"Did you see that, Boss?" Crimson stifled a grimace at the sound of Forty's voice. That man would just not shut up after winning a thousand caps. "Wham! Right off his feet with a fuckin' elbow! Who does that?"

Mister Jones, Clover, Crimson, and Forty were making their way around the cage towards the clinic. The throng of people had yet to dissipate after the Ranger's come-from-behind victory. With their blood up, it didn't take long before the opposing camps were wagering about whose men were tougher. Soon enough, pairs were squaring off in the cage to the roars of their fellow raiders, slavers, and general scumbags. The sole exception were Lord McKenna's people; they had gathered up his body and immediately headed back to wherever they had come from.

"You think she'll live, Boss?" Forty asked as he held open the door to the clinic for Mister Jones and grimaced as Clover went in first. Crimson brought up the rear and closed the door behind her.

"That's why we're going to see Cutter, Forty." Mister Jones replied, far too patiently for Crimson's liking but she knew better than to utter even a syllable to that effect.

They found Cutter behind the privacy curtain that closed off a corner of the room. A brilliant white light shone from behind it that cast deep shadows throughout the otherwise dimly-lit room. Cutter's silhouette was hunched over as she mumbled in a distracted manner to herself. Without announcing himself or his attention, Mister Jones tossed aside the privacy curtain and studied the scene. Cutter had removed the Ranger's pants and bloody chestwrap to leave the woman completely naked except for the thick chains at the waist, wrists, and ankles that bound her to the cot. A bowl of bloody water sat on a tray next to the cot and, without looking, Cutter dipped and wrung out a sponge into it.

"Can I help you, Mister Jones?" Cutter asked as she met the dark-skinned man's eyes.

"I told you to fix her, not give her a bath, Cutter." Mister Jones said but Crimson could tell from his tone that he was amused by the situation, which was probably a side effect of his pleasure at winning so many caps.

"I have to wash all the blood away before I can tell how injured she might be." Cutter explained and began dabbing at the unconscious, bound Ranger's chin with a frown. "I could have sworn she got a gash here but this looks like its been healing for at least a week."

"She's a muto, Cutter. They're unpredictable." Mister Jones stepped closer and ran a hand along the Ranger's head in a familiar fashion that made Crimson's skin crawl.

Don't think about it. She steeled herself.

"What's the prognosis?"

"Very good, actually," Cutter sounded surprise at the admission and Crimson, after watching the same beating Rachel had taken, could understand it. "No broken bones, no internal bleeding that I can detect. With proper rest, she probably won't have anything to show for it except a couple of bruises."

"Good. Forty, wait here until Cutter's done, I'll send some of the men to help you chain her up. We'll let her soak up the sun for the rest of the day. That should help, if what you believe is true, right?" Cutter nodded her head in agreement and Mister Jones smiled. "We're going to make a lot of money."


"I don't care how much money you offer, I won't allow it!" Mister Jones snapped at the assembled clients for the third time.

Mister Jones and Forty were alone as they sat behind the bar. Cutter was busy administering first aid to the cage combatants while Pronto was trading his ass off as the horde of people looking to get caps to bet seemed inexhaustible. The Paradise Dome, as some had started calling it, had become a raging success literally overnight. The main attraction had yet to be decided and, from the look on Mister Jones', face it wasn't going to be.

"Why not, Jones? You said we could put anyone we could hire into the fucking cage!" Ventallini shouted, face puffy and purple from a night of arguing and drinking.

"Because they're my men and some of my biggest earners!"

The objects of the argument sat and stood at one corner of the bar. Ymir, heavyset, black-bearded and with a perpetual twinkle in his dark brown eyes, lifted his large mug of shitty beer to his face. His son, Jotun, was slightly bigger, had dark blue eyes, and was thought to be a bit thick in the head. Both of the big men wore full suits of metal armor. Ymir had his combat shotgun leaning against his barstool and his gunbelt was balanced by a pair of 10mm pistols. Jotun, on the other hand, had an axe with the longest, curved head Crimson had ever seen on one side and a cruel-looking spike on the opposite side. A wide-bladed knife, almost a shortsword really, was slung across his back while a slender dagger rested on his hip. The duo made for an odd pair, especially considering no one thought for a second they were blood relatives but it was known that they had no loyalty that was stronger than their bond.

"So, you think that she'll beat 'em?" The representative of the raiders was actually named Mohawk of all the dumbest names imaginable. "Someone tell that oddsmaker from Rivet!" The woman now seemed primarily concerned with increasing her personal fortune above all else.

"I don't know who will win and I don't care because this fight isn't happening!"

"Oh, wanna tell me again why it's not, Eulogy?" Ymir turned, beer spilling down his thick beard, his lips turned up in a grin. His bald head was tanned the same leathery brown color as the hand he ran along it. "Last I heard, I was a free man, not meat. I go where I please and do as I wish. You can not stop me and, after the display your Ranger put on yesterday, I don't think the camps would be pleased if you turned down a solid offer. You really want to risk that?"

Mister Jones was silent for several seconds and Crimson knew that he truly was backed into a corner before he said, "They'll fight at sundown. Don't look so smug, Ymir. Before the day is over, that smirk could be off your face for good."

Ymir just nodded slightly and raised his mug to Mister Jones.

"Where the fuck's the oddsmaker!?" Mohawk bellowed as she stood and left with her pair of guards.

With the meeting officially over, the drinking area began to fill up with bodies again. Mister Jones and Forty stayed behind the bar and actually served drinks. Mister Jones claimed it helped his nerves but Crimson knew it was just a chance for him to intimidate and spy on people. Crimson and Clover maintained their posts in stoic silence; their senses alert for constant danger. Most people avoided sitting at the bar, not wanting to be close to either Mister Jones or Ymir, who was known to have a sick sense of humor when drunk. One person came close but that was to speak to Jotun.

Carolina Red had definitely seen better days. The malicious grin was gone from her face as she painfully limped her way, with the aid of a cane, to Jotun's side. One arm was still in a sling, despite stimpak treatment, thanks to the damage the Ranger had done to her shoulder while tossing Red around like a baby. One eyelid drooped far lower than the other because of the heavy scar tissue from a gruesome cut. The left side of her face was only slightly more swollen than the right, which looked as though someone had shoved a tiny ball inside it. Most of her bruising and swelling had gone down so she no longer resembled something out of a nightmare.

Maybe she doesn't grin because Rachel knocked out one of her front teeth? I guess even psychos have their vanity. Crimson spared a glance at Clover and scoffed mentally. No, I know even psychos can be vain.

"Hey, Jotun." Red leaned against the wall with a sigh of relief. "I heard you were gonna fight that Ranger bitch."

"Yes, father wants to." Jotun answered in his slow, thick way.

"Don't." Red said and Crimson could barely believe it but she sounded worried. "Look what she did to me. I know you can fight, you and your daddy both, but that cunt's a muto. And she's been trained. My daddy used to tell stories his daddy told him and his daddy told him. About how they used to train soldiers in the old days. That's how she fights! I heard people talk about Brotherhood O' Steel fighters out of their armor and they fight like that."

"I have to, Red. It's my duty."

Crimson, closest to the conversation besides Jotun, could feel Red's glare as she leaned in to whisper to Jotun. The man, his face not nearly as tanned as his father's, noticeably blushed and looked at Red in shock.

"Father says that doing that before a fight is bad and you're hurt, Red." Jotun replied with childlike innocence and received a stifled shriek of exasperation.

"Just live, damnit!" Red screeched before limping her way back to the barracks.

"Shit, Ymir, what's wrong with your kid?" Forty grumbled. "I can't fucking stand that cunt and I'd fuck her even if she were eighty, blind and dumb as a rock."

"Some of us have standards, Forty." Ymir laughed and shook his head.

"I don't even know what that means, man."


Crimson could tell that Mister Jones was nervous. There were no dramatic displays as he stood to announce the main event of the evening. The golden light of the setting sun highlighted an image of a man who was in command of all he surveyed but Crimson knew. There was a slight stammer in his voice, the barest hint of shaking hands, and he was always reaching out to idly run a hand along Clover's thigh beneath her dress. He only did it that gently when he needed reassurance.

"Paradise Falls!" Mister Jones suddenly roared and the crowd, nearly twice the size of the previous fight two days ago, quickly silenced itself. "Are you ready?!" Mister Jones seemed to bask in the roar of consent that crashed against their viewing platform before waving it back down. "Last time, our guest Ranger snatched victory from the jaws of defeat against foreign fighters but this time, this fucking time, she's going up against two of our own! I give you, Ymir StoneHeart and Jotun the Breaker!" Mister Jones threw out a hand towards the side of the cage where Ymir and Jotun were swinging their arms in an effort to warm up.

Both fighters had foregone shirts and shoes; opting to garb themselves in loose-fitting shorts, of all things. Ymir was obviously older and slightly softer around the edges than his protege. Jotun seemed comprised entirely of hard muscle, bone and sinew. Twisting bands of jagged tattoos covered the arms and back of both slavers. Neither of them acknowledged the crowd as they continued to shadow-box to warm up.

"And their opponent, Rachel the Ranger!" Once again the boo's washed over the handcuffed Ranger to little effect. "Let us be entertained!"

Mister Jones thumbed the remote that released the maglocks on the Ranger's handcuffs. This time, Rachel slowly rose to her feet and ponderously rolled her shoulders back. Even from a distance, Crimson could see the muscles rippling beneath her alabaster skin. If anything, all the time in the sun seemed to have made her skin even more pristine.

"Is it just me or is that cunt even bigger than she was last time?" Mohawk asked, mug of cheap beer sloshing as she leaned over the rail.

"She does look bigger and fucking pissed." Forty commented, already rubbing his hands together greedily. As stupid as the man was, he seemed to have a knack for picking the winners of these fights and had made himself a small fortune almost overnight. "Sorry, Boss, but I don't know if those two'll make it through this."

Mister Jones fixed Forty with a look that could have peeled the hide off a yaio guai and the idiot took the hint for once in his miserable life. Crimson's eyes were locked on the ensuing death match despite her job guarding Mister Jones; she just couldn't help herself. Something about the three people locked in a small steel enclosure with the knowledge that at least one of them was going to die... it just demanded her full attention.

"Y-mir! Y-mir!" One half of the crowd chanted.

"Jo-tun! Jo-tun!" Came the response from the other side.

The pair of big men began to slowly walk towards the Ranger, biceps bulging as their arms swung casually at their sides. Now the chants began to increase in speed and intensity but they kept up their deliberate walk as they spread apart to flank their foe. The Ranger cocked her head to the side, stretched out her left hand in front of her, cocked her fist back at her hip, and set her feet in a wide stance. Ymir and Jotun closed within five feet of her, one in front and the other behind, before they began to slowly circle. Crimson couldn't be entirely sure but she thought the woman had even closed her eyes as she was stalked like a molerat.

Then Jotun was moving with shocking speed to grab or punch the Ranger but his feet suddenly left the ground before his second step. She had intercepted his charge with one of her own that ended with the knuckles of her cocked fist rising in an uppercut. Before Jotun's body hit the ground, Ymir was coming up behind the Ranger. He struck, a powerful straight to the back of her head, but she ducked under it at the very last second. The Ranger rose with an uppercut to the gut that lifted the big man several inches off his feet. The pain, and there was much on Ymir's face, didn't stop him from placing both hands behind the Ranger's neck He tried to bring her face down to meet his knee thrust but the Ranger was either stronger, faster, or just more experienced at this type of fighting. She placed both hands beneath Ymir's armpits and suddenly Ymir's entire body was over the Ranger's head. His toes were only a few inches below the top of the cage moments before he went crashing to the ground.

The Ranger sprang to her feet far faster than Ymir and rewarded him for his efforts with a boot to the ribs. This was no ordinary kick though. The power in that seemingly casual kick was enough to send the big man rolling across the ground to slam into the cage hard enough for it to bow outward slightly.

"Father!" Jotun shouted as the elder man tried to rise only to cough up a thick wad of blood.

Jotun roar was brahmin-like as he charged at the Ranger with his hands outstretched to grab the thinner fighter and crush her in his grip.

"No fuckin' way!" Forty shouted and Crimson turned to see that everyone on their platform, with the exception of Clover, was watching with jaws dropped.

Rachel had clasped hands with Jotun in a cliched test of strength and she was winning. Jotun's berserker eyes were narrowed with strain as his muscles bulged beneath his skin and his hands shook with the amount of force he was exerting. The Ranger, on the other hand, was looking through him with those dead eyes as her own muscles danced beneath her pale skin. Then Jotun began to scream as he suddenly dropped to his knees. With careless ease, Rachel grabbed the back of Jotun's head with both hands and drove a knee deep into his cranium with a sickening crack that was audible even over the noise of the crowd.

"No!" A voice, shrill and horrified, cut through the roars of the crowd.

Jotun flopped backwards and struggled to crawl away to regroup. The Ranger, all emotion long gone from her face, followed after him. She reached down and pulled the slaver to his feet by the neck. It was only now that Crimson realized Jotun was only a couple of inches taller than Rachel. The crowd's fenzy grew as, behind the Ranger's back, Ymir was back on his feet and coming forward with murder in his eyes. With contemptuous ease, the Ranger spun Jotun by the neck and threw him at his father. Their bodies collided with limb-snapping force and they dropped in a heap of musclebound flesh. Ymir tried to sit up within seconds but was met with a front kick to the face for his trouble.

The Ranger stood over the wrecked bodies of her opponents, who hadn't landed a single strike, before raising a fist high above her to finish the job.

"Take her!" Mister Jones suddenly shouted and began waving his arms.

"What the fuck?!" Forty shouted as the Ranger dropped to the ground without warning.

"Relax, people!" Mister Jones shouted down the outraged cries of the crowd. "Rachel the Ranger is declared the winner!"

This time ten people joined Forty in jubilant celebration.


Mister Jones managed to retain his composure long enough to call the remaining matches and oversee the Ranger's securing in her cage before rushing to the clinic to check on his two high-earners. Once they were within the concealing walls of the clinic, Mister Jones cursed loud and long. Thankfully, Forty was nowhere in sight or he might have finally made the inane comment that would cause Mister Jones to order Clover to slice his head off.

The scene inside the clinic was quiet, after Mister Jones finally calmed down, besides the rhythmic pumping of a machine. Cutter had foregone the curtain in her haste to treat both men. Crimson grimaced at the sight of Jotun. The lower half of his face was completely covered in bandages that were rusty red and damp. A tube ran into a hole in the bandages where she assumed it was feeding him oxygen. Cutter finished securing his neck in a red brace before gentling settling his head back and strapping it to the cot. Both of the man's hands were elevated in stirrups for proper examination. The left hand seemed fine except for being swelled up to twice its normal size; inexplicably, the right had several fingers bent at impossible angles but was barely swollen at all.

"Are they going to make it, Cutter?" Mister Jones asked, sitting in a spare chair and pulling Clover close so he could run his hand along her thigh.

"Ymir, I'm almost certain will. He doesn't have any internal bleeding that I can tell. His jaw might be fractured but he came away surprisingly whole." Cutter sighed and looked up from her examination of Jotun's left hand. "I think Jotun will make it but that knee to the head looked nasty. He has the worst broken nose I've ever seen; wouldn't doubt it he had trouble breathing the rest of his life. I don't think his skull is fractured but it's hard to tell without those scanning machines from before the War. His hands are broken bad though. How much function he has left in them won't be known for months. They should both make it with the proper care but they'll be out of commission, especially Jotun, for at least two months."

Mister Jones sighed in relief and chuckled bitterly. "I hope this is the last time Ymir doesn't listen to me. I told him he might not be able to smirk after tonight."

"Hel... get rid of her." The voice was slow and so quiet it was easy to miss but Clover had sharp ears.

"Daddy, I think Ymir is talking."

Mister Jones stood and stepped to the side of the cot bearing Ymir. He had thick bindings around his chest but was otherwise unencumbered. The huge bruise that covered his right jaw, neck, and cheek was ugly enough though. His mouth barely moved as he whispered the words again.

"Eulogy. You can't kill her. She won't die. What is dead can never die. She's Hel."

"She does seem demonic, Ymir, but I don't think she's from Hell." Mister Jones told the heavily medicated slaver.

"Not Hell. Hel. She who rules the underworld. The goddess of death. She will bring us to ruin. Get rid... of her..." Ymir managed before succumbing to unconsciousness.

"Hel, huh? Goddess of Death?" Mister Jones smiled as he rubbed his chin. "I like the sound of that."


"Hel! Hel! Hel!" The chant seemed to shake the very ground as the object of the crowd's awe stood in the center of the cage with her head held back to let the rays of the noonday sun caress her body.

"You ever find it funny how all these fuckers are chanting that Ranger bitch's name when a few weeks ago they were all wanting her dead?!" Carolina Red shouted from her seat beside Mister Jones.

It had been almost two months since the Ranger that everyone was calling 'Hel' now had been captured. Crimson had just watched her dispatch a group of five hard-nosed raider's without getting so much as a scuffed cheek. That was her third match of the day and, from all evidence, Hel was far from exhausted.

"So, Mister Keaton, what did you think?" Mister Jones turned to look at the visitor that Red had brought from her trip out west.

"Very interesting, Mister Jones. Very interesting indeed."

Keaton was a shorter man but had shoulders as wide as Ymir's and a full beard that almost completely hid his mouth. Close-cropped brown hair was covered by a short-brimmed hat that could not possibly offer much protection from the sun. To top it off, he was dressed in a pre-War gray suit and black wingtips. She doubted he had worn the outfit all the way from wherever Red had picked him up at.

Keaton leaned over the rail. "Go tell Tiger that he's on." He ordered one of the men he had brought with him.

The runner, dressed in pre-War gray-green fatigues, nodded and dashed off to fetch the man called Tiger. Forty was off somewhere, probably among the frenzied crowd, trying to make sidebets to further the fortune he had made off of Hel before it became a fact that she was unbeatable by a normal man; thus the time passed in amicable silence as those sitting on the viewing platform sipped their drinks and waited. Before long, the runner was back and nodding at his employer.

"You can make the introductions now, Mister Jones."

The bodies of Hel's latest victims had been cleared from the Paradise Dome and yet the gladiator stood in that same statuesque pose.

"Attention, Paradise Falls! I have a very special match next! A special guest fighter from the west. An experienced gladiator the likes of which we have not seen before! I give to you, Tiger the Glorious."

Mister Jones gestured towards the path that led to the entrance to Megaton and an aisle was hastily created. A figure was soon walking down it with a confidence that almost shimmered in the air around him. He was probably an inch or two shorter than Hel but had the same broad shoulders as Mr. Keaton. Leather straps crossed his chest, latching to a broad gold circle in the front and a leather pad in the small of his back. Loose-fit gray trousers flowed as Tiger glided forward on bare feet. This Tiger was nearly as pale as Hel but his red hair and blue-green eyes seemed to fit his complexion.

"And his opponent needs no introduction so, once again, prepare... for... Heeeeeeellllllllllll!"

"Hel! Hel! Hel!"

The crowd took up the chant again as Tiger entered the cage and the door was secured. Once that door locked, there was no hesitation in Tiger's actions as he broke into a furious sprint at Hel. As was expected, the woman exploded into motion at seemingly the last moment. A straight hand darted out towards Tiger's nose but the man shifted his head just far enough so that the punch barely grazed him. Then several overhand jabs pistoned into Hel's left cheek. The blows pushed her back and then Tiger's right leg was rising to catch Hel across the jaw with the shin. A sick crack echoed in the suddenly silent cage. Hel had taken virtually no damage since her first fight and this foreigner seemed able to touch her at will.

What kind of training does he have? Crimson wondered as Tiger hunched down, cinched his hands around Hel's thighs, and lifted her above his head.

The entire crowd let loose a combined 'ooh' as Hel was brutally driven to the ground but they all knew that Hel was not entirely out of the fight. Their faith was rewarded quickly as Hel's legs came up to wrap around the man's neck. They had never seen the particular maneuver but Tiger seemed to recognize it and immediately struggled to free himself. For his efforts, Hel quickly rolled them over so that she was on top. Her fist rose and darted down faster than the eye could follow. Crimson thought she hit the man five times in the space of two seconds and, with expected swiftness, he went dreadfully still. Hel released her leglock around his neck and mounted the unconscious man. She struck him so hard in the cheek that his skin instantly parted to let loose a torrent of blood.

"Tranq her!" Mister Jones shouted and the results were instant as Forty's sharpshooters fired.

Hel fell with enough tranquilizers in her to put a brahmin into a coma and an unknown woman rushed into the ring to administer first aid to the fallen Tiger. Keaton chuckled and slowly clapped his hands together.

"She'll do well in Charleston, Mister Jones." Keaton fixed shrewd brown eyes on Mister Jones. "I'll give you fifteen thousand for her. Take it or leave it."

Crimson almost spluttered at the amount. It was outrageous in every sense of the word but she could see Mister Jones internal dilemma. Hel was his biggest attraction and every two-bit scumbag was betting on the fights now. On the other hand, the odds were so long against Hel that no one was really betting on her matches. There were also rumors that the Rangers were mobilizing and still searching for their captured member. It was becoming increasingly risky to have Hel fighting in the Falls.

"I'll take it."