This chapter was difficult to write. I've actually gone back and redone the outline for Through Hardships and Sorrows. Storywise...the DLC is pretty bland. So I'm really pushing myself to write something that remains true to the tone of the DLC while simultaneously giving you a story that's interesting.

I'm not 100% sure on this chapter...I like it, but at the same time, I'm not too sure I'm taking this in the right direction. So let me know what you all think. Do I need to continue to revamp the outline, or do you like the way this is going?


She was stumbling through the brush – scraping by the occasional cactus. She could still hear the gunshots. She was afraid to turn around…had she been followed? No. No – the cries of her friends…of her family was testament to that. The attackers were still at the camp. Shots rang out; people screamed. She stumbled into the river – the water burned her legs. Of course it would…they were covered in lacerations, wounds. She could barely see anything…

She didn't know for how long she ran, but when she caught up to her comrades the moon was high in the sky. They were escorting the prisoners…the man in the red beret was amongst them…being dragged along the winding river bed towards Three Marys. They were taking him to meet the Flag-Bearer. They stopped when they heard her splashes. When they saw her rushing towards them in panic.

Salt-Upon-Wounds stepped from within the crowd. "Kurisu!"

She stumbled, losing her footing, toppled into the water, but quickly regained composure…pulling herself onto her knees. She was out of breath. Her body ached.

He reached for her, lifting her to her feet. She gasped. Her eyes shone with terror. "Atmen! What pasò?"

She did not reply.

He shook her, near violently. "Mujer! Sagen!"

Still nothing.

He shook her again. "Speak!"

She grasped his arms, her eyes found Boone. She stared at him…he brought them here. The demons. "Let utman belassen!"

Salt-Upon-Wounds cocked his head to one side. "Free utman? Por qué?"

"The Divolo!" She answered…voice trembling and eyes wide with fear. "Burned Man! Diavolo bring hell-feuer!"


Graham paced around the man…watching him contently. The bodies of his tribesmen littered the ground around him. But Graham had left him alive…barely so, but enough. Incapacitated by a single shot to his abdomen… he lay there; clinging to life and unable to aid his people. Unable to escape. Six and Waking Cloud descended the crag behind them.

"This one!" Graham yelled. "…He will tell us where to find our people!" Graham pressed his heel into the wounded man's stomach, causing him to cry out in pain. Then flatly: "Won't you?"

The tribal responded in kind – by spitting a disgusting brew of saliva and blood into Graham's bandaged face.

With a sigh, Graham withdrew his pistol and struck the man with it. The tribal cried out in pain – his lips curled into a frown.

"This will either end with you alive…" Graham pulled the slide on his pistol. "Or with your untimely demise. And, honestly, I don't care which. You just need to ask yourself whether or not this is a cause worth fighting for."

Defiantly, the tribal man stared. His body was quivering in some mixture of pain and fear. But still, he did not speak.

"I see." Graham took a breath. "I wonder…would your chief do the same for you? Or would he feed you to the wolves?" Graham cocked his head to the side and studied the man. "Truth be told…" Graham peered over his shoulder – Six and Waking Cloud were nearly there. He leaned close to the man and whispered. "…it doesn't matter if you tell us. Because I will scour every inch of Zion. It doesn't matter to me if I find your people in a day or a month. But I will find them…and I will end them."

Graham pressed the gun into the tribal's neck. "Now tell me what I want to hear!" The silence consumed him. Graham's eyes shined with fury. His snarling voice became a scream. He stood erect and roared from the top of his lungs…"Agghh!"

"Wait!" Six bellowed over Graham's anger. He was nearly upon them now. The tribal looked up at Graham fearfully, then towards Six. His eyes bold, yet, somehow, still pleading – not for help, but for mercy. Six looked down at the man. "I believe this will require a more subtle approach." Six knelt down next to him, "What's your name?"

No answer. Just intermittent, agonized, panicked breathing. From the north, across the bridge, Six could see Raul emerging from the brush, headed towards them.

He lifted one of the tribal's hands – holding it gently. "You understand me, don't you?"

The man remained hushed. They waited in that uncomfortable silence for a long moment.

Six took a breath and stood – he rummaged through his bag, withdrawing a single roll of duct-tape. He tossed it to the approaching Raul and gestured towards the nearest tent. "…tie him down."

"Alright, Boss." Raul grabbed the wounded man's ankle and dragged him into the tent. The inside was mostly barren – save a bit of bedding contrived of hay and brushwood, a single white table, and a set of weathered, rusted metal chairs. Raul cupped his hands under the man's arms and lifted him into place – then began to methodically strap him to the chair. His arms to the chair arms…his back the chair's back…so forth. Outside he could hear Graham and Six discussing something…though only intermittently. When he was content, he made his way back out into the open.

"…was inexperienced, but he was a good man. A boy really." Graham's voice was quiet. Remorseful.

"Well, again…I'm sorry for your loss," Six sympathized.

Graham nodded and stared out into the distance. "Let's just make certain his death was not in vain."

"Boss?" Raul interrupted. Six turned to him. "You're up."

Six began towards the tent...his walk was slow, hesitant. When he entered the tent, the first thing he noticed was the look of surprise on the tribal's face. "You were expecting Graham?"

The tribal swallowed.

"No. Graham is very good at killing…good really doesn't begin to cover it. But interrogation requires a certain finesse. It takes more than the fear of death to make someone talk. I've been on both sides of this, you see?" Six traced the scars along his head. "I didn't say anything either. But…I've seen people talk. I don't remember much of my past…but I remember it well enough."

Six took hold of the remaining chair, flipping it around and positioning it in front of his captive. He sat in it, slouched forward, head resting on his hands – elbows resting on his knees. "I was in a situation similar to this, believe it or not. Not too long ago…" He scratched his bearded neck and continued, "See, I was a courier…amongst other things. I was hired to make a delivery…an insignificant little trinket. A poker chip…one of six couriers hired, or so I've been told." He let his eyes wander to his bag, to the faded number from which he had conjured his moniker. " The job seemed simple enough…paid good too. A thousand caps. Things are never so simple though, you know? I was ambushed just outside of a little town called Goodsprings…you wouldn't know it was there if you saw it. Couple of thugs…you may know the group, the Khans? Anyway, they were following this jackass in a suit. Knocked me unconscious…bound me, gagged me. Just like you are now."

The tribal swallowed, his eyes never leaving Six.

"You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this. Point is…when they captured me, I knew I was done for. I didn't want to die, but I made up my mind then…whatever they did to me, I wasn't going to tell them shit. I was dead anyway, right? I may as well take my secrets to the grave with me. Only…they didn't want to talk. When that fucker took aim at me with that handgun of his…I didn't plead, I didn't beg. I accepted my fate. Just like you. The thing is…he didn't want information. So he didn't care. But…" He reached into his bag and rummaged for a moment – when his hand emerged he held a ball-point hammer. He laid it on the table near the tribal. "…I do want information, you understand? What I've found is that it's not so much the fear of death that makes people talk…as it is the pain. The…ah…the anticipation."

He turned back to the bag and reemerged with a bonesaw. He sat it gently across the table.

"People see a gun pointed at them…it doesn't bother them. They'll be dead soon enough, right? But if you take your time, it's different."

He laid out an iron and a hot plate.

"When they know it's going to hurt…"

A combat knife.

"…a lot. It's a different story."

Straight razor.

"You don't need to ask yourself whether or not you're going to talk…"

Wrench.

"…Because you will."

Cattle prod.

"They all do…" A scalpel, "…eventually." Six moved towards the man. He brought the scalpel to his face, observing it closely. He twisted it in his fingers…then presented it to his prisoner. "I'm not going to lie to you…you're not going to enjoy this."

Six grasped the man's index finger, snapping it backwards. The man squealed in agony…then his eyes widened. He watched Six slowly bring the scalpel to his hand...and press it under the nail.


Salt-Upon-Wounds was irate. No…more than that…he was enraged to the point of madness. "The Burned Man…" He spat. "He kill my people at bridge. We go now…end the Dead Horses. End Sorrows."

The Flag-Bearer looked at him blankly. His face unmoving. His eyes unblinking. "Soon," he responded.

No…Salt-Upon-Wounds would not allow his people to be massacred. Not for Caesar. Not for the Flag-Bearer. "Now!"

The Flag-Bearer sighed heavily. "You'll go…" He stepped forward, standing tall. His eyes locked with the tribal's own. "…when I tell you to." In his peripheral vision, he saw Boone struggling to focus – he turned to Kurisu – trusting, bloody, and dearly broken Kurisu. "Take the prisoners into the cave. We'll deal with them when the time comes."

She looked towards Salt-Upon-Wounds.

"Do not look at him. I gave you an order."

Her eyes quickly fluttered away from her Chief and back towards the Flag-Bearer. She swallowed.

"Do as Flag-Bearer orden," her chief directed.

She made for the cave – prisoners in tow. Being herded like sheep by her brethren. Save Boone, who was limply being dragged across the valley – through water, mud, and sand alike. Deep in their valley…near where the Courier and Boone had first been encountered…was the cave the Flag-Bearer had spoken of. The trip was short. When they were in the cave, Kurisu had the prisoners chained along the wall.

She sat in silence for a long time. Watching the captive Dead Horses and Sorrows. And Boone. She watched him most of all. There was something strange about the man…something she didn't quite understand. He didn't seem to mind the situation he was in. As if, on some level, he expected it. He had struggled briefly when Salt-Upon-Wounds attempted to transport the prisoners from the ranger station to Three Marys. Well…that was probably an understatement. He didn't struggle…he fought. Easily removing two men from the equation. When he got to her, he stopped. That hesitation gave Salt-Upon-Wounds the opening he needed…and left Boone in the unconscious state he was in now.

When the other prisoners had drifted into slumber, Kurisu edged closer to the man. At an arm's length away, she reached out – tugging at the beret that fit snugly on his head. She twisted it between her fingers, taking it in. She studied the emblem on it…some type of animal skull. And rifles…like the ones they had found in the armory the Flag-Bearer had led them to.

Her thoughts were disrupted by a grunt. She looked past the beret and at the shaved head of Craig Boone.

"Awake?"

Boone drew a deep breath. "My beret, please." She cocked her head to the side and observed him. He looked up at her – his arms bound. "My…hat?"

The tribal woman looked back down at the beret and lulled over it for a moment before finally returning it to its resting place. She sat in front of him, mere inches away.

"Boone," she said finally, pushing her palm into his chest. Boone looked up at her. She repeated herself – "Boone."

"Yes. Boone." He affirmed – then he nodded his head in her direction. "Kurisu."

Her eyes wandered over him for a long minute, then she smiled a faint smile. "Avido?"

Boone raised a brow.

"Avido…" She paused, searching her thoughts. "Bia? Must eat." Kurisu stood, making her way across the cave. She poked around through a container and returned with a can of cram and an old fork. She peeled the lid back and pushed it towards him.

"No thanks."

"Boone must eat. Weak." Kurisu dipped the fork into the cram and again pushed it towards him. This time, Boone obliged. His hands were bound, so she fed him.

"Why are you helping me?"

She pressed her lips, but didn't respond. When she had finished feeding him, she sat the can aside and returned her gaze to him. Again she found her mind wandering. Something about him set her on edge. She was uncomfortable…and, somehow strangely not. He hadn't attacked her…even though doing so would have secured his freedom.

Movement at the cave entrance pulled her to. It was a fellow White Leg. "Too close to utman. Back."

She immediately did as commanded. She had learned long ago not to cross the male members of the tribe. To do so was foolhardy, and potentially fatal. The tribal looked over the prisoners before finally deciding on one…he grabbed a female Sorrow from the group and pulled her to her feet.

Kurisu stood. "Where sei you toma gefangene?"

"Flag-Bearer."

"Por què?"

The tribal smiled at her. "Muerte."

Boone didn't know much of their language…it seemed to be a medley of a few languages. He didn't recognize most of it…but this word he knew. Death. He watched the male White Leg drag the woman out of the cave, then turned his gaze towards Kurisu. Her eyes were already on him, wide in despair – full of fear and pity.


"I'm sorry for your loss, Jefe."

Graham wiped down his pistol and turned his eyes towards Raul. "Chalk was a good man. And a child of the Lord, as we all are. I appreciate the sentiment."

"He kept you in high regard," Raul said, his voice somehow full of understanding and sympathy.

"I know," Graham admitted. "I wish he hadn't. I am not exactly fit to be the role model for any of these people. I wish more had looked up to Daniel…or, at the very least, had someone more worthy of their affections."

"You're not so bad," Raul smiled. "You've made your mistakes…but we all have."

"You speak the truth. But, oftentimes, I fear my mistakes are beyond penance."

Raul shrugged. "I don't know, Jefe…I've seen a lot of things in my day. You know, Chalk…he wanted to…"

A scream cut through the darkness, breaking the silence. A cry of agony. Of despair. Six's work.

Raul waited for the silence to return. "Wanted to see the world. He didn't want to be confined to this canyon his entire life. He dreamed of adventure."

Graham laughed to himself. "I know…it's been some time since I've visited…civilized lands." He swallowed, turning his eyes towards the stars. "I don't have fond memories of them…but I have always seen them from the outside. I wish…" He took a breath. "I wish he would have met you sooner. Someone like you. Or Six. Anyone that could give him the answers…the guidance he needed. That person wasn't me. Now I have to go back and tell his people…his woman…that he's gone. That I have brought yet more blood and death to them."

Another blood chilling scream. They waited for silence.

"That's not entirely true…I lived in Arizona a time before the Legion. People can say what they will…but I know how it was. I lived out in Tuscon…not Two-Sun…for close to a century. This girl came into town…Claudia. She reminded me of a life I had long forgotten. She reminded me a lot of someone I lost a long time before then. She ended up working at one of the brothels in town…and I looked after her, in my own way. Like I said though…"

The distinct muffled sound of gunfire.

Raul continued. "..this was before Caesar – before you – pacified Arizona. One of the tribes came into town one day…more a gang, really. They wanted bullets…I figured if I sold them some, they'd leave without roughing up the town too much. Instead, they decided to stop at the brothel to take off the edge. One thing lead to another…should have expected as much. But by the time I heard the screams, it was too late. They shot the place up…killed four girls with my bullets. Took Claudia for sport." Raul sighed. "Maybe if you all had come through back then, things could have been different. Maybe I wouldn't have had to track them down…maybe I wouldn't have found Claudia with a bullet in each eye. Maybe I wouldn't have had to take justice into my own hands."

"Or maybe the Legion would have killed you for your…physical affliction. And sold Claudia into slavery…for labor or breeding." Six spat. He turned to Graham. "Where's Three Marys?"


His hands were free. Unbound. He stood at the cave entrance – the sun was beginning to rise. The sky was overcast, and the air was dank and his duster wet. Rain had set it. He glanced over his shoulder at the tribal woman…Kurisu.

"Go."

"They'll kill you for helping me."

The woman smiled at him. "Flag-Bearer will protect. No harm." Then again, more firmly this time. "Go."

Boone studied the woman for a moment, standing calmly at the cave entrance. Why she had taken an interest in him, he was unsure. Boone took a long breath and held it. He turned from her and took a few steps, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his sidearm nestled in its holster at his side. Hell…she'd even returned his bowie knife. He began his ascent…he'd have to climb over the crag to avoid detection. He stopped midway and turned back towards the woman. She had disappeared back into the cave.

Boone chewed his lower lip a moment and shook his head. His voice was near inaudible…even if it wasn't, she wasn't around to hear him. But he felt compelled to whisper anyway…to send his message out into the world.

"Thanks…"


That's it for this chapter. We'll pick up with our next chapter on Friday. See you then.