Andy Cerberus's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Andy needed allies who controlled what Broken Hills lacked—muscle, routes, and leverage. The marketplace was running, but protection and connections would determine if it survived or became another wasteland failure. He pulled on his tan jacket and checked his medical kit before heading out. The orange tabby walked north where salvagers worked in clusters around rusted machinery. These weren't random scavengers—they were organized, skilled, and they knew every trader moving through the region. Andy watched them sort through pre-war components with practiced efficiency. One group had what looked like navigation equipment spread across a tarp. He approached slowly, letting them see his medical supplies and the caps pouch on his belt. They'd talk eventually. Everyone needed something, and Andy always came prepared to deal. The lead salvager glanced up from a circuit board. "Medical cat. What're you buying?" Andy crouched beside the tarp and examined the equipment. Guidance systems. Exactly what Reilly's Rangers had stockpiled thinking they were broken radios. He pointed to three components. "These work with proper calibration. I'll pay fifty caps each and show you how to spot the functional ones." The salvager's eyes narrowed, then he nodded. Information trades built trust faster than caps alone. Andy spent an hour teaching them diagnostic tricks while mentally cataloging their operation's scope. They moved salvage through four settlements and knew which caravans carried what cargo. Before leaving, he planted the seed. "Broken Hills needs reliable suppliers. You bring quality components to my marketplace, I'll make sure the right buyers show up." The salvager pocketed the caps and agreed to send a runner next week. On his way back, Andy spotted the old Vault-Tec billboard near the highway. The digital display still had power, flickering with pre-war advertisements nobody could read anymore. He climbed the rusty ladder and pried open the control panel. Three wire connections and one reprogrammed message chip later, the screen blazed to life with bright letters: "BROKEN HILLS TRADING - NEXT EXIT." Caravans traveling the main route would see it from miles away now. Andy descended and walked toward the fuel station, where he'd noticed merchants gathering in the evenings. Inside, someone had cleared space and set up a small operation—Dancing Dead Coffee, the faded sign read. The weathered brick building had brown and white walls with a red tile roof that matched the SuperMart's style. Two traders sat at a makeshift counter, drinking something that smelled like roasted chicory root. Andy ordered a cup and listened to them discuss supply problems and route dangers. This was where deals happened after the official trading ended. He made a note to stop by here three times a week. The real intelligence always flowed where people relaxed. Andy finished his drink and headed back to his office as the sun dropped low. The salvagers would bring components, the billboard would pull in distant caravans, and the coffee shop would feed him information. Broken Hills was becoming exactly what he'd envisioned—a place where traders gathered, deals formed, and Andy Cerberus learned every secret worth knowing. The foundation was solid now. Soon he could start building upward.