As promised, here is the remastered version of AMA. I hope you all will enjoy it in it's new state and of course continue to review and read the work. I have two more projects in the works related to the story, which will come after this revised project. If you are a newcomer or a fan of 2M2M, I encourage and hope you'll take the time to read and enjoy A Mutation Apart and of course, review if you'd like. In the future, be on the lookout for a second part to this story and possibly a prequel if everything works out.

Of course, this is a work of fan appreciation and is in no way a self-claim or original work. The works and canon of the Fallout series, specifically FO2, are the sole property and creation of Obsidian Entertainment, Bethesda Softworks, and of course Tim Cain and the other creators of the series. I in no way or form intend this for self-promotion or profit, only a work of appreciation.

So with the legality out of the way, here is the remastered A Mutation Apart. Enjoy!

- JessKa89, 06.11.2011 (Excuse the date, I'm on PST/GMT -8, we're perpetually later than the rest of the world.)

I: Burning Eyes Finds The Mad Dog

June, 2223: Junktown

Milla tried to get the glare of the dry sun out of her eyes as she walked through the gates of Junktown.

Two days already… That little peeve better be here, I'm too old for this hunting business.

She cleared her head with a swig from her canteen. Rick had obviously really wanted this guy alive enough to punish, in her supplies he'd given her purified water. Not the usual irradiated sludge, though, being in a bottle was a plus from the days she had to drink it out of streams. Like a beast, but that was ancient history by now.

At least little Amanda will act a bit better, dear god, she'll be three already… Ok, I need to focus. Where'd he be in this glorified crap pile?

She checked herself before traveling further. Each settlement in the California wasteland seemed to give a different peek into the human condition. Junktown, was no exception. It had its own style of justice, one that wouldn't look to kindly on her business if she still had her weapons out, or if she tried to make a move. She quietly tucked everything out of obvious view and continued with a nod at the guards around the gate. One of them gave recognition by a gruff cough instead.

Milla sighed, put down the small pack she carried and held out her arms to show she was clean, well, relatively. If she wanted to go through the trouble of making it easier, she could've disguised herself as a trader. In the end, she was here for one reason only and there were few who could haggle like a trader in Junktown. Instead, she dealt in a different type of business.

"A'right, she's straight. Just remember the rules: No guns out unless you have a good goddamn reason to, and we determine that in the end. Ok, enjoy your stay and -"

The guard had lost himself for a brief moment when he caught a full look at Milla's face, well, specifically her eyes. They had never been the same after that one day when she woke up to the fluorescent blue, cold, and inhuman orbs glaring back at her in a water barrel and her insides felt like they were racing under her skin. She'd learn to accept it with time and that others couldn't, or not at first. Another guard gave a bump to the first and he composed himself back to his script.

"And… take care here in Junktown. With whatever the hell's wrong with you…"

He muttered the last words under his breath, still starring at her eyes while he went back to his station. She shrugged her gear back in place. It always was the same with everyone new. It didn't matter if it was a human, ghoul, super mutant, or bloody deathclaw, the stare was the same.

She continued on through and kept invisible as much as she could. Not that anything messy was going to happen and she'd need stealth, but so the traders wouldn't be breathing down her neck. Milla certainly didn't give off the air of wealth, but in this place that didn't matter. If you weren't packed with loads of scrap on your back, or huddled on a heap of old world scavenge, then you were a target for sale. The way the caravans swarmed around the few larger establishments, the way the traders eyed up prospective customers. It all reminded her of how she got to this state, hunting down men for slavers, going out on patrol, guarding his royal slaver excellence, Rick, like a dog.

She had been lined out, by herself, to all but a few of Saul's most trusted VIP's, men who groveled to him in turn, and stuck out for sale as if she was a sports car from before the War. She didn't know how she let herself get into that. At first when Saul and his men picked her broken body out of the Waste they could've seen she wasn't just a normal human, or at least dead and left her there. It seemed crazy even, that they went through the trouble of killing off the remaining super mutants, who'd hadn't grown as tired as their friends in poking her body around.

By this point in her life though, she'd come to recognize that there were many types of scavengers in the Wastes. No matter how high on the food chain Saul was, slavers of any rank just knew the worth of bone, blood and muscle. It didn't matter if they were half-dead, mutated or not, they still were worth something to someone.

She wasn't like the other slaves Rick happened to keep for himself though and was 'granted' the benefit of indentured service. A contract even, for the trouble of carrying her body back to Saul's little kingdom and nursing her back to relative health before setting her out to the infamous Task. The make-or-brake of a top shelf slave. Saul words still floated around in her head after all these years.

'…Just to prove your market value, girlie… who knows, you might even earn some freedom…'.

If she was mad enough, she would've attacked them all there if she could without a care to her life, but she still cared enough about survival then to go along with it. After the Task, it was just apathy. She'd retreated into herself as far as she could and didn't care anymore if it meant she'd never have to.

But then, she met little Amanda, who shelled out and made her recognize what of her heart was left.

Milla went first to the side of the bar, if she knew the target, he'd be thirsty now. Slavers, even former ones who'd managed to civilize themselves, worked like clockwork. They may've had fun when the boss let them out loose to scout or terrorize the local populace, but when they were back at base, there was no freedom. They fell into place or were simply executed, there was no room for weakness. She looked up as the lights outside flickered dimly in the grimy bulbs and waited for a few more people to shuffle by before stepping in. There were no grand, cowboy entrances in her job description… even if Amanda liked to invent stories of Milla being some mysterious force of wasteland justice at the end of the day when she looked after her.

Milla slipped into a corner and made herself known to one of the waitresses, just enough so she wouldn't be too mysterious and beg attention. There were no television dramas in the world anymore, so people generally took the liberty to be nosey enough to make up their own. If that meant someone had their brains shot out in the canteen after a scuffle about who looked like a Brahmin's ass, so be it.

" Anything for you sis'?"

Milla kept her eyes out of view and replied quickly, "Just a shot of vodka, I won't be long."

The waitress shifted a little and sighed, obviously hearing the line all day and wrote it down in the usual mechanical fashion.

"'Kay, but don't hold it against me later if you change your mind, because that's what everyone says. Then they start livin' here." She replied with a welcome chuckle.

Milla gave a little smirking laugh in recognition, "Don't worry, I have a bottle back home if I need to drown in it, this is just a social visit."

Shaking her head a bit the waitress walked off and soon came back with her order, then Milla was left alone to scan the room.

The guy was the usual sort, an ex-slaver who'd somehow managed to retire with his head still on his shoulders, except he still owed Rick for a few debts and decided to make the not-so lucky move by running off before he could collect them. Now it was Milla's turn to retrieve his body, so Rick could collect his head. His name was Baker, who'd somehow managed to make it all the way through his career without having to change it into a more ridiculously acceptable slaver title. Instead he was known for working on a more awe-inspiring reputation, one that Milla had witnessed a few times over the years to know that even with his new freedom he wouldn't be flaunting it around. It'd make the job a lot less amusing for her and everyone else in the bar, but in the end all that mattered was getting Baker back relatively alive enough to pay up.

She found him eventually, sitting smartly near the center of the bar and casually talking with the bartender. If he knew he was being followed, he was well aware being his usually reserved self wasn't going to keep him alive. He also would've guessed no one sent after would be stupid enough to go after him in plain sight. She was growing a bit frustrated by the third hour of watching him trying to be sociable, but she let it only fuel her determination in catching him. Ironically, in one of his own old set of chains that he smugly left behind for Rick. She looked up to see the bartender growing thankfully weary as well and eventually he drifted off to other distractions, leaving Baker open.

His glass was empty, the bartender was close but wanted no more to do with him, he couldn't keep a waitress distracted for himself without pissing off the drunken regulars, and Milla knew he'd have to eventually piss sometime with that belly full of booze. To her aid, alcohol usually did have the universal affect of sending everyone to the toilet sooner than later and Baker eventually with nothing else on his mind, had to answer the call of nature.

Interesting, I've never caught anyone in the toilet before. I wonder what story Amanda will make out of this…

Baker snuck in his own characteristically direct way outside to one of the toilets out back, and with any luck he'd either be alone or frustrated and waiting outside. Milla got up, paid for her drink, and gently followed his footsteps around the building. Even though there wasn't much for light, anyone could tell by smell that the toilets gave off enough methane to rival a Brahmin herd. Thankfully there wasn't a line. She gave a sigh of relief to the thought of additionally dealing with the all too friendly and vomiting drunk who might still be inside, and instead waited with chains and short club in hand for when Baker made his appearance to the world. There was shuffling inside, but Baker didn't exit as he was supposed to and instead seemed to flop down when he was finished.

What the fuck? He has to do both? That's it, I don't have time to waste for him to go through all the numbers and then decide to wank off too. Sorry Baker, you're numbers' up…

Milla scanned the outside one more time then darted out for the door, to reveal Baker with one foot down the hole of the toilet and the rest of him angling in for escape.

"You've got to be kidding me… Seriously now Baker, that's low, even for you. Do you even know how far you would've made it down in there before I came along, or were you expecting someone to come by and shit on you to cover up? Anyways, you're coming with me. It's just business, you'd understand."

Baker reacted immediately by pushing his dangling foot at the top of the toilet so he could grab the pistol hidden at his other side, but it slipped instead on the rim and he crashed through the flimsy door into the ground. Milla was on him in a second with the small club made especially by slavers for subduing targets and chains in one hand which Baker spotted wide eyed through the knuckles of her other.

"Those are mine you bitch! Get the fuck off of me, I'm through with Rick and his shit, I paid up, I'm fre-"

Milla gave a swift thwack at the back of his head through the fighting, but even unconscious Baker's teeth still managed to cling on her arm like a mad dog and gritting her teeth in reply she jarred them off before completely tying him up. He managed to bite through her skin, but not enough to bleed, only to cause her blood instead to blister around the marks. Before leaving Junktown at sunset when the gates were closed, she cleaned off the wound as best as she could, but she knew it would leave a scar.

When Amanda would ask about it, she'd say she fought a vicious and mutated bear-dog monster to keep it from attacking the good citizens of Junktown. Amanda would giggle with excitement as she always did, even if they both knew she was making it up. She was only five, but even a slaver's daughter knew by then what people like Milla were enforced to do. Milla at least would try to be a hero for her stories before bedtime, it was the only normality they both could genuinely have to themselves.