The first thing Cain had done, upon returning to the Lucky 38's presidential suite last night, was march into her room, fall over, and plant her face in the bedspread – a position she maintained for several minutes, until she decided her problems would be better solved with lots of alcohol.
The entire day had been a cascading exercise in what the fuck. It was a useful reminder to have every once in a while, that things could always get crazier and things could always get worse… but the sadistic glee she'd found in watching Mortimer's bullshit ideal of true class crumble around him had only lasted for as long as it took for her to get Ted Gunderson back to his father. Heck Gunderson, she'd found, hadn't earned the nickname 'Hurricane Heck' for nothing, and his reaction to the news had been barely any more measured than his son's. It had taken ten minutes, a personal apology extracted from Marjorie, and the somewhat heavy-handed insinuation that the White Gloves might start eating each other again if he cut off their food supply before he grudgingly agreed not to plant an axe in his business dealings entirely. He'd paid her generously for her services after that, but caps had become surprisingly unimportant as of late. Certainly they weren't worth the day she'd just had.
Marjorie, in contrast, had been much easier to deal with, though the woman was still more disturbed about the blow to the White Glove Society's reputation than she was about the people who'd gotten eaten by her wayward subordinates. Marjorie had made her an honorary member of the White Gloves on the spot, which she no longer had any need for (and she had more than a few qualms about being associated with them, after what she'd learned), but maybe it could end up being useful. She'd also offered Cain an apprenticeship with Philippe, which she'd politely declined.
She'd left the White Glove Society with what she'd came for, which was a fistful of favors to cash in at a later time and the unspoken affirmation that they'd stand with her when the time came, but hell if the day hadn't made her fight for it. But it was over now, and that meant she was free to get as drunk as she wanted. Which was extremely. Arcade had even joined her at the suite's bar after the first round, perhaps coming to the conclusion that cannibal gourmets were a strong argument in favor of alcohol consumption.
She didn't remember too much of it. They'd been talking about something, but Arcade was maudlin as fuck when he got tipsy, and she maybe wasn't the best listener once appropriately inebriated. Pinyon nuts had ended up everywhere, and she vaguely remembered trying to make a machine gun with her mouth. Maybe? It had sounded like a good idea at the time.
It was hazy, but judging by periodic alcohol consumption, Alex had come in much later than she'd expected him to. He'd seemed pleased with himself. She'd tried to ask, but the words hadn't really come out right. Then she'd gotten kind of depressed and started bawling over something she could not remember at all, and she might have tried to wrangle everyone together to hug it out?
She was pretty sure she passed out on the lounge's barstool not long after that, but she'd woken up in her bed, so maybe she'd managed to stagger back into her room in the end. It didn't matter that much, because she spent the next ten minutes retching into one of the Lucky 38's no-longer-pristine toilets anyway. So much for comfort… if comfort could even coexist with the splitting headache pulping her brain right now.
So here she was, stumbling out of the bathrooms, searching for a sink and wondering if this felt better or worse than that time a bullet had cozied up with the interior of her skull.
Definitely worse, she decided, when an Alex-Mercer-shaped shadow interrupted her desperate attempts to clean out her mouth. "You sober yet?" it asked.
She lifted her head and glowered at him through the mirror. "Shut up."
"I'll take that as a yes." His reflection smirked back. "Have fun last night?"
"Yes, and fuck you for asking." She planted her head in the sink and tried to ignore him. Her whole body hurt, and trying to wedge her mouth under the faucet was doing horrible things to her neck. "Ugh, my head. Look… can you get me one of those glasses from the kitchen?"
"That's funny." He cocked his head. "I could have sworn you just told me to fuck off."
Fuck him with a pogo stick. Him and his smug face and his ability to drag himself upright and walk twenty steps without feeling like his head was going to split open and spill brains everywhere. "Urgh… please, Alex?"
"Fine, whatever." He started to leave, but paused. "You're not going to try to ply more drinks on me, are you?"
She blinked. "What the hell are you talking about now?"
"You tried to get me to join your little party last night. Emphasis on tried."
Cain took a stab at sifting through her bleary recollections of last night, and immediately gave up when her headache provided a persuasive counterargument. "Uh…"
"My face isn't on my chest. Usually. But it was a nice try."
"What?"
"You're lucky I have enough biomass right now. Otherwise I might not have appreciated the burns. Well, I didn't, but at least I could shrug them off."
She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. "If I say I'm sorry, will you get me a goddamn glass of water? Because in that case, I'm really, really sorry. For whatever I did."
"Just don't do it again." Finally, he left to get the damn glass. It occurred to her that Alex was in a weirdly good mood this morning. Maybe he thrived off of everyone else's malcontent. Dick.
He came back with a glass full of ice cubes, which immediately raised her opinion of him by several orders of magnitude. "Bless you, Alex. You are a beautiful person and I will never question you again."
"Uh…" He looked mildly alarmed.
"Yeah, you're right, I probably will. You're too much of a dick. But you are wonderful, and so is the person who invented refrigerators."
He stared at her. "Are you sure you're sober?"
"I wish I wasn't." She filled her glass and swallowed the contents in two gulps. And filled it again. And a third time, but now she felt kind of sick again, so she just dumped the thing on her head, ice and all. Yeah, that'd show it for trying to pound out of her skull. …Actually, it felt kind of nice. Ish. Not nice enough.
She slumped against the sink, wiping sweat and water from her hair. She realized that she was still in her dress from last night. She also realized that she didn't care. "Ugh. Can you come back in, like, fifteen minutes? I promise I'll be a little more alive then."
"You're just going to stay there?"
"What does it look like?" Did she wish she were somewhere other than this sink? Yes. Did she want to move from this sink? Absolutely not.
He sighed. "Come on."
She had no intention of going anywhere until her body stopped giving her a screaming ultimatum, but a pair of strong arms beneath her shoulders made the decision for her. She yelped as she was bodily lifted up, legs flailing, and carried elsewhere.
She'd have taken the sink in a heartbeat. Mercer was way too fucking warm, and she was pretty sure that touching him was bad for some reason, though she wasn't really in a position to think too deeply on anything right now. Oh, right - it was bad because every step he took made her stomach lurch dangerously.
"If I throw up on you, it is completely your fault," she warned.
"Don't."
She had half a mind to anyway, but then he deposited her into a chair and backed out of range, and throwing up was a much less appealing option when she'd have to do it on herself, so she shut her eyes, breathed deeply, and endeavored not to. Once she was reasonably certain she wasn't going to hurl, she peeled her eyes open and sprawled out as much as she dared. Those plush armchairs in the lounge would have way been more comfortable than this, this thing didn't even had a cushion, but she had no desire to make another trip. And it was, admittedly, still better than standing.
She peered around. "The kitchen? Are you going to make breakfast or something?"
"No." He looked at her like she was an idiot. "You can do that yourself."
"Bleh. Joke's on you, I wasn't gonna eat it anyway." Food seemed like a singularly awful idea right now. She'd stick to water. Or coffee. Or her own condensed misery. "The hell do you even know about hangovers? You can't even drink."
He fixed her with a flat stare. "I have more lifetimes' worth of memories than you can comprehend, and getting wasted is one of the more universal human experiences." His expression turned distant. "And you're not the first person I've lived with."
What? Oh… his sister, right. Normally, she'd have been curious, because the idea of Alex not being a jackass to someone was a strange and intriguing one, but right now, the only thing she was curious about was how to stop feeling like shit. The rest of the world's mysteries would have to get in line.
At least he'd stopped talking. Everything was slightly too loud for comfort right now. She shut her eyes, which felt slightly too large for her skull, and worked on mushing her face into the kitchen table.
She had a blessed few minutes of quiet suffering before vibrations shook the table out of its previously uncontested spot of 'most almost-comfortable thing in reach.' She groggily lifted her head, and caught the sound of footsteps from the spare bedroom. The third member of the party followed shortly thereafter.
"Cain?" Arcade looked very, very bleary. "Remind me never to listen to you again."
"It's not my fault I convinced you to stop being responsible," she grumbled. "You shouldn't have gotten convinced… ed." When he stared at her, she tossed up her arms. "Blame the cannibals, okay? They made us get drunk."
"…Whatever you say."
Alex wordlessly filled up another cup of ice water. Arcade didn't even bother with drinking, sliding into a chair and pressing the glass against his forehead. "Thank you, Alex."
He grunted. Sure, be polite to the doctor. Well, polite in Alex-speak. She wasn't that fluent in the language, but it didn't have many words anyway.
Arcade seemed about as inclined for conversation as she was, which suited her fine, and for a while, they underwent a companionable silence of sipping water, occasional groaning, and tacit wretchedness. Eventually, though, his gently admonishing doctor persona got the better of him. "Will you take my warnings a little more seriously now, at least?"
"Probably not." Mngh, every sound she made rattled around in her skull. "Can we not do this right now?"
"If I have to suffer, so do you." He squinted. "I ought to know this. Dehydration, I'm already addressing, but the toxic effects of ethanol can be counteracted by… something." He stared at his glass for about ten seconds before remembering to blink. "Those toxic effects apparently include loss of the long-term memory that would enable you to counteract them. Everything Julie said is true. This is an evil substance."
"Or you just forgot."
"No. I refuse responsibility. I'm blaming the alcohol. Or you."
"I will never understand why you're so fond of poisoning yourselves." Alex tossed in his completely unwanted two cents. "I don't see how dulled reflexes and idiocy are desirable states. You're much more tolerable when you're not acting like dumbasses."
She dragged herself a little more upright. "Shut up, Mercer, you don't even know what fun is."
"Don't I?" The little smile he got was… pretty alarming, actually. She flailed her arms at him, which at least got him to change his expression to one of confusion. Woo. Magic arms.
"He's not wrong," Arcade muttered. "I'm not really feeling up to the usual spiel, so I'm just going to let the symptoms speak for themselves. Regarding the wisdom of our actions last night, and all."
A doctor and a viral abomination were tag-teaming her about the dangers of alcohol. Truly, her life had hit a new low.
"If you have that many regrets, Arcade, then you can stick to… I don't know, apple juice. In a fancy glass. With a tiny umbrella and a prickly pear slice to make it feel better about itself. I, for one, will continue to venture deep into the wonderful world of alcohol, and I will take my hangovers as punishment for my trespassing."
"I'm not exactly sure what I should be regretting, and that's what worries me the most." Arcade's face creased in a frown. "Were we all… hugging?"
"Yes," said Alex. "Don't ever do that again."
Arcade looked appropriately horrified. Cain, for her part, stuck out her tongue. "Make no requests of me, and I'll tell you no lies."
"Then I make no promises." Alex folded his arms and glared down at her.
"What, about spontaneous hugging?"
"No, about killing you when you try."
"Love you too, Mercer." She held out her glass. "More ice?"
He leaned back against the counter, pushing away the proffered glass. "Get your own."
Blah. She'd walked into that one. But honestly, anything that annoyed him that much had too much potential to throw away. Not that hugging Alex was a remotely appealing prospect when she was anything other than drunk off her ass, but she was always open to new ways to bug him.
Or… oh. Right. Hugging Alex was not something she wanted to do, ever. No touchy. Okay, maybe that was a better argument against blackout drinking than anything Arcade could have ever come up with.
Though this hangover was coming close. Everything felt dry and scratchy, even her eyeballs. Her tongue felt like a piece of leather in her mouth. She eyed the refrigerators and wondered if getting up was worth it. Mmm… probably not. Chair it was.
"Er, Alex?" Arcade asked. "Prefacing this with a sincere apology for whatever I may have done last night… could you possibly start a pot of coffee? As black as you can make it?"
"Don't bother, doc," she groused. "He thrives off our suffering. It gives him strength."
Mercer cleared his throat. "Coming right up."
Cain sighed and massaged her pounding head. It was going to be a long morning.
0o0o0
It took about three hours and more cold water than seemed strictly necessary, but eventually Cain had to admit that she was functional enough to get things done and the rest of the world wasn't going to wait for her hangover.
Today's business was apparently a return to Freeside, a location which Alex had no complaints about visiting. Not that he needed the abundant crime it offered – he had fed well last night, courtesy of the White Glove Society – but it meant today wouldn't be boring, at the very least. It certainly beat hanging around the Lucky 38 and looking after a pair of drunken idiots. He specialized in breaking people, not fixing them, and he preferred his companions with their higher cognitive functions included… though listening to Arcade launch off on an impassioned rant about unchecked capitalism before descending into a tirade of Latin swears had been interesting. (Cain had listened, wide-eyed, and then inserted a toothpick umbrella into his drink with utmost solemnity.)
But that was done now, and they were finally getting a move on. Apparently Cain been mid-business with the Kings when she'd met up with him, and she'd been putting off completing that work ever since they'd begun their travels together. Today, she wanted to finish that. Fine by him; he was no fan of loose ends.
Beside him, Arcade yawned and stretched. The doctor, as it turned out, had a much higher alcohol tolerance than Cain did. Or maybe he just hadn't had as much. Alex wouldn't have known the difference when he'd showed up last night – that had been a shock, though he really shouldn't have been so surprised to find the pair drunk off their asses. Cain sobbing into his jacket had been both unexpected and highly unwelcome, though. He strongly hoped she didn't do that again.
Not that he personally had much room to speak on the subject – getting scalded on contact probably meant he was worse at holding his liquor than anyone else alive. Viruses did not like sterilizers, even the genetically engineered kind that sprouted blades and ate people.
"Ah." Arcade yawned again. "Freeside, sweet Freeside. I'd say I missed the place, but I'm not that homesick yet."
Cain rubbed her temples. She'd been doing that a lot today. No sympathy from him; it was her own fault. "Given where we've been over the past couple of days, doc, that's a hell of a statement."
"The Strip? Ideologically revolting but temptingly luxurious, especially when it's free room and board. Caves? Not the best sleep I've ever had, but nobody tried to rob me for Med-X, so I'll give it a pass. The Legion? …Okay, you got me."
"Well, at least we didn't spend the night." She sighed. "I hope the King isn't too pissed with me. I mean, with any luck, he found somebody else for his investigation. It means I'll have to do something else for him, but after I broke open Orris's scam ring… that has to count for something, right?"
"Probably?" Arcade didn't look too certain. "If you're worried about the King's opinion of you, I'd be most concerned on where you left things off. Did you agree to take work and then never appeared for it, or was it just something you knew was available and didn't take?"
"Eh… it was kind of implicit I would do the job, but I never actually agreed to anything, I guess."
"Then while I don't really have authority to speak on this, I don't think you should be worried. I haven't met him personally, but the King is a reasonable man." He squinted. "On a slightly different note, uh… do you know how much we drank last night?"
Cain shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Check the cabinets, I lost track after the second bottle."
"That might be a useful measurement if I knew what was in there before."
"I don't either." She frowned. "I hope we didn't waste any of those really fancy Pre-War liquors. I'd rather save those for when I can taste them. Hey, Alex, you were there. What were we having?"
"How would I know?" After Cain had enthusiastically poured some kind of liquor down his front, he'd kept his distance from the stuff.
"By, uh, looking?"
"That would imply I cared. I didn't."
"I'm less concerned about the price tag and more about the associated health risks." Arcade sighed. "I suppose I can add blackout drinking to the list of new experiences travelling with you has provided. It's still less terrifying than sabotaging the Legion on their home turf, fungal zombies, and living, breathing Pre-War weapons of mass destruction that subsist on devouring people. No offense, Mercer."
"None taken." He was terrifying. In most circumstances, it was a point of pride. Such as last night, when Mortimer and his White Gloves had discovered for themselves what a real predator looked like.
And there were circumstances where it wasn't, people he'd rather view him without fear… but dry sarcasm was a step up from panic. He'd take what he could get. It was already more than he had any right to expect.
"I regret nothing, doc, and neither should you. These are important life experiences we're sharing! How else will you grow as a person?"
"Through myriad things that don't endanger my health and sanity, presumably." He shot her a sidelong glance. "And frankly, the more I remember from last night, the more alarmed I become. I feel the need to clarify – Cain, do you really intend to stick your head in a barrel of radioactive materials to, and I quote, get yourself awesome superpowers? Because speaking as a doctor, I cannot discourage this course of action strongly enough."
Oh? Alex raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been around for that one.
"I was drunk, Gannon, not stupid. Well, kind of stupid, but that's a temporary stupid. No, I do not have any plans to-"
A crack of gunfire cut her off. Alex snapped to attention, searching for the source. A fight already? Things were looking up.
He quickly found it. It wasn't difficult – all he had to do was find the spot all the nearby civilians were running away from, because there was a lot of that going on. That brought back memories, a different city and a different era, but this wasn't the time to dwell on them. Straight ahead, on the main boulevard, a firefight had broken out between two groups. He recognized the tan uniforms on one side from Camp McCarran; NCR soldiers. He'd seen a few of them around the Strip, so their presence here wasn't surprising. What did give him pause was the three men they were firing at. He'd expected the usual thugs, which Freeside seemed to have no shortage of, but he recognized the outfits the other side wore; the leather jackets of the Kings.
He leaned forward, ready to break into a sprint and intervene. He had no particular care for either side, but if Cain was here to court the Kings, his help had to count for something.
But the moment of surprise had cost him; he'd only crossed half the distance between himself and the fight before the last King dropped. The NCR troop had outnumbered them two to one, and at this distance, he could see they'd packed heavier firepower than their enemies. Nothing he couldn't brush off, but as much as he itched for some action… even he had to admit it was a bad idea to rush in without knowing what had just happened.
Because last he'd been aware, neither the Kings nor the NCR were hostile factions. They certainly hadn't been killing each other in the streets when he'd roamed Freeside, though he did recall they didn't like each other much.
He pulled to a stop, digging his heels into the ancient asphalt. The street was already cracked to hell; a few more weren't going to matter. Cain and Arcade quickly caught up with him, the latter breathless with exertion.
"Were those Kings?" asked Cain, all of the earlier flippancy gone from her voice. "Those looked like Kings."
"Yeah." He nodded. "And those other guys are NCR."
"Fuck," she swore.
"Why?" Arcade panted, voice laden with alarm. "They shouldn't be fighting. Not each with other."
One of the bodies twitched, one arm grasping at nothing; a soldier jammed his rifle against its neck and pulled the trigger. What was left of the man's head rolled away. Arcade flinched violently.
Cain sought her answers from the source. "What is going on here?" she demanded, pushing her way past him and towards the throng of soldiers – though she stopped at a safe distance once several rifles were trained on her. Alex tensed, ready to strike down their wielders the second it became necessary. For her part, Cain didn't seem terribly worried about the weapons, though she eyed the dead Kings with no small amount of concern.
"Stand down." The leader of the squadron was apparently satisfied with his threat assessment. Either a wise move or a very fatal mistake, depending on what he said next. The NCR soldiers lowered their weapons, but Alex kept his guard up. "Stay back, citizens."
"I will, but those guys – were they criminals? They don't look like criminals."
"They're all criminals." The soldier sounded bored. "The Kings are staging an armed insurrection against the NCR and her people. We strongly advise you avoid Freeside for the next few days. Our men are doing their best, but we can't guarantee your safety from the rampant locals until this area has been secured."
"An armed insurrection?" Cain echoed. "That – doesn't sound like them."
"Believe it. We've tolerated a number of aggressive actions in the past, but the Kings have made their intentions towards the NCR clear." He shifted his grip on his rifle, and Alex tensed. "If you'll excuse us, we're currently on patrol. Again, I recommend that you and your group return to the Strip. We can't guarantee your safety if you choose to travel through Freeside."
"...Duly noted," Cain eventually said, but the squadron was already moving out. Their formation, too, stirred recollections of Manhattan, but Alex let them pass unacknowledged.
Safety, 'guaranteed' or not, was not an issue. Anything stupid enough to attack him would die. That was a law that had governed his life from his very first minutes, and he'd met nothing strong enough to overturn it. He was more concerned about gunfire targeting his allies, but as long as he kept close tabs on his surroundings, he was fast enough to intercept a bullet if need be. And then the perpetrator was just so much meat to be fileted.
No, the issue here wasn't safety. It was that Cain's business was probably history. Not really his problem, but…
"Something's really, really wrong here." Cain's voice was grim. "The Kings and the NCR have been tense for a while, but for them to be shooting each other in the streets… hell, the NCR's calling them an insurrection? Things have gotten way worse since we last checked in here. I don't know what's changed, but the King will."
She fixed her eyes on the large, brightly lit building ahead, at the end of the boulevard. Even from this distance, Alex could see it bore fresh signs of damage.
"You're going to put a stop to this, right?" Arcade had been kneeling next to the fallen Kings, perhaps hoping for some sign of life. One glance told Alex he wasn't going to find any. "Freeside may not be prime real estate, but it… manages, I suppose. I'm not denying that it has its very real perils, but daily life persists. This – in all my time here, I've never seen a situation like this. This is not par for the course, whatever you might think of this place. A turf war between its two most powerful members is going to result in more casualties than I can count, and if the Kings aren't around to maintain order... look, you can't tell me you're not capable of doing something. Not after what you've done to the Strip in the past few days."
Cain didn't look back. "I wish I could promise you that, doc, but we've got to find out what's happened first. But trust me – I don't want to see Freeside implode any more than you do."
If she wanted to end this, he'd follow. Freeside's fate meant nothing to him, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do. And stopping a war… well, he knew at least one way to accomplish that.
Today might turn out to be a good day, after all.
0o0o0
Today was rapidly turning out to be a bad day. Cain had a pounding headache, her sunglasses weren't doing enough of a job to keep the giant burning yellow thing in the sky out of her face, and now the NCR and the Kings were trying to kill each other. In a much more literal way than before.
The hangover was bad enough, but now there was an even worse feeling crawling inside her head. The King had been concerned about hostilities between Freeside's natives and NCR citizens who'd been settling in the area. He'd been trying to investigate the situation to see who was at fault and ease over tensions, but other problems had cropped up, and he'd needed time to address them – and without any immediate work to fill her purse, she'd wandered off to find a paying job somewhere else.
That venture had fallen flat on its ass, and then kind of worked out on the end, but it meant she'd never gotten back to the King. He'd probably delegated the task to someone else… but clearly, they hadn't managed to defuse things in time.
Which begged a question she really didn't want to answer. If she'd waited a day longer, done the King's job as soon as he was ready to give it… would this be happening now?
There was no point in self-recrimination. Freeside wasn't her responsibility, and neither were the Kings. Her only duty was to herself; everything else was a debt repaid or worked off a whim-by-whim basis. She didn't even know what had kick-started this mess. For all she knew, it was nothing that could have been prevented.
But still she wondered.
The King's School of Impersonation was much different than she'd remembered it, and not just because she'd found three different NCR corpses on the way there. Several armed guards had covered each entrance, and it was only recognition of her deeds around Freeside that had gotten her inside. The interior was worse. Large swathes of space had been cleared, furniture moved to blockade windows – windows which, she noticed, had been damaged in places. Cracks spiderwebbed out from several bullet holes, and one hallway looked like a grenade had gone off in it.
The Kings she could see looked haggard. All were carrying weapons, and many sported visible wounds – some bandaged, others only noticeable by the stiff way they carried themselves. Some of them wore the usual jackets, but a lot of them seemed to have switched out the standard outfit for more generic clothing. She could guess why; a lack of identification would buy them some time if the NCR came knocking.
As for the Kings she couldn't see… it was faint, but she could hear a distant, intermittent moaning from somewhere down the hall. Occasionally, she caught a whiff of something gangrenous.
The King's boardroom was in better shape, probably because the windows here had been properly boarded up. The thick metal sheets barred the natural light the room once had, and she removed her sunglasses as she entered.
The King's cyberdog, Rex, looked up at her approach. He wasn't looking too good these days. Poor thing. She stooped to give him a pat on the brain-dome before turning her attention to his master.
"Was wondering if I'd see you again." The King's voice was neutral, which was both better and worse than she'd hoped. "Who are your friends here? You didn't have a posse last time."
"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner." Couldn't was perhaps not the most honest word to use, but it was definitely the most useful. "This is Arcade and Alex. They're both from around these parts; you might have seen them around."
A low whine grabbed her attention. Rex wasn't exactly growling at Alex, but his ears were flat and his teeth were bared. Poor thing didn't have the strength to do much more. Huh – guess Alex being off-putting was a universal thing.
"It's okay, boy." She scratched his chin. "We're all friends here, right?"
Rex didn't seem that reassured, but he leaned into her hand anyway.
"He's been edgy lately," the King said. "Can't blame him. There's a lot of bad feelings in the air."
Wasn't that the truth. "I just saw that for myself on the way in. I've been in the Strip – had some business that didn't know when to quit." She paused, wondering how much to say – or if the King would even care. She had been busy, but… well, she'd provide if he asked. There were more important topics to address. "At the risk of being blunt, what the hell is going on? The NCR told us to screw off, but I saw the bodies. There was a shootout just a few minutes ago. Your guys... didn't make it."
She expected the King to be shocked, angered; what she wasn't expecting was how resigned he looked. "Too many good men have died today." He dragged a hand over his face; even with the pompadour, he looked years older than she remembered. "I've told the boys to regroup back here. Those military dogs don't dare come within fifty yards of this place, not after we drove them off two nights back. We got safety in numbers and guns on the roof, and ammo's holding steady for now. But not everyone can bear sitting back and layin' low at a time like this. If that's how they feel, I'm not gonna be the one to stop them. Everyone's lost someone, and I respect that… but it don't make it any easier when they don't come back."
Cain lowered her head and allowed him a moment of respectful silence. It just seemed like the right thing to do. "What happened?" she asked softly.
"A skirmish broke out three days ago. It was soldiers, not refugees; we're not thugs. But a lot of people got hurt, too many, and it's been downhill from there. From what I hear, we gave as good as we got… but the NCR went and declared us a hostile force."
Shit. This wasn't suppression – this was a war of extermination.
Even the NCR couldn't be that stupid. If they wiped out the Kings, then Freeside would have no rule of law whatsoever. The Kings weren't perfect, but they were the closest thing to a police force the area had. Remove them and crime would spill out over into the Strip in waves, and the NCR had a marked interest in at least appearing to protect it. Unless they diverted some of their already critically undermanned armies to police Freeside themselves, and that plan had more holes than her favorite coat.
But it was the NCR. And they were that stupid. Everything had to work in absolutes with them. Enemies or allies, orderly citizens or lawless wastelanders. No room for middle ground. Or subtlety.
"What started the fight?" She had to defuse this somehow. Freeside was in bad enough shape as it was; she didn't need the region falling apart at the seams. Especially not if she planned to set up shop next door.
The King sighed. "Can't say. It was late at night when it happened, and not many of our guys made it out. Pacer tells me the NCR shot first. He was with them; thank God he made it out all right."
Cain didn't necessarily agree with the sentiment, though she kept that to herself. Privately, though, she had to wonder if anyone was to blame at all. Things had been rough between the Kings and the NCR for a while now; any mistaken gesture or drunken idiot could have tipped things over the edge.
…Not that she had much room to speak, but still. She was pretty sure she hadn't left the Lucky 38 last night.
"We've been holding our own here, but there's too many of them to take back the streets, and the King's School wasn't meant to be a fortress. We've been able to get supplies by going out plainclothes, but that's gotten harder – somebody's telling the NCR who's who, and I've lost few guys undercover. A couple managed run a bit of intel under the soldier boys' noses. Right now, the NCR's just sending in shifts from the Strip, but they've got reinforcements from Camp McCarran arriving in two days." He sighed. "I try to tell myself there's always hope, but we're not gonna hold out much longer when that happens."
Theoretically, there was always hope, but statistically, there were better things to rely on. The Kings were lucky that the NCR took so long to mobilize, given that McCarran was right around the corner. Then again, the Kings were not lucky, because McCarran was right around the corner, and that meant the NCR had an entire military base's worth of soldiers to throw at them once they cut past the red tape. The Kings didn't stand a chance against that.
That just meant she had a time limit. There'd be no pointless last stands on her watch. Two days to fix this. Already she was inspecting the angles. She had clout with the NCR, but nowhere near the kind she'd need to tell them to knock it off and leave the Kings alone. She doubted Caesar's head on a platter would have been enough to get them to back down. So that left… what, stalling? Misinformation? Mercer could end up being terribly useful there, but the only permanent solutions he offered were the kind that left a bloody trail. Those were delay tactics, and she needed this conflict ended, not postponed.
She could try to explain to them in small words why this whole travesty was a terrible idea that was going to end terribly for everyone involved, but why listen to reason when you could crush your enemies and show off how powerful you were? Never mind the resulting vacuum you were decidedly not powerful enough to deal with. The NCR was famous for biting off more than they could chew. For example, the Mojave.
Still. The King was not enthused about this conflict, and he had no illusions about how it was going to end. He'd be open to the idea of peace. A ceasefire, maybe? If she could get the NCR on board with that…
"What about that killer that was going around? Any news on that front?" If the Kings were stuck in their headquarters, that meant the NCR was the one dealing with Freeside's thugs right now… if they were even doing that much. The city did not need a serial killer taking advantage of the chaos. On the other hand, anything to occupy the NCR right now would buy the Kings time.
"Good news there, for a change. Nothing's confirmed, but the trail's gone dead. There haven't been any attacks for a while." The King shrugged. "Guessing our mystery killer finally met his match. Still not sure if it was a vigilante or a psychopath, but we're better off without that kind of trouble 'round these parts. Things are bad enough right now."
She was inclined to agree. While Freeside could use less thugs lurking in the eaves, she dealt with enough ultraviolent murder machines as it was…
…Oh. Oh. In retrospect, it was all pretty obvious. Heh. It was actually kind of funny; she'd vowed to leave Freeside's crazy killer alone, then immediately went off to pester him and then recruit him into coming along on her mad little adventure.
And look where that had led her – holding the leash of an anthropophagous shapeshifting Pre-War weapon with a chip on his shoulder the size of Nevada. It really said something about her life that it was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Or the least believable.
So Alex had been hunting gangs in Freeside before she'd met him. That was… well, it really wasn't surprising that he'd scared the shit out of the locals even while doing a good deed, but it was actually kind of reassuring, as far as Alex-things went. She had proof now that when left to his own devices, he still preferred to hunt assholes instead of killing indiscriminately. Yes, he'd told her as much, but historically, he wasn't above twisting the truth when he knew it was incriminating. This was concrete; he'd gone around cleaning up street thugs, not squatters or Kings or NCR. Maybe she really ought to ease up on the guy.
It was one bright point in a sea of bad news. The NCR was trying to wipe the Kings off the map, leaving Freeside even more of an anarchic mess than before. Three days, now; that was how long this had been going on. And from a week ago? That would have left plenty of time to defuse things. If she'd taken the King's job when he'd asked, looked into things in time – could she have prevented what was happening now?
It didn't matter. Things were what they were. She just had to keep telling herself that. "What can we do to help out?"
"Too much." The King shook his head. "Too much. I can't ask you to get caught up in this fight, not when I know how it's gonna end. I don't want anyone else throwin' their lives away. But if you'll lend us a hand…" His eyes landed on Arcade. "That man to your left; he's a Follower, if I don't miss my mark. We've got a lot of boys wounded downstairs. They've got nowhere to go – your Fort's packed full to bursting with all the violence in the streets. I don't know what you're doing here, but if you could help them, that'd be a miracle."
"I'm not really that kind of doctor…" Arcade fidgeted, but relented with a sigh. "I do have thorough medical training. If there are Kings that need treatment, I'm qualified. You'd just be better off getting another Follower to do this. Most of my time was spent researching."
"Your people don't have any staff to spare. I'll take whoever I can get." The King smiled sadly. "I don't think my boys will be complaining. Anything's better than this."
Arcade nodded, though Cain didn't miss the anxiety in his eyes. "Then I'll do my best for them."
"That's all I ask." His gaze wandered back to Cain. "I'd wanted you to investigate what was causing the settlers to get all riled up with us. That plan's dust and ashes now. Even if it'd do us any good, it's not safe anymore. You're not officially with us, and that's some room to work with, but if the soldier boys catch you pokin' around on our behalf, they might decide you're too much trouble to let go. And your friend over there looks close enough that they might shoot on sight anyway. Leather's not exactly the go-to fashion statement these days, if you catch my drift."
She glanced over to Alex. Yeah, that might be a problem. Not that he was in any danger from a misplaced bullet, but whoever fired on him would sure as hell be in danger from him, and that was a clusterfuck waiting to happen. Maybe she could get Alex to change clothes again. She'd ask later. Right now she had other concerns.
"If an investigation's off the tables…" Cain flipped over her palms. "Then how would you feel about a ceasefire?"
The King chuckled bitterly. "I don't think the NCR's looking to parley with us."
"I don't think so either, but I've got an in with them. I cleared out the local Fiend leaders for them not too long ago; I can at least get them to listen to me, I figure." Okay, that had largely been Alex's doing, but to the NCR, it was her clout. "I can think of several reasons why they should pull out and leave Freeside to your people. Some of them, they might even listen to."
"If you were anyone else, girl, I'd say you're crazy. But you've got a way of getting things done." The King reached down to give Rex a scratch. "It still ain't that simple. The Kings… this was never the path I wanted us to take. We're about individuality, doin' our own thing. Every man bein' his own master. But we've been killin' each other for three days now, and that's not gonna go away. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather see this bloodshed end, but my boys ain't gonna cool their heels so quick. Looking the NCR in the eye and shakin' their hands won't go down so easy, you hear?"
The King was right; here was another problem to toss onto the already tottering pile. If she had gotten here sooner – again, always that word! – this might have been brushed under the rug. A skirmish with a death toll was bad, another tally mark for the Kings' tensions with the NCR, but it was still salvageable. But three days of open warfare was a lot of time for the deaths to pile up. Friends, rivals, the guy who always fleeced you at cards – everyone knew someone, and when those someones got killed by someone else, everyone got pissed. That hatred wasn't going to go away. She could whip out a truce right now and it wouldn't do much more than delay the inevitable; it would only be a matter of time before a King with a grudge threw a bottle or fired a shot, and this whole mess would start again.
The only thing that would let the Kings survive, in the long run, was if the NCR left Freeside for good. Funny how that was already a part of her plans.
That was what she'd come here for in the first place. But as things stood, she might need to let the King in on her plans, just a little. Not enough to start rumors, seed information that could potentially be poisonous… but enough to show him the endgame. Not yet; first she needed to know if the NCR was willing to play ball at all. No point in showing her hand if it wouldn't gain her anything. "Let's see if I can get an offer from them, and we'll talk more then."
The King crossed his arms. She could tell he wasn't expecting much from this. She had doubts, herself, but she owed him to at least try. "That's fair," he conceded. "I'd stop this in a heartbeat if I could. I just don't know how many of us feel the same way."
"You know what the alternative is."
He sighed. "I do. But some folks think it's worth it."
It wasn't. It never was. If there were some cause out there so powerful that making a statement was worth her life, Cain had never heard of it. But that was the Kings' creed; each man was his own king. Their leader couldn't make that decision for them, as much as it broke his heart to see them die. To see his gang, once the community's do-gooders and peacekeepers, reduced to guerilla tactics against the NCR like any common criminals.
"Looks like I'm going to have to pay the NCR embassy a visit after all," she mused, turning to leave. The thought did not fill her with enthusiasm.
"Will they hear you?" Arcade frowned. "They're, uh, not the most prompt with arrangements."
She sighed. "I have an invitation. Who knew this thing was going to end up being useful."
She wished it hadn't. She wished they'd never made a grab for her allegiance at all. Even if that invitation was the only reason she was in a position to change things now – when she arrived at the NCR offices, it would be with certain expectations. They weren't expecting her to seek a truce on the Kings' behalves; they were expecting her to sign herself into their service. She had no plans to do that, of course, but in making demands of them, she gave them leverage.
There was a difference between blowing off a request and refusing it. The former was much safer, for starters.
Wrapped up in thought as she was, Cain had barely left the room when she nearly ran face-first into her least favorite member of the Kings.
"Watch where you're going," Pacer sneered. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Alex bristle.
"I'm so sorry," she replied, not bothering to mask her disdain. She'd already tried being friendly to this guy, and this was where it had gotten her. "I'll try to be more careful of people lingering right next to doorframes."
"Hmph." He scowled at her. "You should scramble off. We don't got time for the likes of you."
"Yeah, about that? I'm here because your boss asked me and my friends to help out around the place."
"Help?" Pacer scoffed. "We don't need no stinkin' help. Them NCR fucks are gettin' their due by the hour, and their settlers are runnin' away from our turf with their tails between their legs. We're fine."
"Uh-huh." She folded her arms. "So you'd rather my friend here didn't visit your medical ward and treat your wounded, is that it?"
Pacer glared, and opened his mouth once or twice, but evidently he couldn't think of a retort to that. He scoffed again, one fist balled into a rude gesture, and stalked away, muttering something under his breath.
Cain squinted after him. For the second-in-command to a gang that was getting whittled to pieces by a much better organized force, Pacer seemed oddly pleased with the situation. Too pleased.
Pacer had claimed that the NCR had fired the first shots… because he'd been present in that initial conflict.
"Well, he was pleasant," Arcade commented, after the man had paced off. "You sounded like the two of you had a history."
"Nah, not really. I mean, we've met before. He doesn't like me, but I don't think that guy likes anyone." Her eyes narrowed. "The NCR included."
"That's a bit of a sucker bet, what with the open warfare. Isn't it?"
"That's not why I placed it." Her gaze flicked over to her other companion. "Alex. A job just opened up, and it's got your name on it."
He turned to her, eyes bright and sharp beneath the shadows of his hood. "Go on."
"I want you to keep an eye on Pacer. Be discreet, blend in." She bit her lip as recent revelations came to mind. "Uh, not yesterday's blending in thing. Don't do that. Mortimer's people deserved it – the Kings don't. I meant the outfit thing, or… I'm guessing you have other faces to use, too. Do whatever you need to fit in with the crowd, as long as nobody has to die for it. I don't need you to pass a closer inspection, but you don't want Pacer to notice you. Or recognize you as the guy I'm travelling with. Especially not that last one."
"Doable. I can mimic a King outfit – wouldn't be hard." He shrugged, gesturing at his jacket. "But why am I following him?"
Cain took a deep breath and tried to ignore the throbbing rhythm her brain seemed determined to dance to. More water would have been nice. "I think he knows more than he's telling. About this tussle with the New California Republic, I mean. Right now, the King doesn't think a ceasefire will work even if the NCR's willing to play ball because there's too much bad blood – and I'd say he's right. But if it turned out that one of his own guys started this mess, he'll have to be more amenable. It's harder to keep hating someone once it turns out you were in the wrong. And I've got a feeling that might have been what happened."
"And this feeling is based on…?" Arcade ventured.
"Besides the fact that Pacer is a dick? Maybe I'm reading between the lines where nothing's been written, but I don't think I am. Pacer seems a just a bit too happy about what's going on. You know, given that anyone with half a brain could tell you that it's the end of his tribe and that any King who doesn't flee the city's going to end up with reconstructive surgery administered via copious amounts of lead."
"Defiance isn't an unusual reaction to this sort of situation," argued Arcade. "It's not sensible, but neither is the vast majority of human nature. I do think you're making a bit of a leap to equate cockiness with culpability."
"And I would agree with you, doc, but this wouldn't be the first time I've caught him acting behind the King's back." Pacer had always been quick to fuck over the NCR refugees; he'd been the brains behind the exorbitant prices at the local water pump, and that was just information she'd picked up incidentally. And then there had been that lovely little time he'd tried to charge her some bullshit fee just to get an audience with the King. The King had not been pleased to hear about his racketeering.
Point was, this didn't seem too far from his MO. Maybe Pacer was just being his usual abrasive self. Maybe not.
"I'm not claiming Pacer's behind all of this. I'm just saying it's not impossible that he is. Or improbable. That's where the sleuthing comes in." She turned back to Alex. "I'd handle this one myself, but something tells me you don't want to trade jobs. From experience, competency has a negative correlation with rank as you move up the NCR hierarchy. My expectations are set at 'shouting match with concrete block.'"
Mercer shook his head. "Don't need to ask – you know how much I hate dealing with people. I'm fine with shadowing. Though I'm not sure who you're expecting this guy to talk to. If it's his fault everyone's gonna die, I don't think he'll spread it around. Not if he wants to keep his head."
"You never know. He's not the only one that hates the NCR here – before they started shooting each other, anyway. I'm sure they have second thoughts now, but when I was here a week ago, I met a couple of guys who'd have loved to take some potshots at the soldiers. So yeah, if you think anyone else looks suspicious, check them out too. Or find where he bunks and poke around his stuff. You know, the good old-fashioned snoop and snag. Maybe he wrote plans, maybe he keeps a diary and you get to read eighteen pages of how much he misses his mom. Maybe you really do have to follow him around all day and hope for a soliloquy. I'll be honest with you, this is just a hunch. There might be nothing to find here. I'll apologize if this just ends up being a few hours of wasted time... but I have a feeling it won't be. And my feelings are usually right."
"I'll hold you to it." He crossed his arms. "Let's say Pacer is guilty. What do I do with him?"
Her gaze sharpened. "I need him alive, Alex. I can't turn around to the King and say 'Hey, I killed your lieutenant, but it's cool, he started this.' It's not convincing. Remember yesterday? You kill assholes after their friends are okay with it. Not before."
Arcade choked. "Is this really the life lesson you want to pass on from this?"
"Hey, I'm trying to compromise here." She turned back to Alex. "But really, leave him alone. We're trying to get the Kings to play nice with the NCR. If it turns out it wasn't the NCR who started this conflict, it'd help loads. Killing Pacer's just going to make this unsalvageable; the Kings aren't going to talk to us after that. And if it turns out he's guilty, then it's the Kings' punishment he needs to face, not yours. There's gonna be a bunch of unresolved issues looking in his direction. If you find proof, take it and wait for me. Don't confront the guy. You'll get your share of bloodshed soon enough, but this is a situation where enough people have died already."
Mercer toyed with his fingers. "This job sounded a lot more interesting when you first brought it up."
Her eyes narrowed. "So are you going to do it, or…?"
"Yeah." He scoffed. "Don't give me that look, I won't fuck it up. It's just a letdown after yesterday."
This fucking guy. Like anything that had happened in the Ultra-Luxe yesterday wasn't absolutely, gut-wrenchingly horrible. Well, okay, maybe not the part where Mortimer had panicked and broken down in front of the entire White Glove Society, but the rest… there was a reason she'd been drinking to forget. Count on Alex to think otherwise.
"It can't all be cannibal casinos, Mercer." She paused, and frowned when she made a mental leap from one unpleasant topic to another. "You'll be okay, right? I mean… you're not, you know…" Her voice dropped. She hated to voice this, but it'd be remiss not to check in with him, no matter how uncomfortable it made her. "Hungry?"
"No." Mercer smirked, which was not in the slightest bit reassuring. "Not after last night."
Right… that wouldn't be an issue.
Inwardly, she was disturbed by how quickly she'd let Alex go after Mortimer. There was no doubt in her mind that the man deserved to die, of course. He murdered people for twisted reasons and had no remorse of which to speak. You didn't get much more black and white than that.
But the way he'd died. Him and that other White Glove, before – the one she'd used like a cheap disguise. Did she have the right to inflict that on anyone? She couldn't stop thinking about the raider she'd watched die at his tentacles, screaming as she was dissolved into viral soup. If anyone deserved that kind of death, it was Mortimer… but…
It had been a difficult decision to make, the first time. But the second had been an afterthought. Mortimer's death didn't scare her. Her flippancy did.
For the White Glove regressives, it had been karmic. They hunted people for sport, they got hunted by something infinitely more lethal than themselves. But she couldn't get comfortable with the idea. Alex's powers were horribly, horribly useful, but they worked on murder. This wasn't something she wanted to make a regular occurrence. Having used it once was bad enough. The White Gloves' sin had been excess – having everything they needed and wanting more. Alex would hunt for his survival. Not for her convenience.
"Well, that's, um, good." She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. "Okay. You're stalking Pacer. Arcade, you're fixing people. And I've got to hit the Strip and pound some sense into the NCR brass's heads. Guess I'll learn whether or not they're actually hollow. That about sum things up?"
"If by 'sum things up', you mean 'make me drastically reevaluate our prospects', then yes, that sums things up."
"Hey, you just focus on your thing and I'll do mine. It's a team effort, right?" She forced a grin. "Good luck, guys. Here's hoping we won't need it."
"We don't," said Alex. Right, mister 'luck is for people that don't have skill' talking. It was both a boon and a constant thorn in her side that he was probably right about that.
"Speak for yourself," said Arcade, brow creased with worry. "I'll take any luck I can get."
"Don't worry, doc, you'll do just fine. Do-gooding is your entire shtick." She patted the man on the shoulder. "I'll see you both in a couple of hours. In the meantime..." She massaged her temples and cast her gaze outside. "I've got a war to stop."