Money! (Requires Money)

You flash a smile at him, and draw the wallet you picked up from Danny from your torn jacket.

With a dextrous flick of your wrist, you're holding a wad of old bills, which you spread out like a deck of cards with a simple gesture.

"Think this'll get me what I need?"

The bartender looks taken aback, visually counting the bills. You consider yourself lucky that Danny carried so much on him. Moments later, he nods, reaching out and attempting to pluck the money from his hand. You tighten your grip a microscopic amount, letting him feel the absolute immovability of your cybernetics for a fraction of a second, before releasing them.

"Yeah, I think it will."

He waves to one of the waitress' patrolling through the building and points a finger to the back of the counter, before gesturing you to follow him through the door in the back. You do so, not wanting to spend another second in public.

A minute later you're sitting opposite the bartender in a dank office while he counts the money you've given him in silence. You cross your arms and wait for him to finish.

"This'll do nicely..."

He turns his attention to you, nodding several times in a row.

"So you wanna get out of this shithole, yeah? I mean the Zone, not this town."

You nod eagerly in response.

"That's gonna mean gettin' through the blockade. You know what that means?"

Shrugging back at him, you wave a hand dismissively.

"Did it once, can do it again. Just need the right spot and a way to get there."

He whistles appreciatively.

"Been a long time since I've seen someone from the outside world. Thought your kind wanted us all dead."

You roll your eyes and cross your arms tighter.

"I'm not the government, jackass. Take it up with the president."

Laughing, he returns his gaze to a monitor on his desk. Shortly after, he turns it around to face you. Displayed on the screen is a map of the Dead Zone, with several areas along the border highlighted. You set your eyes to record with a mental command, storing this information for later. You point at the nearest one.

"How do I get there?"

"To the point ain't ya? I don't leave a job half done. There's a guy who sails here every couple weeks." He taps on the screen at a point about halfway between Junkton and the border crossing, along the cities canal network.

"S'about as close as I can get ya. How much you paid me, I'll even cover the trip for ya. Should be setting off in a week. Couple weeks on the ship, month or two on foot, you'll be outta here."

You grimace at the mention of months.

"You can get me halfway there? You just said you don't leave jobs half done?"

"Call it a quarter done then. I didn't say I'm a high achiever."