[A bloodied holotape is enclosed]
“Well, well, what do we have here? A bear and its Mirelurk bitch?” One of the Raiders remarked.
A Gunner got into a shoving match with a Raider. “The only bitch I see here is you. Did you get off your leash? Lose your balls in your whore’s purse?”
A Raider eyed a Synth up and down. “I’m going to enjoy using your skull as my next pocket pal.”
“Your logic is flawed, as is your organic body. You will now be destroyed,” replied a Synth.
“I’m going to enjoy kicking your ass all over the Wasteland,” quipped a Gunner.
[The Mighty Bear God growled menacingly]
“You guys are enjoying each other way too much. Maybe you should all just get a room and go fuck each other. I’m just trying to have a drink here. So, if you could please shut the hell up and take your ‘foreplay’ elsewhere, that’d be great.” He slammed his empty glass down on the bar counter.
Now, again, all eyes were upon him and the Mirelurk that whispered in his ear.
“Want me to take care of it?” Ben clattered his claws, surveying the perpetrators.
[The Mighty Bear God sighed heavily]
“If you want to handle this, go for it. However, if they disturb me while I am drinking and I spill even a drop. . .Maker help me, I will destroy someone’s ass.”
Ben nodded. “Noted.”
He turned and approached the mass of men and women and machines that loitered the front door of the bar. “I trust we can take this outside, so as not to incur the wrath of The Mighty Bear God.”
“FUCK YOU,” a Raider yelled as they reached for their pistol and started to shoot up the place. “This is our turf! Get out!”
An eruption over whose. . .turf. . .this belonged to ensued.
Soon enough, everyone was outside, pushing, shoving, fornicating, blowing each other up, shooting one another. . .it was a real clusterfuck. Ben stood in the middle of it all, waiting for someone to make a move. When one would, it’d be the start of a massacre.
Lying in wait underground were a pair of Deathclaws. They watched as the crowd fought among itself. Silently, they spoke to one another.
“Do we strike now?”
“No. . .let them kill themselves off. If anything, we can just pick the remains. He is there after all. . .we’d only be signing our death warrants.”
One nodded in agreement, and recoiled.
“COME GET SOME, SUCKAS!” A Raider yelled wildly, shooing his gun about at anything, friend and foe alike.
Another Raider took note and shot him square between the eyes.
Synths muttered nonsense about ‘logic’ and ‘sensors’ and other robotic hubbub, while Gunners called out commands, and tried to maintain an order among the chaos. Raiders continued to bellow their war cries, lob grenades, and whatever. Ben still stood in the middle, waiting. They were killing each other off, without the need for his intervening.
He sighed. Should I just kill them all? Or should I just wait and see how this plays out?
“Ben, c’mere.” The Mighty Bear God called out to him.
Ben went inside the bar and stood next to the Bear God.
“Just sit and drink.”
Ben was a tad disheartened. “But there is killing to be done.”
“Not necessarily. They’ll kill each other off before anything.”
“You’ve. . .changed,” remarked Ben.
“You will, too, one day. When you get tired of things being on repeat.”
For then, the unfortunate happened. A Gunner was thrown into the bar by a Super Mutant, and struck The Mighty Bear God’s backside, causing him to spill a few drops of his beer. Ben looked over at the sad sap that laid crumpled, then up to the majestic Bear God.
“Pick out a song, Ben. It’s wrecking time!”
Ben went over to the jukebox, and scanned the musical catalog. Meanwhile, The Mighty Bear God picked up the dead Gunner and dragged him outside. The streets were in total chaos, more so now, than before. A squad of Super Mutants had shown up, along with more Synths, Raiders, Gunners, some mole rats, dogs, a Radscorpion, Bloatflies, Stingwings, and even some rogue Protectrons. It was a grand clusterfuck.
The Deathclaws observed the spectacle.
“What should we do?”
. . .
“Forget it. It’s about to get stupid here. Let’s fall back and watch elsewhere.”
The two slinked off using the old subway system.
“Hmm. . .how about this one?” Ben attempted to push a button on the jukebox, but his pincers were too large. “Dammit all!” He looked around and found the frightened barkeep. “Hey, do you mind pressing the ‘play’ button for me please?”
The scared barkeep nodded, and hurried over to the jukebox, pressed play, and then fled to his basement bunker.
Ben turned attentively to the jukebox, listening to his choice. “Sixty minute man, sixty minute ma-a-a-an.”
Ben tapped his claws to the music.
“Good choice, Ben,” shouted the Bear God from the streets. “Although, I don’t think we’ll be spending 60 minutes. Now, get out here and join me in giving these fine folks a good ole fashioned ass whooping.”
The Mighty Bear God wounded up his massive arms with the Gunner’s body and smashed it against the crowd. “ROAD HOUSE!”
All eyes laid upon the magnificent beast. It was the first time in the Commonwealth’s history, that feral beast, ghoul, Raider, Gunner, Super Mutant, and so on, joined together to try and stop the savagery of one, Mighty Wasteland Bear God.
Ben rolled himself tight into a ball and spun out to the street, smashing into foes, “Like a wrecking ball!”
[End Side one]