A/n: I hope I don't have to slow down on my updates, but I might have to because classes are starting this week and I'm also starting a new job. So it might be 9 or 10 days between updates as opposed to a week, but we'll see.
So, here's a nice, long, Legioney chapter for everyone :)
Six sat in the Presidential suite of the Lucky 38, knowing what she had to do next. She'd seen how Fox operated; the way he spoke with people made them listen to him and do as he requested. He was even able to talk Keene into leaving Doctor Henry alone and had talked her out of a terrible mood when he advised against having Lily come back to the Strip with them.
At first, Six wondered if it was because Lily was a mutant. She thought that perhaps, Fox had an issue with mutants. But then he explained himself.
He told her that it was more for Lily's safety than anyone else's. A mutant wouldn't be welcome on the Strip and had the potential to be shot on sight. Fox's words made her reconsider her offer.
Thanks to spending time with him, Six felt like she could more readily talk her way through social interactions. This led her to believe that it was an excellent time to confront Benny and try to negotiate for the return of the Platinum Chip.
Resolved, Six stood from her seat at the foot of her bed and began to take stock of her weapons that could be concealed and brought into the casino.
She had a 9mm, a knife, and a set of spiked brass knuckles, all of which would come with her. Though she was very capable of being stealthy when required, Six very much doubted her ability to hide a pistol from the meticulous casino bouncers. Still, it was worth a try. She didn't know much about knives or hand-to-hand combat; a gun, on the other hand, felt like second nature.
Concealing her weapons, the Courier made her way to the elevator.
"I'm going out," she called, "I'll be back around lunchtime."
Six didn't wait for a response from her friends and rode the elevator down to the Casino floor. Bounding out of the elevator, she called to Victor, telling him that she was going to go visit Benny. The Securitron wished her luck as the exclusive casino's doors closed behind her in a rusty squeal.
It was morning, clear and crisp, the desert still partially cool from the night. The barest hints of a breeze stirred her hair, pushing the Courier in the direction of the Tops.
Six walked with purpose toward the propped gate that led to the casino and walked through it. Admittedly, the Tops looked small in comparison to the other buildings in the Strip. Its gaudily lit awning reminded Six of a clam shell that she'd seen in a book.
That book was from a time before she'd been shot; surely, this memory was a good sign for the day.
She grabbed the old, brass handles on the casino's door and pulled. The door didn't budge and the Courier sighed and pushed instead.
"Hey hey, baby doll," a man greeted, "Welcome to the Tops hotel and casino. I'll have to ask you to hand over any weapons you might be holding."
He eyed the pistol-shaped bulge in her pocket with a lifted eyebrow. Six giggled nervously in reply and handed the gun to him.
"Smooth and easy, just the way I like it," he chuckled, "we'll give it back to you on your way out. Now, what can I do to make your experience at the Tops the tops?"
Six bit her lip, knowing that she was committed after she answered his question.
"Is Benny around?" she asked.
"Sure is, sweetheart," the Chairman replied, "you can find him on the casino floor. Can't miss him; he's in a checkered suit."
She thanked the man and set off to find Benny, her face heating up when she heard him murmur to another man at the desk about bouncing a bottle cap off her ass.
Gathering her bearings, Six stepped toward the casino floor. Her boots made no sound on the patterned carpet. And while music blared in the Courier's ears, her heart began to pound as she realized that Benny was in the corner, staring directly at her. She'd been seen; she couldn't leave now.
Six mustered her confidence and told herself that her friends would be so proud of her when she came out of this negotiation. Fox would certainly be pleased, and then he'd kiss her and she'd melt into a puddle of goo all over again. He was good at that.
Benny stood from his chair, smoothing out his coat and putting out a cigarette.
"Hello," he laughed, "That broad they saw go into the Lucky 38 was you? Oh shit."
He was just as nervous as she was; the thought put Six a little at ease.
"I think you need to work on your marksmanship," she smiled.
Benny scoffed for a second and crossed his arms.
"I hit what I was aiming for. Maybe you've got a lot of brains, or maybe you've got a thick skull," he replied, "still, I can sleep better at night knowing that you didn't die. What say you and me cash out and go somewheres a little more quiet-like. I'll answer any questions you have."
Relief washed over her as she realized that Benny was willing to talk things through. Things had gotten out of hand for him, that was all. He certainly didn't look at her as if he hated her.
"What do you have in mind?" Six asked.
"To start, I'll comp you the Presidential, which is the best suite in the casino. You deserve a taste of the VIP life," Benny smiled, "go up ahead of me and I'll be business as usual for a while down here. In a few minutes, I'll meet you up there."
That wasn't what Six had in mind. She understood if he wanted to talk privately about what happened. After all, shooting a courier for their delivery was apparently a very bad faux pas. But she'd be dumb to have him come up after her.
"That's a good starting point," Six replied, "but I have two conditions. Lose the bodyguards and we both go up now. Let's make this an honest meeting."
"If that's what it takes to earn your trust, then that's fine," he sighed.
Benny wrapped his arm around Six's shoulder and ushered her away from the guards. They walked past one of the floor managers.
"Hey, there's the high roller!" he called, "Benny, you know that's Fox's girl, right?"
"I do now," Benny chuckled. He turned to Six and frowned. "Fox ruins dames, baby. He uses them then throws them out, broken hearted and all loosey goosey so any man that's with them after that knows that their gal's had a taste of something much bigger and better."
They disappeared into the elevator and he dropped his arm from her shoulder, putting his hands in his pockets.
"Fox and I haven't done anything," Six murmured, "besides, he's nice to me."
Benny just shook his head and shrugged. She was glad that he dropped it; Fox was a special friend and Six didn't want to have people talking poorly about him. Besides, she was an adult; she'd do what she wanted with Fox. Benny certainly couldn't change her mind about that. Her friends approved of him and that was all Six needed.
The elevator coasted to a stop and the doors opened to reveal a large, lavish room. There was a bar, two pool tables, a sitting area, and a wall safe.
"This is a lot bigger than the room House gave me," Six murmured.
"He," Benny swallowed, "He gave you a room even?"
The Courier nodded in reply and he sighed, running his hand through his hair.
"Okay, well," he murmured, "now that we're somewhere private, I've got to ask: How is it that you're still living?"
Six sat down on the stool next to him and sighed.
"I have no idea," she said, "a Securitron dug me up and a doctor in Goodsprings was able to patch me up somehow. I guess its maybe luck."
"House was on to me from the beginning?" Benny sighed, "And I thought I was being clever. Well, how did you track me down?"
Six shrugged. Benny left quite a trail; his jacket was more than enough to identify him.
"I got a name to go with your appearance in Nipton," the Courier replied, "the Legion sacked the town and the officer in charge told me your name."
"Shit," Benny shook his head, "so there have been Legion agents in my casino? I'll definitely be able to sleep better now. Nothing like slaver creeps to keep you comfortable at night. Well, let's get down to business. Which way is the wind going to blow?"
"I have a question first," Six murmured, "Who am I?"
He cursed, put his head in his hands, and began to repeat the phrase 'I ain't a fink', as if saying it enough times would make it true.
"Baby," Benny sighed, "I don't know you, not even your name. It wasn't about you; it was about the Chip."
Six felt her chin begin to tremble as she realized that the answer wasn't here. She'd have to either give the Chip to House or help the NCR, and even then, it wasn't guaranteed that she'd get so much as her name.
"Can I have the Chip?" she asked, "If I give it to House, he'll be happy and he said he'd search his database to try to at least figure out my name."
Her voice sounded weak to her own ears as she fought the tears that threatened to overflow from their precarious position on the brims of her eyelids.
"Baby, ease off the gas," he replied, "the Chip belongs with someone who can use it, and that someone is me. I'll let you in on a sweet piece of the action, but the Chip stays with me."
"But –"
"Tell you what," Benny smiled, "I'll give you a minute to think about it. This is about something bigger than you or me; this is about a Vegas that's free from House, from the NCR or the Legion. Take a breather and come find me in a bit."
Six nodded mutely as he left. What was she going to do?
She didn't have long to think; the door was kicked off the hinges by a group of Benny's guards. A hail of bullets went off around her and she cried out as one struck her in the arm. Six dove behind the bar, searching desperately for a weapon.
There, in the far corner of the cabinet, lay a loaded 10mm submachine gun. Six snatched it and popped up to shoot at the guards.
She didn't stop when they fell to the ground; she couldn't stop until she was sure they were dead.
The gun made a clicking noise and Six realized that she was out of ammo. Six glanced down at the guns that the guards dropped. They appeared to be .22s. And though she'd been shot with one of the smallest calibers possible, Six had still been shot by Benny again, though it was indirectly. The thought was so humiliating.
Trembling, Six shuffled over to the wall safe. She'd at least steal whatever was in there because she couldn't care less that Benny owned the things inside the safe. He'd taken from her anyway.
Tears spilled down her face as she inserted a bobby pin into the lock. Six didn't need to see what she was doing; the process was practically automatic to her. It was confusing. Why did she know this? Why did she know how to duck behind the bar and shoot the bodyguards? Who was she?
The safe creaked open and Six shoved all of the caps into her pockets before turning to the elevator. Doors opened and she made her way to the reception area.
"Baby?" the greeter gasped, "Baby, you've been shot."
"My gun," she sniffled.
The man nodded and ran off to grab her pistol.
"Hey Kittycat," a man behind the desk called, "What's a beautiful doll like you crying about?"
Six turned to face him and his eyes widened in shock.
"More importantly, who the hell is shooting gals in my casino?" he hissed, "Name's Swank. I'm the second in charge of this establishment."
"Six," she replied, "House sent me."
Swank's face fell.
"That explains why you're bleeding and Benny up and vamoosed without a word," he sighed, "Stay here, doll. We'll patch you up."
The greeter returned with her pistol and Six shook her head. She had to get back to her friends, where she felt safe. Amid a group of protesting Chairmen, Six flung open the door to the casino and stumbled her way out into the glaring light of the Strip.
People stared openly at her as she began her walk of shame back to the Lucky 38. Some murmured about her being Fox's new girl, while others attempted to stop her and give her help.
Six stumbled up the Lucky 38's stairs and Victor followed her in, telling her not to worry and that she'd had worse and that 'the boss' would set everything right. The Courier closed the elevator door, cutting the Securitron off.
She didn't care; she wanted to get to her friends. And she especially wanted Fox to come back from visiting his dad and hold her.
Canyon Runner guarded a gate of nothing but dust and weeds. There hadn't been any new captures in a while and they ended up using him for other tasks.
It was good to get around, and he found himself fortunate enough to be given permission to travel to the Fort to bring a pair of older slaves back to Cottonwood. They would be good tools to teach any new captures that he ended up receiving.
He always tried to mix things up in order to find the best method of turning new captures into industrious, mild-mannered servants. Though beating them and providing sensory deprivation was the standard for breaking them in, Canyon Runner was always one to attempt to create better results.
The addicts were his favorites. They came with medical issues that made many teachers execute them outright, but Canyon Runner saw potential based on the individual. They proved challenging to break and to re-teach, but when their eyes had been opened to a life without substance, they generally made some of the most excellent and loyal slaves. Generally speaking, of course; there were always exceptions.
The bottom line was that nobody wanted a jaded, old nag of a slave. Current methods created such creatures.
Canyon Runner stepped onto the raft and Cursor Lucullus began to untie it from the docks. He hoped that he'd see a high ranked officer around the Fort, but knew that his chances were slim, given the location of his pickup point.
"Wait!" a voice called, just as Lucullus was about to untie the final rope from the dock.
A man in leather armor ran up to them, his golden identification pendant glittering in the morning sun as it bounced with his movement. This was one of the Frumentarii.
"Ave, Vulpes," Lucullus called, "you seem to have caught us in time." He snapped a salute.
Canyon Runner hurriedly saluted the Frumentarius as he jumped onto the raft. The final tie was loosened and Lucullus began to row upstream to the Fort.
Vulpes must have come from the Strip; he was dressed as one of the dissolute. Dust covered the entirety of his boots and his pants, coating them in an iridescent shade of tan on black. There was a pink flush to his pale cheeks as he caught his breath and took a sip of water from his canteen.
"You look like you've run from the top of the hill," Lucullus observed.
"I did," Vulpes replied, panting lightly, "I didn't want to have to wait for another ride; getting back to the Strip as soon as possible would be preferable."
Canyon Runner wanted to know what was going on at the Strip, but he didn't dare to ask. He was a lowly foot soldier; official state business wasn't any of his concern.
"So, how many this time?" Lucullus asked.
Vulpes laughed and lay on his back on the raft, moving his hat to block the sunlight from his face.
"None," he replied, "Absolutely none."
The Cursor stopped in his rowing to look seriously at him.
"None?" Lucullus repeated, "no women at all? Not even half of a woman?"
Vulpes sat up and glared at Lucullus.
"Nope," he chuckled, "And half a woman? That's unacceptable; I do not take halves. There is this one, but she's involved in business, not pleasure." He appeared wistful for a moment before shaking his head.
"I live a colorful life," Vulpes laughed, looking at Canyon Runner. "Undercover has many meanings."
"So, this woman," he murmured, "What's she like?"
Canyon Runner wondered if he'd be reprimanded for his impudence. Instead, the Frumentarius smiled at him and regarded him kindly.
"What's your name?" Vulpes asked.
He wanted to know his name. One of his betters actually lowered himself to converse with him, to treat him as a peer of sorts. The amount of respect Canyon Runner had for this man grew exponentially; it was obvious that Vulpes cared about those beneath his station.
"Canyon Runner, sir," he replied, "keeper of the new captures."
"To answer your question, Canyon Runner," Vulpes replied, "She is an interesting anomaly for one of the dissolute. I'd go so far as to say that she's the model that a woman of the Legion ought to strive to be. She's quiet, differs to those above her station, and makes herself to be as inconveniently servile as possible."
That was quite a high compliment, especially from such an esteemed member of the Legion. This woman must be quite special. Perhaps Caesar would look favorably upon her and allow the privilege of her becoming Vulpes' property, if she was useful and attractive enough to claim.
"Inconveniently servile?" he asked.
"She has a strong desire to help others," Vulpes murmured, "to the point that she'll inconvenience herself and stick her nose into others' business. The results from such endeavors are almost always positive."
Lucullus took a break from rowing to have a sip of water. The canyon's walls were high all around them, shielding them from the brunt of the sun's rays.
"Female instinct," the Cursor nodded, "Wouldn't you say, Canyon Runner?"
"I'd say so," he agreed, "and finding such an individual among the dissolute is incredible. The new captures never know their place."
"This one most assuredly does," Vulpes nodded, "it's refreshing to see. The best part is that I don't have to bite my tongue to remain incognito around her." He smiled, laid back, and put his hat over his face, preparing for a nap.
Shots rang out between the canyon walls and Lucullus cursed, attempting to row faster. Canyon Runner ducked low on the raft. The cowards of the NCR were taking pot shots at them.
Vulpes sat up, smiled, and nodded at the Cursor.
"It's just like before Cottonwood," he mused, "except they're unable to hit us this time." The Frumentarius absent-mindedly massaged a spot on his arm.
Canyon Runner watched as Vulpes drew his long, black pistol and absently pointed it in the direction of the gunshot's origin. He couldn't help but flinch when the gun went off. With his ears ringing, Canyon Runner noticed something tumble over the edge of the cliff. It was a person, and as their body turned in the air, an NCR ranger hat drifted downward after them.
Vulpes laughed and declared that the shot was impossible; Canyon Runner would believe otherwise.
The successful errant shot was a sign of the favor of Mars, and it was something he'd never forget.
"Is she attractive?" Lucius asked.
Everyone in Caesar's tent froze, looking at him as if he'd sprouted a bear head. Moments like these were rare, but Lucius found himself to be in a humorous mood. Just because he was the head of the guard didn't mean he had to be humorless all of the time.
Vulpes shifted uncomfortably, giving Caesar an awkward glance.
"Yes," Caesar chimed in, "Is she?"
Lucius snickered; he'd caught Vulpes off-guard and now he was flustered. It was a rare but incredibly humorous moment.
"Well, I mean," the Frumentarius murmured, "yeah. She's very attractive."
"How much?" Caesar pressed. He stared intently at Vulpes, his hand stroking his chin.
Lucius thought for a moment that perhaps he shouldn't have asked. Caesar was starting to act like Edward instead of the dignified Son of Mars.
"On a scale of one to tits," Caesar continued, "Tits meaning, tits –"
"Tits," Vulpes interjected, "seriously."
He made hand motions to indicate the Courier's measurements and Caesar whistled. Lucius wondered if Vulpes was exaggerating. After all, if he was following Caesar's orders, then he'd spent a record amount of time without getting off. Of course, two weeks or so wasn't that long in the first place.
"Well, that's just a bonus," Caesar sighed, "but it's time to get serious. I assume she made it to the Strip. Tell me anything that might be relevant about what this Courier has been doing."
Vulpes nodded.
"She's gathered random people on her travels," he replied, "people who had nothing better to do, people whose business she refused to stay out of.
"Six travels with a Brotherhood scribe, a Followers doctor, a former caravan owner, and a retired NCR sniper who was at Bitter Springs. They're currently living at the Lucky 38, where House has given them a suite and instructions to retrieve his platinum chip, which Benny stole from her. The NCR has sought her aid, but her reply thus far has been that the NCR either can't or won't take care of their problems by themselves."
Chuckles rose from every corner of the tent as Caesar laughed outright.
"Good girl," he nodded, "Anything else?"
"No, my Lord," Vulpes replied, "she hasn't made a move to help House. Truth be told, she's been much more preoccupied with attempting to get to know me. My cover story has gotten quite the workout recently."
Lucius fought a smirk as he watched Vulpes speak about the Courier. He certainly seemed to think highly of her.
"Get to know her more," Caesar ordered, "Gain more of her trust and more of her interest. Come back when you believe you have a sufficient rapport with her. Before you go, however, there is a task that could use your expertise. Make your way to Kanut and assist him."
Caesar dismissed Vulpes and Lucius knew that he'd want to counsel with him. Wordlessly, he opened the curtain to Caesar's personal chambers and waited for him to enter.
"You saw that, right?" Caesar asked.
Lucius nodded; he was sure that everyone in the tent had seen Vulpes' apparent infatuation with the Courier.
"What say you?" Caesar continued, "I'll admit that I'm suspicious of him turning a new leaf so suddenly."
"You never know with a man his age," Lucius shrugged, "when we take the Strip, and then perhaps you may award her to him as his property if he's still interested."
Vulpes deserved something for his hard work. He just hoped that this woman would prove useful to Caesar in the long run.
Kanut was the new man in charge of interrogations, in the place of Acanthus. Though he had much to learn, Kanut was loyal, first and foremost. The man had an incredible talent for reading others and had to learn when and where to properly administer force in order to gain knowledge from captured individuals. He handpicked Kanut for this job and didn't doubt his ability to learn in the slightest.
Interrogation had been one of Vulpes' jobs before he became head of the Frumentarii. It took a strong mind to break prisoners, and even a stronger mind to not let the job permanently disfigure one's mental state.
After changing into his uniform, Vulpes wove his way through rows of tents in order to reach the outbuilding that housed prisoners. Legionaries and slaves parted around him, knowing that the wolf's cloak and no standard meant that he was no vexillarius.
It was refreshing to be where he belonged, among the sounds of men sharpening their weapons, laughing as they sat around the campfire. Women bustled about their chores, their expressions demure and soft, unlike the ill-temperate shrews of the Strip. Everything was in order; everyone was kept properly in their place in society.
It was a world that Six would benefit from. She wouldn't have to worry about bandits on the highways, wouldn't have to worry about the addicts in Freeside, and wouldn't have to worry about the corrupt, impotent politics of the west. Here, her amnesiac mind could rest.
And if Caesar willed it, Vulpes would be able to drop the Fox act with her soon. He didn't want her to become devoted to Fox. Besides, it was taxing to pretend to give a shit about some things. Mutants, addicts, bandits and the like didn't exist in the Legion; he lived in a world of order. The Courier's worries were unfounded for the future she'd have under Legion rule. The things she worried about, the types of people she wanted to help, all of these were problems that stemmed from an ill-temperate, dissolute society. It was the same type of society that caused the near extinction of mankind.
After winding his way through the Fort, Vulpes reached his objective. Kanut stood outside, his arms crossed. He made an attempt at hiding his nervousness, but the facade unraveled at the way he furrowed his brow.
"Ave," Kanut saluted, "this visit is much appreciated; knowledge is invaluable to success."
His statement was worded carefully, yet remarkably transparent. Kanut was suspicious as to why he was there and was likely wondering if he'd done something wrong. Had Vulpes been the same as he was when he was younger, he would have intentionally found fault with his subordinate's words. But the weight of responsibility pressed out a large portion of his wrathful side, molding him into a tool to be used at Caesar's disposal. Caesar saw his potential, even when he'd been an angry, rebellious prick of a decanus and set him on the path to achieving much for the Legion; Vulpes figured he owed that much to his subordinates as well.
"What do we have?" he asked.
"Two profligate troops, one male and one female," Kanut replied, "The female is a ranger, the male, a comm officer. They are from the recent operation on Ranger Station Charlie. We're working on getting names and information, but attempts have been unsuccessful so far. I wonder if they even have knowledge that can be of use."
"It's better to assume they do than to assume not," Vulpes murmured, "they're going to be killed anyway, so it's best to get out of them whatever we can."
Out of habit, he adjusted his goggles, making sure they were secure on his face. A guard saluted and opened the door to the outbuilding. The musty smell of unwashed prisoners hit him full-force as he entered the dark room; one of them shuffled nervously at his entry.
Good; they'd been kept in the dark and had very limited care. It was a basic step, but an important one nonetheless.
Kanut flipped a light switch on the wall and an old bulb flickered on.
The prisoners were chained to the wall; their limbs were given no room for movement. They were permitted to speak and their mouths showed no signs of the use of gags.
The male stared at him, his eyes wide in terror as he processed who was standing before him. In contrast, the female ranger remained defiant, her glare hard and her jaw clenched. Blood soaked through the seam of her underwear and Vulpes fought the urge to cringe; that fierce odor was coming from her menstruation.
"When you steal NCR equipment, tools, and personal property," Vulpes announced, "you are my bitch."
Silence greeted him; it was typical. He'd hoped for some different sort of response, but he'd been given more of the same.
"So, do you have names?" he asked. It took a hard shove to close the door and it groaned loudly in protest. Didn't anyone grease these things? Apparently, it hadn't crossed anyone's mind; sometimes he wondered about the recruits. It wasn't a plasma rifle or a terminal, for Juno's sake. It was a door.
Vulpes had to remind himself continually that the people under his command were former tribals, many without access to books, and many others were illiterate. He, too, had once been an illiterate, superstitious tribal, more animal than man. They all had humble origins; Caesar uplifted them and made them great.
"Stella," the ranger intoned.
"You look bored, Stella," he purred, "is the comm officer poor company? After all, he hasn't even answered my question."
"Connor," the man murmured. He seemed emboldened by the ranger's bravado.
Vulpes paced in front of them, sizing them up. The comm officer was visibly scared, but put on a brave front. He must have felt rather silly next to the ranger.
"You know why you are here," Vulpes said, "Put bluntly, you failed. The scale of your failure is immense; your entire station was taken out. Your station bordered a civilian town, nonetheless. And while you've been pissing or bleeding all over yourselves, Novac has been put to the sword, the same as Nipton."
Connor looked positively ill at the false news; a flicker of emotion showed on Stella's face before vanishing. These weren't agents. They had no idea he was lying about Novac's destruction.
Sometimes, a falsehood was the most expedient path.
"We punish heavily for failures in the Legion," he continued, "but we understand that the NCR rarely punishes for failure. You may receive a demotion or a dismissal, but that is the extent. So, I will attempt to speak your language, as I am quite an accommodating man."
"What I offer," Vulpes purred, "is a dismissal."
It was the same voice he used to seduce the dresses off of the most prudish women on the Strip. The pair regarded him with suspicion; neither looked ready to talk.
"Names, locations, codes," he murmured, "and you will get a swift dismissal. No crucifixion, no scourging."
Vulpes drew his pistol from its place on his belt.
"Just a bullet from this gun, in your head," he continued, "I guarantee that it'd be a quick, painless death."
They remained silent.
"Do you think I'm lying?" Vulpes sighed, "I have absolutely no reason to do so. And let me be perfectly honest with you; I've been scourged for crucifixion and it is definitely not fun."
Still, nothing. He'd have to play a little rough, a decision that he couldn't care less about. Perhaps it showed.
Vulpes motioned for the guards to grab the whip and regarded the prisoners coolly.
"Mr. Connor," he announced, "you have the pleasure of becoming an inductee into the scourging hall of fame. Unfortunately, there are many members, so I will likely be the only one who remembers your name."
The comm officer appeared to be younger and much more inexperienced than Stella was. He'd crack easily under pressure, if the woman's protective instincts didn't kick in first. They'd start with a less damaging whip, one with knots tied to its leather ends. There was no sense in using the strongest instruments first.
After Connor was chained to a post, Kanut unfurled the whip, awaiting Vulpes' signal to begin. With a nod, the young officer's fate was sealed.
As leather repeatedly met skin, a loud snap and a cry of pain sounded; it was sharp, almost a painful sound in such a confined area. Blood splattered on Vulpes' goggles and he sighed.
"You're bleeding on me," he murmured, "You're bleeding everywhere."
He walked around to the other side of the post, moved his goggles to the face of his cowl, and knelt down to look Connor in the eyes. The lash hit the prisoner and he cried out again, making Vulpes blink and move back. That was a little too close; the kid was quite the screamer.
"Your first mistake was remaining silent when I asked you for information," Vulpes explained, "by doing that, you aroused my suspicions. And when my suspicious are aroused, I am absolutely relentless."
Kanut let up on the whip, making Vulpes smirk. The man knew when to stop; this was a sign of a good interrogator.
Vulpes leaned in and grabbed Connor's chin, forcing his glassy, red-rimmed eyes to meet his.
"I know what you're thinking," he said, "That I enjoy this, like some sort of mustache-twirling villain from La Fantoma. But the truth is, I couldn't care less. You're simply choosing the painful, ridiculous way out."
Stella seethed in her corner, straining her arms against her restraints. Letting go of the comm officer's chin, Vulpes sauntered over to her. He kept his distance; this one would bite him if he got too close.
"She is positively rabid," Kanut murmured, motioning toward the ranger with the whip.
The flogging continued and Vulpes sidled as close to Stella as was safe.
"Listen," he murmured, "I've been through what's happening to him right now. It hurts like hell, and you wish that you'd be able to just pass out from the pain. But each lash wakes you up, keeping you from doing so. And by the time it's over, you've screamed your throat raw and there's barely any flesh left on your back. On my back, in some places, there's no sensation. At other times, the muscles twitch and tie themselves into knots. I'm twenty four and sometimes I wake up and feel so old and sore."
The lashing stopped for a moment and Kanut leaned in to speak with Connor.
"My point is," Vulpes continued, "that this is no way for someone to go. Yes, let some be made an example of. But this one is soft. Had he been born into the Legion, he would have been kept as a field worker, because he is able-bodied, but not able-minded. Give us something, Stella. Let me put him out of his misery."
She paused and drew a shuddering breath as she gazed upon her comrade.
"Mike," she murmured.
Vulpes stared into the woman's eyes, concentrating wholly on her next words.
"Mike Rotch," she finished.
"Mike Rotch," he repeated.
Oh.
He was sure that his grin looked silly as he leaned back against the wall, trying to contain his laughter.
"We have a smart one, Kanut," Vulpes chuckled.
Stella pursed her lips, mentally preparing herself to be flogged.
"Get the big boy whip," he murmured, "enough toying around."
Kanut lifted a brow before nodding and grabbing a cat of nine tails. The whip unfurled from itself with a clattering of metal and glass. It was a strangely beautiful sound.
"I sought to punish you a little more kindly," Vulpes said, "But Stella apparently doesn't approve of your punishment and makes light of the situation you're in, Connor. So, you'll be given a man's punishment."
The ranger's eyes widened as Kanut stood back and lowered his arm into the position he'd need for proper leverage.
"No!" she yelled, "Do it to me, not him!"
Vulpes nodded and the whip cracked through the air. Its tails dug into the comm officer's back, some flipping around to his torso. Kanut shifted and yanked the whip back. Flesh ripped away; Connor's scream was nearly unbearable.
"Not quite," Vulpes interjected, "if you go too low, you'll rip out a kidney, which isn't what we're aiming for."
He took the whip from Kanut and stood behind the prisoner. The whip shot forward from its place behind him.
"There was nothing wrong with your application," he instructed, "but the rip is the important part. If you do it the way you did it, you could injure yourself. Watch."
In one smooth motion, Vulpes jerked the whip back. Amid screams of pain and protest, he lashed the whip forward again and repeated the process. He whipped forward again and ripped back. He'd gotten to seven before pain shot down his back.
Thankfully, his gasp was overpowered by Connor's scream. His back radiated pain down his arm, making the hand holding the whip numb. He'd used proper technique, but that was a small comfort. An injury from being scourged resurfaced while he was scourging someone.
Kanut looked concerned but said nothing; it was better to not show the prisoners that he'd been injured. Vulpes drew the whip back another time, attempting to not wince at his back's throbbing protest.
"Stop," Stella cried, "There's a lockbox under the floorboards behind the reception desk. Just put him out of his misery."
Well, that was fortuitous. He wouldn't have to strike again.
Vulpes handed the whip to Kanut and drew his revolver. He turned to face Stella.
"Let's hope you're right," he said, "Otherwise, it'll be you in this position instead of him."
As Vulpes sauntered around to the front of the prisoner, he noticed Connor was barely coherent form the pain, his eyes lolling around in their sockets.
"Say hello to Tandi for me," he murmured, pulling the trigger.
Without a working brain, the body twitched before collapsing a final time. Vulpes holstered his pistol; the deed was done.
A red-eyed Stella glared at him as he wiped brains off his cheek. The woman was so angry, constantly ready to fight.
"Kanut," he called, "Any ideas for the ranger?"
Kanut stared at the woman and nodded slowly.
"She has been poisoned by the wasteland and will be unfit for proper duties," he said, "her fierceness is unmatched; she killed multiple guards as they took her in, as well as a Centurion. Let her become an arena fighter, if she wishes to play at being a man so much."
"Good solution," Vulpes replied, "I appreciate that you're thinking in the abstract."
Kanut nodded and signaled for the guards to unchain her and drag her toward the pen. While Stella kicked and cursed, a recruit approached her with a damp rag and put it over her nose and mouth. A punch in the side forced the wild-eyed ranger to breathe and she slumped forward in her restraints. The recruits dragged her out of the building, leaving Vulpes and Kanut alone with a dead body.
"I do not relish using the cat," Kanut murmured, "even if it is the standard for crucifixion." He glanced at Vulpes' shoulder.
"And such is the mark of a good interrogator and executioner," Vulpes nodded, "a man who understands the seriousness of his work and takes no joy in inflicting pain on others. I am pleased with my selection."
He patted Kanut on the shoulder and left him, trying desperately not to think of the one time he failed to follow his own standard: Nipton.
It was twilight and she looked out over the lake toward the great, lit city. Out there was freedom, as phantom and unreachable as the fading sunset that she watched.
About three years passed since her capture, each day stretching onward in a tireless haze. Siri was the only doctor in the camp and her days were filled with a continual struggle to stay effective, though she had much more work than she could handle. At least she kept busy.
A lone figure approached her tent and her heart softened. Perhaps it was Stockholm syndrome, some sort of sympathy for the devil that made her want to see him once in a while. But a part of her wanted to believe that Vulpes Inculta was a sheep in wolf's clothing.
He greeted her with an exhausted smile and she inclined her head downward in submission. Blood and what appeared to be brain material was splattered on his face and armor. Siri didn't want to know what he'd been up to; she wanted to lie to herself and pretend that he was one of the more normal men that were one of her patients.
"Ave," she said, fighting the urge to call him 'sweetie'. He'd probably understand the word from his time as an agent, and might even be okay with her calling him that once. But saying it would be so unprofessional.
Vulpes stepped into the tent and she closed the flap behind him. Wincing, he removed his cowl and began to untie his armor. Siri helped him undress, knowing that she was clearly overstepping her bounds.
But it was obvious that he'd come to her for more work on his back. She'd see him once in a while and would massage his knotted muscles with a numbing oil. And every time, it'd devolve into slow, sensual sex, the kind that made her want to cry because it made her almost feel like a normal woman again. Vulpes was one of the only men that kissed her. She knew it was part of him being a spy and nothing more. Perhaps he used her to hone his skills; it was a dirty, discouraging thought.
It was strange, feeling affection for a man because he was good at sex and didn't hit her. He'd carry on a half-permissive conversation with her and would occasionally pull out. God, her standards had gotten really low.
Siri grabbed the oil she'd need to work the knot out and when she turned back, Vulpes was already on the bedroll. Putting the oil to the side, she knelt down, straddled his butt, and examined his back.
"It's probably a smaller pull," he murmured, the sound muffled by the bedroll.
"I agree," she replied.
Siri spread a thin layer of oil on her hands and began to gently knead the area between his shoulder blades.
"If I may be so bold," she mumbled, "it seems that something troubles you, sir."
"We live in a troubled world," he replied, "where nobody knows their place. Outside of the Fort is a world of bandits and addicts and scum. My trouble is no greater than that of anyone else."
She kept silent, grateful that he decided to not chastise her for her indiscretion. Vulpes rarely did so, and for that, she found him better than most. Siri continued working the knots out of his back and remained mute.
"The profligate gave me cause," he sighed, "I didn't like doing it."
Her thumbs swirled around the muscles at the base of his neck. In a minute or so, he'd turn around and begin to touch her. He'd leave kisses along her jaw as he let her melt against him. She'd be on top of him while he ground into her from below.
Siri should have felt dirty that she wanted it from a man who played Russian roulette with his sexual health. She should have felt filthy, because her face heated up from the thought of few minutes of intimacy and ten seconds of bliss from a man who was allowed to backhand her if he felt like it.
But Siri supposed that she didn't have the dignity left to care.
After a moment, Vulpes shifted and she moved to kneel next to him. The expected touch never came as he stood and began to put his armor on.
"There are doctors in Freeside," he nodded, "so when we take Vegas, you'll have more help with your duties. Until now, we haven't been able to locate anyone to assist."
Oh.
That was some good news. It was unexpected, but very good.
"The quality of healthcare should increase with more help," she murmured.
Vulpes gave Siri a quick pat on the back and left, leaving her confused. She'd lost count of the number of times that he'd used her for things other than medical care, but this time, he'd given her a pat on the back as if she was a boy. He'd been completely uninterested and Siri was sure that she hadn't changed.
Maybe he'd changed. Maybe he'd found someone and was actually attempting to remain faithful after a fashion. Siri snorted; that'd never happen.
She wiped her hands on a towel and readied herself for bed, selfishly hoping for more doctors.