Never Trust A Swindler:

Date: 10.1.2224
Location: Duson: a swamp outskirts near Rayne, LA

Leaving Rayne should’ve been straight track, clean movement southeast—avoid populated areas, move steady. The Swindler—silver tongue dripping false certainty—kept whispering about Duson. “Just go east, Chief. It’s the easy road.” Against my read, against instinct, I let him bend the rail. That was my mistake.

Duson swallowed us in swamp hush. No birds. No bugs. No life but mist curling like smoke off the bayou. Then Larry pointed ahead—a service station, surprisingly clean, almost sterile from the outside. Everything around it was ugly, mud, overgrown roads, wrecked cars, but the station’s paint looked brushed yesterday, glass untarnished. A neon sign flickered above: LUCKY 7.

“It's a casino, Chief!” Clancy muttered, suspicion heavy in his voice.

Pinball immediately started pinging, clicking, spitting the old casino sounds through the empty lot. “B-B-Bad news, Chief! Jackpot!”

The doors were sealed. Pinball’s cutting torch buzzed to life. Sparks flew. Metal yielded. We were in.

Inside, the air was stale. Peeling wallpaper, broken slot machines. I moved cautiously. Then—the faint hum of machinery turned into a blaring “JACKPOT!”

Growls, shuffling, claws on tile. Super Mutant Hounds.

The mist cleared. Broken double doors. Mold, oil, something worse. Slot machines half-buried in debris. I motioned Clancy forward.

“Chief… you really think anything’s left in here?” His voice tight.

“Focus, Lieutenant. RAILROAD doesn’t follow noise. We become the signal.”

Pinball hovered, sensors flaring. B-B-B-Bad vibes. Hounds near.

A jackpot bell rang from a corner. Big Boom echoed from behind the wall. Dust fell. The hounds were on us.

“Pattern recognition!” I barked.

RAILROAD. Position. Assets. Aim. Discipline.

Clancy nodded, internalizing. He dropped into stance. Eyes scanning.

First hound lunged from the shattered roulette table. Clancy fired. Clean hit. Pinball’s pincer needles sparked mid-lunge. Chaos erupted...but rhythm held.

Another hound broke from the shadows, moving faster than expected.

Not toward me.

Toward Larry.

The Swindler barely had time to turn before the creature slammed into him.

Metal screamed as he crashed through a row of slot machines.

"LARRY!" Clancy shouted.

The hound raised its claws.

For once, Larry had no story ready.

No deal.

No excuse.

Just instinct.

He drove his field knife upward with both hands.

The blade ripped through the mutant's belly.

Green ichor burst across the machines...and across Larry.

He staggered out coughing, covered from head to boots.

"I meant to do that," he wheezed.

Pinball scanned the scene.

"Assessment: Larry Breaux has survived through a combination of panic, timing, and questionable decision-making."

Larry pushed the body away.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was not."

Another hound came from behind a toppled slot machine. Big Boom startled even me. Clancy adapted, rolling aside, delivering a precise shot.

“Good. Watch the flow. Anticipate. Don’t panic.” Every hound met calculated fire or blade. Clancy moved deliberately.

Pinball hovered, lasers tracing threats, flamethrower ready. Every flank intercepted. Data logged. Threats neutralized.

One final hound, massive, lunged at Clancy. Duck, spin, rifle butt—crushed. He didn’t flinch. Observer became operator. Principle became choice.

“Good work. You moved from instinct to choice,” I said, clapping his shoulder.

“I get it now, Chief. Structure. Discipline. Anticipation… RAILROAD isn’t just a list. It’s survival.”

Pinball buzzed approval: S-Success! Sentinel protocols intact!

I swept the room. Broken tile, shattered machines, dust settling. Survival. Calibration. Clancy passed the first test.

While we checked weapons and caught our breath, Larry wandered behind the cashier's counter.

A moment later he emerged carrying a faded canvas money bag.

"Thought I'd make myself useful."

Pinball scanned it.

"Contents: casino chips. Estimated monetary value...negligible."

Larry looked inside.

"...Well."

He sighed.

"That looked more expensive."

I ignored him. He shuffled awkwardly, muttering, clearly embarrassed by his own incompetence. Swindler always misses when the plan turns real.

“Stay sharp. Jackpot’s ringing. Big Boom dropped. Swamp has more secrets. Move forward, deliberate, disciplined.”

Swindler, this one goes into the ledger..