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Mutant Rage	By : Kanjam Category: +M through R > Rage Views: 2091 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the Rage game series, though I do definitely recommend that you play it. I make no money in any way from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
I should probably just go ahead and say this now. This story is going to get weird. Lots of weird fetishes. Not quite yet, obviously, but in later chapters it's going to get extreme.
Alright guys, lets do this!

Death was a given in his line of work. He'd sent more men to hell than he could count, and had always known that he'd die in battle. However, he'd always assumed it would be a battle with guns, or at the very least crossbows. Rather, he lay dying in the middle of Dead City (the irony was not lost on him), cast down at the hands of a Kraken. He'd killed numerous Kraken before, of course, and that was why this one had been able to kill him. He'd gotten cocky, hadn't been focusing hard enough on the battle. One slap from the giant mutants tentacle had sent him flying into a broken down garage. When he looked down he could see into his ribcage.
His nanotrites would attempt to heal him, but even if the gaping hole in his chest didn't kill him, the creatures outside would. The garage in which he sat was home to whole broods of mutants, and the smell of decay was everywhere. Kraken slime dripped from the ceiling. A lot fell into his chest, but he couldn't feel it. His body had the courtesy to send him into shock to avoid the pain...
The Kraken stepped into the doorway, slime oozing from it's skin. The mutant let out a snarl, it's jagged teeth becoming fuzzy as he lost blood. The world began to go dark. He reached into the holster at his side, drawing his pistol. The Kraken was no more than a fuzzy blob, still visible. It mattered little, though. His arms were curiously heavy... As a matter of fact, so where his eyelids.
Twelve hours earlier
Hawkeye was his name. Well, the name he'd been given. His real name, from back before he was frozen in the Ark, was Caesar Raine... Nobody called him that, though. Hell, he'd never told anyone. Dan Hagar, the one who found him after he'd left the Ark, had sent him on a mission to clear out some bandits rather than ask for a name. Caesar did the job with no more than a settler pistol, although he found himself at the top of the bandits fortifications. After most of the bandits were killed, he'd been forced to zipline down to the bottom of their stronghold. During his ride, a hawk began flying right next to him, as though racing him down. One of the surviving bandits saw this, and word began to circulate. This, combined with his 'hawks eye' accuracy and predatory nature landed him the nickname.
Caesar didn't mind. To tell the truth, it made him feel pretty cool.
The twenty-four year old stood at approximately six feet tall, with dark brown hair and light hazel eyes. His body was muscled from years of military service from before the Ark, his skin was tanned from his time in the wasteland sun, and coated with a layer of grime and dust. Showers were nonexistent in the future, he'd quickly found out. He was clothed in thick, bulletproofed armor, and his pants held large pouches for carrying supplies and ammo that he needed.
Caesar stood in front of the Wellsprings Bounty Board, searching for a job that seemed right. Most were just caravan escort missions, which entailed him sitting on top of a tower and sniping at distant bandits. Easy enough, but they paid next to nothing. After a few minutes of searching, he found one.
Simple enough, a trip into Dead City to take pictures for a scientist. Many of the buildings in Dead City were corrupted by a strange, fleshy substance that the mutants seemed to create after inhabiting an area for a while. His job was to take a few pictures of the phenomenon for the scientist to study, while also mapping out a route for a later expedition. All he had to do was walk in, play tourist, leave, and then scribble his path on a map.
Caesar walked quickly to the garage and leapt into his Monarch, the heavily armored vehicle roaring to life as the garage doors opened to the Wasteland.
Time unknown
His eyes slid open, groggily glancing at the room around him. It was the Krakens garage, but the door was closed. The nanotrites in his eyes adjusted to the darkness, giving him near perfect night vision. He wished he'd simply stayed asleep.
He'd passed out leaning against a wall, but woke up wrapped in the tight embrace of the giant Kraken which had nearly killed him. It's tentacle was wrapped around his torso, it's slime dripping from him to the ground below. That wasn't the worst part, though. All around him lay mutants. The garage was a small place, with maybe enough room for twelve to fit comfortably. In his quick sweep of the room, he counted no less than twenty seven. They slumbered closely to each other, their bodies interwoven into a tapestry of flesh, which he was a part of. Even with the Kraken gripping him, his head lay on one mutants chest, his legs were both being slept on by mutants, and a mutants head lay in his lap.
He struggled against the reflex to scream. With this many mutants in such a small place, he didn't stand a chance. Even his nanotrite enhanced reflexes were no match for the sheer number of them. He was going to die...
Wait.
He'd already died. Right? Without even a thought towards the giant beast slumbering next to him, his hands whipped up to his chest. Flesh... No hole... No bones? He found that his chest was completely devoid of bones where the Kraken had struck him. His chest kept it's normal shape due to a slew of tight muscles that the nanotrites had created to cover the injury. In fact, when he tensed his chest it felt as though he still had bones there! His nanotrites had actually saved him!
No they hadn't. They'd simply delayed his death. There was still the problem of him being surrounded by mutants. Yet, for some reason, he was still alive. He'd seen mutants beat a man into submission and begin eating him alive. Hell, he'd seen mutants dig up graves to eat the rotten flesh from the bones...
Why hadn't they eaten him? Or beaten him to death? He'd been an easy target, sitting there with a hole in his chest and all his tasty organs up for grabs...
The only time he'd seen a mutant refuse to eat was when the dead body had been another mutant. As sick as they were, they weren't cannibals... Did that mean something? His time with the Resistance scientists had taught him that the Mutants were failed nanotrite experiments, which meant that each one had nanotrites like himself. Could that have confused them?
No... They'd never hesitated to try and kill him before... The only reason that they'd leave him alive... Scratch that, the only reason they'd snuggle with him would be if he was...
If he was a mutant as well...
He immediately began running diagnostics. His nanotrites were uplinked to his brain, which meant that he could activate and run system functions at will. Various bars, graphs, and charts appeared before his eyes, created by the nanotrites hooked into his optic nerve. All systems were normal. His weapons systems informed him that he was completely without a gun, which was distressing but to be expected.
His nanotrites said he was normal. He felt normal.
'It wakes.'
He looked to the mutant with it's head on his crotch, it's eyes open and staring back.
He wasn't normal...
'It wakes.' The mutant repeated. Well, he thought it was the mutant. It was actually a small voice in the back of his head, a feeling that held meaning, held words.
'I-it wakes?' He thought back. The mutant slipped from the embrace of another, crawling up his body until they were face to face.
'It is afraid. Do not fear, little one, the BoomStickers rarely come here.' The mutant slipped into the Krakens coils next to him, wrapping it's arms around his once wounded chest.
'It should sleep. The BrightThing will fall soon, then these ones will go to the GoodTree.' While the terms were unfamilliar, he knew instinctually what they meant. The BrightThing was the sun, which the mutants avoided because their skin was sensitive to it's heat and light. The GoodTree was a large building in the middle of the city, completely covered in the fleshy substance which marked the landscape of the Dead City. BoomStickers were humans. Specifically, those with guns.
'What am I?'
'Packmate.'
Day 1- Night
Caesar found no sleep, despite the surprisingly comforting embrace of the mutants. Instinct told him not to let his guard down when outside the walls of Wellsprings or Subway City, especially when there were mutants around. Plus, he was usually active during the day, so his body didn't feel the least bit tired until the nest of mutants began to stir.
'Now is the time for moving.' Came the voice of the mutant. It's eyes opened, looking into Caesars with a surprising amount of intelligence.
'Come, little ones.' A much louder voice rang around his head, belonging to the Kraken who's arm they were wrapped in. 'This one will move HurtOne, but the other ones must move themselves.' Caesar knew that the Kraken was talking about him, a theory proved valid when the other mutants piled off the two and the giant mutant set him on it's shoulder.
'Why are you treating me so nicely?' He asked the Kraken.
'It is part of the Pack, part of the Family.'
'But you attacked me earlier!' Caesar responded, his voice clearly desparate for answers. 'Why would you go from trying to kill me to helping me?'
'These ones thought that you were a BoomSticker.' The Kraken answered, 'But when HurtOne slept, HurtOne stopped smelling like BoomSticker, and started smelling like the Family.'
'Too much time with Boomstickers.' One of the smaller mutants around them said, to which a chorus of agreements rose up. 'BoomSticker smell got stuck to HurtOne.'
A few of the mutants lifted the door to the garage, pale moonlight infiltrating the once dark room. The mutants flooded out, forming a close circle around the entrance. The Kraken walked in out and the circle closed around it. They were forming a circle around him, protecting him due to his injury.
They moved with perfect synchronization, never bumping into each other or leaving a gap in the circle. He was amazed at first, but then he began to pick up on smaller thoughts flying between them. The words which he'd used to speak to them were easy to sense, as they had conscious thought put behind them. These thoughts were instinctual, quieter and much harder to sense. The mutants didn't appear to realize, but they were all operating under a common subconscious, despite having separate higher brain functions.
Caesar found himself easily predicting the once erratic movements of the mutants, instantaneously knowing where the mutants would go as soon as they did. He was even more surprised when one of them changed their course to one he thought would be easier to navigate. Not only could he hear their smaller thoughts, they could hear his! Strangely enraptured by his discovery, he set about searching for easier routes for the mutants to take, an activity which the mutants didn't seem to notice. The game went on for almost an hour before they were interrupted.
'SnakeArm!' Hissed the alarm voices of three mutants, 'There are Boomstickers near here! These ones can smell them.'
'Then these ones will kill them.' The Kraken, apparently named SnakeArm, said. The smaller mutant began pulling weapons from their belts, from makeshift daggers and clubs to scoop shaped traffic signs.
'SnakeArm?' Caesar asked, shifting uncomfortably on the Krakens shoulders.
'Yes, HurtOne?'
'I... We should avoid them.'
'No.' Came SnakeArms answer, its tentacle arm lifting Caesar off its shoulder and setting him on the ground. Without any more words, the mutants began charging over a nearby pile of rubble. Three stayed behind to protect him.
Why would the mutants attack the humans? There were easy paths around the group, yet they chose direct confrontation. It didn't make any sen-
...
A mutant died. It felt as though a part of him was torn from his skull, causing the human to double over in pain.
'HurtOne has never been near when one of the Pack is lost.' One of the mutants stated, 'The BoomStickers kill the Family, and the Family feels it.' Feelings of agreement came from the other two mutants.
'So... You kill them in revenge?'
'This one does not understand.' Caesar was surprised. The mutants didn't understand revenge... 'These ones smash the BoomStickers so that the BoomStickers can't hurt the Family.'
He was beginning to understand what the mutants meant by Family. He'd originally assumed it was their word for their extended Packs, or an organization of Packs, but that wasn't the case. Family referred to the whole mutant race.
They killed the humans so the humans couldn't kill them.
'Why do you eat them?' Caesar asked.
'These ones munch the BoomStickers so that the MagicWrappers don't bring them back.'
MagicWrappers, Caesar found out, referred to medics and Doctors, because of the gauze and medicinal wraps they tended to carry with them.
'Not this one. This one munches BoomStickers because BoomStickers munch nice.' One of the mutants said. The feeling that passed through him was strange, but he had a hunch it was the mutant equivalent to a laugh.
Another mutant faded away from Caesars senses, though it didn't hurt as much as the first. Without a thought, he leapt from his spot and ran to the pile of rubble. The three mutants followed, not bothering to restrain him.
The sight was morbid. While only two mutants were dead, many more were wounded. Two men stood backed up against a partially destroyed concrete column, their assault rifles pointed at the horde of mutants.
Thoughts ceased to flow correctly through his mind. It was as though the mutants suddenly became people, and the humans shifted into monsters. Acting on instinct, Caesar reached into the pouches hanging from his pants and pulled out what appeared to be random scrap.
'What does HurtOne do?' was the collective question from the three mutants. Caesar rapidly screwed parts together, fingers moving off muscle memory. Less than a minute later, he held a fully functional Wingstick.
'HurtOne can create the BadSongs!' Switching on his nanotrite conduits, he pitched the wingstick at the two men. The guidance system activated instantly, steering the weapon straight towards the first man and slicing his neck.
As the body fell to the ground, the other man became alarmed. He swung his assault rifle into position, but SnakeArm launched a wad of mutant slime into his face. Blinded, the man was easily wrestled to the ground.
SHING-SHING-SHING! Went the Wingstick, it's path bringing it right back towards Caesar. The three mutants around him leapt to the side to avoid it, but the human simply extended his arm and caught it. The nanotrites insured that the handle would always hit his hand, making the catch easy and painless.The Wingstick folded up with a command from his nanotrites and was slipped into one of the pouches on his pants.
He wanted to feel bad about killing two men. He'd killed men before, sure, but they'd always been bandits who were just as interested in killing him. He'd never killed innocents. As much as he knew he should feel guilty, he simply couldn't. Rather, he felt proud that he could assist the mutants in their victory...
Caesar felt happy that he could keep them from being killed.
'The BoomStickers create BadSongs.' One of the mutants said, crawling to Caesar and reaching into his pouch. It pulled the Wingstick out and began examining it, flipping it over in it's hands and sniffing the blades. The other two did the same, the three forming a small circle of sniffing. 'That one creates GoodSongs.'
'Singer is special.' Came SnakeArms voice. Despite being referred to by a different name, Caesar knew that 'Singer' meant him. The rest of the mutants agreed with SnakeArm, the uninjured carrying the injured on their backs. 'It has saved many of the Family from being lost. The Pack must rest, many are hurt. Singer will walk, this one must carry those ones to a safe place.'
1 hour later, inside an abandoned supermarket.
Caesar sat in the middle of a pile of mutants. Such a situation would have sent him into a spiral of terror and fear had it been less than a day earlier, but at that moment he simply felt happy. The mutants were warm, and the way their skin rubbed against his made him feel safe.
He'd found out that names weren't unique within the ranks of the mutants.The names referred to a defining trait that each mutant possessed so while he'd originally been called 'HurtOne,' the term was a catch all for any mutants who were injured. As it stood, there were seven mutants who were referred to as HurtOne among the small Pack of mutants, not counting Caesar, who's use of the Wingstick had earned him the title of 'Singer.' Twenty five mutants remained alive, among them were one SnakeArm, twelve SharpStickers, four HotThrowers, and seven RockStickers. SharpStickers and RockStickers were among the most numerous types of mutants, born with little to no special attributes, and they carried makeshift daggers and clubs, respectively. HotThrowers carried scoops made from various types of sheet metal, and produced a combustable substance in their palms which they used as long-range weapons. SnakeArm was named for his tentacle arm, like all Kraken. There was only one mutant who possessed it's own title. The very same mutant who'd slept in the Kraken's coils with Caesar, named FastClimber. From what Caesar could gather, FastClimber was something of an acrobat among the Pack, one of the fastest even among the whole Family.
Caesar had only seen it's skills in action once, when the Pack was trying to gain entrance to the supermarket. The mutant leapt from the ground right up onto SnakeArms shoulders, then flipped into a second story window. Minutes later, the doors swung open, unlocked from the inside.
The supermarket was a nice enough place. It was larger than the garage which he'd awoken in, but the mutant's only made use of a small corner. The group of HurtOnes, consisting of four SharpStickers and three RockStickers, were backed up against the wall and surrounded by their brethren. SnakeArm was the only mutant who wasn't among the group, instead standing guard near the door.
'This one does not like this place.' A SharpSticker grumbled, 'The Family has not made Good here.'
'These ones would need a GoodMaker to fix this place.' Another replied.
'What happens when a place is MadeGood?' Caesar asked, receiving a chorus of bewilderment from the group.
'Singer has spent too much time with the BoomStickers,' an injured RockSticker said, 'Forgets too much of it's Family's ways.'
The answer that Caesar received came in the form of pictures and memories, rather than words. His mind was flooded with images of giant buildings overrun with the fleshy mass that the mutants brought with them. Tentacles of the stuff ran between buildings, funneling various slimes and liquids. He couldn't get a definite answer on what the slimes were used for, but feelings of happiness came with them, so he assumed they were good. GoodMakers were a type of mutant that were capable of transplanting pieces of the Good from one place to the other, and were often referred as Slime Mutants by humans. The slime they produced was not only used for protecting themselves and other mutants skin from the dry wasteland air, but it also acted as a sort of growth hormone that enhanced the rate at which the Good grew, as well as guide the main body of Good to the seed.
'Does Singer remember?'
'Y-yes... but why do you spread the Good?' Caesar asked. The Pack was silent, as though they'd never given it much thought.
'Spreading Good makes more SafePlaces for the Family.' Sensing the next question from his mind, the mutants added 'The Family doesn't want to spread Good to where the BoomStickers are, out in the DustyPlaces. The Family only wants the PlaceInTheWalls.'
'Are you referring to the walls surrounding the city?' Caesar asked, feelings of affirmation flooding him.
'Enough of Family things, Singer.' Came the voice of FastClimber, 'What do the BoomStickers do? Outside the PlaceInTheWalls? Packs go out, but Packs never come back.'
'Well... They just try to stay alive.' Caesar responded, ' The Wasteland... Dry Places aren't good to the hum-...BoomStickers either. They fight each other, forming Packs that fight other Packs for territory. Some make places like the City. They build big walls and make homes inside, where they're safe.' Confusion circulated amongst the Pack.
'Why do BoomStickers kill BoomStickers?' FastClimber asked, 'BoomStickers are Family with Boomstickers.'
Caesar honestly didn't have an answer. Humans killed each other because they just did. Bandits killed anyone not in their gang, plain and simple. The mutants felt his lack of answers, their own confusion growing.
'It is because BoomStickers do not have Family.' SnakeArm answered from his position near the door. 'BoomStickers fight for BoomStickers, not for Family.' As strangely worded as it was, Caesar actually understood what SnakeArm meant. Humans fought for individuals or groups of individuals, not for the species as a whole. They became so caught up in their squabbles and vendettas that the idea of doing justice for Humanity never crossed their mind, so they fought amongst each other.
'How did Singer stay with BoomStickers?' One of the injured SharpStickers asked, content with SnakeArms answer.
'The BoomStickers can't smell like you can.' Caesar replied, hoping they wouldn't be able to sense his lie 'I look like a BoomSticker, so they thought I was one of them.' The mutants all began looking at Caesar, as if the idea that he looked different than them just crossed their mind.
'Singer very ugly. BoomStickers never tell difference.'
Day2-Night
The pack spent the next day in the supermarket, their nanites not nearly as sophisticated as Caesars. His wounds healed within minutes, but theirs took hours to close up.
SnakeArm didn't carry Caesar this time, content with the job his body had done of healing him, and instead concentrated on looking out for humans. Caesar didn't mind, he actually enjoyed walking. He found himself moving in tandem with the mutants, as he'd seen them do before. He could feel where to move, and always knew when to speed up or slow down to avoid running in to the rest of the Pack.
As they rounded a partially destroyed building, a rather impressive skyscraper came in to view. It stood at least forty stories tall, but it's height didn't make it unique. There were no visible concrete or windows, the building had been completely covered in the Good. The mutants seemed happy to be home, and increased their pace.
As the Pack approached the skyscraper, Caesar found himself gradually picking up on more minds. They were faint at first, but their signals grew stronger each step he took, and he could soon feel over a thousand other minds. There were no other mutants in sight, however, so he assumed that they were amongst the rubble or inside the Good skyscraper.
"This place is amazing!" He whispered in awe, very much wanting to go inside.
'Singer growls like a BoomSticker.' FastClimber said from behind him, 'Don't do that in the GoodTree, the Family will think there are BoomStickers. Stay with this one, will find Singer place for sleep. How many HottestTimes has Singer seen?'
'HottestTimes?... Summer? I've seen twenty-four.'
'This one does not know of TwentyFours.'
'Um... This many.' Caesar knelt down and scratched twenty four lines in the dirt. A feeling of awe swept across the pack, and then across the whole of the Skyscraper.
'That one has seen many HottestTimes.' SnakeArm said, surprise rolling off it, 'The OneofMostHottestTimes has seen not very many more than Singer.'
'How many HottestTimes have you seen?' Caesar asked, eager to take the attention from him. He could feel the other mutants drawing nearer out of curiosity. SnakeArm held out it's non-tentacle hand, all five fingers outstretched.
'This one has seen one Hand of HottestTimes.' It said. Caesar could feel each of the other mutants in the pack recalling their ages, and very few exceeded ten.
'This one will bring Singer to OneofMostHottestTimes.' FastClimber said, grabbing Caesar by the hand and pulling him quickly towards the GoodTree.
Half-hour later, inside the GoodTree
Caesar was covered head to toe in slime.
And he loved it.
FastClimber had, true to his word, brought him to OneofMostHottestTimes, though the meeting didn't result in much. The relatively old Mutant simply looked him over before giving him one huge lick up the side of his face, which was apparently a sign of acceptance amongst the Family.
Caesar was then escorted to a rather large room near the top of the tower, where a small army of mutants was lying an a giant, slimy pile. The slime dripped from the ceiling and walls of the room, which, like the rest of the building, were made entirely of the Good.
As he'd entered the room Caesar was bombarded with a wave of curiosity from the mutants, and was then engulfed by the pile. He'd been a little frightened at first, but the mutants didn't seem to be trying to hurt him. Quite the opposite, actually, they gathered themselves around him and snuggled up, bathing him in the Good slime and warming him with their bodies.
The Family was so... Close. None harbored any ill will towards another. It was nice, considering Caesar had just come from a place where people killed without a second thought.
'Why does Singer stay in BoomSticker fur?' one of the mutants from the pile asked him, breaking the man from his train of thought.
'Habit, I suppose.' Caesar replied, 'I can take them off if you'd like.' A general feeling of consent rose from the pile, the ones nearest to him shifting so that he could reach the clasps on his armor. His top half went the easiest. Caesar had abandoned most of his armor back at the garage, as it had been rendered useless by SnakeArm during their skirmish. All he'd kept on was his shirt and bulletproof vest, which were easily removed and thrown to one of the walls.The armored sections of his pants took a few minutes, but soon they were in the pile with his shirt, pants, and underwear.
'Singer has many BoomSticker furs.' Went one of the voices, followed by a wave of agreement from the rest of the crowd. Caesar didn't respond in words, choosing instead to allow his feelings on the statement to be broadcasted. The pile seemed surprised to sense emotion, as he'd been careful to shield his feelings from the Family previously, but seemed pleased that he was finally letting them in.
Caesar laid back down, rejoining the pile around him. He was surprised at how nice their skin felt against his, sliding against each other from the slime.
'Singer hasn't felt GoodWater in long time?' Came FastClimbers question.
'I've never felt the GoodWater before.' Caesar replied, snuggling in to the pile of mutants. Shock and pity arose from the crowd.
'How Singer live?' FastClimber asked. Most mutants' skin was incredibly sensitive to dryness and heat, and prolonged exposure left them with large, bleeding cracks in their skin. If the dehydration didn't kill them, the blood loss would.
'My skin is different than all yours. I don't need the GoodWater.'
'Singer strange. No need GoodWater, makes GoodSongs, growls like BoomSticker.' He felt a hand wrap around his dick 'Even Singers NiceSnake strange. Hangs on outside, instead of NiceSnakePouch.' Caesar honestly thought he'd be more surprised by the sudden groping, but he was actually more curious about the statement.
'What's a NiceSnakePouch?' He understood what a NiceSnake was, but he didn't quite get what they'd meant by a pouch. The mutant that had groped him crawled up his body until it straddled his chest, groin in plain view. It was faint, but he could just make out a slit in it's crotch where a penis would go. Then, before his eyes, the slit opened up. A rather small, flaccid, uncircumcised penis flopped out. The skin around that area was much pinker than the rest of the mutants skin, giving the area a much softer look.
Satisfied with the explanation, the mutant retracted its cock and crawled back down to its place at Caesars crotch.
'Singer no have NiceHole!' Went another mutant. He hadn't noticed it crawl between his legs, but he easily felt it's finger prod at the space between his balls and anus. 'Singer has something else, though.' The mutants hands wrapped around Caesars testecles. Luckily, the mutant seemed to sense how sensitive that area was, so it was careful not to grip too hard.
'Singer not have NiceHole?' FastClimber asked, surprised.
'NiceHole?'...Oh, he understood. NiceHole was their way of saying vagina... 'No, I don't... Do you all have both?'
'Singer asks strange questions!' Went a voice, 'All Family has both!' So the mutants were hermaphroditic. That would explain why there wasn't any perceivable gender differences.
'Pack turn to ask Singer question. What these called?' The hand wrapped around his balls once more.
'They're called... um... Nice... NiceSwings?' He'd gathered that the word Nice was used to describe anything used in coitus, and testecles do swing around when not contained, so the name fit.
'NiceSwings? Do all Boomstickers have them?'
'No, only about half have them. Some have NiceSnake and NiceSwings, the rest have NiceHoles. Only a few have both.' More baffled feelings, but these ones were directed more at humans in general than just Caesar.
'BoomStickers all so strange.'
The rest of the pile of mutants agreed.
'Singers NiceSnake works, yes?'
'Yes.'
'Good. NiceTime already pass, but next BrightFall, will come again.'
Next sunset, they'd have NiceTime. He could only guess that it meant orgy. Sounded nice, actually.
'Singer will find place in Family first.' Came the mind of a SnakeArm in the doorway. 'Must find where Singer works best. Will keep GoodTree and Family strong."
'What kind of jobs are there?' Caesar asked, sliding from the pile of mutants and retrieving his clothes.
'Singer not make GoodWater, so Singer not fit many places. Singer best fit for Protector, this one thinks. Watcher too.' SnakeArm replied. Guard or lookout. Wait… Caesar was a technical genius. The nanites he'd been injected with gave him an increased affinity for all manners of machinery, from wingsticks to automated turrets. If he could get the materials together, he could outfit the GoodTree with a fleet of Turrets able to fend off any bandits or mercenaries that appeared.
'Singer make MetalThrowers?' Came a voice. Caesar had forgotten to close off his mind.
'Singer is strange. Learn much from Boomstickers.' SnakeArm chimed. 'Family say they look for pieces Singer need. Show Family what Singer need for MetalThrowers.' Caesar reached into the pouches on his pants, which he hadn't yet put on, and pulled out all the components necessary to create a turret. The bullets would probably be the most difficult to find, but he could probably head out to Wellsprings to grab some.
'Family look for pieces. Singer be careful if going into DustyPlaces. Boomstickers not nice."

Whoo! First Chapter! No fucking quite yet, but just wait for it! Remember to leave a review if you have the time, I welcome all! Well, except for pointless bitching, but everything else is fine!
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Mutant Rage