A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.
The Vertibird arrived early the next morning, just as the sun was starting to rise. The girls were all huddled in the middle of a protective ring of Rangers, each of them huddled in blankets and any spare clothing that the Rangers could spare. One of the Rangers, Reilly, was trying to talk to some of them. Most of them were practically catatonic, staring blankly or about to cry. Preston shook his head. He'd never seen anything like it.
The General stepped off the Vertibird, flanked by a Brotherhood Knight and Elder Maxson. Preston turned to face them.
"Thank you for coming out here, General." Preston said. "I know that you'd have preferred hearing about this mission after its completion, but…I didn't think that this could wait."
"Who are they?" Elder Maxson asked, pointing to the Rangers.
"The Ranger Division, Elder Maxson." Blue said. "They're the best soldiers that we have."
"You have an elite group of Minutemen?" Maxson asked, somewhat accusatorily. Blue just raised an eyebrow.
"And you have the higher level Brotherhood soldiers, and I am sure that you have black ops teams as well. What's the big deal?"
"That's…a fair point." Maxson conceded. He looked at the women. "Are they alright? Are any of them injured?"
"No, sir." Preston said.
"But I see there's a lot of blood on at least one of them, and the others seem to have blood spatter on them as well." Maxson pointed out.
"That's not their blood." Preston said.
A chill ran down both Elder Maxson and Blue's spines, though neither said anything.
"What was the situation that made you make the call?" Blue asked.
"We had hard intelligence that a shipment of 'comfort girls', most likely brought up from Bawlmer, were in this warehouse, before they were to be slipped in to Goodneighbor to serve as call girls. I imagine that the raiders weren't thinking too clearly because, while prostitution is legal in Goodneighbor, Mayor Hancock heavily regulates the industry and pretty much knows the name of every person that's working in the business."
"Probably slept with them all, too." Maxson muttered to himself, though he looked away and put on his best innocent face when Blue gave him a stern look. Preston kept going.
"So when one of the girls escaped and staggered into Goodneighbor by sheer luck, Hancock called us and we were going to rescue the girls and take care of the slavers."
"So why call me?" Blue asked. Preston gestured for them to follow him, and then opened the door.
"Because someone beat us to it."
…
The first thing that Blue noticed was the smell. It was overpowering. The stench of decay and death was heavy in this building, to the point where he dry heaved a little bit. Elder Maxson coughed violently. The Brotherhood Knight just took off his helmet and threw up.
Then Blue saw the bodies.
They were all thrown together in a pile in the center of the room. There were trails of blood leading from all different parts of the building and from up the stairs, which meant that they'd been moved together away from where they'd originally been killed. And they were all dead. Gunshot wounds to the head, various stabbings, and some of them looked like they had literally been beaten to death. It was a cornucopia of violence.
Blue took it in for a moment, and then he cleared his throat.
"They're all slavers?"
"From what we could tell." Preston said. "The girls aren't saying much, but they made it clear that the men in here were all their captors."
Blue took a moment to study some of the bodies. He noted one of them: the face was nearly unrecognizable from trauma, but there was also a bullet hole in the chest. And signs of bullet damage in the knees. On a hunch, he scanned the legs of the other victims. They all had similarly debilitating injuries.
"What do you see?" Elder Maxson asked.
"They were all crippled." Blue said. "Whoever did this…they wanted these guys to suffer. And there's no rhyme or reason to the killings: it's like whoever did this did so with whatever was available. And then when they were done…they dispatched them."
"…Nathanael."
Blue looked over to Elder Maxson, who was staring at the far wall of the room. His jaw was slightly agape, and his eyes were wide in horror. They followed his look.
One of the slavers was up against the wall. His eyes were glazed and blank, his mouth open in a silent scream. His hands were spread eagle. His feet were together. He was upside down, and there were leaking streams of blood coming from his hands and feet. There was a massive reddish patch in the genital region, what was left of it, and the man looked pale and gaunt.
They stared at this horror show for a few minutes.
"I'm…I'm guessing that that's their leader." Preston mumbled.
"What…what unspeakable abomination is that?" Elder Maxson asked.
"Crucifixion."
They turned to look at Blue. He was staring at the csene in front of him, a grim look on his face.
"In the Christian Bible, Jesus of Nazareth was denounced as a heretic by the Roman leadership and was crucified as punishment for his attempts at subverting the Roman social order." Blue began. "He was put upon a wooden cross, and then nails were driven into his hands and feet. Without being able to rest yourself on either your hands or feet due to excruciating pain…you eventually either die of asphyxiation or exhaustion and exposure. It's…a terrible way to go."
"But…why is this man upside down?" Elder Maxson asked. Blue sighed.
"It's the death of Saint Peter."
"Who was Saint Peter?" Preston asked.
"Ask Pastor Clement for the specifics, but the biggest thing was that he was Jesus of Nazareth's closest follower. And one day, the Romans decided that they didn't like him either, and so dragged him off to be crucified. As the stories go, he asked to be crucified upside down, because he believed that he was unworthy to die in the same manner as his Lord."
"Are you suggesting that this slave captain was a pious and holy man?" Elder Maxson asked, somewhat contemptuously. Blue shook his head.
"No, it's just pointing out the fact that crucifixion is a twisted enough way to kill someone. But to invert them?...This was a murder of righteous fury and rage. As if this man didn't even deserve the dignity of dying in a symbolic manner." Blue said. "Think about it. Some could argue, in a twisted way, that there is something poignant about a crucifixion. But an inverted crucifixion? There's nothing that can be gleaned from it. It's just a horrible way to be killed. Brutal. Undignified. And vengeful."
"So I guess we're dealing with people that really fucking hate slavers." Preston said.s
And then they heard the cough.
They whirled around to see that one of the bodies was stirring. The man was clearly dying. He was covered in blood, both his and the others, and he was weakly stirring, trying to pull some of the others off of him. His eyes were both pretty much swollen shut, and there were signs of stabbings and gunshots all over him.
The others wanted to put him out of his misery, but Blue stayed their hands. He walked over, and knelt next to the man. It might be a raider and a slaver, sure, but this was a human being. He wasn't about to kick the dying man while he was down.
Not while there was still some information to be had.
"Can you hear me?" Blue asked.
"Mmm…..mmmhhhmm…" The raider moaned. Blue shushed him quietly.
"It's okay. It'll be over soon. You won't be suffering for long. Can I ask you something?"
The man slowly nodded.
"Who did this to you? Who are they?"
At this, the man's eyes suddenly shot open. It was a startling sight. He reached up and grabbed Blue's collar with what little strength he had left.
"Not…them…her……It was…one woman!"
The man's hand went limp, and he expired.
Blue stood back up. He turned and looked at the others.
"What did he say?" Preston asked.
"He said that this was the work of one person."
"One person?" Maxson asked. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I asked him who they were and he corrected me. Said it was one woman."
At this, Elder Maxson seemed to go rigid in the subtlest way. Blue narrowed his eyes when he saw the brief look of panic on the Elder's eyes.
"Are you okay, Elder Maxson?"
"What? Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Elder Maxson said.
"Sounds like you got a scare when I said it was a woman."
"It's…a surprising thought." Maxson admitted. "I'm more used to men being the more violent and brutish of the species."
"Is that all?" Blue asked.
"Yes. Yes it is." Elder Maxson said. He turned around. "We should take care of the women outside. I imagine they're getting cold and worried without any plans."
He walked out the door.
"You buying that?" Preston asked.
"For now." Blue said. "Right now, we've got to care for the girls, and we need to do a little bit of research. But as far as we know, this is just a regular one-off job by someone who hates slavers. Which, as far as I'm concerned, is not a cuase for concern as it is a cause for celebration." He kicked something with his shoes. He looked down.
Shell casings.
He picked one up.
"This is a big bullet." Blue said.
"I don't recognize it." Preston said.
"Neither do I." Blue said. "But I think I know someone who might." He turned to Preston. "You think you can run a favor for me?"
…
Preston walked through the bustling Diamond City market, ignoring the chatter of civilians as well as the patrols of Brotherhood members and Minutemen riflemen. They were all going about their day, with nary a worry. He imagined that they wouldn't be nearly as carefree if they'd seen what he'd seen. But he was hoping that the man he was about to talk to was made of hardier stuff.
Sure enough, the counter was open as Preston walked up.
"Colonel Garvey. Long time no see, sir." Arturo chuckled. He scratched his mustache a little bit. "How may I be of service? You looking for some more laser musket ammo? I got a shipment that's coming in from Bunker Hill later this afternoon. Stick around and I'll let you have first pick." He smiled. Preston just shook his head.
"I'm afraid not, Arturo. I'm not looking to buy. I'm looking for an opinion."
"An opinion?" Arturo asked. He leaned over the desk of his shop. "Well, I can give you my opinion on a lot of things. Don't know if they'll be useful for you though, you know?"
"What if it was about firearms?" Preston asked. At this, Arturo perked up.
"You do realize what I sell firearms and ammunition for a living, right?" He asked with a grin. "C'mon, what do you need?"
Preston reached into his pocket, and set some of the shell casings on the counter. They made a clinking noise on the surface, and Arturo's smile faded as he stared at them. He picked one of the casings up, and turned it in his fingers wordlessly. Preston watched the look on the gun dealer's face, and frowned. Arturo not smiling wasn't a good sign.
"Did you have a mop for whatever sap got hit by one of these things?" Arturo asked.
Preston shuddered. He cleared his throat.
"Do you know what kind of weapon fires these bullets?"
"Yeah." Arturo said. "But I didn't think that I'd ever see one in my lifetime."
"How do you figure?" Preston asked.
"It's not a very common gun. At least these days." Arturo said. "And it's the kind where when you just graze something, you're gonna kill it." He looked at Preston. "What you're looking at here, chief, is an fired shell casing from a Desert Eagle."
"A…Desert Eagle?"
"They were all the rage when Old America was in wars in the desert, hence the name." Arturo said. "They're big and powerful and loud. You hit someone with this, and they ain't getting back up."
"Do you sell .50 caliber bullets?" Preston asked.
"No, there's not enough of a market to place in orders for it here in the Commonwealth." Arturo said. "Most guns around here go no bigger than the .44, like that big guy on your General's chest, or .357 magnums. And .50 caliber sniper rifles aren't the same thing as Desert Eagle rounds."
Preston thought about it for a moment. And then he spoke again.
"Arturo, do you think that you could put in an order for a token sum of these…Desert Eagle bullets?" He asked. Arturo grinned.
"You wanna set up a sort of mini sting?" He asked. "Just so long as I don't gotta go undercover or anything like that. My accent is pretty distinct around here…but maybe not as much as Vadim's."
"Just put in an order, and if anyone buys…let us know, would you?" Preston said.
"Will do, boss. The Minutemen are good for business, and I'll pay ya back if you need it."
Preston nodded, and doffed his hat. As he turned around to walk away, he heard Arturo's voice.
"Be careful, chief."
"What do you mean by that, Arturo?" Preston asked. Arturo sighed.
"Someone that goes out of their way to use a Desert Eagle is someone that's either seen some serious shit, or is the baddest son of a bitch in the room. Because those aren't guns for lightweights, or even veterans. They're as much about the psychological effect as they are the actual bullets. Pretty scary to see a bullet just graze your buddy and still see his head explode." He shook his head. "Whoever you're looking for ain't nobody to be fucked with."
Preston nodded gravely, and then walked away.
…
It was nightfall when they made the trek down from the mayor's office. Poor kid had to stay late reading through a couple of policy proposals that the city council had offered up, and if the raging sounds from inside were any indication, it was clear that Mayor Pitt wasn't a big fan of half of them. (Earlier in the afternoon, while Nick was talking to Geneva to brighten up her day, Willie had positively rattled the entire office with an exasperated "OH FOR GOD'S SAKE, ANN!" that Nick thought might have shorted out his audio receptors for a moment. The kid had lungs when he was pissed. But whatever Codman had done this time, she probably just deserved it)
But now they were walking through the streets of Diamond City, as the sun had set and the majority of the citizens called it a night. Willie was wearing his long black overcoat, which made him look a little bit like that old Silver Shroud character…minus the domino mask and fedora.
Good thing too. Nick had hated the Silver Shroud, and was beyond annoyed with Blue's tendency to ham it up as the Silver Shroud whenever he felt like annoying the old Synth.
"You sure this is the best choice, kiddo?" Nick asked, their footsteps clacking on the street. "I don't know if legal expertise is this guy's forte."
"It isn't anyone's forte, Nick. We're basically rebuilding the code of law from scratch. The last thing I need is a weak-willed public defender who just rolls over, and I don't want prosecutors that are looking to burn people at the stake. I want honor and fairness. And when it comes to the defense, I think this guy is the best choice."
"Who's your second choice if he balks?" Nick asked.
Mayor Pitt was silent.
They reached the door. Willie Pitt sighed, and then knocked on the door.
It was opened almost immediately.
"Oh, hello Mr. Valentine! And hello, Mr. Mayor! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you around here this evening."
"Hello Edna, darling." Willie said. "Is your husband around?"
"Why, yes. He's upstairs grading essays. Would you like to come in?" Edna asked.
Nick and Mayor Pitt nodded, and stepped inside.
That was one of the reasons that Nick was sold on Willie Pitt for mayor of everyone, and not just a specific subset of the population. Plenty of people would have made a face or balked at the sight of the marriage of Edna and Mr. Zwicky. But not only did it never seem to come up with Pitt, he went out of his way to innocuously flirt with the Miss Handy robot.
They sat down around the coffee table, and waited for Mr. Zwicky to finish his paperwork.
"Would you like some tea, Mr. Mayor?" Edna asked. "I was brewing a pot for my husband, and I am sure he will not drink all of it."
"Thank you, Edna." Willie said. "I'd like that."
After a few minutes, Mr. Zwicky came down the stairs. He stared at Nick and the mayor with a degree of confusion.
"Mr. Valentine…Mr. Mayor…to what do I owe the pleasure?"
He took a seat across from them as Edna floated into the room, bringing in cups of tea.
"I read your op-ed in the Publick a few weeks ago." Willie said to Mr. Zwicky. "The one about the Commonwealth Accords and the like."
"You…you did?" Mr. Zwicky asked, somewhat stunned.
"Of course! I read everything that Miss Wright prints. It's good to remind myself that I'm not the only person in this city with opinions." Willie said. "I especially liked your argument about the rule of law, Horatio."
"Which one was that?" Horatio Zwicky asked.
"The one about how, in a civilized society, even the most heinous of people should be given the chance to defend themselves. Even if it ends up being a terrible defense and you're only further convinced of their guilt, at least they got their say." Mayor Pitt said. "It's nice to know that not everyone is gonna descend into fascism around here."
"Well…thank you." Mr. Zwicky said. "But I don't think that you came here just to congratulate me on a well-written op-ed in the Publick."
"No, of course not." Willie said. He leaned in, a serious look on his face. "Horatio, I have an offer for you. It wouldn't be easy, and after hearing it you would be free to decline and that would be the end of it. I wouldn't hold it against you, and I can promise that the school will not get slashed funding as a result of your declin-"
"You want me to represent the Institute."
There was a silence. Willie's mouth was slightly agape in surprise, but then he nodded.
"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I was coming here to ask you. I was going to appoint you as the special defense council for the contingent known as the Institute Remnant. Your job, should you choose to accept, is to give them their fair day in court."
There was a long pause.
"But aren't the Institute accused of committing terrible crimes?" Edna asked.
"They are, honey." Zwicky said. He looked at the mayor. "You and I both know that this will be a sham of a trial. The evidence against the Institute is massive."
"Don't be so sure." Nick Valentine said.
"Oh please. You're the one digging through the wreckage." Mr. Zwicky said. "I bet the prosecution will call forth you as their star witness, and how am I going to deal with that?"
"Dr. Virgil might be useful." Willie Pitt said.
"But we don't even know if he is alive!" Horatio said. "For all I know, this man doesn't exist!"
"Horatio…" Willie began. "I fully admit that I am putting the weight of the world on your shoulders. And the public will hate the fact that you are even letting these people speak in their defense. But there is no one else in the Commonwealth with your wealth of knowledge, and there is no one with the temperament to play this role to its fullest. You would not sandbag them, it's not in your nature."
"And what if every last one of them gets convicted?"
"Then every last one of them gets convicted." Pitt said. "But the important thing is that the cloud of hearsay and accusation is gone, and no matter what decision the jury makes, they will have done so having heard both sides of the argument."
He paused. And then he cleared his throat.
"And you will be able to tell your students that sometimes being the good man or woman means doing something that the bad men never would: show compassion for your enemy. There's no shame in failing the Good Fight…so long as you fought to begin with."
There was another pause. And then Mr. Zwicky sighed.
"I'll need help." He said. "I can't do this by myself. I'm a teacher, you know. I have other responsibilities."
"We'll get other teachers."
"Not like that." Mr. Zwicky said. "Those are children, and it is their education that you are suggesting we tamper with. A teacher isn't a babysitter, Mr. Mayor. A teacher needs to be patient, command a sense of authority, and at the same time remind every child that they are capable of finding their greatest strength and then excelling at it. I don't want help staffing the school, I do a fine enough job with that and my wife. What I need help with is other people that are willing to get spit on in the street for daring to suggest that we don't immediately burn the Institute Remnant at the stake, and then throw them off the Wall!" The outburst caught them all by surprise. There was a long silence.
"I'm…sorry, Mr. Mayor." Zwicky said. "I didn't mean to lose my temper."
"It's okay." Pitt said. "And you'll get what you want. I'll find others to help you with this case. Even if it's someone with a basic understanding of law and legal procedure." He said with a smile. "But will you take the job?"
Horatio Zwicky thought about it for a moment. And then he glanced over at his wife.
"I will support you no matter what you choose, darling." She said.
He sighed.
"What do I need to know about the case?" He asked.
…
The bar was getting a little bit subdued. Most of the people in the Third Rail were at the stage of their drinking where the most exciting thing going on was a card game or two, as well as when Magnolia took the stage. She was swaying slightly to the beat of the song, her voice crooning a soft and sensual song.
…it's good to be a good, good, good, good, good, good neeeighborrr…
She finished the song, and there was a smattering of applause from the patrons at the bar and around the building. Blowing a kiss, Magnolia made her way over to the bar where Whitechapel Charlie was making a concoction of drinks.
"Have a vodka, miss Magnolia. Figured I'd give you one on the house for that last number. You really outdid yourself that time."
"Aww, thanks Charlie darling." Magnolia said, taking a drink. "Think the others liked it?"
"I had to discourage at least three of the more drunken patrons from proposing, if that's what you're asking."
"Only three?" Magnolia smirked. "Guess I'm losing my touch."
"You've been like that ever since you struck out with that tosser who runs the Minutemen."
"Oh Charlie, that's cruel." Magnolia said, placing a hand over her heart in mock indignation. "You know damned well that the General was a gentleman, and I rather enjoyed his company. For once…I didn't need to be a 'good neighbor.'" She said with a little wink.
"Sometimes I wonder why I ever bothered befriending you, you conniving little chanteuse."
"Because you know you love me this way, Charlie." Magnolia said, taking another sip.
There was a slight commotion from just around the corner.
"Yo! No sudden movements!" Ham growled from around the bend. "Keep your hands up."
"My friend, I beg that you let us enter. I will gladly surrender my weapons to you, if it will put your mind at ease."
That voice was rather gravelly, Magnolia thought.
"…Fine. But I'm keeping my eye on you. And any sudden movements…"
"I do not really make sudden movements, friend, so I think that you will be fine."
The owner of the voice rounded the corner, and then everyone was looking.
It was a Super Mutant, who was cautiously holding his hands up. He was dressed in worn clothes, and at least a vested shirt. He was also wearing a knitted (though fraying) skull cap of sorts. He was big and scary, and yet Magnolia could sense there was a kindness radiating off of him. He probably really did just want to come in and enjoy a drink.
It was his companion that sent a shiver down Magnolia's spine.
A woman with long straggly hair, fashioned into dreadlocks. Matted and dirty, with only fair traces of the shiny blonde that it must be when it was clean. She was dressed in leather, with a red scarf around her neck. She had raised her goggles up above her eyes, and had pulled the scarf down so that her lips were visible.
She might look terrifying, but there was also something beautiful about her. Magnolia saw her eyes, though, and just shook her head. There was a lot of pain behind those eyes and that blank stare.
Awkwardly, the regular conversation of the bar began when it was clear that these two just wanted to be patrons of the bar and not start any trouble. The feral-looking woman took a seat right next to Magnolia, and stared directly ahead. She said nothing.
"…You gonna order something, pigpen?" Whitechapel Charlie asked.
He was treated to a glare that could melt his circuitry.
"Erm...right. How about a house special?" Charlie stuttered.
"My friend does like whiskey, if you have any." The Super Mutant said.
"…Right. Sure. Whatever." Charlie said, clearly not used to speaking to a Super Mutant as articulate as this one. He went off to pour out the drink. At this, the Super Mutant turned to Magnolia.
"Excuse me, miss?" He asked. He was stooped over a little bit, and he took off his hat and held it in front of his belt. He was intimidated by her? Well, now Magnolia couldn't help but smile.
"Yes, honey?" She asked. "What can I do for you?"
"Oh, nothing for me." The Mutant said. "I actually had a question. Well, two, actually."
"Go ahead, sugar."
"Are you a…singer?" He asked.
"You could say that." Magnolia said. "Though sometimes I like dressing like this just for the sake of it."
"Well, um, of course! I wouldn't, um, begrudge your fashion choices that highlight your figure. I mean, your ability."
Magnolia giggled. For a Super Mutant, he was pretty awkward.
"What's your second question, darling?"
The Super Mutant reached into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Magnolia.
"Do you…recognize the lyrics? It's a song that my friend very much likes."
"Oh…I love this song." Magnolia said. She looked over at the feral woman next to her. "You'd like me to play this for you, sweetie?"
No response.
"Don't mind my friend. She's…had a rough go of it, lately." The Super Mutant said. "I heard that there was a singer here, and I thought if you could sing her favorite song…it might help her a little bit."
"Of course, darling." Magnolia said. "Whom do I make it out to?" She looked over at the woman. "What's your name, princess?"
Nothing.
"Just…make it out to my friend." The Super Mutant said.
"Alright…" Magnolia said. "Do you have a name, dear?"
"…Fawkes." The Mutant said. "My name is Fawkes."
"A nice name." Magnolia said. "Well, let me work my magic, then." She looked over at the woman, and winked. No response or acknowledgement.
Magnolia climbed up on the stage, and pressed a button on the floor to shuffle to a song. When she saw the music cued up, she hit play.
A soft and slow guitar beat came in through the speakers. Magnolia closed her eyes, and slowly swayed to the beat. And then she began.
I…don't want to set the wooorrrrlld oonnnn fireeeeee
I just want to staaaart a flame in yourrrr heart
Most of the patrons turned around, distracted from their events to listen. This was a new song to most of them, and for the few that did know it, they were aware that the original singer was a man.
In my heart I have but onnnneee deeeeesirreee
And that one is you…no other will dooooooo
Fawkes gazed back at his friend. The cloudy look in her eyes was disappearing, and soon she closed her eyes. It was a calm, almost relieved look on her face.
I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim
I just want to be the one you love
There was a slight squeaking sound, and Fawkes saw that his friend had quietly swiveled her chair around to watch the song.
And with your admission that you feel the same
I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of…
"BOO!"
It was like a spike to the head. Everyone was taken out of their reverie by the sound of the kid's voice. He and his buddies had clearly filed in to the bar some time ago, and clearly did not like the song.
"That shit's slow and boring! I heard you got good songs! Why not play them?" The leader of the group asked. They all snickered to themselves, and walked over to the bar. "Yo, robobrain! Give us the good shit."
"I don't serve to delinquents." Charlie said sternly.
They were punks in leather jackets and jeans. One of them shook his head.
"Don't you know anything, bot? We're badasses! We're greasers, and we want a fucking drink and to hear some hot songs from that hot lady over there."
"Excuse me, gentlemen." Magnolia had stomped over to them. "But I'm afraid that we're going to have to ask you to leave."
The leader turned around, a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Yeah? Says who? You?"
"Considering I am an owner of this bar…yes." Magnolia said. The leader flinched, clearly not used to a woman talking back to him. And then he glowered.
"The people come to see you, then?" He asked.
"That's right. Or drink. Just forget about the problems of the world for a bit."
"They like looking at your pretty face?" The leader asked.
"I guess a few do-"
Magnolia was cut off, as the leader grabbed her by the cheek, and drew a switchblade.
"Maybe I'll put my mark on you, baby."
He pressed the knife up against her cheek.
And then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You interrupted the song."
He turned around in time to see a fist flying towards his face.
The punch knocked him unconscious, shattering his nose and fracturing his orbital bone. He'd have fuzzy vision out of that eye for the rest of his life. He was out cold before he'd even hit the floor.
Compared to his friends, he got off easy.
A/N: A lot of moving pieces here and there. I hope that I didn't offend anyone with the iconography of the killed slavers. Ultimately, it boiled down to this: the person that wanted them to die really wanted them to die.
And also this person doesn't like it when you threaten innocent people.
See you next time!