Vol. III Chapter 71 Under New Management 

Chapter 70 Under New Management

"Here it is." Rosie found the hatch in the ground, hidden in the forest behind The Grand. "Janey." She stepped back, letting Janey cut the rusted metal away.

She'd led her team and another. The rest of the fifty strong Recon already in position. Half in covert positions outside. The others inside, hiding in plain sight. The hatch snapped open and swung in to reveal a long ladder.

Rosie led them through the tunnels to where they'd found the Velo. Janey stopped dead in front of her. "Janey, talk to me." Rosie saw the fear that went through the team. Except for those that knew Janey. "Hey, remember when we play board games. We're not in jail, we're just visiting." Rosie saw the red light lighter flicker. Janey had been trapped in these tunnels for a century.

"Just visiting. Confirmed." Janey started walking again.

Past the old world vault door they came to the lift. "You ready?" She asked John.

"Ready." John didn't blink. They stripped down to the Shadow suits. Suppressed pistols gripped tight.

Rosie tried to think of something funny to break the tension. She couldn't.

The lift reached the top. A door opened, revealing pistons behind the wall panel. They seemed to take a long time to open. When they did, Rosie moved in.

Standing in the middle of the room, a raider stared at them. He looked like he didn't think they were real. Rosie dropped him with a clean headshot. Then the two on the couch before they even realised. John dropped the last target in the bed as the thuds woke him.

With the lift already on the way back down, they covered the entrance. Rosie approached the wooden door and tried a trick Virgil taught her. She placed two fingers on the door, concentrating to activate the function. She felt the vibrations, slowly becoming attuned to them. Rosie heard snoring.

She signalled to John, and eased open the door. John grabbed the sleeping guard, tossing him into the room. Rosie dropped him. Janey appeared a moment later, carrying a heavy bag. Rosie took it and padded silently along the hall. She hung a claymore on each door handle. Rigging each one to blow on the way back.

Rosie led the team to the third floor, bustling with activity. Tired slaves worked the production line along the gutted floor. Armed raiders stood over them, sampling the product at will. She gave John a nod.

Together they dove into the dreamlike state. Flames on Bunsen burners almost froze. The dripping of distilled compounds came to a near stop. Rosie walked calmly down the middle of the room, dropping targets on the right. John did the same on the left.

Time snapped back as terrified slaves cowered and put up their hands. Rosie walked up to one of them, a man shaking with fear. "Sit tight. Few more minutes and you're all getting out of here." The chance at freedom registered. "Keep them quiet and spread the word." He hurried away, his nervous energy put to good use.

The team split. Half covering the third floor, half covering the fourth. John and Rosie went to the second floor, looking down into the lobby. "All callsigns, this is Tornado. Final positions."

The party continued in the once opulent bar and ballroom below. Raiders jeered slaves fighting to the death for sport. Others threw back drinks and chems. Recon scouts casually put themselves in striking distance.

Rosie broke into the hotel's network. She accessed the lights and loudspeakers. She took a moment, remembering the fear this place once held over her. That fear left her, never to return.

"Attention raider scum." Rosie's voice boomed from every speaker, bringing the party to a stop. "The Grand is under new management. And we are instituting some new house rules. Anyone who wants to live through the next ten minutes, lie down and stay down." She heard a laugh. "Oh and all slave collars are disabled." The red light on the dozens of collars shut off. Then the lights went out and the music started.

Rosie dropped into the lobby, landing in the dreamlike state. John went for the ballroom. Rosie went for the bar. The very place she had been destined for on her first day above ground.

The shock of the darkness and blaring music took them by surprise. Scouts stabbed guards, taking their guns. A slave glassed her captor, following up with a tray across the face. Rosie weaved through the chaos, sword and pistol in hand. Graceful strikes took limbs off. Precise headshots killed raiders where they stood. Explosions sounded above.

"Clear!" Rosie yelled as time snapped back and bodies hit the floor. "Rearm in the lobby, sweep and clear!" She zipped across to the reception desk, breaking the chain and padlock with her hands. John met her. "You're late." She joked, while handing out carbines.

"Sorry Boss." John reloaded. "On your go."

"Go." Rosie took point, scouts at her back.

Automatic fire rained down from above. Wild and undisciplined, pockmarking the walls. Tight bursts dropped the attackers. The hall stretched out before her, door after door. They split into pairs, kicking and clearing.

"Tornado, Whirlwind." Charlie came over the comm. "Got a guest requesting a late checkout."

"That's not our policy. Inbound." Rosie bounded up to the fifth floor, heading for the gunfire.

Charlie saw to one of the wounded scouts, Matt returned fire into the room. "Sons of bitches are dug in." Matt reloaded.

"Cover me." Rosie crouched, and tapped Matt's back.

She rolled under the bullets, sliding in the ink black blood on the wooden floor. A pair of ghouls broke cover from behind a desk. Rosie ripped the weapons from their hands, throwing them into the hall. "Engage!" She yelled. The scouts barrelled in. "Hands!" Rosie demanded, covering the ghouls.

They surrendered. As Matt patted them down, he pulled something from one of their vests. Strips of red cloth.

"You're Red Hand?" She kept her voice cold. "You were soldiers once. Special Operations Group. Running Omega extractions when the bombs fell." They glared at her, stunned at what she knew. "I took out your crew. Slaughtered them like the pigs they were." One of them lunged for her, as she'd hoped. A pair of swift slashes took his arms then head off. The other one didn't react.

"I used to think that you were all the same. That the change made you monsters. It didn't. It just showed the world what you already were." Rosie waited for a reaction. None came.

"You gonna talk me death, or you gonna get on with it." He rasped, staring straight ahead.

"Fair enough." Rosie stepped clear. Matt and Charlie unloaded their carbines, ripping the ghoul apart.

It took hours to clear the hotel. The scouts from outside came in, helping to add the bodies to pile outside. Rosie saw to the slaves, cutting collars off while Janey medscanned them from the bathroom. Matt took them to a waiting team of deputies. Some of them ran off, laden with anything they could carry.

Rosie walked into the bar to chants of her callsign and banging on tables. Recon claimed the area as their own. Charlie hopped onto the marble bar, bottle in hand. "Brothers." The din fell away. "This place has been churning out misery for decades. It may churn out misery yet. But tonight, it belongs to us!" Charlie raised her bottle with the cheer. "Tornado, front and centre." Rosie stepped through the backslapping and chants. "You're out of uniform." Charlie took a set of hair clippers from her pocket.

She gave Rosie the same Mohawk haircut they all had.

Rosie spent hours celebrating. Throwing back drinks and picking through the loot. She grabbed John and a bottle, then headed for the roof. Cool air and a starlit sky greeted her. They spent the night together under the stars. Rosie tried to make it not feel like a goodbye. It didn't work.

John woke her as a new day dawned. "I see the convoy." He pointed to the bridge in the distance. The first shuffling mass of civilians at the peak. "I'll call for a ride."

"Wait. I need you to do something first." Rosie kissed him, then headed downstairs.

Recon gathered outside The Grand. A mound of bodies flanked by black clad and heavily armed scouts. From the oxidised green letters hung a banner made from bed sheets and tape. It read 'under new management.'

Rosie handed him her camera.