I... I have nothing to say. Or rather there is nothing I can say to explain why it took so long to get this chapter out. There was... a lot of different stuff sure: losing the original draft for this chapter and having to rewrite it, college, For Honor, procrastination, other story ideals, a lack of motivation. I actually was planning on making this chapter even longer, but after some choice decision, I have posted what I have here. There is more, there was more, but I had no way to implement into the story and not take another 3-6 months. What can ya do, but learn and live? On the plus side writing this chapter and everything else that spurred into my mind was incredibly enjoyable, fun and personally I believe improved my writing capability a fair bit.

So without further adieu, let's get this started...


Hard to Kill

Chapter 4: Dry Rot

"It's one thing for an hombre to spill blood, it's another to savor it. Seek it. Changes you in a way that not even you yourself can predict. I learned that the hard way, with more blood than I could handle. It's a shame Vato seis didn't have a choice. Cinco was a lost cause from the start."

-Raul

xxxxxx

I honestly never expected much from the little farm mouse I jacked. Maybe a little bit of jet, some grape-flavored mentats, a couple of stimpacks, hell maybe even some E cells or MFC. Never figured out what either of those stood for.

Who knew a couple shots of psycho, med-x, and some buffout tabs could turn a brat into a fucking monster.

Wait, fuck am I talking about? Delko OD'd like a bitch on psycho and jet last week and tried to eat Canaan's face. Wish I was the one to put a hole in his head. Pussy owed me 50 caps. What was I thinking about again? Oh yeah the kid. Damn, did he fucking bitch and moan and cry and shit.

Fuck, it was annoying.

Had to clock the little shit to get him to shut the fuck up and even then he would whine every other minute. G-Rated Pistol whips can only do so much and I didn't want to damage the goods too badly. One of the guys at the vault, Marco, had put out a bounty for a virgin, and he was willing to pay a pretty stiff cap to whoever could fulfill his contract.

As soon as I got to the hideout, I showed Marco the goods and gave him a fairly decent price; either 5 jet inhalers or 200 caps somewhere in the middle would be alright as well. This motherfucker who had clearly stated that he wanted a fucktoy not even 5 days prior, gets pissy because apparently I didn't get him what he wanted. Him getting pissy made me get pissy, because I explicitly remember him saying said he wanted a "virgin" and I fucking delivered.

"I wanted a girl."

I still didn't see the problem; the little shit didn't even have nose hair and had two holes to fuck. Four if you counted the eyes. Just throw a little dress on there and TA-DAAH! An adorable, 100% fuckable little girl; just imagine that that little thing down stairs is a disturbingly large and mutated clitoris! Yeah, radiation will do that to people! There we go! Contract completed; gimme my fucking drugs!

Being the suave son-ova-bitch that I am, I went ahead and told him such. This motherfucker tells me to stick it where it fits, and toss the kid in the 'cage' where I might actually get something for my time and effort. Now, looking back, he was probably being sarcastic, but holy shit was it fucking ingenious.

Watching dogs kill each other was fairly entertaining; watching a dog try not to get ripped apart by a pack of molerats was fucking hilarious. It was the same deal with humans, only better. Two people in an enclosed space, forced to fight under the threat of death made for a show; a man forced to gouge out his brothers eyes was abso-fucking-lutely HILARIOUS.

All that crying and shit.

So why not toss the little farm mouse into the pits and make some quick caps? Sure it would be a rather small cut of that night's purse, but it would be better than nothing. Hell, depending on how big the cut was, it might've been worth it to go ahead and put actual effort towards jacking a few more mice in the next couple of raids. Rinse, repeat, and get rich as fuck.

Only issue was what I would toss the mouse in the cage with? No one else had a mouse in storage, cuz' no one saw value in having a kid. Rather, no one who trafficked human product saw any reason to throw a mouse into the snakes den when things like the sex trade and slave labor existed. I had heard some rumors about a place out east that was a hub for slave trade and such; it was called Pittsville. Or was it Pothole? Crater? Something like that.

Then someone else came up with the idea of tossing the kid in with one of the mongrels. I swear, mentat junkies are a fucking blessing. So after bringing Warden, who runs the fights, down to the 'Cages' holding area, I show him the goods and give him the pitch.

He says no.

"No?! The fuck you mean, "No!" Why not?!"

"Because I'm not going to waste my time and caps to essentially feed a wild dog. It's also not necessarily entertaining, as much as it is disappointing to watch a kid that can't even tie his own shoes get his throat ripped out. I'd rather not set myself up for disappointment."

Entertainment? That was his issue? Really?

"Entertaining? Warden don't you worry your lil' skull wearing head. I'll make that shit entertaining. Trust me. Just put the kid in." He glanced in the mouse's direction. The brat was huddled in on himself, sniffling and wiping away at the tears spilling from his puffy eyes.

Pathetic.

Warden seemed to think so as well. "This kid is an actual waste of fucking time. I don't even think he'd make it to the arena. Might trip on his laces and land on something sharp. " He looked back to me. "This kid is a waste of time. This kid is a waste of my time, Thresh. Why are you wasting yours and more importantly, mine own time? Do you think I'm stupid?"

Well that's an easy question.

"No; I think you are a couple steps from being a full-fledged retard. But trust me when I say that throwing the kid into the Cage is not a financially retarded thing to do." Warden sucked on his teeth and tilted his head. "Ok… Fine. You want to see the little shit have his tongue ripped out through his ass? No problem, I can get that set up no fucking problem."

I smiled.

"On one condition."

I frowned.

"If the kid doesn't last more than 30 seconds, you owe me 300 caps for the wasted bracket that could've been filled with something much more entertaining than some sniveling piss ant."

I hesitated.

But only for a moment. 300 caps was a stiff cap but technically, even if the kid did get killed, as long as he lasted 30 seconds I'd get my cut of the night's purse and overall the turnout would be worth it. That night I stood in the holding area, minutes from sending the wimpy little shit to what would be a brutal, albeit humorous, death. I had no doubt that unless Warden matched the mouse up with a puppy he would die within the first 10 seconds of stepping foot in the cage. That whole 10 second death issue however, could possibly be solved by this wonderfully monstrous little concoction I had in my right hand.

Half a vial of Med-x, two buffout tablets, banana yucca as a catalyst, mixed into a large syringe of psycho; I call it "Slasher". The question now was how much to give the mouse. I'm definitely no doctor, but I was positive that, considering his size, not even a quarter of the syringe could be considered 'safe'; much less the whole thing. Maybe 1/10 of the syringe would be ok? Warden was only going to be putting the mouse in the cage with some mangy, flea- bitten mongrel, so the syringe should let the kid last the 30 seconds necessary for me to get my cut. Then the door on the other side of the cage opened and in came this fuck huge giant wolf-dog thing.

Fucking what?!

The kid was supposed to be fighting some old hound, not the biggest fucking mutt in stock! Christ, did they get Violet to put one of her demon spawn on loan or what? A thought suddenly hit me; was that motherfucker Warden actually expecting me to pay him if the kid got killed earlier than the time we set? No, this was his way of bringing customers back; if blood was going to be shed, let it be shed in excess.

Well fuck that, cuz' that shit wasn't happening.

I looked down at the little farm mouse next to me. He's staring at the fuck huge mutt, shivering and shaking, tears making tracks through the thin layers of dirt and grime on his face. I took a glance at the Slasher. The kid was only up to my waist. Any more than half could cause the mouse to just tip over and die.

But…

I took the kid by the arm, yanking it up above his head and giving me a clear shot at the treasure vein at the joint. I jammed the syringe in, and depressed the plunger all the way down. With that done, I shoved the kid through into the arena and shut the door.

What followed was one of the most brutal slaughters I have seen in forever.

At first, all the kid did was kinda… twitch. He shook. He writhed. He foamed like Mirelurk ready for a meal. He cried like a mother at her firstborn's funeral. Then he roared like a tortured beast, unbound by chains of molten slag. "Fuck Huge", goaded forth by the mouse trying to pull his best Grognak impression, snarled, barked and howled before tearing its' way across the cage. It lunged at the mouse's neck, mouth wide and ready to chomp the shit out of the small moving thing in front of it.

The kid did the fucking same; with the benefit of having arms, along with a strength and rage inducing drug directing a hate rally in his brain and running red hot vitriol through his bloodstream. The mouse ducked down beneath the lunge and shoulder tackled the dog into the concrete floor. It snarled in pain, snapping its' thick jaws at the back of the kids neck. Despite tearing flesh and drawing blood, the wound wasn't serious enough to free itself from the raging child's pin. The little monster didn't even acknowledge the lacerating bites, instead reaching up and stiff arming the dog's face into the ground. His small hand could barely fasten a grip around the dog's muzzle, but he nonetheless managed. Having subdued the larger creature the mouse lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes glaring down at the growling quarry beneath him, foaming mouth agape and losing a froth of saliva and spittle.

The kid reared his head back and drove his face into the tough hide of the dogs' neck. Despite the mouse having a mouthful of small, blunt teeth, he made slow and bloody progress gnawing at the dogs' jugular. First the skin was nicked, then lacerated as the kid tore into Fuck Huges' neck; then there was blood a lot of blood as he ripped his way through muscle and fibers and pockets of lean fat, ignoring the kicks, struggles and odd whimpers of the dying dog.

More blood, lots more blood. Like the kid had found a stash of liquid gold. Fuck Huges' struggles became weaker, its whimpers quieter, and the intervals between each expression of pain being spaced further apart as the seconds ticked by.

The kid was visibly in the dog's neck now; still ripping and tearing, he pulled his head back, taking with him a great majority of the dog's throat, the red masses of flesh and tissue filling his mouth to the brim. His face was painted a stark crimson; the rabid mouse's face being coated with the thick arterial blood of the dog's carotid. His teeth were stained red and his eyes wide and manic, uncaring of the foreign liquid invading his sockets.

Fuck Huge was still and silent, possibly an attempt at mimicking the crowd who were too shocked to process what the fuck had just occurred before them. The grin on my face coulda' stretched for miles. Slasher was effective alright.

The kid swallowed before burrowing back into the dogs pitted throat.

Maybe it was a little too effective…

Growls and grunts sounded out from the mouse turned monster as it ate its way through the dead animal's neck; through skin, through muscle, through bone, through muscle and through skin once again. The kid stood, warm blood dripping from his face and hands. The small Brahmin hide overalls and dirty T-shirt were stained a dark maroon, blood soaking throughout both articles of clothing.

His bloody brown eyes scanned his mute audience over with a feral suspicion, before roaring at the crowd, a viscous red flem flying from his maw. He raised his hands above his head and displayed his trophy. The dogs head.

'…Maybe I coulda' cut down on the dose a little bit?'

The kid slipped his fingers inside the mouth of the decapitated hound, taking a hold of the upper and lower jaw. With a sickening snap he wrenched the two apart, sending either half of the skull to opposites sides of the cage. The kid roared again.

The crowd erupted with cheers and whoops at the show of violence. Even Warden was off to the side pumping his fist and shouting in tandem with the rest of the crowd.

'Nah.'


As it were, Warden was so impressed with the kid, that he requested him for the next night, then the following night, and the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that- Caps had never come so easy!

However after a few months the amount of people who came to each fight started to peak. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it meant less caps were coming in. Less caps meant less chems, and that was a big no-no. So one night Warden decided to make things a little bit more interesting.

I was somewhat surprised when he called the mouse up for first fight of the night. Usually he saved the kid for last, to end the night with a quick exciting and bloody finish. Even stranger was the fact that he matched the kid up against a single gecko. Not a fire gecko, not a golden gecko or one of those weird acid-spitting geckos from up north. Just a regular 3' tall bug eyed, razor toothed desert reptile that was now locked in a cage with a 10 year-old child, one ounce from overdosing on pain meds and neural stimulant; The predator of the two would surprise an unknowing onlooker.

The gecko hissed and bared its sawtooth fangs at the staggered human before it rearing its head and leveling its tail for balance. The mouse's immediate reaction as per usual post injection was to foam, cry and snivel. He collapsed to his knees and the screaming started. The gecko seeing the display of weakness took advantage and charged across the ring to its supposed prey. The thing about geckos was that they weren't particularly dangerous unless they were in packs, and considering how the kid had torn through a fully grown fire gecko before, well…

15 seconds later the kid was gnawing on the geckos left leg, the rest of the small mutant's body strewn about the cage.

I was honestly kind of disappointed. 'Well that was a waste of time. Now I gotta wait till a night's worth of slasher flushes itself out of the kids system. I don't even think it's accurate to call that little monster a child anymore.' Whatever, as long as that… thing, chewing on a gecko's foot in the arena kept winning and kept bringing in the caps I didn't care. If Warden wanted to give me easy caps and save me the effort of feeding the kid for the next couple of days I was ok with that.

Then the cage gate opened and two carriers were brought to the entrance. Their doors swung open and from each came a gecko, charging at the boy mouths wide and hissing. 20 seconds later and the little monster was working a geckos' eyeball down his gullet before digging his fingers into a socket of the adjacent corpse. The arena gate opened, followed by more hissing.

A horrific imitation of a smile creeped its' way out of the little monsters gruesome maw, painted a dark crimson and decorated with pieces of flesh, fresh and rotten.

It was right then that I started having second thoughts about what I was doing to this kid. Something about that… look. There was something in that look that was beyond inhuman. It was… mindless, blind to what was around it. Do keep in mind that this was a 10 something year-old child. Admittedly drugged out of his mind, into a red haze of rage and violence, but still! Where was the whiny little shit from 6 months ago; the one that only responded to that weird southern name? What did that little shit call himself? Gerry? No it was something with an 'uh' sound. George? G-Fuck it! It was something that started with a G.

Of course, since I was higher than a lightweight on cave fungus, all these troubling thoughts were smothered out by 4 puffs of carbonated cow shit. So instead of worrying, I instead tossed my fist in the air and hooted & hollered with the rest of the crowd. Before the night was out, the kid had gone through over 50 geckos and at one point had taken on and killed 10 all at once.

The little monster had survived the night with more than a few gecko bites to the body with a rather nasty bite to his right shoulder. Luckily enough the remnants of the slasher was working its way through his system, visibly scabbing up and closing the smaller injuries, while slowly mending the torn sinews of his shoulder.

After the telltale crying that signified the monster had gone under and the mouse had resurfaced I put him back in his cage and let him vomit out everything he had devoured in a corner somewhere. He did that every couple of days or so. When I finally came off my high, I talked to Warden and expressed to him just how displeased I was with him throwing my investment through a fucking gauntlet without telling me first. Then he told me that he had in fact grossed a total of 2000 in caps and chems and how I was going to get a 40% cut.

The little voice in my head, the one from earlier, came forward with a fierce vigor protesting and demanding an end to this cruelty and madness. Strangely enough there wasn't any sort of resistance from my ego's opposite and when I tuned in to other side to see what was up, it simply said, 'argue 50'.

So I did.

"50% and you can use the kid every fucking night for all I care."

Warden smiled with a disgusting mouth of yellow and black, like a static bee hive tending to the honey within their combs. "I'll do you one better. 40% of the night's purse-"

"I don't see how that's-"

"And 60% of the chems used as payment."

'Well you can fuck right off conscious; drugs and money wins the day.' "Deal."


The bee hive expanded and its keeper extended a hand to the man with the monsters' leash. "This kid is going to make us a pair of very wealthy people."

Thresh took the outstretched hand with and produced an ugly smile of his own. "Yes he will, as long as you keep to your end of the deal."

"Heh." Warden snatched his hand out of the drug fiend's grip and looked at the near comatose child in the pen. "As the long as the kid makes it in and out the cage in mostly one piece, then you'll get your cut. What you should be concerned about is if the kid is going to make it to the cage at all; doesn't even look like he can stand on his own two feet, much less rip a throat. How much longer is he gonna hold out?"

"As long as I fucking want him to or until he dies."

"Does he have a name?"

Thresh gave the battle master an odd look. "Yeah, he does. Do I remember it? No. Nor do I care about it or can I possibly pronounce it? It was some weird southern name. Started With a… R or a C or something; maybe a G? Why do you care anyway?"

Warden kneeled down next to the cage. "No reason in particular. Something of a mix between my own curiosity and simply giving the crowd a name to cheer for. Since you don't have one in mind why don't you let me have a go, hmm?"

Thresh snorted as he left the holding area. "I didn't give enough fucks to care in the first place. Have at it."

Warden looked back down at the boy, supine and drooling a small puddle on the floor of his cage. He stuck a hand between the bars and poked the boys' face, searching for any signs of life. All he did was jostle the boys' cheek and earn himself a finger covered in saliva. He smiled and pulled his glistening finger back, before bringing it to his mouth and sucking it clean.

He shivered with twisted delight, "Oh yeesss! Thresh has brought us quite the treat, hasn't he." Warden chuckled as he clutched the boys' jaw. "Thresh thinks your due date is just around the corner, but I don't. I think-no- I know that you're going to keep fighting, keep winning, keep killing. Isn't that right?" The fiend nodded the boys head up and down. "That's right. You'll keep on killing, just for me…" Warden ran a finger down the boys' cheek and over his lips as he stood up and walked towards the door.

"Won't you, my little monster."

Guerra stared blankly at the far wall. Eyes damp with sorrowed tears.


xxxxxx

Guerra had seen many things in his lifetime.

He been many place, met many different people, lived many cultures, and he was happy to have to been fortunate enough to experience all of it. Of course not everything he had experienced had been sunshine and roses, as would be expected of someone who lived day to day in a nuclear apocalypse. He had seen and felt the worst of humankind. He had experienced their greed, tasted their hate, walked through the black and rotted remnants of their petty conflicts, and bore the scars of the shameless pride so common with the Old World and even the remnants living in the new.

He had seen humanity at its best. He had seen humans show great, almost impossible compassion for one another. He had met a melting pot of communities and personalities, a variety of different healers, and vigilantes across the continental U.S. People struggling just as hard as the next to get by, but still extending an open hand of kindness to those in need with whatever they had available. Guerra himself was fortunate enough to have fallen into more welcoming and open hands during some of his darker moments traveling across the ruins of the U.S. It was also a nice plus that his hosts were so open with the intricacies of their various remedies and arts allowing him to add more methods of healing and other skills to his own repertoire. He didn't remember when exactly he wanted to become a doctor; He honestly didn't remember much before he took the job to deliver the platinum chip. But he did remember the doctors who helped him recover from… recover… from something… something he couldn't remember, some kind of misery, some kind of pain mixed with slew of tears and blood, a disgusting slurry of suffering. He wanted to be like those white coats, those Followers of the Apocalypse who helped him, he wanted to be able to heal himself and others of whatever wounds the wastes had caused.

And then go kill what caused it.

Judging by the display in front of him, it seemed as though this tribes' leader operated by a similar set of principles.

Bodies.

Hundreds of human bodies, stacked and strewn about one another in a horrid macabre heap. Many corpse lie with their necks bent at odd angles and limbs twisted about. Some of the bodies were slightly swollen, dark veins and black arteries showing in great contrast against their reddened flesh.

Standing tall in the middle of it all was a man, lengthy blonde hair still carrying the luster of youth. He stood half a head taller than the sixth courier, with a slim, muscled build typical of a lifelong swimmer. He wore ragged woolen pants held up by a dark blue sash and the tattered remnants of an open chest judogi, allowing the numerous scars along his chest and sides to breath in the cool evening air. It also revealed a handicap. From his left elbow down there was nothing, a blunt nub marking the end of his left arm and leaving the rolled up sleeve of his gi empty.

In front of the man was a small group of raiders, survivors of the massacre that had taken place an hour earlier, all of whom eyed the blonde man with cautious eyes. Many held their blades in tight two-handed grips to attempt to hide their fear, but the visible shaking of weapons in their hands and wet spots on their cloth pants gave them away.

"What is wrong?" The young man asked spreading his arms wide as if to receive an embrace. "You were all so anxious to separate my throat from my neck a moment ago, what happened to all that zeal?" His voice was a contradiction in of itself. Smooth and light, but still holding the deep, gravely tone that came with masculinity. "What a waste of time."

"I agree with that sentiment absolutely you Fascist Imperial pig."

From within the group of bandits came forth short man wearing obscene amounts of frivolous jewelry and dressed in loose silk robes that unfortunately did nothing to hide his generous paunch. He had a face like a stuffed pig; swollen fat lips framed by bloated jowls, sagging beneath their own weight. His beady, sunken in eyes glared forward as if he was blind to the still bodies surrounding him and the most likely cause of the massacre standing directly in front of him. This ugly mug rested atop the obtuse form of his rotund body that somehow mustered the muscle amongst all the fat, to swing his arm forward, numerous rings of gold and silver decorating the sausage links he called fingers. One of these links pointed towards the blonde accusingly.

He really was fat.

"I wake up one morning and out of the non-existent blue my father tells me that it is well past the time for my first conquest and that I need to change my status of being a fief less disappointment. So after a weeks' worth of travel in the heat, braving the pale sand, the danger beasts, and losing several of my guard to a pack of prowling marilith, I make a discovery. I learn that the tribe that is hosting me, the tribe that is supposed to have accommodations worthy of Sabim, the eldest son of Sabal, more importantly the tribe that is supposed to have a competent militia capable of the simple takeover of some useless backwater tribe, is ACTUALLY a useless backwater tribe itself!"

The men at his burgeoning flanks looked at him with cross stares, averting their eyes when he returned it sevenfold. "What's with the looks? You know it's true, you useless hicks! Now, how about you make yourselves useful and get this boot scum out of my sight."

The raiders scowled, but did as they were commanded. It was demeaning to obey this spherical son of a whore, but they couldn't allow their pride to better of them, lest they forget that the whore in question had sired the fat bastard with a tyrant; disobeying or allowing any harm to come to their V.I.P would bring dire consequences, to themselves and their tribe as well.

So for now, for the sake of the people back home, their pride would have to suffer.

Several of the men moved forward in a wide semi-circle, approaching the one-armed individual slowly. They were resolute. Someone had to die, and if they did this properly, it wouldn't be them. The hundreds of others around them were a bunch of talentless idiots who had just raised their swords, and ran at the freak, thinking their numbers would be enough. No, they were different. They would win. They would survive.

With that shared thought in mind, the raiders rushed the one-armed man like a bunch of hapless idiots.

Guerra sighed. 'Here we go again.'

The first raider approached from the left, making a wide swing for the blondes' neck. The man stepped forward, ducking the strike and slipping an arm over his attackers' opposite shoulder. He c-stepped the raiders leg and threw him to the ground, quickly following with a heavy to the stomp to the brigands' neck. He spun into an incoming raiders' guard, staunching an over head swing with his close proximity and allowing him to drive his knuckles into mans throat.

He turned from the suffocating raider to face another, running at him with a curved dagger. Not waiting for the man to approach knife range, he thrust out a stiff push kick laying the man out on his back. That same leg rose above his head and descended like a judge's gavel, the heel digging into the man's sternum and caving in his chest. Saving what was left of his momentum he stepped back into a sharp leg sweep taking two raiders approaching him from behind off their feet.

In the blink of an eye he was upright, elbow raised and knee cocked. The raider in his gun sights was folded as the blonde brought his knee and elbow together. A distinct crunch, was the tell tale sound of a spine being broken. Two thumps, two bodies, one dead. The other raider sat up dazed and disoriented, only be greeted with the open palm of the blonde slamming his head back into the sand.

"That guy's pretty good."

It took a fair amount of Guerra's restraint to keep from sheathing Blood Nap in Gray's face. It took an even greater amount of restraint to refrain from throttling the man-boy and removing that damnable smirk off of his face. Either of those reactions would simply confirm that the fifth courier had indeed caught him off guard. If it were anyone else than Gray it would have been entirely unacceptable.

"A little bit flashy for my tastes, but hey-" Gray bumped Guerra's shoulder as he took a place at his back disrupting the modulating field of the sixth's stealth boy. He looked out at the standoff from behind the mud hut concealing the two of them, and whistled lowly at the graveyard in front of him, newly minted with fresh corpses. "What works, works. I'm not one to judge." He rested Duran's unconscious form against the sloped wall.

Guerra disabled his stealth boy and stared at the fifths' passenger. "And who would this be? I thought you stopped playing with toys a long time ago?"

Gray checked Duran over, measuring his pulse and rearranging the bandage around his damaged eye as he atomitized, half empty an stimpack atomitized in his hand. He made several small injections around and in the socket before injecting the rest through the dirty wrappings on his chest. "The world is my toy box, the creatures within my toys to play with and break when I get bored. What fun is there once you've broken every last toy? I found that out the hard way, when the legion first ran back east. I do believe this toy has some hidden value so I'm trying to fix it."

"And what value exactly, do you see in this one?"

"He's a lieutenant. Which means this little, raiding party, is actually supposed to be an organized fighting force. It also means the intel on this one is worth a fair bit more than the others."

"If that is all there was to it, you wouldn't have a reason to be patching him up. Those injuries don't look fatal so why are you even bothering to treat them."

"They might get infected and he'd die."

"What do we usually do after we're done with an interrogation?"

Gray snorted, "This isn't the Mojave, this isn't the Capital Wastes, this isn't the Commonwealth, this isn't San Fran, and this isn't New Orleans. You'll never know if keeping a few extras around is a good idea if you kill everything you come across." Satisfied with Duran's condition he once again hauled the larger man up and over his shoulder.

"So you have been listening to me?"

"Fuck your mouth."

"What does that even…?"

Gray chuckled lowly. "You're a toy too you know? I just haven't managed to figure out how to break you yet. You're a source of endless entertainment."

"I swear if you didn't make the best RadScorpion Soufflé, I'd break your neck."

"You know that's not enough to kill me."

"And not realign your spine afterwards."

"You cold blooded son of a bitch!"

The blonde man stood, taking the limp body with him as he did. As he turned to face the ever arrogant Sabim, the corpse in his hand started moving. The not dead raider struggled, hands reaching up to claw and tug at the fingers that had laid claim to his face. The grip tightened as several bands of lightening rushed its way down the man's arm and into the raiders' skull. The raiders' body writhed and shook for several seconds before the current stopped and the one-armed man released the smoking corpse from his grasp.

The raiders' veins had been scorched, and stood out against the tanned skin like a child's puzzle book maze. His eyeballs had exploded out of their sockets, blood streamed from his nostrils and dark finger shaped indentations made themselves apparent along the corpses' cheeks and temple; the tip of its nose and lips were burned a horrible black. Arcs of electricity still coursed through the body causing random kicks and convulsions post-mortem.

Gray's dead eyes trailed across the twitching body of the raider, and decided to react to the situation with his with his most instinctual, consistent and reliable plan of action for dealing with unknown factors. In a practiced motion, his free arm fell to his side, drawing the Raging Bull in a single smooth motion.

He took aim. There was movement. He twitched.

The 'Raging Bull' bellowed, its report followed almost sync by the roar of its estranged sibling. Gray glanced to his left to see Guerra had mimicked his actions, eye staring down the sights of the 'Big Iron'.

'So he saw it, too huh.'

Guerra's eyes shifted, his arms followed and he fired again.

The blonde man idly turned his head to glance at a single archer a little ways off to his right, his bow drawn tight. The blonde focused on the several lines of red trailing down the archers face, and then to the finer details of his exposed brain matter. The raiders' eyes rolled back into the remains of his head as he fell back onto the sand. 'So that's what they mean when they say, "you've popped his cap off."'

He looked to where the gunshots had sounded off. "Ah Lincoln, I'm glad to see your acquaintance has finally regained consciousness. I'm sorry you had to witness this… mess I've made."

Guerra motioned Gray to follow and walked to the blondes mans' side, eyeing the raider remnants carefully. "Don't worry about it Captain, I've seen and made more than a fair share of 'messes' over the years. That's why I usually have Gray here to clean them up."

Gray slowly approached the Captain's opposite, disregarding the prince and his detail as nuisances. He eyed the blonde with caution and suspicion. "Howdy."

"Umm, yes… howdy, to you too sir. "The blonde replied, slightly confused. What was Howdy supposed to mean? Was it some form of greeting? The hostility was also unexpected.

The raider remnants who had yet to have been toasted hadn't expected anything at all. This was supposed to be an easy smash, grab and fuck whatever was left moving. Not an unwanted strip tease by a guy who apparently gained the ability to shoot lightening out his fingers at the same place he learned to be a one man army. His two little helpers were less consequential, but the black armor and the horrific scars on one of the faces of what were supposed to be teenagers, was extremely harrowing.

"What are you waiting for you cowards?! Kill this scum!"

Still it was better to cut oneself against sharp rocks and possibly come out the other side than to destroy ones' self on an immovable and impossible wall. Right?

One of the raiders, beyond wits end, made this decision for the rest of them, taking his spear in both hands and charging the trio, screaming all the while. He collapsed several steps in, with a pair of nickel and dime sized holes in his chest. The Couriers turned their barrels on the last few remnants before squeezing their triggers again. A moment later and only Sabim was left standing amongst the bodies.

His gaze fixed to the one-armed blonde, his lips quivering into a crazed smile. "So you are the one father had made mention of; One of the so called elite generals of that empire to the north, the "Blue Thunder of Alzaa'ir."

"Captain." The blonde man corrected.

Sabim looked over the blonde mans empty left sleeve. "Though I don't remember him saying anything about this, "unstoppable, impossible to defeat, one man army," being a cripple, nor did I expect the so called one-man army to be reduced to a mere babysitter."

"This 'cripple' can and will break your neck with only his thumb and forefinger."

"Sure you can." Sabim mused as he drew a small case from behind his back. Immediately, Gray and Guerra's Pip-Boys registered a large and malignant source of radiation, their Geiger counter registering 8 rads per second. Guerra's look of alarm was matched by his fellow wastelander.

Sabim pulled from the case an even smaller ring of muddled gray metal. In the ring was a small cut of an onyx gem. "But I am not one to go without some sort of contingency, you see. I have the power! The power that comes from the cursed weapon of the north sands!" Sabim slipped the ring onto his fat index finger while smiling with manic glee, "Even now I can feel the curse of the ring invading my body, poisoning my flesh and blood, but that's alright." He raised the ring wearing hand toward the trio. "Your invasion shall be much more severe." As Sabim took aim, he realized the two strangers were aiming at him as well.

The first shot removed his hand. The second put a crater in his shoulder, and a third destroyed his kneecap. Sabim screamed as he collapsed to the sand, weakly clutching at the stump at his wrist and moaning at the excess of pain spreading all across his body. The now left-handed man looked up to see the blonde Captain, grim-faced as electricity arced furiously across his skin. It began to flow down his arm and coalesce into a ball around his clenched fist. The prince whimpered pitifully.

Guerra decided, now was the time to speak up and rested a cautious hand on the Captain's shoulder. "I'd rather you leave the princess breathing for at least a little bit longer. We're going to need him for some… cross examination."

The Captain grunted, "Don't worry Mr. Courier, this shouldn't kill him… but you never know." A cruel smirk appeared on the blonde mans' face as pulled his hand back.

"Things do happen."

The Captain swung his arm forward, opening his hand as it went. "REPPUKEN!" The ground came alive as a visible wave of electricity rushed across the ground, glassing any particles of sand that were unfortunate enough to be in its path. The kneecapped Sabim could only watch, wait and scream as the wave of energy overtook him.


Sabim awoke on his back, to the sound of humming and the coppery smell of blood; grains of cool sand cradled his head in their collective embrace. He opened his eyes, only to be greeted with the vast empty ocean of the night sky, littered with glowing white embers. His wrists were bound to his chest and his legs had been uncomfortably restrained, his shins tied to his thighs with old gnarled rope. Even if he could have mustered some sort of strength in his fatigued muscles, his bonds provided him no room to struggle.

"In the shadow of the valley, I would like to settle down…"

Tall man-sized pyres of wood, dried cactus and sand brush were spread all around his person, as far as the eye could see in the gloom. Within and against each pyre was … something- a whole bunch of things. Hunched by one the pyres closest to him, was a figure and the apparent source of the humming.

"Wide open space, wind on my face…"

The figure was humming AND singing. Sabim heard another noise to his right, a mix of panicked grunts, moans, and… sobbing? "P-Please, I'll talk! I'll talk!" He craned his head and strained his eyes to see some movement beneath the figure.

"A distant horizon, the moon on the crest…"

The figure was still singing, his raspy voice deathly low and haunting. The man crouched down to the prone body of what was undoubtedly one of Sabims' borrowed militia men, the glint of a sharp edge catching the light of the stars. He made a slow sweeping motion, and the panicked pleas turned into a sort of gurgling; as if the militia man was drowning on something. The prone militia man thrashed and shook from his position on the ground as the insidious figure sat squat over the convulsing body like a patient vulture, his humming and singing still audible through the stomach-churning sounds of a man in the throes of death.

"In the shadow of the valley, that I love best…"

The figure paused as one last choked breath and passed through the militia mans lips, before he fell silent. The figure produced an ugly sound of contentment at the deceased body. There was a small flash of light, too quick to reveal anything, but a rusted hide of dull gray, and great brushstrokes of red. The man was holding something in his hand now.

'What was that strange light? Was it some kind of magic? Where did he conj- what's that sound?'

There was a low noise in the air, a buzzing drone that persisted indefinitely, never changing in its tone or octave. It was like a metallic growl, constantly rattling and yowling in his ear with rancorous and uncaring obstinacy. It was fucking annoying.

And then it was fucking terrifying.

That metallic growl transformed into an ear –splitting roar, its pitched whine cutting through the silence of the night. Like a rabid beast it snarled, spit and snapped, its metal teeth sparking and flashing. A wet sound filled the air, sharp and dense cracks filling interludes. The sound of flesh, flesh being rent and torn apart, piece by piece, tissue by tissue, strand by strand. The beasts' roar muted itself as it feasted on the corpse of the militiaman, subsiding into a low purr, before roaring again. The bipolar beast of metal repeated this cycle of contentment and fury over the course of several minutes leaving Sabim and the few survivors with him to shiver and shake in fear.

Finally the beast stopped, its hunger for flesh satisfied and its thirst for blood slaked. As the adrenaline emptied from his system alongside the other fluids in his bladder, and the last of the horrid metal screeching left his ears, he heard amongst the sorrowed moaning of broken men that eerie singing still. The sound of torn flesh being jostled renewed.

"You have always waited for me, and you always will be there…"

The air was filled with the scent of copper and noxious fumes that were foreign to the fat princes' nose.

"Sage brush and pine, old friends of mine…"

Sabim saw another flash of light and heard a series of small, sharp snaps. *Click*Click* Cli-phwoosh!*

His eyes cinched shut as he was bombarded with a rush of heat, and manmade light. The putrid smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils and curled his hairs, making him gag in disgust. He slowly opened his eyes and looked towards one of the pyres, the likely cause of the intrusive light and heat. He turned his head to vomit weakly in the sand next to him.

The pyres were also the cause of the smell.

The things he had seen within and resting against the pyres were parts. Parts, being the only term that could loosely define what was left of the men who were supposed to guard him. It was more like masses of dissected flesh that had been cobbled together from the remains of his protective detail. There was a finger here, a foot there, some unidentifiable organ that rested atop the outstretched tongue of a… head; some poor soul who's face had twisted up into an unrecognizable creature of suffering, gouged eyes staring into nothing. It was a terrible red mass of flesh that had been carved from the bodies of humans and shoved on top of a pile of sticks and dried cactus. It was being disposed of.

Standing next to the pyre was the figure, the monster that had done this inhuman act. It was the man-no it was that boy from earlier! One of the two who had stood with the Fascist imperial and had wounded him with those strange sticks that breathed fire. Sabims' eye traced fearfully over the boys illuminated form. The torn heavy trousers, the black second skin covering his torso and arms, and that tarnished armor that segmented and stretched with his every breath. This was no mere child! What was this thing?

Sabim realized with a start that the thing was staring back at him. His wide eyes were locked on to the princes' and his- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! The 'boys' smile did not end at the corners of his mouth; beneath the cheeks like a normal human. It ran THROUGH his cheeks, the wrinkled and mutilated flesh ending just beneath his ears.

"Well hello there, sleeping ugly." The deathly voice rasped.

Regardless of the circumstance or the fear that was constricting his heart, Sabims' pride would not allow him to be insulted by some mere commoner. "You're one to talk with a face like yours, you demon spawn."

That inhuman smile widened and the thing wearing the guise of a boy inched forward. "Demon spawn, huh? That's a new one."

"I find that hard to believe, spawn."

"So talkative, that's good. I have some questions I need answering, and your men have not been the most cooperative. For your own health you should learn from their mistakes." He motioned to the mangled remains stacked and smashed together in the pyres around him.

Sabims' eyes began to water, and his throat became dry, but his pride would not allow him to falter. "They may have been hicks, but they had enough sense to not provide any information, that would betray my fathers' empire. You're a fool if you think I will be any different." His foolish, foolish pride.

The stranger chuckled lowly and with sinister intention as he raised his right hand. Within its' grasp was some odd contraption shaped like a knife, but its edge was strange. Instead of one fine blade, multiple sharp teeth adorned its edge, all linked together by some sort of thin chain that disappeared back into the base of the blade. The boy flipped some kind of switch and the prince began to tremble as that familiar metallic growl sounded off of the exotic dagger. He realized all too late that the teeth were covered in sticky crimson blood. The boy walked forward and began humming again.

"A little bit further, I will find my rest…"

"W-wait a s-second," Sabal started. "What type of information are you looking for exactly?"

But he was ignored. The boy squeezed down on a lever that extended over the handle. The device roared as the many teeth of the blade began to rotate, faster than his eyes could follow and sparking as metal occasionally clashed with other metal. Those unfamiliar fumes filled the air again.

"W-wait! WAIT! WAIT! I'll provide information! I'll talk! I''LL TALK! I'LL TA-AAAAAAAGHHHH!"

"In the shadow of the valley, that I love best…"


So there it is... it's done (finally)! Done! It's a done deal! I am aware not much happened this chapter, but I could just sit in hiatus with content that might not be finished until almost next year. It wouldn't be fair to any of you who are still waiting for an update. College starts again in a couple months so I'm going to try and write as much as I can in that time in hopes that I'll have the next chapter out within a reasonable amount of time. I'm sorry for taking so long with this one guys, and I hope you can understand how life, labor, and leisure soak up time. If you saw something with room for improvement and would like to tell me what I could do to make my writing better or if you simply liked any what you read, please leave a review. Thanks for your time and have a good day.