So. Four years later and I decided it's time to briefly revisit this one. Thought I'd bring the, ha ha, "writing quality" up to snuff for current standards, so I'm combing through and doing some curation and joining part one and part two into a single file. Chapter 19 (Deathclaw Den) is where the part formerly known as two begins.

At the suggestion of a very helpful fan (thank you much, Zormikea) I reverted chapter 1 back to what it used to be with a few very tiny changes. The latest one I had up had pretty much zero introduction for the main character, and kind of portrayed him as a completely different person to the way he acts for the rest of the story which was very jarring. So everything is whole again.

I'm fairly happy with this latest version, and hopefully won't have to touch it again. I hope you, dear reader, enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

After a week of hard traveling, Mouse had arrived at Carol's Place, the small, cheery tavern in the far corner of Underworld. The dust he shook from his boots and brushed from the cuffs of his pants sifted to the marble floor, joining the rest of the collected works of similar such wanderers and traders. He let his legs stretch out, knees and ankles crackling, and turned his attention to focus solely on the bowl of noodles in front of him. I need to learn how to pack my supplies better, he thought, eating ravenously. Carol tended the restaurant counter nearby and watched his food inhalation with partially concealed amusement.

Mouse had entered the museum proper and promptly went into the wrong door; the giant spot-lit skull door just looked too convenient. There had been a fairly large number of ferals wandering around, and he felt a little sad as he scouted through the area. He supposed it was technically putting them out of their misery, but he still felt bad. If you watched them together without being seen, they sometimes stopped and stared at each other or touched the others' arm. Like they almost remembered what they were missing.

The detour wasn't a total bust though, plenty of expensive junk to pick up. So he'd headed into the real ghoul city, pack stuffed with things to trade, ready for some food and conversation.

His main reason for the trip out to the Mall was actually a suggestion from a friend of his in Megaton. Gob worked at the bar there and he and Mouse had got to talking about their families. Underworld was brought up, and Mouse jumped on a chance to visit someplace new. Right. So, here I am, message-running and sight-seeing. Mouse finally noticed Carol trying not to stare at him and was startled into a noodle-filled gust of laughter.

"Sorry!" she squeaked. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you do that... you just..." she had jumped at the outburst and now grabbed a towel for his broth-covered arm.

"No, no problem. Didn't mean to lose my manners there, I was starving," he smiled at her, trying to be reassuring. "Sorry." He wiped off his arm and truly made an effort to eat more slowly. He finished his food and had his promised chat with Carol, relaying the greetings and well-wishes from Gob and then ended up renting a room for the night.

She smiled and waved him on to his quarters. Mouse picked up his gear and deposited it in the small room, eyeing the bed hungrily. Almost sleep time; just wanna check out one more place today. He grabbed his caps and headed for the bar with the curious name on the other side of the museum.

Both establishments were constructed and lit the same way, but where Carol's place had been cheery and friendly, the Ninth Circle seemed... a little off, to put it simply. The yellow lights looked greasier, the atmosphere coming from the patrons seemed uneasy and dull, and the rooms felt like they were filled with an invisible murk. A radio played on the counter top, GNR, the standard fare of Three Dog shouting about raiders and hiding under beds. A pretty impressive collection of liquor was set up behind the suited ghoul waiting for him to approach.

"Well now, a smoothskin I ain't never seen before. What can Ahzrukhal get you?" He spoke with the signature rasp of all ghouls, but with a strange phlegmy gasp between sentences. His eyes constantly darted around the room, before settling back on the human in front of him. Mouse didn't like the suspicious, jumpy air around him, but honestly, that's just how some people were. He ignored it and nodded his head in brief greeting.

"Nice to meet you Ahzrukhal. Name's Mouse," he said, deciding against offering his hand. "Just a soda and a box of chips if you have any."

"40 caps for that, Mr. Mouse." Huh, Mister Mouse, sure. He rustled in the back, collecting a bottle. "What brings you to Underworld anyway?" He peered behind him with that shifty glance again.

"Just adventure, I guess. Looking for loot, trade, and something worth spending my caps on," he answered vaguely. A cautious feeling had crept over him after listening to the ghoul speak. This was an odd person and he didn't feel like venturing any information.

Ahzrukhal huffed a laugh at that. "Is that so? Well look no further, I'm happy to take any caps you have," he finished his sentence with a leer.

Mouse took his drink and snack silently and had a seat at the bar. A second warning bell went off in his mind at the phrasing of that last statement, but once again he ignored it. Instead, he surveyed the room again as he crunched through his chips. The yellow light shone on the glass bottles in the back, the radio was now playing a soft Billy Holliday song, and Ahzrukhal had turned around and was busy cleaning a cup with a dirty rag. There was a wall safe and a terminal behind the bar; standard for most shops and restaurants he'd come across. The ghouls around the bar sat slumped or leaning and the murmur from the adjoining room was quiet and slurred sounding. Then he turned toward the corner.

The tallest ghoul he'd ever seen was standing there like a sentinel. Broad shoulders and chest encased in leather armor, gloved hands balling into fists and relaxing again, and a sleek combat shotgun hanging on his back. He exuded an aura of... calm rage. Mouse felt a thrill of alarm as the ghoul slowly turned to fix Mouse with a pale blue glare.

The ghoul did nothing but continue to stare back, then raised an eyebrow slightly and slowly turned to face the door again, disinterested with the lack of apparent threat from Mouse. He stood a head taller than everyone else Mouse had seen lately, save the few super mutants he'd run into on the way. And that feeling of anger emanating from him... tense body, fists clenching, furrowed brow. Wouldn't want him angry at me, he thought, examining the huge frame and powerful-looking hands.

Mouse returned his attention to his drink. He stayed there, staring and lost in thought. Wondering where he'd move on to tomorrow, what new things he would see. He had left Vault 101 about a year ago and arrived in Megaton shortly after. He'd gotten in good with the sheriff after painstakingly disarming the gigantic nuke that sat undetonated right in the middle of the town. Mouse wasn't much shakes at electronics, but his father, James, had carefully and patiently taught him the basics of circuitry and computers when he was young. Mouse had had to scrounge up some old books and study them furiously to reinforce the old lessons and keep the shakes out of his hands when he finally sat down to poke around inside the deadly thing. After his success there, gratitude from Sheriff Simms had gotten him a decent home to call his own. The water was dirty, sure, but that's how it was all over the wasteland. Maybe the entire world, save the vaults, as far as he knew.

…Yeah, the vaults. His vault. That last day had been a disaster; the vault door had been opened, his father was gone, an infestation of giant roaches had swarmed in from somewhere, people had died, and the entire vault had fallen into chaos. He'd made a bad enemy of the Overseer, seemingly just for still being there. The Overseer had held James responsible for the entire thing, and Mouse was the only one left to blame. So he had left… well, let's face it, fled, after making sure his friends Amata and Butch were okay and not in any immediate danger. Megaton was thankfully close to the vault. He had made his way there, feelings of anger, betrayal, and confusion pounding in his head.

Being fresh out of the vault, Mouse had little knowledge of how things went in the wastes. He made a fast, and odd, friend of an eccentric lady named Moira Brown, who ran a shop in Megaton. She often seemed slightly insane, but when Mouse came to her with a question, she knew the answer or would make the effort to try to find out for him. Some of his questions had even prompted her to send him out on little "reconnaissance missions" for her, to gather information for the guidebook she was writing. It was a big help to have someone more or less in the know, and it was nice to just have a friend, someone to talk to. Since leaving the vault he'd felt very alone, no one out here really gave a rat's ass about anyone else; they were just trying to concentrate on keeping themselves alive. It was rare to find anyone who showed genuine interest in you, so he was happy to help her out and just hang around the shop and talk sometimes.

He passed his time doing many favors and errands for the odd people he met. Finding and shaking down an ex-whore for one guy, salvaging and repairing a dish for radio reception, finding and exploring the site of THE Project Purity his dad had reverently talked about so many times. Throughout it all though, his main focus was to locate his father and find out why, for god's sake, he had left the vault, and if he was even still alive.

People had always seemed surprised at his willingness to help them out, but he secretly enjoyed being sent on the many interesting errands for people. Exploring the wastes never got old. There were mountains of discoveries to find; pre-war journals and computer entries, strange people, even stranger creatures, technologies that had a huge array of functions, and locations that were beautiful, if desolate.

And yet, living in the safe haven of Megaton made it easy to forget that the world was cruel and unforgiving. He ventured out on his own quite a bit; usually with no event, but there were always times when things went horribly wrong.

He remembered one particular instance: He had spotted a church in the distance, and ran up, curious to see what could still be left. The place had looked completely abandoned, so he walked up without much thought. A moment later, a screaming, wide-eyed girl shot out from the far side of the church. A gout of fire followed her, and she had burned to death there, howling and blackening in front of Mouse. She had looked up at him as her hair caught aflame and melted, and then her head was engulfed and she collapsed. Following her was a laughing, dirt-encrusted raider with a flamethrower. He looked up and saw Mouse staring in horror, stunned. Feeling like the world was going in slow motion, Mouse wheeled around and scrambled for the corner of the church. A step away and he felt the left side of his torso turn hot, then numb. He'd fumbled his pistol out and retreated along the side of the church, curling his hand down to instinctively shield where his shirt and some of his skin had been burnt off, and hoping the raider was dumb enough to follow him around instead of doubling back. He was. Mouse sent three bullets directly into his head. He had felt horrible, both physically and mentally, and shacked up at the church for the rest of the day and night. He had been burnt in a large patch over his ribs and used up most of his water trying to keep the shiny and crisped skin cool and hydrated. He stayed the night, shivering with the cold and the sickening pain coming from his burn. By the time the sun came up, he could move again without being in agony, and slowly made his way back to Megaton. He was lucky that the burn hadn't become infected. Lucky that quite a few things hadn't happened. Lesson learned. He felt like there were so many tricks and tactics, and just plain common sense, that he didn't have access to because he was a newcomer here. In the vault, everything was provided for you and, at least until the day the blast door had opened, completely safe. He felt like a bumbling idiot at times, and lamented that the only real way to learn out here was experience. The saying 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' certainly applied out here, but more often than not it was a case of 'there's so much shit out to kill you that that doesn't really matter'. Sitting in the bar now, he absently traced the ridge of healed burn tissue under his shirt and frowned. Stupidity is rewarded with pain. Yes.

And after many sights seen, people met, and barren locales discovered, Mouse had finally tracked his dad to an old, well-preserved vault hidden in a run-down auto body shop. He had read about virtual reality from some old holodisks in the dark recesses of vault 101's extensive library, but to actually experience it had been a jarring and amazing event. He had made the bizarre rescue, and James was now happily working away at Project Purity with his old colleagues. The reunion had been strange. They were both happy to see each other, tearful even, besides James' reproach of Mouse for leaving the vault to look for him. But after that, James had immediately wanted to set off to find Dr. Li and to continue with his research on producing clean water. He had seemed a little obsessed, but after thinking on it for a long time, Mouse could understand why his dad wanted to keep going with Project Purity instead of trying to settle down and live somewhere in relative safety. He knew it had been his mother's great dream to see Project Purity completed, and his father was no different. Mouse had escorted him to Rivet City, cleared out the research facility at the memorial, and been on his way to let them work in peace. He hadn't been to visit them in a while... maybe he would stop by the next time he was at Rivet City to see Harkness, old Doc Preston, and...

He was startled out of his memories by a rough bump.

Glancing around quickly and out of reflex putting a hand to his back to grasp at a rifle that wasn't there, duh, it's in the room at Carol's along with everything else, he saw Ahzrukhal making a shame-faced smirk at him.

"So sorry, smoothskin. Didn't mean to bang into you there. Apologies." He continued smirking and moved away, back to the far end of the bar. Mouse grunted and glanced at his watch and saw it was very late; he had sat there drinking and woolgathering for nearly an hour. The few remaining ghouls up at the bar with him had graduated from drunken slumping to being fast asleep on the counter, heads resting on folded arms. One was snoring lightly. Ahzrukhal looked to be putting things away and getting ready to shut the bar for the night.

Mouse stood up and quickly realized something on his body felt off. There was a bulk missing from his pocket... his bag of bottlecaps. No way, he thought angrily, face becoming hot, and hair prickling. Is that what that was about? Still standing rigid from his discovery, his eyes slowly travelled to rest on Ahzrukhal. He was typing on an old computer, and looked up as he realized someone was staring at him. He smirked, an evil glint in his eye, as if to say what, want to say something?

"You took my money." Mouse said in a flat emotionless voice.

Ahzrukhal's smirk widened into a sleazy grin. "I did nothing of the sort, smoothskin. You better watch making accusations like that."

Mouse stood, barstool squalling against the floor, and started walking toward Ahzrukhal, intending to punch his lights out.

The ghoul flicked his eyes to the corner, and then back to Mouse, smile still frozen on his face.

Before Mouse could set his foot down on his third step toward the disgusting scumbag, the corner of his eye caught a blur of movement and a huge leather-clad arm closed around his neck. A hard, cold piece of metal was pressed against his lower spine. Mouse froze, his mind whirling and blood racing. With a chill he realized, it's the bouncer. How fast is this guy? He's as big as a house but moves like a snake or something. The arm holding him still felt like a vise. Mouse was a strong guy, but this monster that had him in a headlock had him beat by far. He didn't want his guts blasted out his front, so he stopped moving and raised his hands in an 'I'm unarmed' gesture.

Ahzrukhal let out a gurgly chuckle. "Wise choice, kid. You had something I want, so I took it. I have the muscle to back it up, as you've realized, and no one down here gives a shit what happens to some no-name smoothskin. So go on, get out. Maybe I won't have him break anything if you leave now and keep your mouth shut."

This isn't over, he fumed on the inside. Bartenders robbing patrons... why? Because he wasn't a ghoul? Because he mentioned he had a few caps with him? Because no one cares and he can get away with it? I guess so. It's the fucking wasteland. Take what you can.

He could barely move his head and it was starting to be difficult to breathe, even though the entire encounter had taken less than fifteen seconds. He managed a small nod.

"Good. See him out, Charon."

Charon, then. Shah-run. The mysterious hulking ghoul with anger etched into his face had a name. Charon relaxed and withdrew his arm, but didn't remove the barrel of the shotgun from Mouse's back. He only spoke one word, in a deep grumble.

"Out."

Finality rang in the one short syllable. Mouse turned toward the door, and snuck a sideways glance at the guy who had ambushed him. He was tall and broad and oddly... vibrant. In a world where everything was dust and dirt and weariness, Charon exuded some kind of aura of energy and liveliness. Ironic, considering what kind of being he was. He glanced up at the ragged face and saw the anger again, but now it was tempered by another emotion lurking just beneath the surface. Sadness, or regret... longing maybe. Then his eyes hardened again and he growled at Mouse.

Mouse left.