A/N: Well, here's chapter 4!

This week we return to Thomas Hamilton as he tries to get his home back and sets the first events into motion, retaking his status as the Devil of the wastes!

I imagine that this chapter will go down pretty well as it's going to be pretty eventful. Remember, I like reviews and feedback, even if it's in a private message, it's all good. It's nice to know what people like and what I can change to improve this story and I'm always happy to answer any questions.

Have fun children! :D

It was 4PM and after a lot of persuasion, the security chief arranged a council meeting, to hear Thomas' case. The council consisted of several ghouls, each of them had some status here, like Cheng, Gustavo and Burke and it was somewhat reminiscent of that song and dance routine that Rivet City used to put on.

Three ghouls, in business suits and one in combat armour, heard his case before putting the meeting on hold, to discuss it among themselves. Thomas sat in silence, not even bothering to lip read or try to listen in, he was getting his house back, no matter what.

It didn't take them long before they broke up their little discussion and turned back to Hamilton, slowly straightening their backs, pretending that they were men as they began to address him. Thomas made a similar gesture, slowly lifting his spine and getting out of his slouched seating position as he made eye contact with them, his intense, unforgiving brown eyes, met the milky overcast center of theirs as the head of the council, an elderly ghoul woman, began to speak.

"I'm sorry, Mister Hamilton, but it seems that you're out of luck… Mister Rawlings has been living in that apartment for six months now; he's settled in and become a productive member of our community. You say that you haven't slept there in…?"

"Five years…" Hamilton answered, coldly, keeping his gaze fixed on the weakest council member, a younger male ghoul, who probably owned one of the stores.

"I think that it's safe to say that you abandoned your home…"

"No, it's easier to say that I 'abandoned' my home. In truth? You all know that I must have intended to come back at some point or another, that I still saw it as my home." The Slaver corrected them, slowly sitting up as he made his case, feeling the back of the wooden chair dig into his spine.

"Be that as it may…" The Security chief started, he aimed to cut him off but Thomas had just managed to get his word in before he began.

"I'm pretty sure that Tenpenny would have put that place on the market, you were gone for five years. Most people would think that you were dead, if you'd been gone for two weeks."

"Most people are idiots… Tenpenny wouldn't have underestimated me like that." Hamilton responded, slowly sitting up, keeping his gaze fixed on them, watching them shrink into their chair. It was like he had the power to emit heat out of his eyes, which could melt anyone caught in his gaze, who knew that they were in his gaze, back into their chairs or their little holes, where they could cry.

"Yeah? Well, Tenpenny's dead, so his rules don't apply anymore; his judgement or lack thereof doesn't apply anymore." The Security Chief began to raise his voice, showing that he had an aggressive disliking for Hamilton, a sentiment that Thomas shared, whole heartedly.

"Yeah… Tenpenny's dead, killed by the 'great' Roy Philips and ending his 'tyranny' forever." Thomas recited in a dismissive voice, showing how much faith he had in that story. The council didn't like that, he'd only been on the scene for five minutes and he'd already made his mind up about the whole thing, without knowing the facts, without knowing what it was like in the early days.

"Alistair Tenpenny had the chance to build an alliance with Roy Philips, in the early days and allow anyone to live here; he chose to shun him and gave him no choice. Tenpenny might have shown you a kindness but to the rest of us…"


"Excuse me?"

"No, Tenpenny showed me no 'kindness'…" Hamilton corrected her, slowly standing up, his hands trembling in rage at the assumption.

"Tenpenny didn't offer me a roof over my head, until I agreed to work for him; I spent the best part of a year, sleeping rough before that. He didn't just let me live here, he sent me out, put a gun in my hands and told me to kill whoever looked at him funny the day before. At nineteen, I was that old bastard's hitman and the killing never stopped.

I killed or I was out on my ass, I don't see the kindness in that, do you?"

The Ghouls sat in silence, slowly glancing to eachother for some confirmation, that they were supposed to be uncomfortable, nobody had the courage to speak just yet.

"Don't get me wrong, I still did it, I fuckin' loved it. But I knew, knew that if I said 'no,' that I'd be out there, with the rest of the chumps and that I'd lose my place here. It wasn't until the time that I left that Tenpenny tried to get all chummy with me, acted like he actually respected me but that wasn't respect…

It was fear…

Fear that one day, I'd get a better offer and put a slug between his eyes." He finished with a faint huff, as if he was dismissing any connectivity to the events of the past, detaching himself from the feelings that he may have felt before from the well, from which he drew his anger.

"It was through that fear that I earned my place here, as a permanent resident. Not out of 'love' or 'kindness' or any of that fairy tale bullshit but, because I knew, as much as he did, that Tenpenny would get a bullet between the eyes if he fucking dared to come to me and tell me that none of that was true!"

The Security Chief got up, clenching his fists and slowly reaching up to his assault rifle's butt, wrapping his decaying fingers around it as he got ready to draw.

"Was that a threat?"

"No, you see, I know that you aren't him, right? That's why, when you took this place, the first act that you did was commit genocide, wipe every last 'smoothskin' out and dump their bodies in the basement. Oh, I know about that, I know that Roy Philips had people like Dashwood, people who didn't have one negative thought against your kind murdered and dumped in the basement with the rest. It was genocide, pure and simple, the aim was the clear this building of the unpure."

The elderly council woman stood up, this angered her most as she had been here since the start. Roy Philips was wrong, she knew that, she was horrified herself when he committed that atrocity and she didn't sleep for months after it.

"Roy Philip's actions were indescribably evil; I didn't even flinch when Denis executed him. That was a new beginning for all of us, a new society, that was free from the madness and bigotry of both Roy Philips and Tenpenny!"

"Yeah, it's a perfect world… Funny how there aren't any 'smooth skins' in your 'multi racial society." Thomas pointed out, smirking a little as he got under her skin with his passive aggression, he could do this all day but he was never a fan of long council meetings.

In fact, he wasn't a fan of council meetings full stop

"Not many humans wish to live in a tower that's mostly occupied by ghouls." The Elderly council woman pointed out, the others just stood in silence at this point as they often did, when things got heated. It was obvious that she had headed more than a few debates in her time, hell, she probably organised them all.

"Funny, one of them does and you're turning him away."

"We've reached our maximum capacity; your race has nothing to do with it."

"You wouldn't even let me in, to trade my salvage."

"We didn't know who you were!"

"You knew that I was human and that was enough… Enough to turn me around and send me back out, into the wastes, to die." Thomas pointed out, with a frown, even though his face was quite static, it was obvious that he was expressing some sort of rage towards their hypocrisy.

"You people, you're just a rotten version of Tenpenny's people, same bigoted policies, disguised as a 'tolerant society.' It's all a sham, bullshit, pantomime to make people sleep easier at night, knowing that they aren't like the bastards that they took this place from, the ones that they butchered, the ones that sleep forever in the cold, dark maintenance room, underneath the tower…" He slowly paused, though he didn't know why. To compose himself? Or maybe it was for dramatic effect…

"In reality? You're much worse…"

The Elderly woman would hear no more of it, she stood up, fire in her milky-grey eyes as her fists tightened and she seethed at her 'guest.'

"That's quite enough…"

"You're right, it is enough… Enough bullshit, enough pantomime, this shit ends… Tonight." Thomas grumbled, grabbing his Colt 1911, which was safely tucked down his back. He brought it around and shot the zombie council woman, in the face. The force of the gun knocked her head back as bits of brain sprayed across the room, in a pink mist. She fell backwards, onto her wooden chair and made an unceremonious descent to the ground.

The Security Chief didn't hesitate, he grabbed his assault rifle but was too slow and he was the second one to get shot in the head, a bullet went through his eye and a 'clunk' could be heard as it went straight through his softened skull, left the back of his head and hit his helmet, possibly passing through. He was the second to fall, twirling around as he did so and landing on the floor, with a thud.

The young, ghoul man and another councillor, who hadn't spoken up yet, just stood, dumbstruck, too startled to say or do anything. Their, probably loose, jaws dropped and their mouths were agape as they tried to process the massacre that they had just witnessed. It was obvious that the two of them were strangers to violence, something that Hamilton found pitiful.

Two more gun shots and their bodies, immediately, spasmed before they fell to the floor, with a thud. Tom didn't even move, didn't even flinch at the sight of their bodies, he just stood there, with a smoking gun, admiring his work.

"Four down…" He muttered, leaning his pistol to the side, he had one round left.

"Fuck knows how many to go…"

With that, he stepped forward and bent down, wrapping his hand around the body of the Security Chief's assault rifle. An R91, American made crap, like the M16, it jammed too easily but it will do for now…

He picked it up and checked the clip, it was full, he began to have doubts as to whether or not this thing had been used before as it looked brand new. He'd prefer a Chinese Assault Rifle or the Assault Carbine but he'd just have to make do with this for now. He put the clip back in and pulled the latch back, listening to the ever so satisfying click as it was snapped into place.

Time to go, kill some zombies…

Thomas heard the 'ding' of the elevator and slowly raised his rifle, holding it by the grip, resting the butt on his forearm as he walked along, pointing it in the air. There were a few people and security guards in the room, gassing among themselves, too absorbed in their own pretentious lives to notice that a homeless man had just walked into the lobby, with a military grade assault rifle.

Hamilton decided that he didn't want to raise his voice; he let his gun do the talking. He gently squeezed the trigger and fired a few shots in the air, the loud blasts echoed throughout the reception area. Again, the Chinese Assault rifle was much louder but… this'll do.

"Listen up you rotting, sacks of shit. I want you out of my building, I'm gonna start from ten and after that, it's fair fuckin' game!" He announced, turning his assault rifle on the room, aiming it at no one in particular.


Everyone looked to eachother in disbelief, not knowing whether or not they should feel threatened as two security guards drew their assault rifles and began to advance. A ghoul, who was dressed in Edgar Wellington's clothes, from the looks of him, advanced towards the desk and placed his hands on it. Before anyone could stop him, he leaned over and asked…

"Is this some kind of a jo…?" His dumb question was answered with a 5.56 round to the forehead, which tore through the top of his head, essentially slicing his head in half.


The gunshots and bloodshed got everyone moving, screams could be heard and people began to make a run towards the door, fearing for their lives.

"Somebody do something!" A woman screamed, her gravelly voice echoed back to Tom's ears as the security guards approached him and raised their weapons. Tom just shrugged and raised his rifle in response, squeezing the trigger in rapid succession and sending 3 bullets into each of their heads, piercing through any happy memories of them eating brains. In truth, Thomas didn't believe any of this 'you gotta shoot 'em in the head' crap. He knew the difference between a regular ghoul and a feral but it made him somewhat more intimidating if he appeared to be some sort of exterminator, rather than someone who hates them for being unscrupulous bastards.

As their bodies fell to the floor, several ghouls appeared from the shops, the café and the bar to check what was going on. Thomas rolled his eyes, he didn't have the patience to put up with this shit anymore…

He started firing rounds at individual ghouls, hitting them, one by one, in fatal places. This obviously caused a panic; all of the civilian residence started the scream and make a break for the door. Once they had clustered together, Hamilton just sprayed his entire magazine into the congregation outside. The bodies fell in the dozens and most of the crowd were now lay around the fountain, dead or seriously wounded.

A few at the front got away but he didn't care about them, he had other problems, like that dipshit, just above the entrance, who thought that he was a sniper. He drew his N99 10mm pistol and took aim; these bullets were usually quite weak and ineffective against armour, so he had to hit the face.

Child's play…

He took the shot, hitting the ghoul in face and sending his head back. He fell, almost comically as the rest of his body followed his head as it was knocked back, by the force of the 10mm round and he did a sort of back flip as he fell to the floor.

Tom didn't have much time to celebrate as four more ghouls came pouring out of the sitting area and the café, arriving late to the party after arranging their tactics. If their tactic wasn't: Make a break for the front door, then they were fucked before they started. Tom smirked as he activated his VATS targeting system and marked his target.

Head 100%

Head 100%

Head 93%

Head 87%

After marking his targets, he began to fire, the two 100%ers went down first, their bodies tragically fell to the floor and they added two more heaps for Thomas to clean up later. He then fired at the less certain targets, they were further away and were moving faster, they had a higher percent chance of dodging and there was a possibility of him totally missing them. A stationary target, no matter how small, was often easier to hit than a moving target, that was shooting back.

He fired his two shots; one of them spun around and fell to the floor but the other kept on running and gunning. It appears that Tom was way off and had hit the wall behind him instead; the Slaver ducked as the bullets began to fly, seething as he bent down and took cover, behind the welcome desk.

"Fuck!" He snapped, pain shot through his foot as, in truth, he'd wished that he could have just stayed standing the whole time, his feet were killing him.

It was then that the worst case scenario happened, several fuckwit guards came pouring down the stairs and began shooting him, covering the fuckwit residents as they ran past them, using them as a shield as they ran for cover.

This was bad as Thomas had no cover and he was exposed to them, however, they were all incredible inadequate shooters, to the point that they were almost like child soldiers. He pitied them, for being so helpless and useless as the desk, around him, was riddled with bullets.

Hamilton managed to shoot two of the guards but the third one achieved the seemingly impossible and managed to hit him in his right shoulder. He cried out in pain and clutched the wound, his fingers curled around it as he felt the blood seep through his, already dirty; shirt and his fingers were soon wet with the dark, crimson liquid, that oozed from the gunshot wound. As a result, his right arm had completely locked up, it was agony to even move the fingers on his right hand, never mind raise it and fire his weapon.

He quickly grabbed at his Colt 1911, with his left hand, wrapping his fingers around its rustic grip and raising it up, the dirty, heavily scratched, barrel now pointed at the last fuckwit's body. Without a second thought, Hamilton pulled the trigger and the .45 round went right through his chest piece and sent him flying onto his back.

It didn't kill him, just incapacitated him, Hamilton would finish the job later…

For now, he had to kill the other guards, there was potentially four of them left and using V.A.T.S, he could easily take them all down. Hell, he could take them all down without vats, he'd had worse than this, he'd had times where he was completely unarmed, down to his last round, with several wounds and he'd made it out. This was nothing, just strenuous exercise…

He jumped up, taking them by surprise as his pipboy lit up and everything slowed down.

Head 87%

Head 79%

Head 84%

Head 62%

Those were some odds, his injuries must lower his chances, though it didn't matter to him as he could kill them all anyway, it'd just take a little longer. He went through with it and after four shots; three bodies fell to the floor. 87,79 and 62 fell but 84 remained and continued to shoot at him. These guards were horribly inaccurate, Tenpenny's security force were pretty shit, they only looked impressive, because they never had to kill anyone and anyone that they did end up going against was either unarmed or barely what you'd call armed.

They only went up against one guy, with a gun, in the year that Hamilton lived there and he was one psychoed up nut job, with a barely functional 10mm pistol. The guy managed to kill a member of the security force before he was gunned down, something that was inexcusable in Hamilton's eyes. This ghoul had him in his sights but all of his bullets just flew right past him, he couldn't even hit his body.

Tom just looked at the ghoul, with a look of contempt as he raised his 10mm pistol, with no sense of urgency and fired a 10mm round into the final guard's head, watching it fly back before his body spasmed on the way down to the floor.

The 'war' was over, Tenpen- Philips tower, was now Hamilton's…

Unfazed by his victory, Thomas just lowered his pistol and looked at the pile of bodies, by the fountain and those scattered about the reception area. He was neither impressed nor disturbed by the fact that he had just killed around fifty people and taken a major landmark as it wasn't a noteworthy challenge.

He just continued to stare ahead, slowly scanning the bodies, with his eyes, to see if there was anything of note about them. You never know, he could have shot someone that he used to know, a long time ago…

It was then that he heard coughing, coming from his left and the pitter patter of blood as it was coughed out of a guard's lungs and fell on the floor beside him. Thomas looked over to the pathetic sight of the dying ghoul, who was rolling around on his back, drowning in his own blood as he groaned in agony, due to the shrapnel, that was lodged in his chest. The Slaver rolled his eyes and he picked up the assault rifle, which was empty but he could find ammo from the fallen security members and sell the rifles to local merchants.

He looked down at the ghoul, unable to hide his indifference as he saw him coughing and spluttering, he had a pink beard, from where the blood had been coughed up, onto his face and he immediately looked up to Tom, with puppy dog eyes, begging for an end.

Hamilton slowly raised his pistol, the N99 hovered over the ghoul's head as he took his aim and without any trace of confrontation, the Slaver pulled the trigger, resulting in a disappointing click.

His magazine was empty…

"Guess you're shit out of luck pall…" Thomas smirked, though he already knew that this would be the case as he kept count, he always kept count.

The ghoul continued to you cough, gargling the blood in the back of his throat as he began to panic as he was now definitely drowning in his own blood. Thomas knew that he'd be dead in minutes and simply left him to his fate, there were people who could have survived their wounds, who he needed to put down…

After a long two hours of shifting bodies, Hamilton finally had a hold over this tower. He had checked every room, every dark corner, to see if someone was cowering in fear, hoping to stay put or slip out tonight. He found a few and easily put them down, only one of them fought back, with a Chinese pistol, which was completely worthless, the bastard may as well have thrown rocks at him for the good that a hit would've done him.

His old room was empty, tempted as he was to go in an pick up, where he had left off, he now had Tenpenny's penthouse and so, he had little to no desire to live in his former room. This was his tower now, he'd made it, at long last, he was a king.

He stood on Tenpenny's table, the furniture had all been reserved as the council members probably sat on it, looking out at the many people who were rotting in the streets below, people they had refused access to, just an hour before.

His feet were firm on the table, which had a bag leant against it, it was a large golf bag, filled to the brim with gold balls, which Tom would pick up and drop onto an upturned cup, to hold it in place, before firing it off into the wasteland with a driver. He smirked as he watched the white ball fly through the air and vanish into the distance; this was the thing that separated kings from gods.

He went for his second swing before seething and growling in pain as the pain of his wound shot through his body. He had to lower the club as he clutched the wound, gently cradling his right arm. He'd put the pain to the back of his mind for a brief moment, so that he could achieve the first swing but now it was too painful to ignore, he'd have to get Cutter to patch him up in the morning.

He wondered how Eulogy would receive him, would he be the prodigal son, who had returned at long last? Or that shithead, who ditched them, to go and frolic with the inbreds in Maryland or would they even give a fuck? Would Hamilton still mean anything to them? Would anyone from the old days be alive to remember him? Even Clover?

Well, he knew that Clover was too messed up to feel anything for him, she'd fuck anyone who held her leash, even if he'd just asked a random stranger to keep an eye on her, whilst he took a leek. Still, he wondered if she was still his, if Eulogy was just keeping her warm for him or whether he wanted to keep her. He wished he had a receipt, so that he could prove that she was his, he probably should've asked for one.

Fuck it, he'd just have to deal with that bridge, when he came to it. For now? He needed to rest, he'd disinfected and bandaged the wound, it'll hold, until he reaches Cutter's tender, nurturing hands tomorrow.

It was with that thought that he remembered that he'd have to bring a fuck ton of caps…