-woke up. Brick blinked in the darkness, groping around, finding his limbs hopelessly tangled with Mordecai's. The man's feet were freezing cold against his. It was those damned icy feet that had drawn Brick back into the real world, and he felt extremely grateful. He murmured his thanks against the back of Mordecai's neck.

The smaller man grumbled for him to knock it off. Brick smiled and drowsed again.


A sound like an egg cracking startled him from sleep. His hand flew up automatically to his necklace and found everything where it should be- his childhood dog's mummified paw, and the key, and... the other key. The stray girl, he remembered. Brick sat up in bed, blankets pooled in his lap, and looked around for the source of the noise.

It came again, and the windowpane shuddered. The slatted blinds trembled. For some reason Brick felt sure that it would be the girl out there, having tracked him down, now somehow banging on the second story apartment window. He crossed the room anyways, pulled the cord to retract the blinds, and flung open the window. Something small and hard sailed through the opening and hit him on the cheek.

"Fuck!" he cried in alarm, and touched the stinging welt.

He leaned out the window. Lilith stared up at him from the alleyway below. "Sorry! Did I hit you?" It was hard to tell in the blue, pre-dawn light, but Brick thought she was holding a rock.

"Good shot," he said.

Mordecai groaned from behind him. "Who the hell are you talking to?" he asked. His accent was thick in his sleep-slurred speech, and it made Brick want to climb back into bed.

"It's Lil," he said to Mordecai. To Lilith, he called down, "Whaddya want?"

"The scouting unit just got back. I mean, I think they did. Andy came to tell us. He was kind of... babbling."

"Shit. Okay, go on, we'll meet you."

She stared at him for a long moment, and Brick couldn't gauge her expression in the dark. He remembered that he was naked except for the necklace, and although Lilith could only see his bare chest, she must have wondered why he was in Mordecai's house before the sun was even up. He groaned internally.

"What you waitin' for? I told you we'd be down," he snapped, and hoped that she wouldn't ask about it later. Excuses were never his area of expertise. He preferred to punch anyone who made him uncomfortable.

She took the hint. "Right, going. See you soon," she said, and waved at him as she jogged around the corner. Brick sighed and closed the window.

Mordecai jumped up. "Wait a minute! What time is it? Caquita! Don't stand there with your pecker hanging out, get dressed!"

Brick staggered around obediently, looking for his clothes. Diluted light fell through the window, barely illuminating the floor, and he guessed that it was only about five in the morning. He stepped over discarded booze bottles and stray gun pieces. Mordecai liked to take apart old guns when he drank, apparently with the goal of recombining them, but usually got bored before the construction. Brick turned his ankle on a sniper barrel and swore.

"What's taking you so long?" Mordecai asked. He stood impatiently with his hands on his hips, fully clothed.

"I can't find... oh," Brick said, and spotted his tank-top lying half under the bed. By the time he realized his mistake, he'd already squeezed it on. The shirt actually belonged to Mordecai, so its smaller armholes pinched Brick's biceps, and the hem barely came down to his belly button.

Mordecai looked him over, and grinned. "Lookin' good, Mamacita."

Brick grabbed a dirty towel off the ground and wrapped it around his waist like a skirt. He stuck out a hip, fluttered his eyelashes, and said in a wavering falsetto, "You never take me anyplace nice, Mordy. Does my body embarrass you?" He bounced his pecs. Mordecai burst into peals of laughter.

"Nah, baby, your figure is tight," he said, when he could breath again.

Brick dropped the towel and reached up to yank the shirt over his head, which turned out to be tricky. It caught on his ears, then around his arms, and he wriggled to extract himself. The shirt ripped all the way up one side as he tugged it free.

"Shit. Sorry." Brick said. He noticed how Mordecai looked away quickly, and the flush that had crept across his cheeks. Brick chuckled.

"Enjoy the show?" he teased.

Mordecai rolled his eyes, turning a deeper shade of red. "Don't be an idiot. Come on, Blood." The bird, who had been watching them with exasperation twinkling in her beady eyes, flapped over to perch on her master's forearm. Her long talons sunk into his leather glove, and Brick shuddered as he thought about some of the times he'd been on the receiving end of those daggers.

"Go ahead, Mordy. I gotta stop for my stuff," he said. Mordecai hesitated, and nodded before he left, slamming the front door behind him. Suddenly Brick remembered that he'd left his clothes in the bathroom the night before. He smacked his forehead with his bandaged palm.

In the bathroom, he quickly stepped into his cold, stiff pants, hitched them up, and buckled his belt. His sleeveless shirt felt freezing against his skin. Lastly he walked into his boots and palmed his fistful of rings, cramming them on as he hurried outside.

He ducked into his own apartment to grab his guns and shield, since it sounded like there might be trouble. The small living room stank of beer and stale grease. Brick paused to admire one of the pictures stapled to the wall, and whistled appreciatively, like someone leering at a dirty photo. But this was a picture of a gun- a glossy, full-size spread of the new Torgue Carnage- torn out of a catalog. Brick forgot that he put it up. He could have admired it forever, but instead he snatched his Cationic shield and snapped it to his belt.

He depressed the button with his thumb and felt the energy field crackle over his skin. Combat felt most natural to Brick when nothing stood between himself and an enemy, flesh on flesh, so he could feel the crunch of bones under his fists. But for armed skirmishes, he had to admit that an energy shield was useful. Before leaving, he holstered his favorite pistol and slung a shotgun across his back- the maximum amount of guns he could carry, without his SDU expanded bandoleer, and he didn't expect that much trouble.

The sun was just clearing the horizon as Brick took the stairs, two at a time, and rounded the corner. New Haven's gates came into view. The Raiders already flocked around, blocking his view, but Brick didn't see anyone from the scouting unit.

The Raider who went to get Lilith, a young man named Andy, stood apart and stopped any civilians who wandered up. His freckled face was pale. "Brick," he said, when he saw the large man strolling up. "Where were you?"

Brick opened his mouth to reply, but Andy kept talking. "Oh God, oh God, it's Peterson, sir, Peterson came back, but he... he..." The boy looked like he might throw up. Brick put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Cool out, kid. What's goin' on? Keep it short." He noticed that Andy was shivering. Brick liked the boy well enough, but he was absolutely useless when the shit hit the fan.

Six months ago, when Brick and Mordecai were knee deep in driving the corrupt Atlas Lance army out of the Dusty Fathoms, they had found Lance Private Andy cowering behind a stack of munitions chests. He cried for his mommy when he saw them coming. Mordecai had kicked him in the ribs, and told him to get the hell up so he could loot the containers, and later they'd allowed the teary-eyed Private to tag along back to T-Bone Junction. After the remaining Lance troops were dissolved, he'd followed them back to New Haven, and somehow been allowed to join the Crimson Raiders.

"Excuse me," Andy squeaked, and rushed over to stop a sunburned man and his wife from approaching the ring of Raiders. "Ma'am, sir, wait a moment. You can't go over there-"

Brick stopped listening and went to check out the situation for himself. The other Raiders muttered to each other in grim tones that made Brick's arm hairs prickle. He elbowed through the small crowd.

The Raiders were a force that Roland had put together to protect New Haven from the ruthless Hyperion corporation, hungry wildlife, and bandit raids. There weren't many in their ranks, maybe twenty in all, and most of them seemed to be here... All except the scouting unit. When Brick saw Peterson, he had a pretty good idea of what might have happened to them.

Peterson knelt on the ground, Lilith on one side of him, Roland on the other, and Brick knew immediately that the man was going to die. A trail of blood spanned from the truck outside the gates to where the injured guard now knelt. He held his coat closed with a white-knuckled grip, apparently to keep in whatever mess lay beneath.

"I sent Private Gilley to get Zed," Lilith said, her voice wavering. "He'll fix you up."

Peterson smiled, but his eyes were unfocused. "Don't worry about me, Mom," he said. For once Lilith didn't argue about the nickname. The Raiders affectionately called her Mom and Roland Dad, which she'd never liked- she thought it made her sound like an old lady. Roland had been flattered by the nickname. Now he squeezed Peterson's free hand.

"What happened? Did anyone follow you?" Roland asked.

"I don't... think so. I came a long way. I didn't think I was gonna make it. The Crimson Enclave... Hyperion took it over. A commander caught us... a woman... she-" he broke into a coughing fit, and a glut of blood bubbled from his mouth. Lilith wiped his chin.

"Shhh," she said, but Roland shook his head. They looked at each other, and a whole conversation passed wordlessly between them. Lilith glanced away.

"Did you recognize her?" Roland asked, his voice still kind, but more urgent now, as the light faded in Peterson's eyes.

"No... she called us bandits. She... she slaughtered everyone... I'm sorry." he closed his eyes, and it seemed like he was done talking, but then he continued, because he was still a damn good scout. "Someone called her... the Lawbringer."

Brick's heart jumped into his throat, and the world lost color. He was dimly aware of Mordecai turning to him, eyes wide. In his mind, the animal paced, its mottled hide flashing between himself and the image of his baby sister, a plastic toy pistol on each slack hand, watching her favorite movie for the millionth time. She caught Brick staring at her. Grinning, she raised a pistol to shoot him with. Blam. Don't mess with the Lawbringer, baby.

Brick blinked and shook his head. Mordecai looked a question at him, but Brick turned away, not ready to think about it, not with the Raider dying at their feet. He faded fast now. His chest fluttered in shallow gasps, and the pale hand fell away, revealing his blood drenched shirt beneath his jacket.

Doctor Zed shoved Brick aside, went into the group, and knelt before the injured man. Brick stepped back to give him space to work. He couldn't see exactly what the doctor did, but saw him look up at Lilith after awhile, and shake his head.

"Damn," she said, voice raw. Peterson wasn't the first Raider they'd lost, but that didn't make it easy. Roland covered his face with both hands, just for a second, and when he took them away, his expression had become businesslike. He stood up.

"We need to made sure he wasn't tracked here. Brick, Mordecai, follow his trail. Everyone else come with me, so we can put together a squadron to investigate the Hyperion situation in the Enclave. We've gotta deal with this right away."

Lilith remained in her knees in the dirt, head down, taking the loss of Peterson hard. But it wasn't just Peterson, Brick remembered. The whole scouting unit... He fingered the key around his neck, and tried hard not to think about ancient Earth westerns- of their manic, jubilant violence, and how raptly his little sister watched them. How her eyes sparkled.

Brick realized that he'd glazed over again, and snapped back to reality as Mordecai touched his arm.

"Come on, let's go," Mordecai said. He might have looked concerned, but Brick wouldn't know it, because his eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses of his goggles. Mordecai knew about the movies, and about Amanda's favorite, The Lawbringer. That had been one of the few things Brick told him about his childhood. It had been a wholly good memory, almost resplendent in its perfection. Now the thought turned his stomach.

Just a coincidence, he told himself, even as his animal flashed its teeth.