Cain arrived at the fountain exhausted, aching, and gearing herself for a fourth round of things she really didn't want to do.
Christine was looking far less pitiful now that she was out of that bloodied gown. She'd silently but insistently herded them back to that nightmarish operating room before she'd let them leave the clinic. The scene was hard enough to look at for someone who hadn't just spent at least a day being repeatedly cut open, and how Christine had kept her cool in there, Cain had no idea. But she'd retrieved something dark and bundled from the spread of horrors that Cain had previously brushed off as a pile of rags. And while she couldn't be blamed for not wanting to take a closer look before, maybe she should have, because those 'rags' turned out to be a set of full-body combat armor. Matte black and very sleek, the perfect fit on Christine's tiny frame left little doubt as to its original owner.
It suited her frighteningly well. It might not have been Power Armor, but to see her now, it was very easy to remember that she was an agent of the Brotherhood of Steel. Even the scars looked a little less vulnerable, more like testaments to survival.
The walk back had been utterly silent. She'd expected the knight to have questions – she hadn't. Any wondering about Christine's familiarity with the Sierra Madre had been put to rest the first time they'd encountered a Ghost Person. Christine had run it through with a lead pipe Cain hadn't even noticed she was carrying, then proceeded to use the mostly blunt instrument to sever each of its limbs.
There was no mistaking Alex's approval after that. Her other companions… well, she was about to find that out now.
Dean perched cross-legged on the fountain's edge, a bottle of wine at his lips. A neat mound of stuff sat beneath him, ammo boxes and alcohol and an oddly prominent number of three-piece suits. He stretched when he saw her, and lifted the bottle in mock toast.
"Well, look what the cat finally dragged in. Is my tribute sufficient, your highness? Sinclair locked up the gold and jewels, so I'm a little short-"
He abruptly broke off, staring past her. Cain wasn't sure what she found in his expression when he studied Christine, but she didn't think she liked it.
"Now who's this?" he asked. "She our missing link? The last spot reserved before we get this shindig off the ground?"
"I thought the bomb collar was a bit of a clue, but it's possible it's just a coincidental fashion statement."
"Yeah, yeah, go ahead, yuk it up." Dean gestured for Cain to shoo, but his attention was on the newcomer. "It's, uh…"He cleared his throat and coughed, then tried to surreptitiously wipe the gob of spit on his suit. "It's a real pleasure to meet you. Dean Domino, my dear, and you are…?"
Christine stared at him. After a second, she curtly inclined her head.
"You don't… talk much, do you? There's no need to be shy – pretty thing like you must have a voice to match."
"She can't speak, Dean." Cain was a little terser than she'd intended to, but Christine really didn't need this right now. Nobody needed this ever. "There was an accident."
"Oh? Oh, that's a real tragedy." He searched her face, and Christine near-imperceptibly tensed. "Those scars, that's just awful. One heck of a shame. Don't know who'd carve up a little lady like that. Just despicable."
Christine's jaw clenched, and her expression turned several shades more hostile.
Cain inhaled through her nose, and then fought not to choke on the Cloud. Ugh. She just had to deal with this a little longer. "You can't figure it out? I think it's pretty obvious."
"You can?" Dean's head swiveled. He was still for a moment, sunglasses staring – then his mouth loosened into something easier, oilier. "Well, aren't you just a regular Sherlock. Go on, spill."
"The pretty little lady you're talking to is a Brotherhood knight." And Dean might not even know who the Brotherhood was, since he'd been living under a Cloud for the past two hundred years. "You think Elijah's got it out for us – we're just conscripts. With her…" She grimaced. "This was personal."
Sure enough, there was a moment's blank confusion on the ghoul's face before he tried to pretend he knew what he was talking about. "Oh – right. Yeah, that does sound like the guy, doesn't it? Mean streak a mile wide. Real charmer." His fingers drummed a tune against his collar. "She a knight, you say? That's a little old-fashioned. Sure wouldn't know it to look at her, but you know what they say about surprises and small packages."
Christine, naturally, said nothing. But her glare spoke enough, and she looked as guarded as she'd been when fresh out of the Auto-Doc.
If only she were able to speak for herself. Dean was hard enough to deal with when she could actually hit back, turn the oozing discomfort into a sparring match. Enduring the guy silently would be close to unbearable.
"What's this?" came another voice, familiar and no less pleasant. "A little porcelain doll? Curious that you brought her here, wanderer… you already have a toy to play with."
Yeah… handling the Sierra Madre without the most basic form of self-defense would be a nightmare. Cain craned her neck to eye the newest arrival, neck prickling. God's smirk was a knowing, lazy thing.
Christine's fingers jerked to her side when she saw the Nightkin, and she took a swift step backwards. Her shoulders dropped an inch as she locked her knees, limbs spread in a combat stance. Narrowed eyes flickered between his face and Cain's, lingering a moment longer on her collar.
Oh.
"Christine, this is God." Cain moved in before this could escalate. "And this is going to sound crazy, but he's not who you think he is."
Another glance between the two, this time garnished with a single raised eyebrow. Christine didn't look like she believed her, exactly, but she'd sown a sliver of doubt.
"And who might that be?" The heavy, gruesome face briefly regarded her. "Ah, I see. Someone was rough with you, little doll. You bear the marks of Dog's hands, strung around your neck like a prize, but not those of his teeth. Your tears are a different sort... some old, some new. Mind your company, little thing… you'll find no seamstress here."
Cain's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to get at?"
"What indeed, Cain?" The emphasis he placed on her name was clear, and all the worse for her understanding. "You know as well as I that the Sierra Madre is no place for fragile things."
Christine's jaw parted noiselessly, and she stepped forward, her footsteps crisp, clean clicks against the cobblestone. She still had that heavy pipe, and she smacked it against the flat of her hand. The hollow clang rang once, then twice for emphasis.
"Oh, don't worry, little doll. I'm not here to hurt you... unlike some."
Alex had been still thus far, but movement in the corner of her eye told her that had come to an end. "Is that a threat?" he asked coldly.
"No… a warning." God's leer curled into a grimace. "One I had lent to you as well, proclaimed king of gods. It was your choice to ignore it."
"You're lucky I did."
"Am I?" he mused. "It's true, you wear different chains. You wouldn't suffer were you to free me from this shell. Yet I think your minder might not appreciate your baser impulses." His head turned slightly. "Isn't that so?"
Mercer's lips peeled back, revealing his teeth.
It might have been a good thing that her Pip-Boy chose that moment to emit a blast of garbled, ear-blowing static. It didn't stop her from nearly jumping out of her skin.
The ambient lighting had changed, and Cain wrenched her neck around. Vera's hologram was gone, replaced by the stern, blue-lit gaze of her least favorite face. The strident noise dropped in pitch, and she thought she heard the clicking of a notched dial beneath it. Slowly, it dropped away.
"…blasted things, temperamental bits of Pre-War junk, can't even..." Elijah's voice, when it emerged from the static, was little more than a hiss. "Am I getting through now? Can you hear me?"
For one absurd moment, Cain considered ignoring him – claiming a tiny measure of power back by letting silence confirm otherwise and listening to him rail ineffectually. She quashed it. Spite earned her nothing here; it was better to just get this over with.
"You're clear." She hesitated as she considered her odds. Christine had taken down her interference on the way back, had listened to her reasoning without objection, but she wasn't sure if Elijah had suspected anything for the brief time they'd gone mute. Nothing for it; she doubled down. "Though it was glitching out for a while, there."
"Yes…" His distaste was plain. "The Villa's systems held up poorly over the years, cheap junk. It was barely reliable when they installed it – now it falls apart if you so much as breathe on the parts. You're lucky I scraped together this much functionality."
She called bullshit on that, but luck had at least cut her one break. If Elijah had suspicions, she'd be hearing about them right now. Which meant she still had some leeway on that particular trick.
Cain cut to business before he had a chance to ponder things further. "I've brought everyone here, like you said."
"Yes… I can hear that. Listen well – I don't have time for your petty squabbling. Whatever problems you have with each other are irrelevant. You will follow my orders or you will die, do I make myself clear?"
"Clear as crystal." That was Dean. He looked a little pale. "Boss, we are all ready to get this show on the road – you just gotta lay out the details."
"In time. Now that you're assembled, our work can finally begin."
There was fear in the ghoul's expression, but she saw avarice too; there was a rapt attention that couldn't quite be smothered by his resentment. God… God looked pained. And Christine's face was crystallized hatred. Cain's throat went tight.
The real challenge was keeping her voice level. As long as she didn't think about the Auto-Doc, she could keep the screaming revenge fantasies to a dull roar. "How's this heist going to go?"
"Carefully. You're going to do everything I say to the letter if you want to survive. This will not be easy – I wouldn't expect anything less, the Madre won't give up her secrets without a fight. We aren't plundering a casino – we're plundering history, robbing the Old World itself."
"Somebody's got a flair for grandeur," Dean whispered from the side of his mouth. If Elijah heard him, he gave no indication.
"The Sierra Madre was meant to open with a... festival, some spectacle for the crowds. Lights, music, other puerilities – a gala was scheduled for the night of October 23rd, in 2077. The Great War happened first." For a brief sentence, he sounded almost soft.
"The owner of the Sierra Madre, for... whatever reason, keyed the grand opening of the casino to the gala event itself." Now his voice was familiar again, filled with condescending disgust. "It needs to be fired off in order for the doors to open… one person can't do it alone, meant to be handled by the Villa's crew. You're taking their places today. I've indicated the positions on your map."
Her Pip-Boy blinked, and she checked it. Four areas had been marked, each with a number; 8, 12, 14, and 21. Asshole. He knew damn well her name. Her own marker was the farthest from the casino, right at the Villa's northeast edge, which was just wonderful.
"Go exactly where I tell you to, and don't think about switching amongst yourselves – I've assigned your tasks in accordance with your skills."
Cain glanced at her Pip-Boy again. She wasn't seeing any instructions. "What exactly are these tasks?"
His voice was dismissive, disinterested. "They'll become evident when you move into position."
Was this guy for real? "Don't you think we'd have better odds if we knew what we're supposed to do ahead of time?"
"That is… acceptable." Oh, how those words must have burned. "Listen closely, because I won't waste time repeating myself. The mutant's job is a simple thing, much like himself. His strength is required, nothing more." Cain's eyes flickered towards God, expecting a biting retort. None came. His face was… strange. "Get him into position and make him stay there. It won't be difficult. You'll find him compliant.
"You're taking the mute to the electrical station in Puesta Del Sol." Cain's jaw clenched. She chanced a look at Christine and found her expression nothing short of murderous. "You'll find the instructions to manage the gala sequence there; she'll know what to do with them. The ghoul will handle the auditory component of the event, he'll find the tools on site."
"Tools?" Dean's lips pursed. "What kind of tools are we talking, here?"
Elijah ignored him. "All you need to do is get to the tower – I need your Pip-Boy in place, I'll handle the rest on my end. So get everyone into their positions and wait for my signal, then make your way to the casino once it's done. These have to be activated concurrently – too much time between them and it won't work, even seconds are crucial.
"As for that lackey of yours… he's a redundancy, but I'll see how skilled he is at his job. The Sierra Madre won't be the only thing to wake when the gala event fires. It's a needless spectacle, fireworks and noise for its guests – it serves no purpose now, worse than useless. Everything alive in the Villa's going to hear it, maybe a few things that aren't. So I task your bodyguard with escorting my team inside… intact. He will do this at all costs. Should he choose, at any point, to save himself, I'll detonate the collars, so I hope you're sure of his convictions, Twenty-One."
Oh, she was sure. She could feel both Dean and Christine's stares drilling holes in her back, but desertion was one of the few things she wasn't worried about. Alex was Alex. He wasn't the kind of guy that gave up on something halfway – something he'd proven by the simple, powerful virtue of being here.
Loyalty wasn't an issue. Logistics, on the other hand…
"That won't be a problem," Alex coolly replied.
"Actually, it kind of is." His head turned, but she hadn't meant that for him. Elijah's blue-lit gaze was unseeing, yet she met it all the same. "These markers are all over the Villa. You just said we have to fire them at the same time."
"Correct." There was no understanding there, only clipped irritation.
Nice to know the man controlling her every move had such a stunning case of myopia. "We're going to make a run for the Madre at the same time from four different directions. Alex can't be everywhere at once."
At least, she didn't think he could be in four places at once. He might surprise her. It wouldn't be that surprising.
Elijah missed a beat. "If he must choose one, then he'll go with you… or he can give that Pip-Boy of yours to someone else."
She glanced at Dean, who immediately pretended that he hadn't been eyeing up her arm. Reflexively, she tightened the straps.
Conniving teammates aside, though, she didn't think the threat had teeth. It came off more as a stab at saving face after he'd backtracked into ordering Alex to do exactly what he wanted to do anyway.
Though the focus on her Pip-Boy was… curious. True, it made her the easiest to communicate with, but she had everyone assembled at his call and Elijah was still dictating his terms to her specifically. It was a joke to claim she was leading this operation, but her position was shaping up to be his second-in-command. Maybe marginally less disposable than everyone else.
Elijah scoffed, once more commandeering her attention. "It won't matter, as long as one of you can get inside. The casino's walls are lead-lined, reinforced internally as well."
Cain had many questions to that, but she started with the easiest. "Lead-lined? Why would they be lined with lead?"
"Security, perhaps; it's unimportant. I've had too much time to study its effects on the signals. The inter-collar communications are… dampened, between partitions. I have a grip on them wherever you go, so don't get any clever ideas – I can kill you whenever I want and wherever I want, and if anyone thinks this is an excuse to get rid of the competition, I won't hesitate to make an example of all of you." He paused, and Cain snidely guessed he'd lost his track somewhere along the blustering. "Your connections to each other are less sophisticated – they'll be cut off through the walls, and that includes the kill switch. It doesn't matter who dies on the way once you make it inside, so I suggest you not waste time getting in."
That was interesting information, to say the least. She frowned, arranging it alongside everything she already knew. Elijah was still making a hell of a gamble; if someone kicked it in the supposed chaos before anyone managed to make it to the casino, he'd still lose his whole team. On the other hand, it might not matter to him as long as he got inside, and he wasn't beholden to the same rules they were. He'd implied he still had further orders for anyone that made it in, but from where she was standing, his reliance on them ended here. That wasn't good.
None of this was. She was not keen on this plan. All callousness aside, even ignoring the threat of sudden disposability - she'd bled to wrangle everyone into her sights, where her life didn't hang on invisible strings. She wasn't eager to split up again, but she wasn't seeing a way around this.
"Before you begin, a warning." Cain's eyebrows rose. If Elijah was seeing fit to warn her ahead of time, either she should be very afraid or he'd grown more invested in her survival than he tried to show. "You've navigated the Villa easily up until this point." It took a titanic flex of willpower not to interrupt. "Don't become complacent. The central areas were tamed by your predecessors in spite of their petty sabotage. They bridged gaps, created paths… even their carelessness had uses, when they tread on loose flooring, collapsed instabilities, warned others of traps with their decayed remains. Few of them made it to where you're going now. The outer reaches are treacherous; the construction was never finished, the piping exposed. The Cloud hangs thicker there, as do the Ghost People. Be on your guard; you've come too far to fail me now."
Cain genuinely couldn't picture how the Villa could get worse than the parts she'd already explored, but she lowered her expectations accordingly. "We understand."
"Be sure you do. Now move out."
"…Now as in, now now? Like, right now?" She glanced at her teammates. "Because I don't know about anyone else, but I'm just about ready to pass out."
"And?" The word came sharp, terse.
"And I'd like to get some sleep?" she ventured, trying to keep the incredulity out of her voice. Holy hell, Elijah really did want people to be machines. "It makes sense to have us at our best, right? You said it yourself; we've gotten this far and you're sending us into a dangerous area. It'd be a waste if this all ends because I nod off and trip over a landmine. People make mistakes when they're tired and today has been a long-ass day. A break now could mean the difference between success or failure when we go through with this."
"Nngh…" Teeth gnashed over the radio, and the intermittent static couldn't mask a lingering growl. Finally, Elijah heaved a harsh and gusty sigh. "I'll tolerate the delay. You can consider it a reward for your success thus far. It's the only one you're getting before you're inside those doors, am I clear? You'll resume your mission within six hours maximum; you won't need more than that."
For fuck's sake. After what he'd done to her, after what he'd done to Christine… "Eight."
"Six," he snapped back. "You're in no position to bargain with me."
"Eight," she repeated firmly. "What's two hours to a couple of months?"
He snarled aloud. "Eight hours," he bit out. "Not a minute more. Use them well. I'd hate to have to rely on the next team."
The screen winked out. Vera stood atop the fountain once more, still and shimmering. Elijah's voice lingered a second longer – perhaps a second longer than intended.
"So close," he breathed, and it was almost a prayer. Then all was silent.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then Dean burst into a full-throated laugh, and brought his hands together in lazy applause.
"Darling, I hadn't took you for an actress, but you can give a hell of a performance when you want to. Haggling over a nap… It's a wonder the boss-man can even move, that stick's shoved so far up his ass."
For once, she wasn't feeling that much animosity towards the ghoul. Elijah had him thoroughly out-pricked. "Somebody had to do it."
"Better you than me. I'll toast to those negotiating chops of yours… could use some shut-eye."
She glanced at Christine – the knight met her eyes, but gave no other indication of her thoughts. Then God whimpered, and it was so unlike him that Cain turned.
His stance was wrong. The Nightkin had a way of employing every inch of his stature, looming over any and everyone as he dispensed his judgements from on high. The slouch he affected now stole over a foot from his height, and Cain wondered if he was in pain.
"God?" she asked, cautiously neutral. He didn't want her pity; she doubted concern would go over any better.
He lifted his head. "Master not give orders to Dog?"
Cain flinched.
His voice was different than before. Thicker, more guttural. There was a plaintive note to each word, so unlike God's seething anger. Because at this point… there was no pretending she was talking to God anymore. "Why Master no speak to Dog? Dog listening."
One foot had left the ground without her say-so, but she wasn't sure whether she'd been ready to step forward or further back. After everything she'd heard about this guy – after being collared and dragged to the Sierra Madre by his hands – it would be foolish not to be wary of him. But the growing pit in her stomach felt like something else.
"Master mad at Dog. Dog bad… Dog bad again. What did Dog do wrong?"
There was a breathiness to it, like each syllable held half of a pant. It was chilling, seeing such plaintive subservience out of a being that had not minutes ago been coldly intellectual.
"You haven't done anything wrong." The words were automatic, but she didn't like how they sounded once they left her brain. She felt like she was comforting a child, and knowing the other mind that resided within this body, that was just wrong. "Elijah's just…"
She was probably better off not finishing that sentence.
This was his fault. His voice, his command. And yet, she knew there were other commands. She wasn't sure if they could switch again so soon, but just as God yielded to Elijah's voice, God's recording had chased Dog away on their first encounter. She'd never actually deleted it.
Her fingers brushed against her Pip-Boy. But she couldn't deny she was curious.
"Dog." She had his attention. "Do you remember who I am?"
He canted his head. "You… you in trap. No fight back. Collar go snnnk-k-k." He sounded pleased with himself. "Dog likes when they fight, but sometimes they go too quiet, have to find others. Master gets mad."
Elijah wasn't the only one. She felt rather than saw Alex go bowstring-tense, and she jabbed an elbow at him, jerking her head no. Her fault for not mentioning that before, but there wasn't time for vicarious grudges. The whole thing had come out of left field.
No, not left field. She should have seen this coming; she had all the pieces for assembly. There was nothing she could have done to prevent this, but she'd have had the foresight to handle it if she hadn't gotten sidetracked.
But Dog wasn't done. "Brought you here, just like Master says. One, two, three. No four this time." He squinted at Alex, heavy mouth twisting into a frown. "Dog doesn't remember you." His expression might have been suspicion and it might have been childlike curiosity; neither really did it justice when leaned forward and sniffed him. "Smell weird. Wonder how you taste."
Alex swiftly moved out of reach, and for the fleeting moment before he figured out how to feel about that, his features were a picture of utter bafflement. Then they solidified into something far more dangerous. The barest flickers of grasping shapes skittered across his sleeves, and his fingers crooked into much more familiar positions at his sides.
"Back off," he growled, in that special voice that hovered on the knife's edge of murder.
Holy hell, God hadn't been kidding. Cain too had taken an instinctive step back, one she didn't notice until her foot hit the ground.
"You can't eat Alex." It was not her fault if she broke pace. Those weren't words you were supposed to have to say. "He's – he's a part of the team."
…Except for those other times. And now the small part of her that wasn't busy being deeply disturbed was pointing out how strange it must have been for Alex to find himself on the receiving end of this. Though maybe it wasn't a first for him.
"But Dog is hungry." Dog's face could have very technically been called a pout. "He wasn't in trap. Master says Dog can eat the extras."
Fuck Elijah with a spool of rusty barbed wire. Her eyes darted between the mutant and her Pip-Boy – for once, it would be great if the Elder interceded and took this mess out of her hands, so of course the thing stayed dead. She was on her own. "Master… Master told me to tell you that you can't eat him." Dog listened to orders, right? It felt wrong to abuse that, but she had to lay down some rules somehow. This was for everyone's safety, Alex least of all. "You can't eat anyone here."
If Elijah had any qualms about using his authority in vain, he didn't voice them. And it was plain that Dog had none at all. He turned his back on Alex, even though the latter was quite openly ready to rip his face off, and fixed her with a plaintive stare. "Who is Dog supposed to eat?"
Who, not what. Um. She looked behind her, and found that 'um' had become the dominant sentiment. Why did she have to be the liaison? No, scratch that – why did this keep happening to her?
How even to put this. She almost went with 'don't eat anyone that talks', but a glance at Christine killed that right quick. She swallowed. "Nobody you see here. Okay? We're… friends. Master's team. No eating."
"Okay." The sulk was plain in his tone, but at least it was acquiescence. She didn't know what she would have done if he'd refused.
…She had the recording. But she still had questions, too, and maybe that was why she kept finding herself in these situations.
"What about something else? Like food, food? Not people?" She had a living example of how the universe was occasionally a colossal asshat standing next to her, but Alex was a special case. Nightkin didn't work that way. Or so she hoped. "You can do that, right?"
He shrugged. "Dog eat any food. But like warm food best." He looked a little bit more intent now, edging on a reverie. "Chase down, make red everywhere."
Alex stared at her, then Dog, then back to her again. He had the distinct look of someone who wanted very much to say something, but hadn't yet found words.
"Are you seriously going to go with this?" he eventually managed.
It was funny. Arcade had said much the same thing, not too long ago. "You seeing another choice?"
Dean had been steadily edging backwards ever since Dog had named himself, but now he looked like he was eyeing a feral animal. "Yeah, I'm thinking that's my cue to get out of here." He licked his withered lips. "I bid you bonsoir, ladies, gent, and whatever that is, and if you know what's good for you, you'll head stage left posthaste. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to review my home security."
Because she needed more traps in her life. Dog wouldn't eat anyone Elijah forbid him to – and urk that the deterrent was necessary – but he wasn't exactly what she would call clever. The ghoul was already halfway across the plaza, and she cupped her hands to her mouth. "If he steps on one of your landmines, we're all dead!"
He didn't stop, much less look at her. "Brute that size, wouldn't even slow him down. Just keep him away from me and everything's peaches, got it?"
Cain did not know what a peach was, but she had to assume it meant something along the lines of not getting blown up in a chain reaction started by a controlling asshole and a partially rotted demolitions enthusiast.
Dog peered after him. If he was at all concerned that Dean had openly discussed attacking him, it didn't show. Cain gnawed at her lip, and quickly caught herself. Gnawing was not a good word right now.
Though the ghoul had done her one small favor; he'd left his scavenged stuff behind, meals included. "Here, take this." She grabbed the first box in reach and tossed it to Dog; he caught it quickly, though his massive hands crushed the edges. He peered curiously at his find. She recognized the back of the package as a Salisbury steak, and hoped that was something he'd accept.
Cain watched as he crammed the entire box into his mouth and chewed.
Once more: Um.
"Crunchy," he said, and picked bits of cardboard from his teeth. "But tastes okay."
"You can…" He looked to her, but she was already trailing off. How did you teach someone to open a package before you ate the contents? They were elementary instructions, and yet… if that someone was perfectly happy to eat prisoners and bomb collars, was there even a point?
He'd already lost interest. "Where Master go? Saw Master in sky. Heard Master, wanted orders." His head swung from side to side, bricklike teeth set in a puzzled frown. "Master not here?"
God had made his thoughts clear about his counterpart's intellect, but it was more than a little uncanny to watch this herself. He referenced obscure religious allegories. Dog was confused by pretty lights. Cain wet her lips. This was an idea she wanted to crush in the bud; if Dog got the idea that Elijah was gone, things might turn… messy. "Master's watching," she assured him, glancing at her Pip-Boy. They were probably on their own for now, but Elijah had a tendency to chime in when he was least wanted or expected. "He'll have more for us later."
"Okay. Dog will wait."
He sounded satisfied, which made this easily the weirdest thing she'd ever used to cheer someone up. Also definitely the one that sat worst with her, but it led to other thoughts.
"You heard your master's voice." She considered how to put this. It'd probably sound crazy no matter how she sliced it, but everything about this was crazy. "Are there any… other voices right now?"
"You have voice." He cocked his head. "Is pretty."
Er. "Thank you." She tried again. "What about other voices, ones you have to listen to?"
The change was immediate. The mutant lurched away from her, his expression a rictus of grotesque terror. "Voice is here?" he whimpered. "No, no… not yet! Master! Master, where are you?"
If Elijah heard the plea, he choose not to respond.
Dog whined, a long, animal noise. "Don't want voice… hate voice! Voice hates Dog, makes Dog hurt self, always angry at Dog..." His corded neck bobbed convulsively, and he curled in on himself, shielding his head from some unseen threat. "Makes Dog go away."
Cain had to struggle to keep her lunch out of her throat, because it had gotten pretty restless all of a sudden.
She had to get rid of Dog at some point. That was a given. If life was going to drop a previously forbidden question-and-answer session right in her lap, of course she was going to take it, but the subject in question was a particularly perilous type of crazy (and horribly uncomfortable besides.) Her only way of mitigating that was to fumble around with the secondhand authority of somebody who could hear her every spoken word – a person who most certainly wanted her dead at some point, and could trump her control whenever he pleased. And Dog's very existence smothered God's – someone she didn't particularly like, granted, but who hardly deserved to be snuffed out and locked away for it.
…And Dog, too, was afraid.
The Pip-Boy was very heavy on her wrist.
She could… wait a little while. It wasn't like they were in danger, exactly.
Dog was still cowering. "Dog doesn't want to go away," he mumbled, gripping his arms. His nails dug deep into his skin. Dark little beads welled in their hollows. "Dog will be good. Dog promises."
"No one's going to put you away." He looked up. His eyes were wet and hopeful. They'd haunt her for a while yet. "Okay?"
"Voice isn't here?" he whispered, peering around.
"…No. It's gone." Was it? Was God really there, crying to be heard? She was dealing with a Nightkin's Stealth Boy-induced delusions, but that didn't make them any less real.
He squinted at her. "Dog thinks voice is gone sometimes, but always come back. Sometimes when Dog eats too much, or when Master leave Dog alone." He brightened up a little. "Voice hates Master. Master's voice is like pain, protects Dog."
"Pain?" Inevitably, her eyes were drawn to the name on his chest. Her guts writhed. "Like the bear trap?"
"Uh-huh. Voice scared of pain, gets quiet." He patted his arm. The chains clanked. "Don't remember how it get there, but Dog doesn't mind. Pain remind Dog of other things."
Beside her, Alex shifted. At this angle, she couldn't see his face.
"Dog better at hurting others, make them go quiet too. Voice gets angry, but Dog is louder. And makes Master pleased."
Movement drew her eye. Christine's knees were ever so slightly bent. The lead pipe was not quite at resting position.
Okay, she needed a moment with the rest of the party. How could she cut this off? Everything that came to mind was ridiculously transparent, and yet… Elijah had called him compliant. God had scorned him for it. Just how far did that go?
"Hey, um, Dog. Can you give us a minute?" His stare was blank, uncomprehending. Cautiously she stepped it down a notch. "Could you go and… wait over there for a bit?" And then, because that was terrible, "Maybe you can get some sleep? Tomorrow's going to be rough. You'll want to be ready for that, yeah?"
"Dog doesn't want to sleep. Dog… Dog doesn't always wake up." And now she felt like shit for wishing that would happen – wishing she'd get what she wanted without having to dirty her hands. It was cowardly, and yet, Dog was so much like a child. It made it difficult to work up her nerve.
She knew exactly where the recording was, exactly what sequence of buttons to press. "It'll be okay," she assured instead. "You'll still be there in the morning."
He stopped mid-turn. "You promise?"
"…I promise." Very technically it wasn't a lie. But it didn't make that pit any smaller when he nodded beatifically, naked gratitude on that lopsided face, and plodded away.
Shit. Now she really couldn't interfere. She sent a silent apology to God, and hoped he wouldn't be too pissed when they inevitably next met.
He meandered to an alcove on the other side of the plaza and simply… stopped, dutifully facing away. Occasionally he rocked on his heels.
"He was the one that kidnapped you," Alex said without preamble. Not once had his eyes left Dog's retreating form. He looked… well, if she knew him at all, like he wanted little more than to spring after him. It dripped from every word.
"I know. Believe me, I figured it out a while ago. Fifty caps says he got Christine too." A brisk nod confirmed it. The knight didn't look much calmer. "Look, even if his neck wasn't tied to mine, I'm not sure it's worth blaming him." She forged past Alex's blatant disbelief. "Everything he does is on Elijah's say-so."
"Just following orders is a load of shit." Mercer's voice was barely above a growl. Christine didn't need one to add her grim approval.
Yeesh, two on one. "And normally I'd agree wholeheartedly, but Dog… look, the reason that's worthless as an excuse is because you know when you're wrong, right? Dog doesn't. Listen to the way he talks about it." Laying this out with Dog right there went against every instinct, but it was less dangerous than leaving this unsaid. Alex treated murder as a go-to solution, and she'd never explained the duality of God and Dog to Christine at all. "He's not guilty and he's not malicious – he's happy. He thinks he did a good thing, because it's what Elijah told him to do. You see what I mean?"
She didn't think either of them did. Christine added something, and Alex probably translated it. "That's making a lot of assumptions."
"It really isn't." Her voice was tired even to her ears. "That voice he kept talking about? That was God. They're split personalities, or – something. One independent, one… not. Elijah's got this one wrapped around his fingers. The one you met on the way in, that was the other guy. He's a piece of work, but considering what he has to live with…" Another glance towards the Nightkin. He was still idling a ways away, displaying not even the slightest interest in their conversation. God knew what was on his mind… or didn't. God was somewhere dark right now. "It's hard to blame him."
Alex opened his mouth, but the retort never came. Slowly it drifted shut, until Christine interjected and he opted to voice her thoughts instead. "She says he's a liability." Another glance towards Dog. "I'd have used a different word."
Uh-huh. She wasn't biting on that one. "What do you want me to say?" She shrugged helplessly. "There's not a lot of options, here. Elijah doesn't exactly have an excess of bodies to stuff in really deadly places, and even if he did," which, thanks to Alex, was kind of true, "the collars don't allow that much flexibility. I'm not saying you shouldn't keep an eye on him, but he follows orders." It left a sour taste in her mouth, but it was truth. "That we're all here is proof of that."
"And if you're wrong?"
She shrugged again. "Then you do your thing. Seriously, what are you afraid of?" The crystallized irony wouldn't go over well with their audience, but at least he knew what she was talking about. "I'm pretty sure you've handled worse."
Strangely, he didn't answer.
Silence reigned for a minute. Cain stole another fretful look at Dog. She was not quite as experienced at reading Super Mutants as she was regular people, but this one gave no indication that he'd even heard their exchange. It was a little surreal.
What had Elijah done to him?
Her mind wandered to Christine, and it struck her, fleetingly, that she might not want to know. Then the tide of hatred crashed upon the shore, and all previous sentiments were drowned by a resounding wave of 'fuck that.'
Elijah had actually given her a clue today. Not about his atrocities, though of those she had proof enough, but how to bag him. Wherever he was – or wherever he was going to be, when they fired this gala event – was somewhere with an extensive interface. If he was going to help his team coordinate the casino's opening, he had to be connected to the Sierra Madre's system.
She had no idea where that might be, and no time to search – and unless that mystery switchboard was exactly where she was slated to be, she'd be more than a little occupied at the time. Alex, though… he could travel under the radar. But was it a worthy risk, sending him away to scout the area while she moved into position alone?
She glanced his way. He still looked lost in thought. Troubled, even.
No. She didn't think it was, not without a solid lead. Elijah had made it very clear what he'd do if he caught them apart, and she wasn't willing to call it a bluff. Better to make her move when she got into the casino. It was a smaller arena.
She set the thought aside. Plotting was best done when awake, and she didn't fully qualify for that right now. If she wanted to fix that, the clock was ticking down. Allotted sleep. It was cursory at this point, but seriously, fuck Elijah.
Dog was on the other side of the plaza, perpendicular to where her safehouse lay. He was sitting now, evidently having decided it was as good as any a place to stay. She didn't try to hide her exit, when she waved for the rest to follow, but it felt like slinking nonetheless. It was probably deliberate that she didn't catch his eyes.
Cain knew she was being irrational. She had the recording; switching them back was the safe thing to do. Knowing what she did of God, and Elijah, it was probably the moral choice as well. But every time her fingers wandered towards her wrist, the memory of whimpering terror brought them back.
She could probably count on Dog's conditioning. Probably.
Her bags felt strangely light, and she cursed when she realized why. "Shit, I left my still at the fountain." She had a few jugs that should be ready by now, but if she left them to stagnate in the Cloud for a few hours, she'd lose the work. "Alex, you mind running back and grabbing the water?"
He didn't look like he thought much of her request, but he shrugged and turned back anyway.
…Right. Water wasn't really his thing. She could have done it herself, and in light of that, she probably should have, but… she was almost at a bed. It was a very plaintive thought. The house she'd singled out was already in her sights; right now she wanted nothing more than to fall over and forget the world for a while. Well. She still wanted freedom more. But sleep was pretty high on that list. She rubbed her eyes. Nothing to do about it now.
The drum of footsteps was much quieter with Alex gone; Christine followed in silence. Then again, she couldn't follow any other way.
It occurred to her, when she reached her sad and peeling tenement, that the knight hadn't picked out digs with the rest of them. She wracked her memories. "Uh, the house next to mine is collapsed, but there's another three doors down that's in pretty good shape, if you need a place to stay."
Christine nodded and went to test the door. She scanned the interior from the archway, but made no move to enter.
"Something wrong?"
Christine looked a little bemused at first, but then she shook her head. She seemed to be puzzling something over. Right... she'd sent away the translator. Cain was about to start bouncing ideas when the other woman gestured to her. She closed her eyes, tilted her head sideways, and laid both hands flat against one ear. She held that for a few seconds before blinking, and shook her head again.
Cain didn't need Alex for that one. "You're not going to bed."
She nodded back, and motioned for Cain's Pip-Boy. When she obliged, Christine brought it to the map screen and traced a small circuit with a finger.
"Oh, you want to take a walk." That got another shake of the head. So much for building a streak. "…You want to scope out the area?" Christine shrugged. "Keep watch?" That finally got her a nod. "I'm pretty sure Alex said he would keep lookout, and he's a pro at his job. You can sleep if you want."
The response was immediate, a dismissal so fast it was almost twitchy. She didn't trust Alex, or…? Oh.
Yeah, Cain wouldn't have wanted to sleep, either.
"…Alright." The reminder to be careful died on her lips; it'd be more patronizing than anything else. It couldn't keep Cain from worrying about her health, but she was in no position to object. Paradoxically, Christine was probably the best equipped to look after herself out of any of them. Excluding Alex, but he was Alex, and not subject to the rules that governed mere mortals. For everyone else, Brotherhood training went pretty far.
Though firepower maybe went further. "Do you have a weapon?" That was a stupid question, and Cain felt even worse when Christine gestured to her pipe. Of course she didn't – she'd crawled out of the Auto-Doc half-naked, she wouldn't have a gun handy. Cain dug into her more misshapen tote, fumbling with sleep-addled fingers. The Holorifle was low on shots, but she'd scrounged more for the shotgun, which she held out. "Here. Hold on a sec, I've got a little ammo… and there it is." She came up from her bags a second time, only to find Christine's expression still implacably neutral. "Are you comfortable with these?"
For the first time, Cain saw Christine's lips quirk up. It wasn't a smile, exactly, but some private joke had brought her momentary amusement. She nodded, and drew a sort of loop with one hand, finishing it with a line through the middle.
Right. Brotherhood training.
She finally took the gun and tested it, feeling its weight and dropping into a brief shooter's stance. Seemingly satisfied, she inclined her head and gestured to leave.
Cain tried to swallow her misgivings. They tasted like Cloud. "Don't go far. Stay safe. And…"
She wasn't sure what else to say – what else she could say. But Christine was already walking away, and in the end, she let the sentence hang unfinished.
She hoped Christine found what she was looking for, but knowing the Sierra Madre, she doubted there was much to find.
Cain stayed like that for nearly a minute before it occurred to her that she was staring at nothing. Shaking the cobwebs from her thoughts, she pulled the door open and quietly slipped into her temporary home. She hadn't quite snapped out of her daze, and stumbled into an awkward hop when she remembered nearly too late where she'd set a tripwire.
She threw out her arms to prevent a fall, and remained in that position a little longer than necessary. For once, she almost wished Elijah was there to witness her failure. Teach him to send a bunch of exhausted conscripts straight into a heist. Her traps weren't lethal, but she couldn't say the same for pretty much anyone else that had ever left their mark here.
Each step took a little too much effort to climb, but eventually Cain made it up to her room. God, she was tired. One by one, she untied her boots and peeled off her gloves. Either she'd gotten a lot of debris in them, or those strips of flaky stuff had once been part of her skin. Dirt, she decided. It was dirt.
The stairs creaked loudly behind her, and the culprit narrowly avoided being hit by a shoe. Which was good, because it was just Alex.
He snatched the boot from the air with his lone free hand and passed it back to her, along with three filled bottles. "Your aim was off. Didn't compensate for the spin."
"I'll keep that in mind." At least he wasn't mad. She leaned backwards, trying to set down her sudden armload without dropping anything.
"There's your water," he continued, rough voice low. "I'll leave you to it. I'm gonna check out what I'm guarding."
"Stay close?" She didn't mean for it to come out so… small. "To all of us, I mean. One of us goes, we all go, so make sure everyone's… all right. It's mostly Ghost People we're watching out for, so if you could keep an eye on this block, that'd be great. Dean's set up one ring off the square, and Dog… I'm not sure what he's doing, but I know he's around here somewhere."
"He's on the street." Alex frowned, and she read a strange sort of wariness there. "Sleeping. I'll keep an eye on him. What about Christine?"
"Not far. She wanted to do some rounds. I, uh." A pause lingered a little too long, as did the darkness of each blink. "I probably don't have to tell you this, but give her some space, okay? She looks like she could use it."
His response was half a shrug, but she didn't press the point. There was a certain look when somebody wanted the rest of the world to screw off and leave them alone for a while, and to Alex, that had all the distance of a mirror. Usually. She couldn't find it when she peered at him now.
She sank against the wall, feeling the pockmarked plaster dig into her shoulder blades. They burned, but so did everything. Exhaustion kept those complaints tepidly out of focus. She could fall asleep here, were she to close her eyes.
He was halfway to the balcony before she'd realized he'd moved. "You'll be alright out there?" she murmured.
A quiet scoff, but not a scornful one. "You know me. Whatever's out there, I can handle it."
That wasn't quite what she'd been asking. But she didn't press him this time, either.
The building shuddered, and then she was alone.
0o0o0
Once more, Alex found himself keeping watch.
The wood beneath his feet was old and fragile, and it was a good thing he had little cause to move. A rooftop would have afforded him a wider view, if not a sturdier position. There were… objectively better options. He'd drawn a mental perimeter, staked out the highest point and the potential breaches down below. Cain's balcony overlooked only one; taller buildings blocked the rest, and the room behind him cut off half his field of vision alone. But it was the choice he always returned to.
It'd give him the quickest interception, he told himself; from Ghost People, or from that mutant dozing in the square. He really didn't trust the mutant. Cain could say what she liked; he called it as he saw, and Dog might as well have been a Hunter on a leash. A very thin and questionable leash.
He knew how to kill Hunters, but Hunters didn't come with dead man's switches.
It would have made things easier. He was finding that he did not particularly like to think about Dog. His alter ego had been a smug asshole and an aficionado of vague and grandiose threats, but to see an entire personality vanish beneath something base and mindless - subsumed by it...
The voices in his head were always loud, this time of night. Except it wasn't night at all, and the sky burned red like his earliest memories.
For about an hour, Christine had been the only motion in the world, an intermittent presence as she patrolled loops around their would-be base. She'd immediately noticed him, the first time she'd passed beneath him, but she'd never spoken, despite a few times where he thought she was going to. He wouldn't have minded discussing Elijah – if she'd tracked him for several months, then she had to have picked up on some of his habits. He'd meant to ask, once. But then he thought about the Auto-Doc, and then he thought about containment, and Blackwatch, and Elizabeth Greene. By the time he was done sorting through the things he remembered, and the things he wasn't sure he did, Christine was two and a half rounds away and his mind was further.
He was still frustrated about earlier. Christine… admittedly, she'd earned the right to kill Elijah herself. She'd hunted him longer than either of them had, and as much as he worried over Cain, one look at the figure below told him how much worse things could have been. But he did not like being dismissed. Elijah needed to die, now more than ever, and Christine had demanded they leave everything to her. That wasn't good enough. He needed to be sure that Elijah died before he could set off the collars. Cain needed to be sure. The knight had argued her training – he had near-invincibility. If it was really the odds of success she cared about, like she'd claimed, this was best left to him.
This was a delicate situation. He only had one shot at this if he wanted to get Cain out alive, and he couldn't let Christine waste it.
If only he could have given it to her straight. He'd nearly considered it. But she was Brotherhood, and where Veronica had been the group's free thinker, Christine was clearly an exemplar. It wasn't a mark against her. Her resolve had impressed him, as had her refusal to die along the way. But for the repeated talk of Elijah needing to pay for his crimes – he agreed, but he tended not to mix well with pursuit of justice. It was safer for Cain if Christine had no cause to try anything stupid.
Eventually she disappeared into one of the houses and the rhythm of footsteps fell silent, and even that minute distraction was lost to him.
But it did free him of surveillance. His first order of business was to synthesize some Rad-Away. He'd suspected from the start that anything he created wouldn't be as good as the real thing, but even then, the effect was underwhelming. He felt a little less feverish, maybe. It was hard to tell when his skin was still burning.
The Ghost People had bled green, but the gas trapped inside their bodies was Cloud. Feeding on one might have irradiated him, but he had the sinking feeling that he'd poisoned himself with something else.
It wasn't his only failure of the day. The Madre had left him aware of a few holes in his arsenal, and from there he passed some time working on a laser armor of sorts. He'd come up with a new kind of carapace, one with an extremely reflective surface wrapped around several layers of insulation. The tradeoff was that he couldn't add much conventional armor beneath that before it became too thick to use; protection was pointless when you couldn't move in it, and his usual adaptation already infringed on his mobility.
He didn't think that would be as much of a problem with this one; its composition wasn't nearly as dense. Granted, he had no idea if it would work; without anything to test it on, it was mostly theoretical. But it was something to try, the next time he had to deal with those holograms.
He could have always gone looking for one, but there was no way in hell he was leaving Cain behind in this place. It was quiet now. His experience on the way in had been a wholly different story.
Idly, he scratched at his arm. Little flecks of black dust flaked away with it.
"Psst. Partner. You got a second?"
Any sound would have drawn his attention, but the exaggerated stage-whisper had his curiosity. He glanced down.
The ghoul – Dean, that was his name – was standing at the base of the tenement, peering up through the railings. Huh. Good thing he'd stopped his experimentation some time ago, because he hadn't been expecting visitors.
He'd written the ghoul off as the most superfluous of Cain's new conscripts-in-arms. Granted, he didn't care about any of them, but it seemed plain that Dean was the least useful and the least threatening of the three.
But he wasn't completely opposed to a distraction. The Sierra Madre's stinging silence grated on him. "Something wrong?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that," he assured, fanning his hands. "Tell you what – why don't you come down here for a second, and we'll have a little chat face-to-face. I'd do this traditional, but I'm a couple instruments short for a serenade. Oh, and no need to wake the lady. Let the poor thing get her rest."
Alex glanced into the room. Cain did look exhausted; even in sleep, her face was set in a grim frown. He wasn't sure how much rest she was actually getting, but he wasn't eager to disturb her.
Whatever Dean wanted, he could handle it. He could always pass it along later if it ended up being important.
So he nodded his assent, and eyed the gap below. Just dropping to the ground was tempting – it was only a single story, that wouldn't kill a person – but it probably would kill whatever support was left on this thing. With his usual luck, it'd bring the entire block down around him. Probably safer to take the stairs. Cain mumbled something in her sleep as he passed her, but didn't wake.
He met Dean on the dim street. It wasn't night, but the Cloud churning overhead let little sunlight through. "What do you want?" he asked, voice low.
"She asleep?" Dean didn't answer the question. "Off in dreamland, zonked out, amidst the clouds?"
"Yes." His irritation climbed, as did his suspicion. "What's it to you?"
"I've got a little… proposal." The ghoul tapped his foot, glancing back at the balcony. "Not necessarily on the down-low, but just between you and me, you understand?"
Mercer's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"First off, friend, let me congratulate you – I know talent when I see it, and you are one of a kind. I've had plenty of goons in black suits in my day… a little fist, a little gun, and no overcurious guests find their way backstage. They blur together after a while, the scenery gets old… but this scenery would have had each and every one of them bail on their contracts, if the bomb hadn't done it for them. Coming all this way for a job... you've got some real work ethic, I can tell. But now that you're here, what do you say about getting a little bang for your buck?"
His interest was dwindling rapidly. "What do you want?" he repeated, harder this time.
"Straight to the point, eh? I like that in a partner. I'm thinking… a contract, you could say. A little protection detail, a change of handlers." Alex finally understood what Dean wanted, and his lips curled dangerously. "Oh, you can still do lookout for your eye candy, I'm not interested in her – but when it comes down to the wire, let money do the talking, yeah?"
"Now, I know what you're thinking." If he did, he'd be running right now. "I may not be able to give a little extra on the side… but that, on the other hand," and he gestured to the looming shadow of the casino behind them, "is what's on my payroll. So how does that sound; we've got ourselves a deal, yes? The Sierra Madre's a better bonus than your mistress could ever offer, and don't let looks fool you – we get inside, and I'm the one with the keys to the kingdom. Not Elijah, not Sinclair, and certainly not your pretty dame."
Hm. How did he convey that Domino was a fucking idiot and that he'd killed people for less? "Fuck off."
Eyes widened behind sunglasses. "What did you say?" Dean asked, his voice suddenly quiet.
"You heard me," he grated. The ghoul was lucky he had that collar – there wasn't much stopping him otherwise. "But if I wasn't clear enough, the answer's no. I'm not interested."
"I see." The corners of Dean's leathery mouth turned downwards. "Your friend sure knows how to pick 'em, I'll give her that. If you have a change of heart, decide you want to play for the winning team… you know who to talk to."
"I told you," he repeated, injecting a little more force. "I'm not interested. I didn't come here for you, and I couldn't give less of a shit about your casino. Suck up to someone else."
"Oh, very well." He stepped back with a deep scowl. "They say pets resemble their masters… whoever they are, I tip my hat to them." Turning to leave, he shot one last parting look. It was probably supposed to be intimidating. "Keep an eye out for your dame, bodyguard. We'll see which way the winds end up blowing."
He drew himself taller. "That had better not be a threat," he growled.
"Oh, but of course not. Why would you think such a thing? This party has us all joined at the hip… or at the very least, the neck."
With a scoff, the ghoul turned on his heel and strode away. Alex let him go, but his eyes lingered on his back.
He was going to watch him for a while yet. He was watching everything in this damn place, but Dean Domino had just bumped himself up a few threat levels. God had been an asshole and Dog was barely more than an animal, but this guy was planning something and he very clearly had it out for Cain.
Heh. Let him try something. It'd be good for a laugh. The collar wouldn't go off for a few broken bones… it was a pity he couldn't do more, or else he'd have put a tentacle through his back as soon as let him walk. Cain could disapprove all she wanted, but he preferred to handle these problems preemptively. Dean Domino wasn't a question of if; he was a question of when.
Silently, he resumed his watch.
0o0o0
Cain lurched awake.
A gasp became a hacking cough when her lungs seized around it, and she wheezed as she struggled to prop herself upright. Sweat-slicked palms groped blindly about, their efforts turning fevered when they met layers of tangled resistance.
Everything was too hot, and she thrashed, insensate and frantic. Her chest felt shrunken around her pounding heart. Metal clung to the back of her throat and choked every other breath with foam.
She ripped her hands free, flinging straggling sheets aside. Her wrists were wrong, bony silhouettes bare. Where were the handcuffs?
She strained to see – the only spot of color was livid red, a pale glow on rumpled blankets that slid away when she leaned towards it. She didn't know this bed, didn't recognize the pattern on the spread or the feel of threadbare fabric. There was nothing familiar in the gloom-blurred lines of the room around her, swimming in and out of the rolling dark.
When she finally clawed her way to her neck, her hands met something ridged and heavy.
That, she recognized. That belonged somewhere else.
The cell melted away. She wasn't free. The cuffs were locked around her neck; the chain had no less weight. This prison didn't need four walls to suffocate her. Molten copper bobbed in her throat with every swallow.
But the cell had never existed. Not like that. Not for her. This was now, and that was a then that had never really happened.
She was here. This was the Sierra Madre. This was her safehouse. She was... not safe. Not fine. But she was here.
Cain hugged her knees and drew careful, shuddering breaths.
It had been a long time since she'd dreamed about her mother.
She owed her brain some grudging credit for finding the one thing she wasn't already grappling with, then dredging it from the bottom-most muck of her psyche and pinning it up for her to deal with. Because seriously. The Sierra Madre covered its bases. There were so much material for a good old traumatic nightmare. The open grave had been getting stale anyway; now she had Ghost People and bomb collars and ripped-up throats, and what the hell, that had to be worth some hyperventilation in the dark. But hey, it was her brain. Of course it wouldn't settle for low-hanging fruit.
The usual platitudes rang hollow, and she didn't bother with them for long. She was in the Sierra Madre. Elijah had a bomb around her neck and she was going to kill herself by following his orders or breaking them. Next to that, her nightmare should have been pinyon nuts. A weak little laugh bubbled and died in her throat. Her actual life was so much worse; couldn't she just get back to that? She didn't have time for shadows, for the face she saw in the mirror. She was stronger than this. She was supposed to be stronger than this.
It was stupid. Just a dream. Nothing real. Nothing now.
She gripped herself and tried to stop shaking.
Even now, it was fading, details dripping like water from busted pipes. The watching soldiers lingered in her mind's eye, large as they'd been when she was a child. Impressions, stolen piecemeal from other memories and nameless lurking fears. Eyes. Bars. Hopelessness. The hopelessness was the worst.
She wasn't there anymore. But here wasn't better.
In her dream, they'd skipped the orphanage. They'd saved themselves the trouble, tossed her right in with her mother where she'd belonged. And then – that part never left her. The way it felt to sit in stale air and silence and know, truly, that there was nothing she could do…
Here was… maybe a little better. It didn't ring that true, but she repeated it anyway. Nothing did right now.
She wasn't out of options. She wasn't dead yet. Escape would be tricky, but she had space to move and tools in reach. She could plan. This wasn't like before.
She breathed the Cloud and exhaled phantoms, but her heart wouldn't slow.
Abruptly Cain twisted and rolled off the side of the bed, stubborn blankets clinging to her limbs. They trailed her halfway to the corner where she'd laid her bags; by the time she'd fallen to her knees, the skin was bare.
She fumbled with the straps, groping half-blind about their depths. There was something desperately real about the shapes within, something solid that she could grasp and touch.
She held each tightly, fingers confirming more than her eyes as she mouthed silent mantras. One bottle of Wonderglue. A roll of duct tape. One syringe of Med-X. Four Stimpaks. A box of ammunition, mostly .357s and little else. A fission battery. Five boxes and two cans' worth of food. Three bottles of distilled water. A half-bottle of whiskey. A clipboard. A combat knife. Three grenades. Forty-nine Sierra Madre chips. The Holorifle. One box of Abraxo. One bottle of Wonderglue...
She took stock twice, then a third time, and stopped herself once she'd begun the fourth. It was a pathetic collection, really. The bags were empty, their meager contents strewn about her in a jumble of trailing bedsheets. The room was a mess.
So was she, she carefully did not think.
She put everything back. Then she took it back out, and counted each thing, and put it all back again. They weren't going anywhere, she just- Cain breathed as deeply as she dared, and let the battery fall from her hands. She wanted to do – something. Something other than this. Her brain was ingenious in conjuring up ways to screw with her, but for this it was fresh out of ideas.
She sat back on the balls of her heels and tried to be something else. It was a tested and true tactic, but it never seemed to work as well in the dark.
The collar's light was dim, and soft to tired eyes. She flipped her fingers over, and thought of restraints and rashes and blood. Daubed carmine, her scars and callouses were thrown into lurid relief, and for a time she pondered those. Some evoked memories. Others had simply materialized along the way, and she could not name when. They belonged to Threnody Cain, and there was no recognition to be found in the hands of an imaginary woman.
Just the latest of many.
Maybe she was doing this to herself. When the NCR had taken her away – she'd resented them for it. She still did and she always would, even though she understood why it had happened and her love for her parent had long since dried to ash. They'd stolen her freedom and forced her to steal it back. But to be there again, when she was small enough for someone to pick up and take somewhere safe…
There was a horrible clanging noise, followed by muffled swearing.
Cain bolted upright. That had been right beneath her – she wasn't alone in here. She backed against the wall, cans clattering about her bare feet as she scrambled for her gun. The Holorifle was unwieldy, too large for this tight room – she wanted her nine-millimeter, no, that was gone, it was a magnum now. Anxious hands found neither, and it took several scattered seconds to remember her holdout was not at her belt but beneath her pillow.
There were footsteps on the stairs now; the entire building creaked with them. She felt for the chamber, checked the ammunition with trained fingers. Six shots at the ready. She'd make them count.
A head emerged; a body followed. Even in the dim light, she knew that silhouette. It wasn't an enemy. The pulse hammering in her throat did not abate.
Mercer's voice was soft. "What's wrong?"
Him. Elijah. Everything. He should have come as a relief, in lieu of some other nameless intruder. He didn't. With the police pistol in hand and this much adrenaline in her veins, an intruder would have been easier.
She wasn't ready to face anyone. Not like this.
His eyes were the only feature she could discern; two little chips of hologram in the gloom, trained on her gun. "Cain?"
He was expecting an answer. She couldn't voice the ones she had. 'Go away', 'leave me alone' – there was nothing she'd rather say, but they were unwitting snares, backhanded pleas for him to pry into her wounds. Silence wasn't an option, but the nascent sound in her throat felt too much like a sob. She breathed around it and tried to steel herself. The gun – she needed to put it down. She was being absurd. There was no reason for her to hold it, it wouldn't defend her from this-
From what, exactly? Alex wasn't a threat. She knew that. But right now, it almost didn't matter if he was Alex Mercer or a shambling Ghost Person off the street. Predators shared common traits. He wasn't here to kill her, but he could smell weakness all the same.
He was still staring. She forced her arms down.
"Nothing," she managed. Not good enough, too terse. Maybe he'd take it as annoyance, think he was the reason she was up. What had been with the racket downstairs? Right, the trap. Guess it'd done its job. Had the warning even made a difference?
She just needed a minute to get her shit together. Unfortunately, Alex wasn't giving her that. It was hard to tell through the shadows, but her traitorous brain was determined to interpret his every move as sharp and searching.
He wasn't the only one. She sucked in a breath, and the collar pressed against her throat in hard-edged reminder. Elijah could hear every word she said, every desperate sound in the dark. Was he listening now?
Her throat clenched. She couldn't-
She didn't want him to see her flayed so raw. She didn't want either of them to. Elijah – she didn't care what he thought of her. She resented giving him the satisfaction of breaking her, hated it in a way that strangled her guts, but in the end, she was going to fit this gun in his mouth and pump the trigger until the damned thing ran dry. She could suffer his indignities as long as she survived to see that, because she had no other choice. Alex wasn't like that. Somewhere along the way, she'd managed to care about him. Not just sympathy, or bizarre and trepid fascination, but actual, genuine 'I care what this guy thinks of me.' And somewhere along the line, he'd come to feel the same way towards her.
Towards Threnody Cain.
He was on her side, but he respected strength; she couldn't show him anything less. He wouldn't respect this. She didn't respect this. And if she couldn't mold herself into the person she wanted to be, she could at least pretend well enough to pass for her. Right now, she was laid bare.
Alex knew Threnody Cain, and this was just Elise McKensie, huddled and sniffling in the dark.
Even now, he was scanning her. The Deathclaw's share of the room's low light was captured in his eyes, that first quiet reminder of his inhumanity. Now it was a reminder that he could see her every tell. God, she wanted him to go away. "Are you hurt?"
Was she? "No. No, I just…" She must look wretched, planted in a tangle of sheets and junk, clutching a gun like it was her only lifeline. The thought was nausea. She held her lies close to her chest; the world could not be allowed to see any face other than the one she was ready to present. She wasn't ready at all, but somehow she managed to twist her next words around on him. "What are you doing here?"
He shifted in place. It might have been curiosity and it might have been concern; she didn't know which was worse. "Dean dropped by for a talk."
"What, just now?" That was… something else. A different kind of note to a sour conversation. Cain stood straighter, and only then realized that she'd been half-crouched before. Urk.
She couldn't imagine what kind of chat could occur between Dean Domino and Alex Mercer, but it was a more pleasant place to wander than where her mind already was.
"Yeah." The shape of his head moved, and he paused for a beat. "He's still around, if you want to shoot him."
She wasn't sure if Alex had just forgotten the explosive caveat or if he'd actually developed a sense of humor. If he was trying to lighten the mood, she had to be pretty damned transparent right now. She swallowed it down. This might be more important. "What did he do this time?"
He scoffed. "He tried to buy me off."
"And to think you had me worried for a second." It was a little easier to talk like this, now. This was familiar ground. The motions were habitual. "How'd that work out for him?"
"How do you think?" There was an awkward pause. "He's still alive," he added, too quickly and too late.
That actually elicited a smile from her, however brief. He really did try. "I can tell. Since, y'know, head. Intact."
It was a foregone conclusion that Alex wouldn't care for Dean. His interest in people was more an exception than a rule, and he wasn't shy about expressing his disdain for everyone else. Add in Dean's self-importance, and she could hash out a pretty good guess as to what had passed between them. It was nice, she supposed, to reaffirm his loyalties, but that ugly part of her brain refused to let go. He stood by her because he thought she was someone worth standing by.
"You need to watch him." She glanced up. "He's gonna try something. He's an idiot, but anything's dangerous here."
He was looking at her collar now. That Elijah hadn't entered the conversation was an answered prayer. "Believe me, I know. He's had it out for me since two minutes after we met." She hadn't exactly mitigated that, but if the guy wanted friends, he could have left out the landmine. She wasn't going to apologize. "Did he give you any clues?"
He lapsed into another thoughtful silence, but this one felt less threatening. "I don't think so," he eventually said. "Mostly blustering. He pitched it like he was more interested in the casino than screwing you over, but the parting shots made it clear he has it out for you." He shrugged. "And me. Might be amusing. I'm supposed to be the disposable one."
That was another thought, and turning it over, Cain wasn't sure if it was a good one or a bad one. Christine looked to be the only member of the team who Dean didn't hate, but the collars made them untouchable. Alex was the odd man out. Sure, she knew trying to kill him was suicide at its finest (at least with the collars, there was a chance of mechanical failure), but to everyone else here, he was the easiest target. Elijah had made it pretty clear he wouldn't tolerate fancy footwork around the rules, but he didn't seem to care that much about Alex. He was a hastily-tacked addendum to his plans that he obviously wanted gone. If Domino had picked up on that…
On one hand, Alex was safe from whatever Dean might want to pull on him, and she was safer if the ghoul was busy trying to stab the human chainsaw instead of her. On the other, Alex's specific methods of not dying all spelled catastrophe in their own ways. Any plan where survival hinged on Dean Domino's ability to keep a secret was a terrible plan.
"You might want to follow your own advice. Watch your back, I mean. Since…" Elijah might not be listening, but she didn't gamble on even odds. "Just in case."
"I'd like to see him try to get past me."
Suddenly the darkness was gone, and she squinted to adjust to the sudden influx – Alex had gone over and opened the blinds. All at once, the room was less… something. Overwhelming? It was just an old apartment again, albeit one she'd made a mess of for pursuits she no longer quite understood.
She was going to have to fix that. Her entire body felt stiff, now that she had the presence of mind to acknowledge it, but she got up anyway, dragging a fistful of sheets behind her as she set about cleaning the place. Her hands might have ached, but she was grateful for something to do with them.
Alex looked smaller with the clinging shadows peeled away. He wore a tiny, dangerous smirk, but even that was more familiar than alarming. It was quick to fade anyway – he looked a little perplexed about the mess, but he neither questioned her nor moved to help.
That was fine. The silence lent her room to breathe.
Her handiwork wasn't neat, but someone could sleep on it. She sat herself on the edge of the bed, and for a long moment they just watched each other.
"Sorry." Alex coughed, then thickly cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to wake you."
She waved him aside; her arm was leaden. "Don't worry about it. I was already up."
He seemed surprised, although why was anyone's guess. "Why?"
"Just thinking." She looked away.
"About what?"
"Nothing important." And it wasn't. The choking dysphoria was gone, leaving behind little more than distant melancholy. A good diversion was invaluable like that. Heh. Dean Domino being helpful – that was a first.
But even if she did want to dredge up the past again, and she never did, Alex Mercer was not interested in her childhood woes. She already tried the man's patience enough, and that was with the good stories.
She wasn't surprised when he nodded and let it drop. "I know how that goes."
Yeah. He would. He didn't deal with the nightmares, but she'd take the occasional regurgitated memory over a nonstop chorus of angry dead people any day. Not to mention how the reason he didn't get nightmares was because he didn't sleep, and that was a terrifying prospect on its own.
And on that note. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but I think I'm gonna turn in again. I'm on the clock here, and it's been…" She had no idea how long it had been, but it didn't feel remotely enough. "Help me out here."
"Two hours," he supplied. "Give or take."
"Then I want my money's worth from the next six." She didn't know if she could, but she had to try. "I'll see you then? And thanks for…" 'Sticking with me' didn't seem appropriate. "The heads up."
He nodded as he turned away. "Sure." He vanished around the balcony frame, but she never heard the telltale creak that signaled his departure.
Cain leaned back and stared at the ceiling. It occurred to her that she'd never actually let go of her gun, and she stowed it back beneath her pillow. Her fingers came free slick with sweat.
The Sierra Madre's sunlight shone red through closed lids, but she didn't shutter the windows again.