((Hi there, everyone! Thanks for taking the time to click. I promise to keep this brief.

This is a redo of an overly-ambitious project I started several years ago. In fact, today is the two-year anniversary of the last time I updated the orignal. If any of you have read it, I hope you like my new outlook (and decidedly longer attention span). If you haven't, hooray! No spoilers!

These first few chapters are mostly an introduction of characters (and I swear to god, you'll see someone familiar soon), so forgive the slow pace. Things won't stay boring for long.

Ok, I'm done.))

The general store was quiet that day, a few customers browsing halfheartedly. The smell of freshly tanned leather and the sweeter tang of oil were thick in the hot air, making the late September afternoon all the more stifling. A pair of boys, one just entering his teens and the other nearly out, wandered the racks and shelves.

The elder of the two gazed over the merchandise with bright green eyes, moving slowly but steadily all around the small shop. Six foot two inches and extremely thin, his dirty black hair hung just past his shoulders, framing a long face and perpetual smirk. He had tried to shave himself a goatee, but the effect was lessened by numerous patches of missed whiskers. His hands rested in the pockets of a knee-length brown coat; long, bony fingers tapped a restless cadence against his thighs.

His younger companion kept on his heels like a miniature shadow, frowning up at him from under a mop of white-blonde hair. The boy's yellow eyes were narrowed distrustfully; a good two feet shorter, he glowered up at the older boy every time he stopped to inspect something. His face was just beginning to lose its childlike roundness, still soft and relatively unmarred.

A short woman standing by the counter gave them a mistrusting glance. Just entering her later twenties, five foot three and thin as a rail, she wasn't a particularly imposing presence, but wore a look that implied she was used to getting her way. A short, fat scar cut through the left half of her lips; a longer, ropy one ran from her right temple down the cheek, the thinnest one running across the bridge of her nose. Twin pairs of needle-sharp claws, each an inch long, hung from both earlobes. She tugged one absentmindedly as she glanced behind her at the boys.

Dark hazel eyes met the older boy's green ones; she gave him a brief, withering stare. He grinned back, sharp canines making the rather unsettling expression even less reassuring.

Watch him close,' she mouthed at the younger boy, then returned her attention to the shop owner, forced to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

"That won't cut it, Brian," she told him.

Tall and wide-shouldered, the man's short-cropped brown hair and beard framed a good-natured, broad face. He stared back at the woman with barely-contained irritation.

"I'm offering an extra five hundred caps here, Claw." Brian leaned forward, resting his palms on the counter. "You've always done good work, I don't want to have to give the contract to someone else."

Claw crossed her arms across her flat chest and gave him a disapproving stare.

"It's too late. We'd never make it back before winter. I'd be giving the 'bonus' right back in supplies, and that trip isn't worth a thousand in summer." She pushed a strand of dingy brown hair back underneath the kerchief wrapped over her head. "Twenty five hundred, a thousand up front."

Brian frowned right back.

"That's completely unreasonable. You know I'll give you a five percent discount on supplies."

Claw shrugged one shoulder.

"I also need ammunition, spare parts, medical supplies- I'm not being unreasonable, I'm telling you I'd rather not go north when the season's changing unless it's worth my while. Now can you make me a real offer, or-"

"Claw! He's touching stuff!" The blonde boy was waving both arms frantically, while the older one held his hands above his head.

Claw's upper lip twisted into a snarl.

"Boys, I'm a bit busy here," she snapped, "can I not leave you to yourselves for five goddamn minutes?"

"I don't know what Cutter's squawking about." The elder boy was trying to sound innocent, and failing miserably. "I didn't do anything."

"Spike, I swear to-" Claw pinched the bridge of her nose with a short sigh, scrunching up the scar that ran across it. "Get over here. Both of you."

The older boy sauntered toward her, hands still at shoulder level and grinning crookedly. Cutter scurried ahead of him to stand right next to Claw, watching Spike as though he expected him to bite.

"How's business?" Spike drawled, clapping a bony hand on Claw's left shoulder. "Besides taking forever. I'm bored." Claw shut her eyes and ground her teeth briefly.

"Stand right there, close your mouth, and keep it that way." She glared at him. "Did you get all that? I will go slower if you need me to."

Brian watched the exchange with bored irritation, tapping his thick fingers on the counter. Spike gave the man another unsettling grin and clasped his hands behind his head.

"Got it, boss. Don't let me interrupt."

Claw raised her eyes skyward, jaw ticking twice. Brian cleared his throat.

"As we were saying," he began, clearly beginning to lose patience, "five hundred is a sizable bonus. I'm willing to give it to you up front, along with the usual advance."

Claw shook her head once.

"As we were saying," she repeated, "you're asking me to head out for Canada. In September. Good luck finding anyone else dumb enough to do it. Twenty five hundred."

"Sixteen."

"Twenty five."

Brian scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair.

"Eighteen," he huffed.

"Twenty five," Claw repeated dully. "I may be dumb enough to take the job, but I'm not getting suckered because your spring delivery ran late. I hate getting suckered, Brian."

The man let out a long, grumbling sigh, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Two thousand," he grumbled, "and you can have your damned thousand up front."

"Done," Claw replied briskly. "When do we leave?"

Brian sighed again, obviously less than thrilled with the bargain struck.

"Two days. Samuel will be here with the Brahmin at dawn."

Claw nodded once.

"We'll be here. Start the tab. Five pounds of jerky, and none of that gristly shit. I'm not paying for gristle."

Brian glared at her, silently picking up a pencil and scrawling across a pad of paper.

"Five pounds of beans," Claw continued. "Two cartons of cigarettes, one hundred feet of good rope, a tent, I need our boots repaired, a case each of vodka and whisky, thirty six cans of Cram-"

"Didn't I sell you a tent last year?" Brian interrupted, still scribbling across the paper.

Claw closed her eyes with a pained expression.

"It caught on fire," she said through gritted teeth. Beside her, Cutter snickered, and was rewarded with a hard shove on the shoulder. Claw ignored the injured look on the boy's face, reaching behind her just in time to grab Spike by the back of his jacket as he tried to slip back amongst the shelves.

"I told you to stand still," she snarled.

"You didn't tell me how long," he retorted, adjusting the jacket carefully. "Be more specific next time, boss."

Claw gripped the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, deep breath. "Why do you do this to me. Your brain is broken, you-"

"Dumber than a sack of potatoes, because potatoes used to be alive, gotcha," Spike finished for her, brushing off his lapels. "Weren't you buying me a new ammo belt? My rifle strap's getting pretty frayed, too. Oh, and make it three cartons of smokes. You know we'll go through them."

Claw nodded at Brian, still gripping her nose. "That, too. Cutter? What else?"

The boy squinted his yellow eyes thoughtfully. "Traps, and plenty of wire," he suggested. "Lighter fluid, and turpentine. Oh, and we should get some of that cheese."

"You're the only one that likes the shit," Spike snarked. "Tastes like the inside of a Radscorpion and smells three times as bad."

"Don't eat it then, stupid," Cutter snapped back. "I don't know how you'd know what it smells like, over your own stench."

Spike gave his armpit a sniff.

"I smell fine," he said decisively.

"I can smell you from here," Cutter shot back, "and you smell like week-old roadkill."

Claw stared at Brian hopelessly as the two continued to bicker.

"They won't stop," she told him bleakly. "It never stops. God damn it, I'm getting a headache. What's our total so far?"

Brian continued to write, looking up after a moment.

"Six hundred and fify even, after the discount. Bring the boots by tonight, I'll have them and the tent ready with Samuel."

Claw gave him a humorless smile. "See? There goes your 'bonus'. I apologize in advance for his boots," she jerked a thumb at Spike and raised her voice slightly, "he does smell like week-old carrion."

The young man shrugged. "Whatever, Claw. I've had to wash your socks after a few weeks in the field. I puked for two days."

"We're not IN-" Claw cut herself off. "Brian, socks too. Fifteen pairs."

"Six hundred and seventy two caps," he replied. "Do you want it taken from the advance or end payment?"

Claw thumbed one of her earrings for a moment, head snapping back around when the boys began to tussle. Spike had Cutter's head trapped in his armpit, the smaller boy struggling furiously to get away. His muffled screeches of indignation were nearly drowned out by Spike's cackling.

"Enough!" the woman roared. She lunged at Spike, grabbed him by the ear, and twisted.

"Ow ow owowow fuckme OW," he yelped, releasing Cutter and falling to one knee. The younger boy staggered back a step, then took a carefully aimed kick at Spike's backside.

"Asshole," Cutter seethed, running his fingers angrily through his hair.

Still gripping Spike's ear, Claw yanked him to his feet and dragged him to the door. The guards posted outside raised their weapons briefly as the pair burst into the late summer afternoon, then relaxed as Claw proceeded to knock the young man into the dirt and slap him mercilessly.

"What have I told you!" she screamed, flecks of spittle flying from her mouth. "About embarrassing me! In front! Of! Clients!"

"He started it," Spike protested, arms raised in defense. "He said I stink!"

"You do fucking stink!" Claw screeched, "you smell like an open sewer! I can hardly stand to be in the same room as you, I know you can smell it, now get the fuck out of my sight before I shoot you in the gut!"

Panting, kerchief askew on her mat of short brown hair, she gave Spike one last slap and pushed herself to her feet. She glanced at each of the guards, who were both grinning at her.

"The fuck you looking at?" she snapped. Spike picked himself up slowly, prodding the back of his head with a wince. Red welts, several in the full shape of a hand, were spreading across his face.

"That was a good one, boss." He grabbed the back of his coat and shook it vigorously, sending a cloud of dust into the air. "I mean, I was distracted, but you were quick. I shouldn't have fallen for the ear trick. That was stupid- I'll do better next time."

"Oh god." Claw gripped her head in both hands. "You are making me so angry. Go, just go."

"Where?" Spike crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "I'm broke." His unsettling grin spread across his face. "Oh, go get the advance. We should take it all in caps and get wasted."

"My God," Claw yelled, "shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" She let out a single strangled laugh, which sounded suspiciously like a bark. "Listen. For just ten seconds."

Spike gave her an indecisive look, then shrugged and nodded once. Claw took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Go back to the room." She made a noise of disgust. "Go bathe. If I can't smell you and you haven't started any fights by the time we get back, we'll get drunk. We'll get so fucking drunk I'll forget how much I honestly want to kill you. Deal?"

"Do I have to use soap?" His tone implied that she was being completely unreasonable.

"Yes." Claw gripped her head a little tighter. "You have to use soap. Wash your fucking hair, too, it looks like you're wearing a dead badger on your head."

"And then I can drink all I want. All I want."

"You know what?" Claw threw her hands into the air. "Fine. All you want. I'm going to regret this, but if you're clean and haven't fought with anyone, I'll let you make an asshole of yourself until you pass out in your own vomit."

Spike grinned, canines just brushing his bottom lip. "Deal, boss. I'm not going to pass out, though."

"You're still here. That wasn't part of the deal. Go. Go go go go go, go go GO." Claw stomped her foot for emphasis. Spike, still pretending that brushing at his jacket was somehow making it more presentable, raised his eyebrow again.

"Careful, I'm going to start thinking you don't want me around. You'll hurt my feelings." The thick sarcasm in his voice pressed on Claw's last nerve; her fingers twitched by her right hip. The .44 magnum pistol holstered there was fully loaded, and the urge to pull back the hammer was getting to be more than she could bear.

Her twitching wasn't lost on Spike. His eyes instantly focused on her hand, flew to her face, and then he was gone, long legs a blur as he fairly flew through the streets. He was laughing again. Claw buried her face in her hands, taking another long, deep breath. She heard snickering from the man posted on the eastern side of the general store.

Her head snapped toward him.

"Something funny, Mel?" Claw growled, hands falling to her side and clenching into fists.

"Yeah." The guard grinned from under heavy jowls, revealing broken, stained teeth. His eyebrows were like giant brown caterpillars over watery blue eyes, which sat in a perpetual squint. "Never seen a midget slap-fight an idiot before."

His partner, just under six feet tall with dark skin and hair, glanced over and shook his head silently.

Claw stared at the first man for a long moment, expression cold. He glared back, trying not to fidget under her scrutiny; her dark hazel eyes assured him that he was going to regret the crack.

"Ruben, when the fuck did Brian hire back this puddle of puke?" Claw finally asked conversationally, nodding at the other guard.

"While ago," the dark man drawled, as if it explained everything. "How you been, Claw?"

"Oh, losing my sanity piece by precious piece," she said with false cheeriness. "I'm taking the contract, you know. It's going to...we'll have fun. This will be great."

"The Hudson run?" Ruben ran a filthy handkerchief across his forehead, smearing sweat and dust into a thin, sticky mud. "Ain't it too late in the season for that?"

"I know." Claw coughed once, and spat out a gob of brown mucus. "But so does every other hired gun with more than half a brain. Looks like I'm the only idiot willing to take the job- at least I made Brian pay out the ass for it."

Mel snorted, jowls giving a little jiggle.

"You really think it's worth it? Must've been a hell of a bonus."

Claw leaned against the wall next to Ruben with a tired sigh. "It damn well better be. I do need the money, and I need to get back in the field." Claw rummaged around in her pocket, producing two bottle caps, and offered them to Ruben. "You got a cigarette?"

Ruben nodded, pulling one from the battered pack in his pocket and trading it for the caps. Claw had already procured a pack of matches, and lit the cigarette with a grunt of relief.

"How's your boys?" Ruben took one for himself. "Looks like they're keeping you busy."

"You could say that." Claw exhaled a thin stream of smoke with another sigh. "They're getting stir-crazy. It'll be good to get them out of town; we haven't had a field job in months."

"The big one's just plain crazy." Mel squinted at Claw through watery eyes. "Don't see why you keep him around, he's gonna get you all shot someday."

"First intelligent thing you've said all day." Claw took a long drag. "Crazy doesn't cover it. He's a goddamn walking barfight." She sighed slowly, staring at her cigarette. "What am I doing. I don't have time to smoke with you assholes, I need to pack my fucking gear, I've got to get back to the room and find the boots, I'm sure at least one of the boys is in some kind of trouble-"

She was cut off as the door opened, and Cutter's head poked through. His face was back to its usual good-natured expression, though he scanned the area carefully before stepping out.

"Did you get him?" Cutter asked, sidling up to Claw and leaning on the wall next to her. The woman nodded, taking another long draw off her cigarette.

"He's back at the room. Well, that's where I told him to go." She exhaled. "You all right?"

Cutter nodded, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes with one hand. "Fine," he grumbled, staring at the ground. "He didn't get me that good."

Ruben chuckled, reaching down to slap Cutter gently on the back.

"Good to see you in one piece, little man."

Cutter returned a wide smile.

"Hi, Ruben. How's the firing pin working out?"

The dark man gave the barrel of the rifle in his arms a loving pat.

"Perfect," he grinned, "hasn't jammed once. You ever get tired of slogging after that crazy broad-" he waved one hand in Claw's direction, "you could probably get the munitions guy to hire you on."

Cutter shrugged bashfully, his smile widening despite his best efforts.

"It wasn't anything special. Anyone could have done it."

Claw gave the back of his head a light slap.

"Mercs take pride in their work," she scolded, "and yours is damn good. Now thank Ruben for the compliment. Ruben, stop trying to headhunt my boy."

"Thanks, Ruben," Cutter grinned, "I'll think about that."

Claw slapped him harder, making Cutter yelp in surprise and both guards laugh.

"Shut the hell up," Claw grumbled without any real malice. "Cutter, let's go get our damn money."