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Carl Everett's Log
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Jamaica Plain Raid Team
August Log Entries
Sal again. Damn woman won't give up. Never should have taken that contract. I've got ten days to come up with the caps, or she'll haul me in for the bounty. That's what I get for crossing an ex-Gunner.
Nothing. All the short-term gigs are for mercs or gearheads. No one needs a fixer, even with my connections. But I've got to come up with the money somehow.
An old rumor. That's all I got. But if I spin it right, maybe I can convince Sal I'm worth more than the price on my head.
September Log Entries
She bought it. The Treasures of Jamaica Plain-- greatest prize in the Commonwealth. The big score no one's ever pulled off. I convinced her I can pull together a team. If it'll keep me breathing, I'll call in every favor I've got.
I've dug up all the info I can. There's something down there, something big. Security sounds insane. Turrets, robots, locks, you name it. And that's if you can make it past the ghouls. Two hundred years, and no one's even come close. And yet, the old papers barely mention it. Something's fishy. I don't know what. Just hope Sal doesn't catch on until I'm far away.
October Log Entries
No word from Hadrian, but the others are all here. Sal's got heavy weapons covered. Old Silverhand himself to handle security. Ken Standish for scouting and locks. His wife for muscle, and to keep him in line. Even managed to scrounge up some pre-war junk from the town. Maybe it'll come in handy.
Sal's insisting I go along. I tried to beg off, but she won't have it. I know too much. Once she gets the treasure, she'll gut the lot of us, I'm sure. And there's nothing I can do to stop her.
I don't think I'm getting out of this alive.