'On your knees!' Craggs demanded. The man complied. With a double-barrel aimed squarely in his face, he did not have much of a choice.

'Arms up, slowly,' again, the man followed instructions. 'you got any weapons on you?'

'No.'

'You must be stupid,' Craggs said, using a hand to pat his hostage down, then grasped the man's bag, which hung over his shoulder, lifting it over his splayed hands. Craggs then turned to his boss, feeling it's weight. 'There's something heavy in here,' Craggs said enthusiastically.

'What's your name?' asked Bola; the leader of the Gutterswipes Gang.

'Jim,' the man said, watching Craggs as he deposited its contents before Bola; listening them as inventory.

'Nuka-cola, chems, caps, stimpak's and a medium non-descript box, locked by a numerical code.

'What's the code,' Bola demanded.

'Two-two-three-six.'

Bola opened it and upon seeing its contents closed it again,' take this away, carefully,' and the box was taken out of the room, they heard the man say, 'shit.'

Bola looked at Jim and said, 'you have some balls on you,' he added with a smile, 'or incredibly stupid.'

Jim replied, 'I want that back.'

'What were you going to do with that?'

Jim shrugged, 'I hadn't decided, maybe destroy the Gutterswipes Gang.'

Bola ignored him, picking up an unusual-looking chem, 'what is this?'

'It doesn't have a name, but if I had to call it anything, it would be PBJ.'

Craggs laughed and started 'peanut-'

'No,' Jim said with an air of finality ,'Psycho-Buffjet.'

'Really?' Bola said, his interested piqued. 'And where pray tell did you acquire this?

'I made it,' said Jim.

'Interesting,' Bola said hungrily.

'You are a chemist?'

Jim pulled a face, agreeing somewhat to the statement, 'of sorts,' he admitted. Bola licked his lips, he could taste opportunity calling.

'Can I kill him, now?' Craggs barked, a finger caressing his trigger. Bola raised a hand.

'We need him,' Bola snapped, focus momentarily fixed on the defiant underling,'if our new friend receives a bullet, you will get two.' Reluctantly, Craggs obeyed.

Bola continued, 'you can make more of these?'

'In theory,' Jim nodded.

'There is nothing theoretical about it. Craggs buised himself examining the chems, as if they were precious commodities. In a way; they were.

'Why do they have different coloured labels?' Bola asked.

'Different doses. Green is half-dose, Orange is one dose and red is double-dose.'

'And what does the chem actually do?'

Jim made no attempt to explain. 'Well?' Bola barked impatiently.

'You will feel invincible, like a Deathclaw.'

'Tasty,' Craggs said, figuratively salivating, 'let me take one,' eyeing the paraphernalia like an artificer.

'Fine,' said Bola.

'Which one?' Craggs asked excitedly.

Bola looked at Jim, and repeated, 'which one?'

Jim shrugged, 'a half dose might even be too much for him.'

'What are you saying,' Bola barked.

'Hahaha,' Craggs cackled, a grating sound like screeching metal, 'doubt it,' and snatched the orange PBJ.

'I warned you,' said Jim flatly, Craggs laughed in his face as he jabbed the chem into his arm, and his smile lasted for several seconds, before twisting into a mask of terror. Craggs clawed vainly at his chest. Cragg's tried to speak but began to foam at the mouth, his face became of rictus as his huge body fell with molasses slowness. Cragg's was already dead before he hit the floor like a felled by his defiance.

Bola's pistol appeared in his hand, three of his underlings entered the room; similarly brandishing weapons. They aimed at Jim upon seeing Craggs's recumbent form.

'What 'appened to 'im?'

'He did not heed my warning,' Jim said unperturbed at facing several guns.

'Want me to blast 'im, boss?' asked a raider holding a sawn-off shotgun.

'No,' said Bola, picking up the green label, holding it out, 'I want a demonstration. Jim shook his head and pointed to the red-labelled PBJ.

'Oh,' said Bola, 'be my guest.'

Jim grabbed the double-dose, pausing for a moment, and smiling ruefully as he punched the needle into his jugular. Time appeared to slow for Jim. When in reality, Jim's reflexes quickened, and sharpened tenfold.

A throwing knife appeared in each hand, throwing both synchronously, the left fell with a blade through his chest, the right died instantaneously, the knife lodged through his eye and into his brain.

Bola's underlings had been silenced in seconds. Jim smiled at his aggressor, Bola went to raise his gun, but in a flash Jim grasped the gun arm, twisting his body and throwing Bola over his shoulder, disarmed.

To Bola's credit, he recovered quickly, Jim did not move, allowing his enemy to get to his feet.

Bola seethed, he looked at the chem in his hand, without hesitation, injecting it into his leg. However, instead of heightened reflexes, Bola become a singular lead weight, hit the floor; paralysed and incapacitated.

Bola tried to form words. 'This played out exactly how I intended,' Jim said with a grin. Bola tried vainly to speak. 'Who am I?' Bola tried to nod. 'I am a dutiful employee of Nuka-Cola, I roam the wasteland providing its denizens' with a refreshing beverage.' Jim added malignly, and exterminating trash like you.'

Jim tapped his left foot, and a blade appeared out of its toe cap, which then started to vibrate. Bola saw only the light reflecting before Jim kicked the raider's throat wide open, searing through his spinal column with ease.

Jim had not only severed Bola's head but also the head of the Gutterswipes Gang; with a tap of his foot.

'Now,' Jim said to the room, which had become corpse-y, 'to find that blasted mini-nuke,' he added with a chuckle.