Mayor Misha

By Strega

The alliance of settlements had no official name. Each town did: Marshall, Two-Shot, Gravelburg by the quarry and Hook Harbor.  And largest of them all Ironville, built into the partly repaired ruin of a prewar Corvega factory. Collectively, though, the allied towns didn't have a name.  Unofficially, the whole area was called Bear Town, or just Bearton. This was for a good reason. 

One rainy Tuesday a caravan came down the old north road, which was cracked and subsided in places but had recent repairs to the worst parts and a sign indicating more work was in the offing. Among the pack brahmin of the caravan circulated half a dozen guards and an equal number of merchants, along with a few general laborers.  The caravan rolled up to the Ironville gates, watched by turrets and alert guards despite the small threat such a modest number of people posed, and turned into the caravanserai courtyard to set up their wares. Word had spread of the arriving cargo and plenty of locals showed up to help unload. Caps were as good here as anywhere else in the wasteland and soon the very ones paid them for the unloading work were given right back to the caravan merchants for goods, usually with more on top.

All this was watched by guards from the walls, for every town in Bearton was well defended and little was taken for granted.  The roads between the towns were much safer than average for the wasteland too, but not perfectly so, and that is why a guard in a full set of prewar combat armor came to talk to Jaxon the caravan chief that night.

"Chief," said the guard politely. A combat rifle was slung across his back and he had the weatherbeaten look of an experienced soldier.  "The mayor wants a word."

Jaxon considered the five-clawed pawprint painted on the guard's chestplate.  "Do I have a choice?"

These settlements had once been run by raiders.  Some would argue that they still were, but very civilized ones.  Ones that raised crops, traded, defended their towns, chased out feral beasts and other raider gangs, and traded honestly with caravans.  Jaxon saw it happen over the course of a lifetime of trading. This area used to be deadly dangerous to visit. Now even the roads were being repaired and his caravan had only been attacked once in an entire year.

"Yes," said the guard briefly.  "You can come see him, or he will come see you."

Jaxon considered.  It was either pack up the caravan before the trading  was done and leave at night or talk to the being who was once the most feared raider on the whole east coast. He decided to talk.

"I'll come. Darren," he signaled his second, "You're in charge for now.  I have to go talk to the bear."

"Don't get eaten," Darren said with a wry smile.

Inside the walls of Ironville were crop fields, livestock pens, neatly maintained houses...and lights.  Jaxon watched two ghouls in overalls enter a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and blazoned with a radiation warning symbol. So, the place really did have a working fusion reactor. That explained the street lights and quietly humming industrial water purifiers.

An inner wall with more guards, each sporting a clawed paw symbol somewhere on their armor, and beyond the shooting range and training ground lay an old school. In the auditorium of the school, lit by strings of lights and between walls with deathclaw heads and other trophies, Jaxon finally met the bear.

"Caravan master," growled the enormous armored figure on the stage.  Even sitting down Misha was taller than a man. The rumor was he went equally well on two or four feet and he resembled exactly what he was; a massive mutant bear or Yao Guai, just one with a few differences. Huge furry hands to wield the Chinese heavy machine gun next to his wooden chair, and more smarts than most men had.  Here was the single being most responsible for Bearton's existence. He'd led the outlaws who founded the settlements forty years ago and after a generation of leading a widely feared raider band he gradually turned the lawless and violent place into what it was now. The most civilized spot this side of Diamond City.

"Mayor Misha," Jaxon said. To the side of the huge bear sat a woman with graying red hair and well maintained armor, a pistol at each hip.  Her bare belly bore a tattoo of what he realized was Misha's nose, just below her navel.  So. Here was the mayor's lieutenant and lover, though not his only one of those if the stories were true. They were the first and second in command of this whole region.

Misha abruptly stood, his thick metal armor clinking.  Welds showed where plates were joined to cover his massive body in cunningly articulated steel mail. He was at least ten feet tall and the thick wooden stage creaked as he paced. Scars showed through gaps in his armor and one furry ear was partly shot away where it protruded from his helmet.

"I have spent," Misha growled, "Many years here.  Once I thought pillage was the only way for outlaws to survive.  I ate the chief of the local raiders and took over.  Many of them were drug-addled or just drunk, violent, stupid.  I had to drive away many to shape them up. Many of the ones I kicked out came back to attack us." He shrugged, armor clinking.  "Anger and violence will lose to good planning and violence every time. When they learned that opposing me meant ending up inside me or in a shallow grave I was able to forge a real weapon. We raided and pillaged and stole to survive.  And then, years later, I realized that what I was really trying to do was build a community. Eating people and fucking all who were interested  kept me happy but I wanted more. So I changed the rules."

Red shot him a smile.  "And ate a bunch more people."

"People, some of them friends, wanted to stay as outlaws," Misha said with a good-natured but fanged grin back at her.  "I decided that is not the best way to live. Some of them tried to bring me down, replace me." He ran his claws over the heavy muscle of his belly when it showed under armor and fur. "A little bit of each is still with me, what did not end up as fertilizer in the fields."

He stopped pacing and looked at Jaxon. "I am no king, no president.  I'm just a man." He shrugged. "A bear, Yao Guai. Whichever.  I decided I'd make things better if I could. I think I have."

Jaxon didn't know what to think.  He said the first thing that came to mind. "Twenty years ago I wouldn't have come here," he said honestly.  "The protection money we had to pay to you was too high, and if we didn't pay it we'd be raided. It's different now.  Traders aren't afraid to come here any more. I could see retiring here when I'm done with the road."

"Mm." Misha looked him over. He didn't need the height of the stage to tower over Jaxon.  He was as heavy as five or six strong men and a mass of muscle with a bit of fat and lots of fur.  Yao Gaui are tough and powerful. Jaxon didn't want to think about standing off one with armor and a heavy machine gun. Deathclaws are bad enough.

"Mayor," Jaxon said respectfully. "Why am I here?" 

Misha clanked back over to his heavy wooden seat, which in no way resembled a throne but might as well be. He sat on the leather pad with a thump felt through the floor. His armor alone must weigh more than a man.  "Bring them in."

Red gestured to a guard and there was a shuffle of feet two heavily muscled men were dragged in.  Each bore the scars of many fights and one had a bear paw tattoo on one shoulder, the other on his chest.  Jaxon recognized the one with the eye patch at once and Misha was watching his face.

"You know them, don't you," the huge bear growled.

"I do,” Jaxon said.  "They led a band of raiders that attacked my caravan the last time we came through. We had a shipment of drugs they must have heard about.  Two of my men were killed defending the goods."

"Yes," the bear rumbled.  A clawed hand unbuckled his helm, which he lifted away to reveal a long scar across one eye. One by one he undid the latches on his chest armor and the second his claws touched the first buckle the two men began to struggle in their bonds. Red stood and kicked each behind the knee and they were forced to kneel before Misha, held from each side by one of the guards.

Misha pulled away his chest armor, segments of metal, combat armor and thick leather padding, and set it down with a thump. Jaxon realized he'd underestimated the weight of it. Just the breastplate must weigh more than he did. The bear's furry torso was exposed as he stood. Scars showed through the fur and a long bulge in his red loincloth showed that certain rumors about him were true.

"Jack-Jack." A long furry arm shot out and dragged the eyepatch raider to his feet. "I trusted you. Gave you a patrol. Explained the rules.  What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry, boss."  Jack-Jack stood up in Misha's grip. "It won't happen again."

"Correct," Misha growled, and Jaxon watched, horrified but not surprised, as the bear yawned impossibly wide.  His huge hands stuffed Jack-Jack in and the man commendably did not scream as his head disappeared into a salivating gullet. Misha reared up, bolting his follower down in a series of heaving gulps, and Jack-Jack finally started to kick as his hips and bound hands disappeared forever into Misha's maw.  It did not save him. Upright, with gravity to help, the bear swallowed Jack-Jack down with little effort. Torn shirt and loincloth and cloth arm wrappings went down the bear's throat with their owner. There was a last glimpse of dirty, rough-soled feet as Misha's jaws closed and with a last gulp a double bulge of them moved down through his neckfur.

Misha was so huge that a whole man only bulged out his belly  without making a gross droop. A moderately overweight man would have more of a gut. A fat man's gut doesn't kick and wriggle, though. Misha let his gut bounce, belching seemingly as an afterthought.

"I haven't had to eat one of my men in two years," he rumbled.  Jaxon sensed eyes on him and realized half a dozen more men in armor marked with bear paws were watching from the shadows. His eyes looked down at the other bound Raider. "Much less two."

"Cyrus," rumbled up out of his chest, and the raider stood up straight. The bulge in Misha's belly kicked a last time and was still. From fifteen feet away Jaxon heard a gurgle as the huge bear's belly went to work on his meal.  "I trusted you."

"Boss," Cyrus said.  "We used men without your mark.  Unless they got Jack-Jack or me no one would know it was -"

Chops wrinkled back from sharp canine fangs and the two guards holding Cyrus's shoulders flinched back barely in time as Misha leaned down and swallowed Cyrus to the knees in one great lunge. The man barely had time to kick as the bear stood back up and swallowed. There was a slither as the bulge moved through Misha's neckfur and then the lump in his middle was twice as large. The yao guai paced back to his chair and sat. This time he did not burp, but sat with a kicking belly as he surveyed the room.

"Thank you," he said to the guards who'd held Cyrus. "For your quick thinking." They nodded and returned to the shadows, no doubt glad their reflexes saved them from a trip down his throat. Maybe Misha would have spit them out, but best not to take chances with an angry bear.

Misha considered the bulge in his middle.  A horrifying muffled shriek emerged from his belly and still he did not burp. Cyrus suffered a slower death than Jack-Jack as air remained to breathe but not enough to keep the bear's digestive juices from going to work.

"To build a community," Misha rumbled, "There must be trust. We do not kill for no reason, but when someone betrays that trust the choices are exile or death. These two," he slid a massive hand over the wriggling bulge, "Wanted the old way. The raider way. They would have gone right back to it, probably attacked caravans trading with us." He shrugged. "Exile was not a choice. I don't like to do this, but trust must be maintained."

Finally he let out a merciful belch and the kicking in his middle subsided. Without the big bubble of air the thick walls of muscle and fur squeezed in on Cyrus and stomach acids filled the spaces between him and Jack-Jack. A lumpy bulge remained and the gurgling increased in volume as two entire men began their trip through the Yao Guai's guts.

Red, who had never moved from her seat, gestured and with a shuffle of feet the other men left, even the guards. Jaxon had his pistol but only a madman would draw on Misha and Red even if he hadn't just seen the bear swallow two men whole. Both were heavily armed and there was no way he could keep the huge bear from coming right over to have a third meal. Just the same he appreciated the gesture of trust.

"Caravan master." Misha waved him closer, and closer still. Half reluctant, half trusting, Jaxon was finally close enough to put his hand on the bear's belly and feel the movements under the fur. He could actually feel the stomach kneading acid into the two raider corpses. Through the palm of his hand he sensed the bear's pulse and a deep rumble as its body began work on these meals. He'd heard many stories about Misha swallowing men alive. Now he felt the beginning of the process that would take those men apart and make them into nutrients and fertilizer.

"If you wonder whether this is a trick, you can stay," Misha said.  "As long you like. You are here as a witness. If you want to stay until my belly is flat again you can."

"There is no need," Jaxon said. "I can feel that they are dead."

"Very well," the bear rumbled. "I apologize for the loss of your men in the attack. Jack-Jack and Cyrus's goods have been sold and you will be given the resulting caps. I hope you see how seriously I take such affairs.  I believe these man are a rarity in the community I've made. If I find another with the same intent, he or she will follow these two."

"Thank you, Mayor," Jaxon said as he withdrew. Misha watched him go and Jaxon politely did not comment when Red's hand slipped beneath her lover's loincloth.

Two guards were waiting for him at the door. "The boss doesn't like it when his men go bad," one said to him. "It always puts him in a bad mood. Thanks for coming here, he likes to get these things off his chest as soon as he can."

And into his gut, apparently. "I'm sure he'll find a way to take his mind off it," Jaxon said. As the door closed he caught a glimpse of Red, her armored skirt gone, climbing into Misha's lap.  She had a bear nose tattooed on the back right at the base of her spine to match the one on her belly, he noted.

That was the first time Jaxon met Misha.  It wouldn't be the last.  He'd always say the same thing, if asked: Misha was tough, but fair.  You could work for him and trust that he had your back, but if you got on the bear's bad side, you ended up in his insides.