"Are you sure the prototype we need is in there?" Hancock asked, looking at the dilapidated old factory doubtfully.

With the recruitment of the Slog having been a success, Rose and Hancock had found themselves on yet another mission to help out the denizens of the Commonwealth. The robots down in Graygarden were in desperate need of some kind of prototype circuit board, which would supposedly improve the functioning of their automated defense systems, as well as allow them to integrate new robots into their protocols. According to Supervisor White, the prototype was in Dr. Gray's office in the old Robco building. Reluctant to leave their farm and afraid of Gunners that were rumored to inhabit the area, she had radioed their request in to the Castle, and had asked for Rose specifically. A general's job is never done.

Rose nodded in response to Hancock's question. "We need to find a way in. Why don't you take the front, and I'll check any entrances around back… between the two of us, we ought to be able to break in to at least one of them."

"I love a positive attitude," he replied with a grin and a salute. "Meet you back here in ten."

Rose headed to the back of the building, moving cautiously with her shotgun up. She didn't see any signs of baddies as they came up on the building, but she'd been surprised before. Being ambushed by a pack of mutated mole rats or overgrown bloatflies wasn't exactly her idea of fun.

She was checking the locks on the loading dock when a small popping sound reached her ears. A second later, she felt the impact of some projectile ricochet off of her combat armor. She swung around, shotgun raised, and opened her mouth to yell for Hancock. But she no sooner drew a breath then a second projectile pierced the unprotected space between her collarbone and throat. In shock, she reached up and felt a syringe… someone had a modified syringer out there, with really good range. In seconds she felt her head go fuzzy, and her vision blurred. She swayed and fell to her knees as the drug took hold, looking up to see a small group of people dressed in raider leathers approaching from the tree line. Their boots were the last thing she saw before blacking out completely.

A few different observations hit her when she began to wake back up. First, she felt like she had the worst hangover of her life. Secondly, she was vertical with her arms above her head, and she couldn't move them. Thirdly, she couldn't feel the weight of her body armor or her weapons; she was dressed in just the flannel shirt and jeans she had taken off a gunner some time back.

She cracked open her eyes and groaned as a bright light knifed into her brain. God, she would kill for some Med-X. This was even worse that the hangover she had gotten from drinking that vodka back in Cambridge, and that was saying something.

"Well, look here, our special guest is finally awake! How's the head?"

Rose forced her eyes open at the sound of the gruff voice. A man came into focus, sitting on a wooden chair a few feet in front of her. Her eyes marked the paint and scars on his face… he was a raider. Greaaattttt.

"Where am I?" she asked, and winced. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Eh, I think you've got bigger problems than that to think about."

"What do you want with me?"

The man chuckled coldly. "Oh, nothing good, you little bitch. I promise you that. You've got some serious payback comin' your way."

She hoped he didn't see the blood leave her cheeks. "Payback? For what? I don't even know who you are!"

"You wouldn't. Didn't stop you from gettin' my brother killed though. Maybe you remember…back in Goodneighbor? Not as good-looking as me, but he tended to leave an impression. Word on the street is he was put down just after you rolled into town."

"Wait… your brother was Finn?" she asked, dredging the name up from her memory. "I didn't lay a damn hand on him!"

"No, but my sources say that old Mayor Hancock stabbed him for tryin' to shake you down for insurance money. So now you're both gonna die. Not before we squeeze ole Mr. Mayor for some of those caps he's got stashed away in that storehouse of his, though."

Fucking raiders. "What makes you think he's gonna pay up?"

The raider laughed unpleasantly. "It's not every day that a ghoul snags himself a piece of ass as sweet as yours. Plus, the way I hear it, Hancock's run with you longer than just about anyone else. Figure he's got a bit of a soft spot for his little vault-dweller."

"You've got it wrong," Rose replied, trying to bluff. "There isn't anything there. He just likes helping me beat the shit out of people like you; that's all."

The raider's expression darkened. "Then I guess he'll love this, won't he?"

Fifteen minutes had passed, and still no sign of Rose. He wouldn't exactly say he was worried, but Hancock wondered if she had found a way inside and had just headed in without him. Not like her; Rose was a reliable companion as far as all that went. She liked to know where he was, and made sure he knew where she was, at all times. Things were safer that way.

Just to be sure, Hancock decided to circle around her side of the building to look for an open door or a fire escape- could be she found a way to the roof. He did nearly a full circle around the thing without seeing a sign of her. His brow creased, and he doubled back to check again. Okay, maybe he was getting a little worried.

As he turned around to the backside of the warehouse, he noticed something glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a syringe, altered to shoot from a rifle like a tranq dart. Dread started to spill into him at the sight; that wasn't a good sign. He picked it up, noting that the needle was snapped - looked like it had hit a hard surface - and that it was still full of whatever drug was still inside it. He was willing to bet that something that needed to be shot from a distance wasn't going to be very much fun.

Another quick glance around, and he saw an old scrap of paper skewered on a knife a few feet away. There was a not very friendly message written on it:

Hey Hancock, you murdering son of a bitch. You killed my brother like a dog, so it's time to pay back the favor. I took your vault-dweller whore and I'm gonna kill her in four days unless you pay up, big time. I know you got that storehouse back in Goodneighbor.

Bring the caps to Backstreet Apparel. And you better come alone- I see that butch bitch that follows you around and I kill the vault-dweller on the spot.

The letter was signed with a hastily scrawled J. That didn't ring any bells with Hancock, but he had a pretty good idea of who the letter was talking about. He knew taking out Finn had been a rash decision, but what was he supposed to do? Goodneighbor was a town that survived on toughness and ruthlessness, when it was needed. Letting people get away with shit like that was against everything he stood for. Still, maybe he oughta have just beat the hell out of old Finn, rather than killing him.

No use crying over spilled milk now, though. A brew of anger and guilt boiled in his chest; the thought of someone hurting Rose infuriated him. He cared about her, more than he had cared about anyone for a long time. And he had made enough mistakes out of cowardice in his past; he wasn't going to let her be another one.

It was time to head back into Boston.

*TRIGGER WARNING IN NEXT CHAPTER. Please proceed with caution 3.*