A Dead World

by Laluzi

He had been captured; Alex Mercer knew that much was obvious. But if that was the case, why had his captors just left him there without security? How had he ended up in a bunker buried in some kind of giant desert? Where was everyone? And when the hell did bottlecaps become currency?

38. Cut and Run

Dean's spot turned out to be a cable-covered rooftop in Puesta Del Sol, overlooking a lovely vista of ladders, balconies, and Cloud.

It didn't go over very well.

"So this is where I'm supposed to work my magic?" The ghoul tapped the wires together, frowning. There were a few pairs snaking across the concrete, stubborn patches of insulation still clinging in places. Two had conspicuously been snapped in half. One was sparking. "Not quite what I had in mind when he said I'd find the tools on site. If he wanted some music for the show, he could have given me a microphone… it'd be a damn sight better than whatever this is supposed to be."

Cain shrugged. After seeing where Christine was supposed to stay, her capacity for disappointment was a little thin. "Don't think any of us are getting our first picks lately. Sometimes you've just gotta put up and roll with it."

"First picks? I've opened in Paris, partner. Los Angeles, D.C. Sierra Madre? Let me tell you, but she looked better on the pamphlet." He irritably kicked a pebble, which skittered across the roof and tumbled into the Cloud below. "I dealt with that enough in show biz, but the least he could have done was toss in some coupons to make up the difference. A free martini, maybe."

"I've got whiskey, but the cocktail umbrellas are fresh out."

"Then for heaven's sake, be an angel and pass it here." She squinted on that one, but if handing it over would stop the complaints… He unstoppered the bottle and took a long pull. "Not bad, not bad. But I'll need more than a stiff drink to make this one go down smooth. You know what part we're playing here? Really stopped to think about it?"

She had. She'd been doing a lot of thinking since Dog's final clue. And if Dean had been in the Villa this entire time, he too would know this wasn't the first time someone had tried to wake the Madre from its slumber. "I'm thinking you've seen more than I have."

"Right you are. We're gunning for lights, music, some pretty jingles. That's why I'm connecting Point A and Point B over here. Drain enough juice from the security system and the doors will loosen up. It's not a bad plan, if you've got enough groupies and you don't care what happens once the switch is flipped. Because that power? You send it somewhere flashy, you wake the neighbors, and they come crawling out like it's half-price happy hour."

"Thanks for the warning, but that's not news." The gravitas was a little eyebrow-raising. "You might have seniority, but we're not so fresh we haven't seen what happens when you make too much noise. Even Elijah got the memo."

Dean laughed. It wasn't a friendly sound. "You haven't seen anything. A mouse or two scurrying around, looking for cheese. There's more beneath this place, a whole stinking beehive of them. They're camera-shy most of the time, they mind their own business... but we turn on the lights, crank up the dials? This opening act's going to wake them up right quick, and that's a whole different kind of problem."

She hadn't followed all of that, but he'd had her on hive. A hive of Ghost People was disturbingly easy to picture. "How many are we talking?"

"Does it look like I'm counting? You don't take a census when the Ghost People go topside; you climb sky-high and cross your pinky fingers that nobody notices little old you."

Translation: that was what he'd done last Gala, and it hadn't gotten him into the casino. Tough. "Then you're in a better place than the other two. You've got rooftop access right here. Just go up and kick the ladder behind you."

"Yes, partner… and I can't help but notice I'm supposed to get down. To the casino. Tricky enough order when the streets aren't swarming."

"We'll kill all of them. It's not hard." Alex had been restrained on the way in, for Alex, but she'd caught him punching through torsos once or thrice. She was pretty sure Dean had, too.

The ghoul scoffed quietly. "Weren't you listening, bodyguard? There's always more of the bastards. A lot more. You're shooting drops in a rainstorm and praying you don't get wet. Heaven help you if you did find whatever nest they crawl from, because that's the last we'll see of you in this life. No, the Del Sols are hunting grounds, and this roof is a deathtrap."

Cain was still a little miffed over the ladder rebuff. "And I suppose you've got a better idea on how to handle this?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." He jabbed a finger at Alex. "The boss doesn't need me here, he needs a warm body. Anyone with two hands and a few brain cells can take this job, and your friend over there makes the cut. Park him here and roll out."

"No," Cain said immediately. "Absolutely not."

"Wasn't it you who insisted we share? Look at him – he's so eager to clear the streets, you can see his tail wagging. He's the perfect man for the job."

Mercer bristled. If Cain pretended she hadn't seen that flicker of red, maybe she could retroactively erase it from existence. "Are you saying you can't make it all the way through? Because when you said you survived here for two hundred years, I thought you packed more than talk."

Dean's voice had dipped a little lower. "Oh, I've got experience all right. You want advice, partner? I didn't live this long by sticking my neck out for every tourist with a sob story. Sure, it's great to know people, but learn how to spot a lost cause and steer clear of it. This right here?" He flipped his wire so the fraying end spat sparks towards her. "The mother of all lost causes. I know who you'd rather get to payday with, but when it's your friends or your life, you don't pick your friends."

Was she going to have to get Elijah for this? She really didn't want to get Elijah for this. "What about me? You're throwing a tantrum over a rooftop - my spot's the farthest shot to the casino. You want to trade? If I don't make it, you're never seeing what's inside those doors, Domino."

"Yes, because we'll be dead. We. Surely you'd rather live long enough to get a divorce than go down together. At least when he gets swarmed by Ghost People our necks won't go with him."

"Do I get a say in this?" Alex growled.

She lifted an eyebrow and gestured ahead. Dean looked wary, but he couldn't resist the chance to sneer. "Yes, let the man speak. Such a poor host you are."

Alex crossed his arms. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I'm not here to cover your ass? Get your job done and I'll do mine. Do it quietly and maybe I won't have to do more than that."

"Of course. Why do I even bother?" Dean looked away, scowling, but Cain hadn't missed that backwards step. "Already know your leash doesn't stretch that far."

"What, are you upset that you couldn't buy me off? Or did you just think I chase after any asshole that thinks he's worth my time?"

Sometimes Cain loved this guy; she really did.

"Any asshole?" Of all the things, it was that that got Dean to splutter. "I made headlines. You're three steps down from the bouncers I signed on and then some. The prestige was half their salary. People paid premiums to walk in the same room as me."

"You wanna count headlines?" Alex leaned against the sheet panelling. "Guarantee I've been on more front pages than you ever were."

Dean squinted at him. "What, for the police log? The only posters your face fits are the mugshots."

If only he knew.

Alex had the same thought, because his smirk was downright evil. "Wanna find out?"

Another poorly-masked step back. "Already got the demonstration, thank you kindly. Kids these days... no respect for their elders." Dean took another draught of her whiskey and spat on the ground. "Alright. Maybe these collars aren't the only death-do-us-part in these parts. That doesn't mean I'm going to take this lying down, you hear?"

"Then what do you want, Dean?" She couldn't completely mask the irritation from her voice. "We're on a tight schedule."

"Don't talk to me about schedules, partner. I've had worse managers than you, but I wasn't married to them." He tapped his shoe twice. "I might be persuaded to stick around on my lonesome if you can do me a favor. See, the Ghost People might be undying sons of bitches, but they like a little television. Show them some lights, a bit of stage magic, and they ooh and aah with the rest of them. The holograms," he snapped at Cain's blank stare. "They like them. Or they're afraid of them; could never figure out which. But you light up some of those ghosts, they'll sit and stare long enough long enough for me to slip by."

"Why would we want to turn on holograms?" Alex glared at Dean, which was admittedly the usual way he looked in that direction. "They'll kill you faster than the Ghost People."

"Then tell them not to… it's all in the terminals." He couldn't look down on Mercer when the latter had a few inches on him without the hoodie, but he made a damn good try of it. "I'm not expecting a second Einstein out of you, but surely you can read. There's modes. The ones that stand around don't do much more than look pretty, like dear Vera at the gates or those grifters in the stores. It's the patrolling ones you've got to watch out for, the ones that think they're sentry bots in suits."

Huh. Useful to know, not that she'd admit it. "And where are these terminals?"

"Not even. You see the fountains?" He jerked a thumb at the vista below, where a grimy basin sat. "Little altars to a one. They've all got starlets of their own… some of the projectors have cashed out for good, but the rest just need a little motivation. Give the Ghost People some eye candy and I'll consider staying in this dump."

"You're still doing that, huh? Calling terms when I've got the better hand." Dean's lips curled. "But I'll pretend you asked nicely. You sure none of these things will be in murder mode when we turn them on? It's not a great joke when there's no one left to laugh at it."

"Vera couldn't touch you if she tried. Woman was harmless in life, death hasn't changed much about her."

He kept using that name, she'd learned it from him, but... "You knew her? From before?"

"Did I know her? I held her dainty little hand and made the introductions. Sinclair never knew what hit him, though I couldn't fault him for that." There was a curious disgust on that last word. "Her voice on the radio, her face in marble - it's all because I thought they might hit it off for a while. Man was a slouch in the dame department, needed a little outside help... but I never would have guessed how hard he fell."

Cain had figured she was a mascot, but if this was a monument to devotion - Sinclair probably should have stuck with poetry. "She's pretty, but I didn't peg you for the type."

"Oh, that cuts deep. I might not be a looker now, but I assure you I could pick up the dames in my day."

Not what she'd meant - she didn't believe for a second that Dean had done that favor out of the goodness of his heart. Not that she'd explain the jab. "So who was she? You've made it clear you don't settle for second-rate."

"Who was she, she asks. Of course you don't know her name. Music's probably rocks and tin cans out there." Shaking his head in disgust, he rolled the next words on his tongue. "Vera Keyes. Singer, dancer, actress - not much of the last one, but you didn't hear that from me. A-list, the kind of star that outshines the rest of the sky. We swung in the same circles. Had a few duets, the crowds lapped them up."

"Can't say I've heard them - I guess they don't swing them in Vegas."

"Your loss." He swirled the bottle. "They'll debut tonight, but don't blame me if the vocals are a little touchy. Speakers in the state they are, the acoustics here is going to sound like a band of tortured cats."

"I'll try not to be too disappointed." She frowned. "We'll be back once we fire up some of these holograms. It shouldn't take long."

He crossed the distance, expression severe. "Not on your life, partner; I'm coming with. Not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you walk off on me."

"You're not going to make this rough, are you, Domino? I'm not that kind of girl."

"Oh, I'll do my part… I'm just going to make sure you do yours."

She raised her eyebrows. "The only reason I'd back out early is if you did, and finishing early doesn't strike me as a problem you have. Or am I wrong?"

"Cute. I'm not changing my mind, so don't bother." He took a final swig of the whiskey, then shoved the bottle back into her hands. "Say. You mentioned the other two didn't exactly win the lottery. If this spot's the grand prize, well… how's the belle? Good position, bad, terrible? Boss didn't stiff her too much, did she?"

Cain eyed him strangely. "Where's the sudden concern coming from? You could have fooled me."

"What, you want a kiss goodbye?" he snipped. "I'm not worried about dim, grim, and grisly back there, and you've got your own on a leash. The lady, though – she can't be in hot shape, not after an accident like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" There was no way in hell that Domino was actually worried about Christine's health.

"Come now, don't play coy. You saw what that Auto-Doc did to her. The poor thing can't string two words together now. Or just the one, really."

Cain's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Who told you about the Auto-Doc?" she asked.

Nervous – she wasn't imagining things, that little pause there was definitely nervous. Oh, hell. "Oh, you know," he prevaricated, "it's not like there's a billion things that leave marks like that. A little deduction, news gets around…"

"It really doesn't," she said quietly. "She didn't tell you. Alex?"

"No." His voice was barely above a growl. "I didn't."

The next thing she knew, Dean was flailing, clutching feebly at the single fist that held him aloft.

Cain did not ask Alex to put him down.

"What did you do?" Her voice hitched on the last word, and that wasn't right. The volume rising in her throat - it should have come out a shout, a scream, something that tunneled in through his ears and strangled him. Her fingers dug into her palms. "Dean, what did you do?"

"I didn't- I didn't do anything! I don't know what you're talking about, I swear-"

"Cut the shit!" She stepped closer and craned her neck back. He still writhed about and clawed at his neck, but through sheer force of will she pinned his gaze to hers. "I'm not blind; you've singled her out ever since I brought her back from that hellhole. Fuck, I just thought you were being a lech. I knew you were low, but you're just determined to impress, aren't you, Domino? What did she ever do to you? What is wrong with you?"

"Christine didn't point to him," Alex growled. "She wasn't expecting this. So if it was revenge, it wasn't good."

"Revenge? Why would you even think - wouldn't want to hurt-" Alex shook him, and he choked off. The sunglasses jostled loose; they clinked when they hit the floor. Alex lifted his foot and ground his shoe decisively.

Dean's clouded eyes were wide. His fragmented epithets were growing desperate, and his face had turned an interesting shade of grey.

She watched his struggles dispassionately. Or maybe there was so much passion she couldn't figure out how to process all of it at once. "Loosen up on his throat, Alex."

The face beneath the hood was incredulous. "You can't seriously-"

"I'm not." They often clashed on methods. This wasn't one of those times. "Keep doing what you're doing, but let him breathe. I want to hear what this piece of shit has to say for himself."

Dean hacked and gagged for a second longer, and then he was wheezing great, desperate gasps. "Alright, alright! Put me down!"

"You're fine up there. Start talking and Alex might consider it. But he's not a merciful guy, so you should probably make it good."

"I told you, I don't know anything! This is ridiculous! Why would I want to-"

"Changed my mind, Alex. Every time he lies, I think you should up the pressure. Go nuts."

His voice was casual, but his eyes glittered. "We talking per question, or statement by statement?"

"Use your judgement. It's perfect for this kind of thing."

Alex used his judgement. "Ach - ow - crazy bint - ah-ah-ah! Stop it! Okay, okay, stop! I'll talk! I'll talk - just let me breathe."

"You can breathe once you cut the bullshit. Answer the fucking question. What happened to Christine?" Fuck, she'd thought it was Elijah. She'd been so convinced of the man's consummate inhumanity that she hadn't even stopped to consider other possibilities. But what possibilities could those have even been? Dean was a coward and a snake, but this... this...

"It's the starlet! Vera's voice, you need it to - Sinclair-" Alex must have turned down the murder a little, because Dean was sucking in air like a man drowned. "It was a voice transplant, all right? Easy in, easy out, it's a dime a dozen with those machines. Wasn't supposed to do whatever it did to her. Not my fault that the Villa's gone a little wonky; I didn't build the place."

Her blood boiled. "Why?" she snarled. "Why do it at all?"

"Listen, this might be the most important day of your life, but you can't just waltz in and expect to run a show two centuries in the making. There's classified information - argh! You're going to break something! I'm not as young as I used to be - ghhrrrk - the vault! The vault! It's the vault!"

The Pip-Boy crackled.

"What are you idiots doing?" a familiar voice spat. "Was I not clear enough when I told you I'd had enough of your squabbling?"

Cain didn't take her eyes off Dean. "The ghoul doesn't want to stay at his station. We're persuading him."

"...Proceed."

It wasn't pleasure, wrangling Elijah to her side, but she couldn't really find it in herself to regret the way Dean squirmed. She might later. She didn't care. "Well, Domino? You were saying?"

"Wait, wait, hold up a second." His eyes had gone wild. "You can't - this is a private conversation. You don't want this. Level with me, partner - you have to listen to me. If you let him in on this-"

"He's withholding information," she informed her Pip-Boy. "He knows something about the Madre's safeguards that he doesn't want to share."

Something crashed over the speakers, and through that it was impossible to make out Elijah's low oath. Rattling metal reverberated in her ears as he seized the set once again. "Fourteen, you're going to answer this immediately and completely, or I'm cutting you loose."

The ghoul whitened further. "Surely you don't mean it like that. Pulling the plug on the whole team when you're this close? Let's not make promises we can't keep, yes? The Gala's not going to fire itself up. You need me."

"I need three people. I have four. The collars won't stop one of my other agents from breaking your spine and leaving you to rot on this rooftop if I order them to. Tell me now."

It still took Dean a few seconds. Even dangling helpless in Mercer's grip, the look he shot her was withering for all its hate. "Hope you're happy, partner," he muttered, "because we're redundancies now, you and me together." But when he raised his voice again, it belonged to a different Dean Domino, faux affability undershot with nervous energy. "This guy's got me by the neck. Hard to breathe, harder to talk. Think you can get him to, ah, set me down first? Get things a little more civilized?"

"...Drop him. Don't let him go anywhere."

Alex's ire could have melted stone, but he grudgingly let the ghoul fall. Dean scowled back, rubbing his throat around the collar. "Thanks, boss. I'm real appreciative. Trust me, I wouldn't dream of skedaddling with this neckpiece on."

"Explain what you know."

"Alright, alright. Yeah, I know the keys to the kingdom. Sinclair sealed up the big vault with a voice-tuned passphrase, and unless dear Vera is still rattling around after all these years, you're drawing dead on getting it open."

"Unless you have someone to emulate the voice. Don't act like I haven't heard your entire conversation to this point. You've wasted enough of my time already; I'm not giving you more."

"...Yes. Vera was a regular in the clinic. Tuned up her throat from time to time, or… other habits. Look, it's not important. Sinclair made a setting for her and everything. You've just got to push the right buttons, fit a body with the right plumbing, and you've got yourself a bootleg Vera fresh for the stage. But the mute is mute. You've heard her, or… you know. Way she is, she won't be singing any songs. Not to say that can't change! She's still convalescing. Give her a few days, weeks..."

"Unnecessary wastes of time. The Auto-Doc will suffice again - errors in the routine can be corrected." Cain's stomach twisted. She had to warn Christine - but how could she even stop this? "What was the phrase?"

"Ah… that part, I couldn't tell you."

"Do not lie to me."

"I'm not! I swear I don't know it. Showman's honor. Vera didn't - look, Sinclair wouldn't tell me his secrets for the same reason we're pulling this right now. The man was dense, not stupid, and he had enough financial trouble to get antsy about a repeat performance. But listen - I can figure it out. I read through enough of Sinclair's things, I'll be able to piece it together. Man was positively besotted, I'm sure it's something sappy and saccharine. I knew the guy for years, I know how he thinks - just point me at his memoirs and we'll be ready to roll, you and me."

The Pip-Boy whispered static. Elijah might have muttered something, but it was muted and far away. The nerves were plain in Dean's voice, but so was the burgeoning boldness. "The mute's damaged goods, but you're completely right - can't pull one over on you, hey? Another spin in one of the 'Docs will put her up to snuff. But you've got to think about what you're doing. You leave me out to dry - she's got the same bowtie I do, her and the other one candidate for the transplant."

The implication took Cain a second, but when it did sink in, she had to fight not to clutch her own throat. Oh fuck, involving Elijah here was a mistake, this was a massive, massive mistake. "You can't be-"

"Quiet, Twenty-One. This doesn't concern you."

Her jaw clamped shut. Dean's smile was triumph and teeth. "Right. So I was saying, you're never getting into the vault without her voice. I check out, it doesn't matter how many Galas you fire off - little hard to bring in some new dames when your favorite bouncer's coming down with us. Keep me on board, though, and I can help you. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. A nice proper transaction. I've told you what I know, yes? Fair trade? We're back in business?"

Elijah let him hang a few seconds longer, but the response that came was ice in her veins. "We'll speak more if you make it into the Sierra Madre, Fourteen. Leave this spot before the Gala triggers and I'll guarantee you never get there. No more interruptions and no more bargaining. Do I make myself clear?"

"As fine wine, boss."

"Good." Her Pip-Boy clicked, and the screen dimmed. A little color returned to Dean's face. It wasn't saying much, given the two hundred years of Cloud-enhanced aging and the way he was still recovering from Alex cutting off most his blood supply.

Cold comfort, though. She'd thrown Dean to the Nightstalkers, only for Dean to strike a bargain with those Nightstalkers at her expense. So it was probably her fault if he came back with the Nightstalkers and sunk in his teeth.

Fuck them. Fuck them both. Cain sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. She was done dealing with them. Or she wished she could be and she wasn't, and she hated that, almost more than she could bear. But at least she could wash her hands of one of them before the day was up.

She spun around. The longer she waited, the likelier she was to do something she'd regret. "Come on, Alex. Let's get out of here."

"Wait - hey, wait up." Dean lurched after her, cowering back when Alex pinned him with a venomous glare. He held his hands in surrender; his face was a harried, grotesque portrait. "You can't leave me here. The Ghost People - the holograms-"

She fixed him with every last drop of loathing she felt. "You're on your own, Domino. You're a resourceful guy. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"That's… be reasonable! You were the one talking marriage when we met. It doesn't matter if we like each other; isn't that right, partner? You let me bite it out there and we'll tango in hell together."

One last look over her shoulder. "If Christine can make it without the help, partner, then so can you."

And that made three.

0o0o0

Of one thing, Cain refused to be swayed - Elijah had definitely saved the shittiest position just for her.

The deeper they got, the thicker the Cloud became. The air stung her nose and her eyes, and she caught even Alex coughing once or twice, but the stuff they breathed was nothing compared to the miasma coating the ground. Their route was growing more reliant on balconies and ladders; in one case, Alex had to tear a plank from a door and leverage it to create a bridge. Wobbling across a board three stories over the world's worst chemical spill was not her favorite way to spend whatever part of the day this even was, and she was still only halfway between the fountain and where she needed to be.

It was an interesting view up top, though. The haze obscured near everything but the distant casino, but looking down and out, it became clear what a maze the Villa was. It boggled her how far it stretched; this gambling resort had more tenements than your average town. The Old World didn't do things by half measures. But when she'd caught that glimpse of the scope, it started to make sense why everything was in such a shoddy state. Place must have been a hell of a rush job.

It wasn't enough to get her mind off of Dean, but it was a start.

One rooftop led to another, and she found herself slinking across, scanning for and shooting down distant speakers. She was a bit worried about crossing these overhangs - having God as a follower had been nerve-wracking enough, and she'd figured out a while ago that Alex was heavier than he looked. And the balconies were one thing, but these drooping spreads of struts and shingles had never been constructed to bear a load. It was nothing short of a miracle that neither of them crashed through.

There was no convenient place to dismount, but there was a section of collapsed wall that was just wide enough for her to fit through, and it was with gratitude that she crawled to sturdier ground. Looked like a warehouse. The stairs to the ground floor had collapsed, but she'd hadn't even had time to call up her Pip-Boy's map before Alex was digging through the rubble.

Huh. Was that a snowglobe sitting on that crate? Yes. Yes, it was. Of all the things to survive the Villa's decay unmarked, it was this pointless little thing, proudly presenting the grand opening of the Sierra Madre Casino. When she shook it, boldly colored flakes swirled around the sky.

For some reason, pocketing it her feel a little better. It was a different kind of ridiculous than the one she'd been choking on as of late.

"Made a path. Should hold for a while." Alex's brow furrowed. "...Am I missing something, or do you just always carry at least one thing that's kitschy and useless?"

"First off, Teeny is offended and you should be glad he wasn't here to hear that scathing attack on his character. Second, I am offended." She wasn't. It was hilarious that he'd remembered. Novac 1, Alex Mercer's battered psyche 0. "House collects these things. Got a display case and everything back at the Lucky 38." She wondered if he'd pay extra for this one. There probably wasn't a lot of Sierra Madre paraphernalia on the market. "He shells out like crazy if you've got one he doesn't, which is something to keep in mind if I actually walk out of this mess alive."

"Count on it." She'd been flippant, but the look he pinned her with was very serious. "I didn't come out this way to get you killed."

"I… thanks." It was funny. The old panic was there, but it didn't have the bite she braced for; the need to distance herself had the flavor of a memory, or an obligation dredged up a second late. Maybe the Madre ran her terror on rationing. Or maybe it was just because she already knew - had even started to come to terms with the fact that he'd somehow developed a vested interest in her person. "Wasn't planning on dying either - it's good to know we're on the same page."

It wasn't the reassurance either of them wished it was. Alex could stand between her and a lot of things, but he couldn't fit between the collar and her neck.

She was grateful for it anyway, but she was also grateful that he let the topic drop. Devotion had never been one of her strong suits.

The first floor was clear; the walk topside had gotten them past the bulk of the Cloud, and the street outside looked passable. The open bear traps were more of a grace note at this point than anything worth thought. She'd discovered that her weird little knife was sharp enough to cut straight through the metal, and the Ghost People weren't going to reassemble these after that treatment.

More promising was the wooden crate on the ground ahead, overturned and spilling what might have been supplies. When she knelt to check its contents, something flat and tan beeped at her.

"Motherfuck-" She threw herself away from the mine, praying that she could get enough distance to stall the blowout. She got her wish, but not easily; her bad leg seized up and she went down hard, smacking her face against the Holorifle's stock. "Ugh…"

Alex hovered over her. He did not extend a hand to help her up. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, climbing back to her feet. It came out thick and nasally. "Just my pride. Some jackass in a three-piece suit set a mine up ahead, if you'd be so kind."

He disabled it with some delightfully cathartic commentary, and Cain set about re-strapping her fallen rifle. There was a fresh scratch on the barrel, but she was pretty sure her face had lost that scuffle.

She shook away dizziness when she stood. She tasted salt, clinging wet and heavy to her lips. When she dabbed a glove beneath her nose, it came away darkly glistening.

Great. It wasn't the most serious injury, but it was one of the few things you couldn't stick a Stimpak into and forget about. Well, unless she wanted to jam a Stimpak up her nose, and she did not.

She pinched the bridge and sighed a bubbling sigh. "It's nothing," she told Alex, stopping to spit. "I'm fine. Let's keep walking."

She tried to stem the flow, but a steady stream of blood dripped from her chin despite her efforts. The Sierra Madre was a few centuries past its fancy gatherings and riot gear wasn't exactly up to dress code anyway, but she'd need more than a bit of Abraxo to clean this out of her shirt.

It took a few minutes, but the nosebleed tapered off before she could start to worry about blood loss. She spat one last mouthful. The Sierra Madre was so thickly red that it looked grey upon the ground.

It struck her that the shadows had changed. Alex's had been nearly level with hers before, but now it fell a few paces behind her, and it wasn't moving. She turned.

He was standing a ways back, slightly stooped over a spot of blood on the cobbles. As she watched, a thin, dark tendril slithered across the ground before darting back up, disappearing seamlessly into his jacket. When it withdrew, the blood was gone.

All of it was. The street behind him had been very meticulously cleaned.

…Um.

Suddenly her mouth was very sour.

That was her blood. He was eating bits of her off the floor. What. That was – no. That was not okay. A hand-shaped bruise throbbed in tandem with her heart, and she swallowed down bile.

Mercer looked up. She stared at him. He stared back. He said nothing, but once or twice his eyes darted back down.

She just… she had to think about this. Logic instead of screeching. Okay. He wasn't eating Cain, he was eating Cain leftovers. Christ, no, she didn't want to be leftovers. Hand-me-downs. That was a little safer. Food terms were not something she wanted to deal in right now.

She wasn't… using that blood anymore. It wasn't like she was going to stick it back inside herself. She guessed he was welcome to it.

Decisively, she turned back and kept walking.

This was fine. This was only not fine if she made it not fine, and there was no reason to do that because it was fine. Not an issue. It was not a problem that he was nibbling on her bloodstains, and it was definitely not a problem that for all appearances, he had nothing to nibble on but her bloodstains.

In recent days, she'd fostered some doubts about Alex's claim that he couldn't eat the local wildlife. At the very least, she'd been suspicious of the motives behind it. Yesterday had done a pretty thorough job of putting those doubts to rest.

Christ. He looked normal now, but she wasn't sure she'd ever manage to scrub the image from her mind – Alex's silhouette, already half-human and half writhing tendrils, simultaneously melting and splitting open into a crumpled mess of green-black-red. If he could recover from his body breaking down into slime and trying to become a hundred wriggling shapes at once, what couldn't he survive?

He might have put himself back together, but there was no way that experience had been pleasant for him. If that was the price, no wonder he was wary about straying from his current diet. She honestly couldn't blame him at this point, and they were talking about eating people, here.

Maybe she'd learned how to swallow that pill, how to live with the taste it left in her mouth. But it was an easier hand to play when you had jackasses like the Fiends and raiders and Legionaries running rampant around the place. The Sierra Madre had plenty of corpses to go around, but little that was fresh.

She wondered if that was why he'd been so irritable this morning. Sure, Alex was never a paragon of self-control and Dean deserved it so hard she'd be reminiscing about that punch to get to sleep tonight, but if she was going to connect patterns… Yeah. That probably wasn't a good sign.

When she looked back, that last spot was gone, too.

...Between the two of them, Dog still disturbed her more, but at least she'd been able to toss some InstaMash at the Super Mutant every time he started drooling. It didn't seem to do anything, but she could at least pretend she was helping.

She wasn't sure she liked the idea that this was helping.

Cain spat on her glove and rubbed away the remaining crust clinging to her face. It tingled long after she'd wiped it dry. Everything had gotten sensitive lately, but especially the exposed parts of her skin. Probably not the best sign; she could only hope that the air inside the Sierra Madre proper wasn't as terrible as this. She didn't know what she'd do if it was worse.

She made steady pace, consulting the map and reorienting her route at every unstable walkway or patch of Cloud. If she slowed down every once in a while, then that was appropriate caution, taking time to survey her surroundings in a dangerous area. She was definitely not making sure Alex didn't fall behind her.

Somebody had left a handprint on one wall in shiny white paint, and when she moved closer to inspect it, she saw the fat suitcase resting beneath the mark. Oh, and the cute frag mine sitting in front, because that was a fresh shape in her mind. Pretty sure she knew who this belonged to.

She took a little more pleasure than usual in looting Dean's supplies. She had no need for more liquor, she'd leave him the ability to drink himself into a stupor while he cried about the Sierra Madre, but those Stimpaks were hers now. If he had a problem with it - she hoped he did.

The shotgun was almost an afterthought, but with the box of shells right there, she had no reason to leave it behind. She loaded it up and slung it over her shoulder, where it joined the Holorifle in a high-stakes competition to see which could dig deeper into her back each time she moved.

The Villa had been terrifying once, every shadow trailing in the corners of her eyes and every fresh corner threatening death. Now she just wanted this over with. She tried to pick out landmarks, she was going to have to retread this ground in a hurry, but the landscape was a moldering spread of sameness wherever she looked. A dead tree with two branches in that square, an apartment that looked like somebody had driven a giant axe through it in the next - she filed those away as best she could.

She paid extra attention to the traps. Maybe she was keeping everyone waiting with the triple-checking, and she certainly wasn't doing her lungs any favors, but the last thing she wanted was to step into a snare while she was running for her life. And the closer she got to her station, the more anticipation festered over what she was about to do. The casino was supposedly safe ground, but if anyone fell on the way there, that was it for everyone still outside. And everyone knew that, so they were going to be harried, rushed, taking blind risks. And even if the fallout didn't put her in mortal danger... Dean could choke on a cactus, but the notion that Christine or God might be killed to satisfy Elijah's ambitions twisted her throat into knots.

Cain hated feeling responsible for anyone else's welfare, and that was mostly because she hated being unable to make a difference when she did.

Could she have done more for Christine? Would Dog have been better suited to tear through the Villa's streets than God and his fragile, newfound trust? Should she have swallowed her fury and helped Dean? There was no point in wondering. Whatever happened between here and the Sierra Madre, they were on their own. Everyone but her.

A wide set of stairs led to the final plaza of Salida del Sol. Her Pip-Boy beeped softly.

Unlike most of the cardboard cutouts in the Villa, this one seemed a little higher class. The balconies overhead weren't wood but wrought iron, ornate and nearly clean of rust. The merest shreds of banners hung from taut cords crisscrossed between them, though any color they'd once held had been thoroughly bleached away - maybe by the curtain of Cloud shimmering to the south. Some of the ropes curved upwards, rising to meet the tallest building she'd seen yet this side of the casino.

She knew that this was where she needed to be; if the giant bell wasn't gaudy enough, the tall antenna protruding from the top told her everything she needed. But it was behind a wall of tenements, and she wasn't seeing a way inside from them. She wasn't risking the 'make a door' approach for a building she needed to stay in no matter how many times Alex suggested it.

The apartments were a bust, but when she explored what looked like an infirmary - sadly, already looted - she found a stairwell emblazoned 'Staff Only' and knew she'd found her mark. The descent led somewhere damp and surprisingly cool, but she'd barely gotten to the bottom before she froze in her tracks.

The sound of tortured breathing was becoming familiar, but familiarity didn't change the reaction.

In the gloom, she could only count eyelights and silhouettes, but there was at least a small pack waiting in the basement. She had her gun out in record time, but Alex was faster, slipping in front of her. "Don't waste the bullets."

It might have been dim, but that jagged blade of his captured all the light in the room on its edges. He was, as ever, brutally efficient.

Ten seconds and some blind groping for a light switch later, she was carefully stepping across a fine veneer of giblets. Beneath the new paint job, it looked like a wine cellar, near fully stocked. The damp killed the prospect of taking any of those bottles even if the Ghost People hadn't been smeared around - she could even see the leak, where cloudy water dripped from ceiling pipes. There was rust there, but not nearly as much as she would have expected to see.

The stairs on the other side were half-rotten, and Alex chose to launch a tentacle to the ceiling and reel himself in like a fishing line rather than chance them. It was actually pretty neat. She wondered how many tricks like this he could pull that didn't involve inflicting absurd levels of violence on something. Or how many tricks he'd thought of, since historically he was never that enthused without the violence. Maybe she could help him brainstorm some new ones.

Later. There was another 'Staff Only' sign ahead, this one with the helpful addendum of 'KEEP OUT!' She picked the lock and found herself looking at the base of a long ladder. Her battered arms ached just to look at the thing, but she hauled herself up anyway.

The Sierra Madre had waited for two hundred years, and some people weren't content to wait much longer.

She'd barely gripped the floorboards at the top before her least favorite voice chimed in. "You're in position. Good. Are you ready to plunder history?"

It wasn't coming from her Pip-Boy for once; there was a sound system on the near wall, the one overlooking the towering casino in the distance. She rapped the nearest speaker with a knuckle and winced at the reverb. "Can you hear me?"

"Stop that. Yes, you're coming through. Patchy, though - damn transceivers held up as well as everything else out there. Let me link the collars to the system in the tower and… there. Should be coming through. Wait for one more minute - I need to call up the schematics. Collaborate with the others. Make sure they're prepared, get them ready for what we're about to do."

"No need." It was God's deep tones that rang over the leftmost speaker, not Dog's growl. They were strained, hitching, but he was holding on. "I'm ready when you are, Courier."

"Almost. Hang in there." There was no voice through the next channel, just a rhythmic tapping. "Christine?"

Silence, then three brisk taps.

"You doing alright down there? Backdoor's still up? Do one for yes, two for no."

One tap, a pause, and then another isolated tap.

"You ready to kick this off?" Her breath caught. When Christine got into the Sierra Madre, something terrible was waiting for her. At best, it was only another violation of her identity. At worst - she'd already been through that worst. Elijah had a plan for her, and could she tell her that when the man himself was right on the line? Was there a point in risking it when there was nothing Christine could do to stop him even with the warning? The collars' power was absolute.

Worse, that power stretched across all of them equally. If she told Christine now - would she panic? Refuse and run away from the opening Sierra Madre? Was it worth passing on a warning that might leave her less safe than she would be otherwise, when all of their lives were on the line? She truly didn't know.

...If Christine wasn't there to host Vera's voice, there was only one other person who fit the job description.

There was a lot that could have been said, and perhaps nearly as much that should have been, but for now, the single tap would have to suffice. "Then... we'll see you in the Sierra Madre. Good luck." She moved to the third. "Dean. How are you holding up?"

"Ask me in a minute, partner. I'm sure I'll be singing a different tune." A gusty sigh crackled over the radio. "Just strike up the band and get this over with. Let the Madre open her doors, then we'll see which way the winds are blowing."

That was as good as she would get. There was no more time for regrets. She placed a hand over the panel. "Then let's get this party started."

"Finally." For once, there was no malice in Elijah's voice, only breathy anticipation. "On count of three. Three. Two. One-"

She flipped the switch, and fires filled the sky.

0o0o0

Veronica stared at her terminal. Her terminal stared back.

She'd had some pretty enlightening staring matches with computers before, but this one was dull in more than one sense of the word. McNamara had said he'd consider returning her personal access, but that was an hour ago going on five and she was still locked out of this thing, so she probably had her answer at this point.

Not that she had much else to do. She'd asked for a book on the second day and gotten a manual on properly maintaining the suit of Power Armor she didn't own. The thing was half as thick as her chest and not a fraction as sexy, and she might have ignored the not-even-trying-to-hide-it-guys jab if she hadn't already read the thing front to cover.

…Well, okay. She'd read it again anyway. All 520 pages of it. Twice. And modified some of the diagrams. And added some tasteful doodles to the margins after that. There were only so many times she could count ceiling tiles, and all of her best time-wasters were either locked down with that terminal or piled next to the workbench she didn't dare visit. She might technically be allowed down there, she wasn't entirely sure, but she still preferred the reception in her little prison. When the majority of human contact had shrunk to mutters on the way to the cafeteria and the highlight of her day came with the Elder's toneless status updates, repair manuals started looking pretty interesting.

She'd stopped returning the trays; she had three of them in a moldering stack now. Maybe that was why Ansel wasn't meeting her eyes over the counter anymore, why the usual compliments on her kitchen operation were only getting mumbles. Was it worth bringing them back? …No. She wasn't hungry enough for another trip.

She hadn't been for a while.

There was no knock, only the whispered hiss of hydraulics behind her. Had the terminal been lit, she wouldn't have seen the door slide open in its reflection.

Her stomach did a nervous flip. Was it the Elder again? He'd been behind most of the house calls since this semi-voluntary incarceration. Those visits had done a great job of making her feel like she was five years old again, and not in the fun way, but once he'd decided he was too busy for personal calls… monotony had this way of screwing with her standards. Yes, she felt terrible and guilty and consummately useless, but it was nice having someone who was at least conflicted about blaming her for everything.

But no, the Elder was thinner. And she saw two shapes in the door. The scribes again? That had been… not terrible, if a little awkward, and something fluttered a little at the prospect that some of her coworkers had come back to check on her-

Oh. Not scribes. Wonderful.

She kicked her chair away from the terminal and stood. "Hayden. Marcos. Knew my day was missing something."

She'd missed this the same way she missed a shot of Cazador venom to the elbow, but in retrospect, it was surprising they hadn't swung by sooner. And she knew it was them because both had foregone their helmets, though the rest of their Power Armor was still thick enough to scrape the doorframe. Nice to know she merited that personal touch. She didn't see Xavier anywhere, and that was a little odd. The paladin never missed an opportunity to rub her face in the dirt, and right now there was a lot of dirt for that.

Marcos sealed the door behind him, and her eyes narrowed. "Still too ashamed to show your face in public, Veronica?"

"Why, did you miss it? I could start charging. How's twenty caps a minute sound? That's my rush rate. Book ahead next time, maybe I'll bump you down to nineteen."

Hayden looked at her like he'd scraped her from his shiny metal boots. "Is that how you handle procurements aboveground? I knew there was a reason the Elder picked you to send away to that sandhole. It's just a shame you keep coming back."

Great, it was going to be one of these talks. She stood straighter. "Could have fooled me, Hayden. You're always so excited to see me."

He scoffed. "It's been a long time since anyone was happy to see you come home, Santangelo."

"I just love when I graduate to a last-name basis. It's like this whole new level of intimacy every time. Is it as good for you as it is for me?" Hayden's face contorted. Ooh, right where she'd wanted it. "You don't have to answer that. I'm busy doing some super important prisoner things right now, so do you mind if I just guess everything you're about to say, or do you actually have something new for me this time?"

"Don't bother." He'd fixed his smugness back into place and was surveying her workspace with cool disdain. Maybe she shouldn't have left the manual open on that page. "You always did think you were too good for the rules."

That… okay, damn. She could have fronted that one a lot better if she didn't have a list of failed password attempts sitting in front of her. Or if she hadn't found a conwoman and her pet Pre-War nightmare for Bring Some Random Assholes To Work Day.

"Look, if I said I fucked up, will you go away? Because I already know I fucked up. I don't need your help understanding that."

"Is this humility from the great Veronica?" Marcos's eyes widened with mock amazement, and he turned to his co-conspirator. "Maybe she can learn after all."

"If she could, it'd be years too late."

"I'm right here, guys." She drummed her fingers against the table. "I wasn't kidding when I asked you two to hurry this up. I'm not in the mood."

"Heh." Hayden tsked. "You never did have time for the rest of us."

"Uh, actually, I have time for pretty much everyone who isn't a colossal prick with rejection issues. I'm really sorry about how that turned out - it's not me, it's you."

His half-lidded stare was heavy with quiet scorn. "You honestly still think that this is about that?" he asked. "I'm not here for me, Santangelo. I'm here for the Brotherhood."

"Since you keep not-so-subtly bringing it up literally every time you grace me with your presence - yeah, I do. So save the righteous screed for someone who cares." She rolled her eyes and resigned herself to at least ten minutes of bullshit. "Where's Xavier at? Jury's still out on where the brains of your operation sit, but you usually need the moral support before you're ready to confront the big bad scribe."

The two glanced at each other, and that was her first clue that something was off. She expected Hayden's half-assed "He has better things to do than make house calls," but Marcos's response was a little stiff.

"That's none of your concern."

"What? He's not feeling well enough for the trip?" A tendril of dread licked at her innards. "Actually, wait, that's not a rhetorical question. Real talk for a moment, is he sick? I've been out of the loop. They don't keep me posted. Did something happen?"

"Xavier's fine. Though the concern is sweet, seeing whose fault this is."

To think she'd almost been grateful for a straight answer. "Doesn't fault hinge on, you know, something actually happening in the first place? Because seeing how you didn't just rub that in my face, I'm going to go on a limb and say the reason nobody's told me anything is because nothing's changed. It's blown over, Hayden. If you believed in this quarantine, you wouldn't be here right now. I'm Patient Zero. "

"It's not blowing over, Veronica. Not this time." Marcos moved closer; she took an automatic step back and hated that. She wasn't cowed, refused to be intimidated by these assholes, but he was way too close. "This isn't going to end the way it always has."

"So you're telling me. You might need the memory jog, because you tell me this a lot. Can we get to the point? What do you want?"

"We want this to stop. And we're not asking you."

Her Power Fist was on the table, and she made a point of calibrating it as loudly as possible when she strapped it to her right hand. It was a good thing she'd left it in reach, because when she tried to move away from the chair, the paladin fanned out to block her. She pumped the pistons. "Personal bubble, Marcos."

He didn't move. "Is that a threat?"

"Depends." She stepped to the side, and he mirrored it. "This thing you're doing, the getting in my face while Hayden over there really conspicuously messes with the interior lock? I'm feeling a little threatened at this point."

Hayden paused, like she hadn't seen him trying to override the passcode she'd changed this morning. At least it got him to move away from the panel, though the dripping disdain he brought to bear wasn't really any better. "Threatened is a very good word for how the rest of us feel, Santangelo. You're a danger to us all. The Brotherhood's tolerated your flagrant disregard for the Codex for years, but that's not going to stand any longer. You've never changed... something else has to."

"Yeah, about that? Last I checked, you weren't the one who gets to make that call."

"Elder McNamara's too soft. He's allowed his fondness for your parents to cloud his judgement." Hayden sneered. "If only they were still here, they could have cleared up the confusion and disowned you themselves."

Veronica clenched her Power Fist. "Don't you dare bring them into this," she hissed.

"Why shouldn't I? You've done a better job disgracing them than I ever could have. If they could see their daughter now - a low-ranking deviant, spurning her duties and endangering the Brotherhood at every turn?" There was relish on his features when he stepped towards her, and maybe this was why she'd never thought of them as handsome. "No, I want you to face this, Santangelo. Really think about how they'd look at you. Let it sink in."

"Get out." She advanced on him, only to walk into solid steel. Marcos's rifle wasn't on his back anymore. It was pointing at her.

"Figured you wouldn't. You never did like to look in the mirror. What was it you called yourself? Patient Zero?" Hayden's electro-pistol looked tiny in comparison, but there was a reason that model had been affectionately touted as the Compliance Regulator, and it was about the same reason he was drawing it on her. "You've been an infection in the Brotherhood for years. It's time to cut you out."

Yeah, that was her cue to move.

Veronica grabbed the manual and threw it at Marcos. It didn't block the shot, but it did surprise him enough to send it wide. No room for a follow-up; she vaulted back, kicking the desk as she went. Shit, but this looked bad. Robes versus Power Armor, not a great matchup. She could pull a good knockout up close, but not when it was two on one. Had to disarm them, then she'd have a chance.

She zigged and zagged, changing direction every couple of steps - not great for getting anywhere, but enough to avoid the angry bolts of light with her name on them. That model of rifle held twelve charges and so far she'd seen five. Six? Few more more and she had an opening. Hard to count when Hayden was firing on her too, but there was no mistaking those crackling blue blasts for ordinary laser fire.

One of those wouldn't kill, but flat on her back and writhing was never a position she'd wanted to be in with this guy. And she didn't think Hayden was stopping at one.

She was getting close to the wall, and she ducked behind a file cabinet to get her bearings. Hayden was chasing her and she could expect him in about two seconds; Marcos had moved to guard the door. So she wasn't getting out that way, lock or no. Fine. She could play this the hard way.

A pistol thrust around the edge of the cabinet. Veronica jammed the pistons and obliterated it with a single word in her favorite language.

Electricity raced up her arm, setting her nerves afire and fingers spasming inside the glove. She threw herself forward anyway. That look of shock wasn't going to last forever, and there really wasn't a better time to punch somebody than that.

He was smart enough to raise a gauntleted arm to block his face. She was smart enough to ignore the easy target and go for the joints. He could spit scribe however he liked - they all had the same training, and unlike some people, she didn't consider getting close and personal a handicap. She could have done without the armor, but you didn't learn how to put something together without learning how to take it apart. A follow-up on that chest seam and Hayden gasped - let him enjoy that digging into his sternum.

She preferred one-on-ones, though. Two bolts of red streaked dangerously close to her head, so Marcos wasn't at the door anymore. She disengaged, shoving the cabinet as a parting gift. Where did he go? The door was clear, but- oh. Right next to her. Bad sign. She lunged for his rifle, and that was when the heavy steel glove grabbed her from behind and twisted her into a Power-Armored headlock.

She fought for all she was worth, kicking and thrashing against his rigid grip. Then she felt the cold pressure of a barrel against the back of her skull.

...Shit. They had her dead to rights.

"Got anything to say for yourself, Santangelo?" She couldn't see Hayden's face, but she could hear the lazy smirk when he spoke into her ear. "Make it good, because it's your last chance."

"Think about what you're doing." She couldn't keep the plea from her voice. Not sounding desperate was an impossible order at this point – she could barely breathe. "Nobody will thank you for this. They hate me, but they'll hate you more. The Elder-"

"The Elder is emotionally compromised," he finished over her. "We're solving a problem he couldn't deal with himself. This is for the good of the Brotherhood. And trust me, Santangelo… if you think you'll be mourned, you're further gone than I thought."

"What's going on in here?"

Hayden turned. His grip loosened infinitesimally, and Veronica didn't waste time on second thoughts. She dropped through his arms, kicking away from him as she slammed her Power Fist into his kneecap. The armor crumpled inward, crushing the joint, and he wobbled as he tried to lean down to catch her, only to find one knee could no longer bend.

Funny. That wouldn't have worked half as well if he'd done the weekly joint fastenings on page 334.

She punched him again. He was already off-balance, and her lovingly tuned hydraulics applied the finishing touch, turning a stagger into an outright stumble. When you were in a suit of Power Armor, the ground was a long way down.

Hayden tried to break his fall. Unfortunately for him, that involved stepping forward with the leg that was now locked straight, and he hit the ground hard, a wreck of swearing, struggling, impotent metal.

He really should have worn the helmet. She seized his neck with her free hand and dragged it up. Their eyes met as she raised her fist, and she found fear there. Kind of sad, really. Unlike some people, she wasn't out to kill.

"Lights out, asshole."

The crack rang all the way up both arms when her gauntlet connected. She'd wanted to do that for a very long time.

A laser cauterized a line above her cheekbone, and Veronica cursed, dropping Hayden's unconscious form. Teach her to get distracted when a paladin was out for blood. She blindly scrambled left, only to crash hard against the wall. Dizzily she felt her way backwards. She couldn't see straight, but each heavy, booted footstep rang deafening in her ears.

Then there was a sound like a small explosion, one that rattled twice as loud in her addled skull. Half-focused eyes saw Marcos's broad form crash over the table, Power Armor whirring weakly as bright arcs of electricity snapped across its joints. The paladin groaned, one hand drunkenly groping for the ground, and a bolt of vivid orange energy struck him to a second thunderclap of sound. He twitched and lay still.

Slowly Veronica's gaze travelled up, and she finally beheld the form of her rescuer. Paladin Ramos stood in the doorway, his Gauss rifle raised. He did not lower it.

"Santangelo." His voice was utterly flat. "Explain to me why I just assaulted a fellow paladin on your behalf."

"Ramos," she said, and stepped forward. Her heart hammered in her chest. "I am sorry for every mean thing I have ever said to you. Every way I have ever made your life difficult. I take it all back."

"Are you really? Because I just shot Paladin Marcos for you and that is most certainly going to make my life difficult."

"You saved my life, Ramos." Her voice sounded strangely distant to her ears. "They were here to kill me."

"What?"

The immediate danger was past, but her body didn't seem to understand that - the adrenaline wouldn't go away. Her breaths just kept coming faster, and she couldn't force the bile back down her throat. She took a step back. "Oh my god." Her leg was trembling. It seemed very far away. "They just tried to kill me," she repeated. "They actually tried to kill me. They've always had it out for me, but they'd never actually-"

"San – Veronica. Breathe." Armored gloves gripped her shoulders, and her head tilted up to meet Ramos's eyes. When had he gotten so close?

"I can't – I can't stay here." She pushed away. There were metal fingers on her shoulders and there were metal fingers on her throat, and she could scarcely breathe around them. Her head swung from side to side, searching for an exit that wasn't there. "I have to get out of here."

"Veronica, you need to calm down." Ramos's voice made an overture towards gentleness, but it was mostly clinical as he scanned the prone forms on the floor. "I'm reporting this to the Elder. They need to be tried to this. I'm sure he'll reinstate your guards after this."

"No, Ramos, you don't get it." There was something nameless and horrible trapped inside her chest, and it was eating more of her with every breath she took. "The Brotherhood just tried to kill me. I can't stay here anymore."

"There's no way this was ordained. These imbeciles didn't just disobey the Elder's direct orders, they went against the Codex. They'll at least go on probation for this."

"I went against the Codex! I crossed the line; all bets are off, it's done. I'm not deaf in here – I know what they say about me." She gripped his hand. "Ramos, I need you to look me in the eye and tell me that you honestly have not heard anyone out there calling for my head to roll."

Part of her was vindicated when he couldn't respond. Another part shriveled and died.

"Veronica," he said eventually, softly. "They were just talking."

A bitter, hysterical laugh bubbled out of her throat and spilled over. "They weren't."

His eyes fell on her assailants. They lingered there for quite a while.

"There's nowhere you can go." His voice had gotten much lower. "The bunker's under quarantine. Nobody enters, nobody leaves."

"Forget the quarantine, Ramos! You know full damn well that none of us are sick. The Elder's hiding from shadows."

"What you brought here wasn't a shadow, Veronica." There was no heat to his voice, but she cringed from it all the same. "You violated the most basic part of security protocol and let some very dangerous people in on our location. We're facing direct threats from both Robert House and a renegade Old World weapon. You've given your justifications, but the fact remains that you've forced us into a very dangerous position."

"I know," she groaned, and pressed her fist against the wall. He was still blocking the door. Even if he weren't, it wouldn't make a difference. She had to get a grip on herself. "You don't have to tell me, Ramos, I know I screwed the pooch on this one. I fucked up hard this time. I fucked up so hard that people are starting to think it's safer to get rid of me. I know what they're saying about me the same way I know that literally nobody except McNamara still thinks we were targeted with a biological weapon, and that's the same way I know that Hardin's about two aneurysms away from throwing a coup over this. This lockdown is just as much a crock of shit as the last one. We're not going to solve anything by hiding down here and waiting for someone else to make the first move, and the one time everybody realizes that, I-"

Her hand seized, and she jerked back at the concussive bang that followed. Her Power Fist had gone off, leaving a sizable crater in the metal wall. A rivet sprang free and clattered to the ground.

Yet more damage she'd caused the Brotherhood. Her legacy was made of piecemeal disasters – no wonder they wanted her gone.

"…Please." She couldn't meet his eyes anymore. "I can't stay."

Veronica bore his stare for a long, silent minute. She didn't know what he saw. She was too spent to speculate.

Then he pivoted on his heel and jabbed at the door, which slid down with a whisper. "You're coming with me."

Woodenly, she obeyed. Several members of the Brotherhood had clustered around the door; Veronica could barely register their faces, much less their voices, but she knew her name when she heard it. Vomit climbed in her throat.

Ramos cut through the throng like a knife. His voice was mechanical. "There was a security breach. She's being moved."

She fixed her gaze on his shadow, because she couldn't bear to meet their eyes, see the confirmation for herself that her family had well and truly declared her persona non grata. The floor, at least, was safe; unjudging, unchanging. Her legs weren't quite moving right – this entire situation had the terrible surreality of a nightmare – but she could walk in a straight line as long as she kept her eyes down and ahead. She had enough awareness left to realize that Ramos was leading her towards the bunker's entrance, not the Elder's quarters. It was both an inexpressible gratitude and a breathless horror.

She tried anyway. "Ramos, I-"

"Don't thank me yet." The words were short, clipped. "The less I think about what I'm doing, the less chance I'm going to change my mind."

Maybe it was the steep staircase that gave her vertigo; maybe it was the fact that this was really happening. She gripped the rails with sweaty fingers and tried to stabilize her life. "You're saving my hide."

"I know. I'm trying not to think of everything else." He hauled himself over the top and kept walking without a backwards glance. For once, the bunker's sentry posts were deserted. Nobody was coming in, after all. Nobody would think of leaving. "The Elder has the keys to the lockdown. I know the emergency override, but it's going to set off the alarms. You're not going to leave quietly, Santangelo, so leave fast."

"Thanks for the warning." She swallowed and watched as he took his station, fingers a flurry of motion. Her mouth was very dry.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered. "The Elder's going to have my head for bypassing the quarantine."

"Look at it this way, Ramos." She tried for a smile; it wobbled precariously. "Now you know what it's like to be me on a daily basis."

"If that led anywhere good, we wouldn't be doing this now." He punched a final key, and the hermetic seal released. The hiss of air was immediately drowned out by blaring sirens. The paladin leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes. "It's done. Get out of here."

"What are you going to do?" She hadn't been joking, wish as she would otherwise, and the head quip might not have been one either. This was not a great time to start flaunting the Codex. "They're not going to be happy when they find you sitting here."

"Worry about yourself, Santangelo. It won't be half as bad as what happens if they catch you hanging around."

It finally struck her, as she stared into his exhausted eyes, that this was truly it. This was the last time she was ever going to see this place. There was no going back from this.

She'd never gotten the chance to say her goodbyes. And after this... she was about to guarantee that nobody would want to hear them.

"…Tell the scribes I give my best? Ibsen's wrench is at my station, second compartment from the top. And tell…" She swallowed. "Tell McNamara I'm sorry."

"Go." She could hear footsteps now, heavy metal clanking through the wail of the alarm.

"Thanks, Ramos," she choked. "For everything."

Then she ran.

She ran through the open door, heard Ramos's final gift when it slammed shut behind her. She ran through the loose earth, the sand kicked into grand whirling spirals by the ventilation fans and smaller storms by her own harried feet. She ran past the broken chainlink boundaries, the cratered ground she'd tread a hundred times over on the warm return home.

She ran from the only home she knew, the family she'd challenged and loved who'd finally decided her welcome was through. The family that still contained friends, despite everything. But not enough of them to stay.

She ran until she had no idea where she was anymore, until pursuers had just as little chance of finding her as she would them, and the memory of belonging to the Brotherhood of Steel had been swallowed up by the endless desert sand.

Only then did she allow herself to break down and cry.

0o0o0

The fireworks were beautiful. Cain had never seen anything like them before, and she found herself staring, insensate. Each crack shivered through her bones, but the colors that blossomed in the sky in glittering discs were otherworldly – lurid blues and greens and golds, all the more vivid for the backdrop of endless red that for once could not drown them out.

"Come on." Alex gripped her shoulder and shook her roughly. "We've gotta move."

"Right." She tore her eyes from the spectacle. This was Old World glamor meant for Old World eyes – the world she inhabited now had no time for such luxuries.

The sounds over the radio feed had erupted into total chaos, and she doubted anyone was in the mood for well-wishes. She took the ladder three rungs at a time, shimmying down the rattling frame as quickly as she could. Alex bypassed it entirely, and the entire floor wobbled precariously when he touched down. There was music playing, a tune she thought was familiar, but she didn't have time to pick out the words through the howling static.

She ran through the underpass. That busted pipe was dripping faster, or maybe that was just the shaking. The fireworks were the drums to a deep, rumbling rhythm, and maybe there were other instruments to the beat, something heavy trembling far beneath her boots. There was a Ghost Person lumbering down the stairs that hadn't been there before, and she had her pistol cocked and firing before Alex could even get around her. But when she got through the infirmary-

The square had been empty before. Now there were Ghost People spilling from every orifice like ants. Every doorway, every pothole, every stair – everywhere her eyes landed, fresh black shapes lurched from. There had to be fifteen, twenty – no, twenty-five. Another every second.

She hadn't truly understood Dean's warning until now. Holy shit. Forget the Turbo – she wasn't going to make a break through that no matter what she shot herself up with. She wasn't going to shoot through this wall the literal way, either. It was either explosives or-

Alex loudly cracked his knuckles. "My turn."

"Talk fast, Alex. What's the plan?"

"I'm gonna get them to notice me. Find a position and hold it. I can clear loads of these at a time, but I need you out of the way to do it." He stalked forward as he spoke. His arms rippled once, and then they were grotesquely muscled, black and shiny and striped like his jacket.

"Got it. I'll go left."

"Keep moving if you have to – just don't get close. Call if you need help." He bounded forward and leapt high, crashing like a cannonball into the heart of the throng. Cobblestone cracked and green gunk flew.

The gloves were off. It didn't matter how Alex handled this. The fireworks and the music – Elijah wouldn't be able to hear shit over the radios. And even if he could… seeing that many Ghost People, pouring from the Villa's guts? Elijah could get fucked, because she had more immediate concerns.

Having an Alex Mercer-shaped distraction was well and good, but she wasn't in the clear – these things were coming from every direction. She wrestled with her straps, feeling for the least familiar shape. The Holorifle was too slow, and her pistol lacked the punch she needed. Shotguns weren't her weapon of choice, but with this kind of battleground, spread was king.

She picked off two stragglers from the edge of the crowd, then turned and nailed one emerging from the nearest doorway. The buckshot burst their flesh like overripe fruit.

Distant heat rolled over her, and the square lit up with orange even the fireworks couldn't match. One must have thrown one of those pipe bombs. She had to hope Alex didn't mind being on fire too much. Seemed like the rest of them did.

There was no time to look down and no time to check, and Cain counted her shots the old-fashioned way. Each was a brisk, sharp reverb through her body, a haphazard echo of the thunder in the sky. At ten, she fished for shells; at twelve, she went on the retreat, shoving them into the tube as quickly as she could.

A concussive clap split her ears, and she felt a second's breeze ripple her suit. From the sounds of it, Alex wasn't holding back. She couldn't see him over the crowd (which was no longer that on fire, for better or worse), but Ghost People were flying from the center in waves, tossed about like broken dolls. Few of them were intact before they hit the ground. After - he might as well have been throwing eggs.

But where he had ruthless efficiency, the Ghost People had numbers. They were still flocking, and she wondered just how long it would take to exhaust their supply – and how many other nests had opened up beneath the Villa. And maybe it didn't faze these ones that they were clambering to their deaths, but by cleverness or chance, a couple had pegged her as easier prey.

Damn it, but she really was rusty with these things. Her back hit the wall, and she muttered a curse beneath her breath, inching sideways instead as she pumped the breach. It wasn't full yet, but the handful of shells she'd crammed in would have to do. No time to finish the job.

Another crack rattled the entire plaza, and the first Ghost Person pitched toward her, arms lolling. She levelled two blasts at its head before it could right itself, then emptied the rest into its friend. Damn it, there was a third and fourth already. She was getting quicker at reloading this thing, but she still only got five in before she had to open fire again.

She was getting close to the corner. Alex was still making a grand mess of things in the center, and up ahead was dangerously red. She hated to backtrack, the tower was a dead end, but she didn't see any other option than to retrace her steps. Worst came to worst, she could detach the ladders behind her. Just had to hold out for a while. The smell of copper was hot in her nose, and she turned-

Cain screamed, because she was burning.

The Cloud hadn't been there a second ago. She'd been breathing a second ago. With all the lights in the sky, she hadn't seen the rolling mist until it was on top of her. Now she wasn't seeing much of anything. Red consumed everything. She tasted it, metallic and reeking in the back of her nose, her mouth. It filled her spit and phlegm and set it all alight.

She threw herself backwards and the fire grew hotter. She was choking on it now; it clung to everything it passed and she couldn't breathe. It was in her lungs, her lips, her eyes-

The shotgun slipped from her fingers. Her gloves were filled with flames and somehow they were wet. She scrabbled for one and screamed again when something more than glove peeled free.

Oh no no no no this was not happening. This was not actually happening. This had to be another nightmare. But she'd never had one like this–

She had to move. She couldn't see past the tears in her eyes and she couldn't really tell where her legs were anymore, but enough sense remained to shrilly scream that if she didn't get clear of this, she was dead. She might already be done for, but she'd bet on dregs if folding meant she died like this. Were her legs moving? She didn't know if she was stumbling towards safety or if she was forging deeper in. Every step she took squished in her boots.

Something hard slammed into her back, and it confused her that it wasn't burning oil that spilled from her lungs, just a sad sort of wheeze. What remained of her orientation pitched violently downward, and she would have toppled had something not forced her up from below. Her whole body slapped against something solid, and she had neither words nor air for how sickeningly it hurt.

Gale winds rushed by, and this time they didn't stop, tearing into her with the rage of a sandstorm. She gurgled and cradled her exposed hand, burying her face in the surface as much she could. It was dark and smelled like death, and that was a little different from copper. Was she still in the Cloud? It felt like it. Every nerve still screamed; every breath was a struggle to force through her lungs.

"Cain!" The hoarse, familiar voice was right next to her ear and far away all at once, like she was hearing it through a curtain of water. "Say something!"

"Ah- alg-" The sound she made was strangled and incomprehensible to her own ears, and she gagged on it. There was blood in her mouth.

Alex swore viciously. "Keep talking, Cain. Or – shit, keep trying to. Scream. Beg. Cry. I don't care, just don't pass out. Do not pass out. Don't you dare die on me now."

She tried, she really did, but the words just wouldn't come. Moving her vocal chords felt like gargling with broken glass. The air in her chest had long since given way to breathless sobs.

"I'm getting us out of here. I can - I can fix this. You're gonna be okay." Everything jerked; there was a slick sound, and something splattered across her. It didn't feel like much of anything. "Just hang on."

That gurgle would have to count for her answer. 'Out of here' sounded nice. Out of her body would have been even nicer, if that were on the cards. Her eyes weren't working right, but the blob in her face might have been Alex's shoulder. There were other colors on the one side, blurring red and brown, but trying to focus on either made her stomach roll.

She wished the wind would stop. It howled in her ears, flayed every part of her raw all over again. She was almost getting used to this, just starting to become able to think around the burning misery, and it would have been a lot easier if sensation didn't keep getting dragged back from its dull stupor.

But that too was fading. She whimpered in shallow breaths, and the glass-sharpness grew a little blunter each time. Just had to hold on, and eventually everything would go away. Nice and obedient of her. Look, Alex, I'm doing what you told me to. That was funny, wasn't it? Or was it sad? It probably didn't matter. He had nice advice. It was working. Helpful guy. Loud, though. What was he saying now? She didn't think he'd ever stopped talking, but at some point along the line she'd tuned out. That was bad, though she couldn't really remember why. She focused, but her ears were filling up with wax.

"...stay with… please..."

Something beeped twice, then stopped. Her neck felt warm for a second, though the old burn it called back was dull and tired. She was still pondering that when her guts lurched violently, and she retched a little as gravity yanked at her navel. The world spun, then spun in a different direction, and then it was cold and weightless and everything was pulling the wrong way.

So this was how it felt to fly.

Alex was shouting. There were words, her entire body trembled with them, but she was so far past understanding any of them that she couldn't muster the energy to try.

At least the fireworks were beautiful. When she lolled back, she could see all of the colors swimming across the sky.

She wasn't sure when consciousness finally slipped from her grasp, but she was grateful for it.

---

[Dean Domino has left your party.]

[Achievement Unlocked! Breaking and Entering (10pts) – For the first time in two hundred years, the Sierra Madre has opened its doors. The fabled treasure awaits… if you can survive long enough to reach it.]