Aim to Please

1 | Gun-for-Hire

Goodneighbor wasn't one of her most favorite places to visit, but better than Covenant—which made her skin crawl—or the judgmental Brotherhood of Steel. Even though Ghouls, chem heads, and outcasts filled the small town, everyone had always been polite; Hancock and Daisy made her feel welcome, even with them knowing what she did. Her entirely black attire and armor made her easy to identify but hard to see in the dark; nothing on her reflected or had color, except for her neck-length, wavy blonde hair, and green eyes. But Aurora wasn't here for a visit; she needed someone who could shoot and wasn't afraid to take on a group of deadly Gunners.

Most would consider her a mercenary, but she didn't kill for caps or because she enjoyed it; she did it hoping to make the Commonwealth a better place—as safe as the United States reduced to a dangerous, radiated wasteland could be. The greatest nation in the world had been decimated by an atomic annihilation 200 years ago. Those who tried to survive lived a survival-of-the-fittest life. Everything outside of the settlements tried to kill you, and sometimes even inside, too. Hence Aurora going out to kill those before they could kill her or others.

She had come to find someone named MacCready—talk circulated that he once ran with Gunners, but now offered his services to those who could buy him. He sounded like the one for the job, but Aurora desperately hoped she wasn't wrong again—she had wasted caps on past hired guns, only to have them die on their first job. She was running low on money.

Aurora didn't stop to greet Daisy like usual; she went straight to The Third Rail—MacCready was supposed to be somewhere in the bar/lounge. She nodded in greeting to Ham—the Ghoul bouncer—as she headed down into what once used to be a Metro station. Jazz and a woman's raspy voice reached her as she descended the two flights of stairs; it sounded like Magnolia worked tonight.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs to look over The Third Rail: once accustomed to the cigarette smoke hanging like fog, she could see many settlers and drifters had gathered into Goodneighbor's only bar to drink the night away. If the residents weren't shooting up with chems, they were drinking themselves to a hangover. Whitechapel Charlie—a British Mr. Handy—served drinks as the barkeep behind the counter. As she had figured, Magnolia, in her low-cut red sequin dress, sang on the stage. Aurora searched the customers for anyone who looked like a mercenary; no one fit the description.

She walked up to the bar to ask the robot wearing a bowler hat if he knew where she could find MacCready.

"Ah, Aurora; nice to have you walk in the door again," Whitechapel Charlie greeted when one of his three eyestalks spotted her. "The usual?"

"Not tonight. I'm here for business. Do you know a MacCready and where I can find him?"

One of his three arms pointed behind her to the right. "Take the door to the VIP Room."

She thanked him as she headed for the open doorway; down the short hallway, male voices echoed to her. Aurora stepped into the VIP Room—nicer than the rest of The Third Rail but with gaudy red furniture and faded red walls—to find three men: two stood and looked like Gunners because of the armor they wore; the third was seated and wore an army-green postman hat, a shredded tan duster with the left sleeve torn off, a watch on his right wrist, binoculars hooked on his belt, and many pouches and bandoliers wrapped around his waist and left thigh. A sniper rifle was propped against his chair. That had to be MacCready.

She hadn't expected him to be handsome enough to catch her eye: he had short light-brown hair, mostly hidden by the squat hat, sharp blue eyes, and a neat goatee framing his small mouth. Being attractive didn't matter in this world now, your gun arm did. But past appearances, he held an air of confidence and he surely looked capable—he'd do.

His eyes quickly caught sight of her, then turned back to the other two.

"Can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready," one of the standing men said.

"I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock," MacCready responded. "Should we take this outside?"

"You want to?" the other one challenged—he looked eager for a fight.

Winlock looked at his hot-headed partner. "Barnes, knock off the shit." He turned back to MacCready. "It ain't like that; I'm just here to deliver a message."

"In case you forgot, I don't run with the Gunners anymore."

"Yeah, I heard. But you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth; that isn't going to work for us."

"I don't take orders from you... not anymore. So, why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can."

"Girlfriend?" Barnes repeated and looked behind him to see Aurora. His eyebrows rose. "I'd gladly take that one." His eyes, shining with lust, looked her up and down.

A shiver raced over her skin; she glared at him. "Get your eyes off me."

He smirked. "Oh, you wouldn't be talking like that later."

Aurora almost drew her gun to shoot him between the eyes; Winlock saved him from being shot by telling him it was time to go and they walked out. She hoped their paths would cross again so she could kill him for his insolence.

She turned back to MacCready watching her.

"You think I would be with someone like them? I would be with a Ghoul first; most have better manners."

He slightly winced. "No, you look like you have a head on your shoulders," MacCready began. "I didn't have a good look at you, so I paired you with them. Apologies."

At least he sounded like he had some decency. "I know I look like a mercenary like them, but I'm at least civil. Apology accepted." She crossed her arms—time to get to business. "I came down here for help, but from what I just heard, sounds like you're out of business."

His eyes shot to her. "Are you kidding me? I'm not about to let a couple of Gunner rejects stand between me and a solid payday."

"So, you're saying you'd do what needs to be done to keep them from messing up my plans?"

"You don't have to worry about them; they just step on others to get to the top—they're all talk. That's how it goes when you run with Gunners."

"Because you used to be one." Mercenaries rarely liked talking about their pasts, but if he started gushing about it right off, it meant he was too soft. She had learned to test them. "Why'd you leave?"

"I've already said too much."

She kept pushing. "What you do: cross them?"

He grew defensive. "Look, lady, if you're preaching about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun, then maybe we can talk."

He got straight to the point; good. "That's why I came to find you. How much?"

"250 caps," he said.

She had bought the past gun-for-hires for less than that. "200 caps," she countered.

"225."

He would learn that she wasn't easily swayed. "200."

His eyes narrowed. "210 caps. Last offer."

"200 caps. Last offer."

She didn't back down from his staring contest; experience had taught her that men like him liked diligence—they would not waste their time on someone without a backbone. MacCready liked what he saw in her eyes, for he gave a small nod before picking up his gun as he stood. "You drive a hard bargain, lady, but I'm yours; 200 caps. You won't be disappointed."

"The name's Aurora, and I hope not." After giving him his money, she turned for the exit. "Maybe this investment will pay off."