did you- the bow. You took it off me during your freaking bow didn’t you?” He’s pissed but he’s also impressed.
The crowd cheers and starts yelling your name again.
“Beta! Beta!”
“Anything fun happen while I was gone?” The Overboss walks up and the crowd pretends to disperse. By moving all of three feet in the exact same direction.
You wait for MacCready’s response. He was a lot of things, but someone who can’t take a joke probably wasn’t it. And a snitch, definitely not.
“Just showing Beta here some tricks for better aim.”
“And your ammo belt around her neck?”
“Uh…”
You jump in. “It fell off and I was picking it up for him. But I wanted to try it on, first. You know, women and their accessorizing.”
He could make a sexist remark here, but he doesn’t. “Hey, we all like scarves.”
“Well here you go Bo-MacCready.” You take the ammo belt and wrap it around his leg again, lingering slightly on his inner thigh. The pack hollers in appreciation.
Even the Overboss is amused, watching Mac turn pink and shove his cap even further over his face.
“You’re fun, Beta. No wonder you’re Mason’s favorite.”
“Aw, shucks. Thank you, Overboss.”
For the first time in ages, Mason falls asleep before you. Normally you’d be exhausted either from missions, terrorizing local population, or sex, but today he was adamant that he was plenty serviced. And you hadn’t actually terrorized anyone besides that Sherry. And really, Nisha and Dixie were the ones who did the terrorizing. All you did was get shanked.
You deserve a drink. And not just a beer or cola from a pack member; a cold one to crack open, and watch the fizz bubble over into the condensation streaks. You head over to Cappy's Cafe.
“Beta!” The few pack members in the bar greet you, while the other two gangs give you dirty looks.
“Pilsner?” Lauren remembers your favorite drink.
“Thanks.”
There are no empty seats, so you lean against the bar. One Operator pats his legs suggestively and you flip him off. Inter-gang intercourse is highly frowned upon. Not to mention, for you, even intra-gang intercourse is unpleasant.
“You’re popular aren’t you.”
MacCready makes his way to the bar and orders an Ale.
“Nah, raiders will jump anything with a pulse.”
“Is that true for you too?” He’s up against the bar, hands pressed onto the counter, facing the door. Good sniper always watches his corners. He’s probably asking as banter, but you’ll take it as a sign of interest.
He has the look you like; young, skinny, blue eyes. No garish outfit.
You hate gang armor. Not just the fuzzy pack armor, but the black studded operator armor and the Disciple bandages. Why does everyone need a uniform? Why does everyone feel the need to be the same?
But you weren’t strong enough to make it on your own. Not now. Maybe not ever. So you put on the paint, play your part, and take solace in the fact you get to hunt, that you’re not the prey. As long as you’re on the boss’s good side.
“Eh, I’m more of a one-man woman.”
“That’s pretty traditional for a raider.” He takes a gulp of ale and you watch his Adam’s apple bob.
“Nobody else would dare.”
“Dare to piss off your ‘Alpha’?” He emphasizes the last word mockingly.
You know better than this. Don’t draw attention to yourself outside the amphitheater. Don’t draw attention from the Overboss. Don’t draw attention from someone who could fuck you over.
And Bobby checked all three boxes. But right now you really wanted him to fuck you. Over. Over a desk, over the giddyup buttercup, over Dixie’s dead decaying body.
Without your permission, your knife comes out of its holster.
“Dare to piss me off.” You whisper the words in his ear as you cut open one of his belt loops.
“Wow.” He’s breathless and turned on and you’re dying to pull him by his collar to an empty bench outside.
But then what? Use a stealthboy so nobody will see you two going at it? Sneak out to the train and do it on the seats that brought you here?
Convince him to ask the Overboss to let you tag along?
Run away with him so things can go back to when they were easy, just a bunch of kids doing stupid shit?
He’s not Mayor MacCready anymore, and you’re long past 15.
You take your knife and stick it deep into the counter, two millimeters from his hand. The Pack whoops in excitement, and Lauren swats at you. “You know my rules!”
“Sorry Lauren.” You toss a pile of caps to pay for your drink and the dent, pull the knife out, and leave.
After your unsuccessful attempt at unwinding in the bar, you decide to take a walk around the grounds. Not much to look at, since attractions are all closed down still.
Colter was supposed to deal with that. Hopefully the new Overboss would actually do something besides make fun of Mason. Though admittedly you'd enjoyed the previous one's ribbing. Watching the Alpha, the fucking king of the Pack, get joshed by that middle-aged potbellied oaf.
Of course then he'd need to show everyone who was boss, and you'd be bow legged for a week. Can't sneak right when your thighs are chafed, and despite MacCready's assertions, not every raider wanted to stand out in the open and rain bullets everywhere. Sure, unloading a clip proudly out in the open was nice. But specialized ammo is expensive, and stims aren't cheap either. Stealth was a clear choice for you.
Sometimes your calculated manner made people wonder why you didn't join the Operators. You'd thought about it. You looked good in black. And it's nice not to stare at bloody stakes and neon colors all the time.
But you can't stand privileged little snobs. And as much as they pride themselves on their sophistication, a thief is a thief.
So Mags, Willam, revel in your notoriety. Don't dress it up with buttons and bows.
In the end we are all trash.
"You left your Pilsner."
You exit your dark thoughts to toss a glare at whoever decided your storm-out needed a follow-up.
You expect Bobby, but to your surprise, the Overboss is standing in front of you.
He lets you stare for a few seconds. "Go on, it won't stay fizzy for long."
"Uh, thanks, Overboss." You take the bottle from him and twist off the cap with your calloused palm. The sound of air seeping into froth makes your mouth water. You raise the beer in a cheers gesture and take the first effervescent sip.
The first sip is always the best. You find yourself thinking about it more often than not, your hunger increased irrespective of your appetite, until it becomes a craving that's part of you. Alcohol, sugar, chems, it makes no difference.
Nothing is quite like the first time. Do we chase it because it is our nature, to go after what we can't have? Or because the experience is so different, the not having to having, the not feeling to feeling, or vice versa; that we have to make sure it's real.
We know we can't have the "first time" of that thing ever again. But we want it: and maybe that's what makes us human.
"What's up?"
"Hmm?" This is the second time you've lost yourself in thought in his presence. He must think you an airhead. Or perhaps, himself intimidating. Suits you fine either or.
"You had this pensive look on your face. Lauren put something special in her Pilsners?"
"Just good old fashioned love."
He chuckles. "You believe in love?"
"Baby, quit raiding my heart," you sing back at him.
He pulls out lighter and waves it back and forth.
"You want a smoke?" You dig through your pockets for a cig.
"Ah, no. Before your time I guess. By centuries."
Unsure how to respond, you take another swig.
"So what were you actually thinking about?"
Well, it couldn't hurt to tell him. "First time I tried booze."
"Snuck one off the old man?"
"Tch. As if." He looks at you with what comes scarily close to concern. You quickly continue. "Nah me and a buddy found a whole case in a dumpster while scavenging. We each had two and passed out right after."
The Overboss snorts and you color slightly. "Hey, prepubescents are all lightweights."
"I'm more surprised that you were digging through trash."
"You find some good stuff in there. Case in point." You grin at your accidental pun. "Anyway, the may- our older brother comes to look for us when it gets dark. When he stumbles on us, groggy as shit, he's about ready to whoop our ass. So we convince him to try one."
"And he forgave you?"
"Hell, he didn't even finish one before puking his guts all over his boots. Swore us to secrecy and gave us the week off."
He cocks his head at you. "Week off?"
"Yeah from… chores."
"Hmm, never heard of scavenging as a chore, but I suppose everyone does weird things to get by."
"Exactly."
He looks at you, appraising, and it's extremely uncomfortable. Reminds you of all kinds of bad things: slavers deciding your price, Dixie deciding whether to recruit or kill you, Mason deciding what position he wanted you in. It's time to get out of there. "Well, thanks for the company, Overboss."
"Anytime."
You're a good ten feet away before he calls after you.
"So what did Mac say to make you pull your knife on him?"
A wise woman would find some brown-nosing way to reply. But wisdom is so out of character for a raider.
"Must have said something right, because I missed."
Most of the Pack is asleep now, except for the night owls and the ones on watch.
You head to your own bunk, so you can have a quiet night. Mason's snores are the stuff of nightmares, or at least, migraines.
You check the blanket carefully in case someone tried to cover it with wonderglue again, and find 4 razor blades strategically sewn in. Someone was busy while you were out.
You disarm them quickly and wrap yourself up, testing the layout. Yup, they were placed carefully so you would bleed out in a few hours. Only one thing left to do. Pretend to be asleep and see who checks on you.
Ironically, time passes incredibly slow when you need to feign sleep. Nothing is harder than staying up while comfortably tucked in and regulating your breathing. Your patience is rewarded when the perpetrator sneaks in after one hour. Amateur. Even if you hadn't disarmed the blades, you wouldn't be dead yet.
To his credit he steps over the two trip wires you set and bends down to check your pulse. You grab his wrist and jab him with a syringe before he can draw his knife.
"It's not nice to interrupt a lady's beauty sleep."
You light the lantern in the room so you can get a better look. Shifty-eyed guy from earlier. Guess you're not losing your touch.
"You know there's no killing in the Pack, right?"
He looks at you calmly. "What did you do to me?"
"Sorry, I'm asking the questions this time. So, who sent you?"
His voice is relaxed. "I'm not telling you anything."
"If you answer my questions, I might give you more options. If you're stubborn, there's only one road for you."
"You said yourself, no killing in the Pack."
"Once I reveal you're a traitor, all bets are off."
"Is Mason willing to break peace over one guy?"
"Want to find out?"
He sighs. "Fine, I guess I might as well cooperate."
"Hold out your wrist, please."
He does and you dose him with another syringe. "Thank you. Now, who sent you?"
"Does it matter?"
You roll your eyes. "So much for cooperation. You know I might be the only one who can help you?"
"Why should I believe you?"
"Do you have a choice?'
"Ugh. Ok. Mags sent me."
"Why does she want me dead?"
"Hello, we're enemies?!"
This had started out interesting, but now it's getting tedious. Boring.
"Last chance. Why. Specifically. Me."
"I don't know! She only said to make sure I wasn't caught."
Guess that's why they say if you want to do a good job, do it yourself. You take the empty syringes and jab them in your neck, hard enough to draw blood.
"Wait, what are you doing?"
"5 seconds." You unbutton his pants, pull them down, and rip open your shirt.
"Hold on-"
You pull your own pants down your thighs, keeping your underwear on, drop back into the bed, and start screaming at the top of your lungs.
"No! Stop! Get off!"
A Pack veteran ambles in, thinking it's a prank and wanting to see who got you good, and trips over both the tripwires.
The spy tries to book it, but forgets to pull his pants back up and falls.
You hold in a smirk and continue to lie there, screaming while pretending to be paralyzed. When the smoke clears, the veteran sees the guy with pants around his ankles. "Shit! Get Alpha!" He holds the spy at gunpoint. See, this is how it's done. You wait for the gang leader to make the final call.
"So why the hell was this worth waking me- Beta!"
Mason's stroll turns into a sprint as he crosses the room and pulls a blanket over you.
"He injected me… with something… can't move!"
"It's not what it looks like!" The spy starts babbling, trying to come up with an explanation that doesn't involve him being a spy. "I wouldn't set tripwires myself. She injected me!"
"She injected you so you'd fuck her?!"
"Yes! No! It was something that made me calm! She was trying to get me to tell her why I was about to kill her! And when I wouldn't tell her why, she pulled my pants down-"
"You. What?"
"I was just following orders!"
"Hold him still."
A crowd had formed by now, and three members step forward and grab him.
"You can't kill me! You'll start a war!"
Mason pulls the knife from his belt. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you. I'm just going to make sure you never fuck anyone again."
You don't have a clear view, but you can hear the screaming and the blood gushing. You start twitching, like your limbs are finally starting to move again.
"Tape him up so he won't bleed to death right away. Then throw him out. See which gang claims him."
You all knew no one would.
He turns to you and walks over, wraps you up in your blanket, and carries you back to his tent.
"I'm sorry, Alpha. I wasn't strong enough-"
"Shh." He sets you down and unwraps you, and starts checking you for injuries.
"I-"
He silences you with an urgent kiss, and pulls you gently out of your clothes. "You're safe now, Beta.
You're mine, you know that?”
"Yes, Alpha."
He runs his fingers over your skin, making sure every inch is ok. When he's finally satisfied, he spoons you without trying to shove his dick in.
His breathing slows as he falls asleep. But your heart is racing too fast to drift off. You stay awake the rest of the night.