Everything to follow Bradley's death transpired in a long, timeless blur.
Sandra couldn't have known how long she stood rooted to the spot, staring down, gentle spots of blood across her cheek, Bradley's mangled skull lying in ruin across the concrete floor where his body had crumbled at her feet.
Time seemed to cease, as did all sound and feeling, the only noise registering to her being the gentle chortling from the intercom just before Zimmer opened the door for her. He'd laughed—forcing Bradley to kill himself, and he laughed—
Sandra shook her head once, glaring down, expression absent of feeling and heart palpitating with a heavy indignation. She didn't notice, Niner, Arcade, and Vulpes all flooding into the room behind her, glancing between her and the body, yammering and demanding to know what had happened—but somewhere amidst the timeless standstill, she remembered her body beginning to move on its own at some point, pushing past them, marching out of the room, her legs carrying her toward the back hall and back up the stairs from where they'd arrived.
What a goddamn fool she'd been.
She should've known.
The last time—when the fear turned to fun and the fright became adventure, when the hell became heaven and when she was finally able to be happy—the world was certain to punish her for those selfish, stupid feelings. James was killed, and so was Charon. It ruined her, shattered her joy, shoved her back down into her place of anger and heartbroken despair. Just where she always belonged.
And yet, here she was—having a gleeful old time and enjoying a childishly happy day alongside her new friend, daring to grab that happiness again and indulge in the joy in full. Of course the world would punish her for her worthless childishness once more.
Happiness was, as it had always been, her ultimate path straight to merciless retribution.
It sank into her, deeper than any lesion in life ever had—and it became her, all of heart and soul, as the courier wandered up the stairs without thought.
Her companions were hot on her tail, still yelling after her, wanting to know why Bradley was dead. The only one having fallen silent was Vulpes, and he trailed along behind them in silence, expressions severe as the group hurried back to the top floor.
Sandra reached the top of the stairs, her mind still a blur as well as the world around her. Her head turned, eyes landing on a door in the corner of the old shack, a door she hadn't noticed before. So, her feet carried her over to it, pressing the button and allowing it to slide open.
Inside was a smaller, messier room, containing only a rusty shelf, a desk, and a terminal—a terminal that had just been destroyed via gunshot, the fresh dead corpse of a fiend slumped over in the nearest chair, bloody gunshot wound to the head, body fresh and still warm, having only just been killed minutes ago.
Sandra moved closer, standing over the body, staring down, feeling nothing.
Her hand reached out, sliding into the fiend's pocket and fishing out a few things—a squished handbook on terminal hacking, a few loose bullets, and a single folded note, which she unfolded and began to read.
The note contained information from the syndicate—as they had apparently been paying the fiends to attack Westside regularly, forcing the Westside residents to pay for syndicate protection—and at the end of the note, the writer mentioned a man named Hastings in the Thorn, stating he was the person to contact for any developmental changes in their little business plan.
Sandra pocketed the items, turning and facing her friends, all of whom were hovering around the doorway—Arcade and Niner finally having fallen silent, still staring at her urgently, Vulpes at the back of the group with folded arms and a distant, unreadable visage, though nowhere near as unreadable as Sandra's own.
Niner still very much wanted an explanation, and Vulpes had chosen to remain quiet on the matter, as he knew the courier wasn't yet ready to speak. Arcade, however, seemed to piece it all together himself—as he looked over, squinting at the terminal and the dead hacker, his expression darkening before his eyes shifted back to Sandra, now wearing a deep, somber grimace.
Sandra met his eyes with a look that practically confirmed his every suspicion, then stepped past him without a word, moving toward the exit and waving for all of them to follow.
They marched down the broken road—the ambiance of gunshots giving her no anxiety, no instincts to duck and cover or to return fire—as she marched on without a feeling or care in the world, climbing into her bus and waiting for her companions to step aboard. She then sank into the driver seat, powered on the engine, and began to drive, planting her foot to the gas and speeding away at a haphazard pace, heading into Freeside and making a straight b-line to the Atomic Wrangler.
No one spoke, none uttering a word, not bothering to question her or ask for her next course of action. A palpable tension loomed over everyone in the bus throughout the entirety of the drive, and it didn't dissipate when she pulled to a stop outside of the slummy casino.
Sandra didn't speak to them on her way out. She stepped off the bus, marched into the Wrangler, and simply vanished from their presence, and she didn't return for nearly an hour and a half.
By the time she came out, the sun was already setting, and Sandra climbed onto the bus again, her left arm now spotted with pinkish irritation, as she'd just received a new tattoo from the tattoo artist in the back of the casino. It was a long, sleek tribal tattoo, one that curled over her shoulder and ventured down her arm in a stylish manner, and she hadn't bothered to cover it with gauze, wanting to keep the fresh new mark exposed as proudly as possible.
Yet still, nobody spoke a word, and Sandra began to drive again, this time heading straight for Westside, just outside of the guard area where she'd first met Bradley days ago. By coincidence, it just happened to be beside the underground entrance to the Thorn.
When Sandra parked the bus, a few of the Westside guards spared her vehicle odd glimpses from outside. Night had fallen now, and Sandra sighed, pocketing her keys and standing, preparing to head off and find this Hastings guy…
Though when she stood—she found her path blocked.
Arcade stood directly in front of her, and on the benches on either side of him, Niner and Vulpes sat on each side, both of them looking serious, each of them staring up at her, Arcade wearing a particularly disturbed expression.
Sandra glimpsed between all of them before her gaze landed back on Arcade, though she couldn't seem to empathize, couldn't seem to process exactly what they all clearly felt, as her own feelings had yet to snap back into place. As far as she knew, she might've been living through a long, lucid dream, insides empty and thoughts totally absent, and everything remained as shocked and as hazy as it had the moment Bradley killed himself.
"Look, I… I know… what you're doing," Arcade said with some difficulty, swallowing and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "And I… don't blame you. But… given the circumstances, I… really don't want you to go it alone. Particularly not right now."
"Me neither," Niner agreed with a nod.
"You guys," Sandra finally spoke for the first time in hours, her voice as vacant as her stare. "The last time I went it alone… I got shot in the head… and buried alive. And that… is better… than this."
"Better?" Arcade scoffed incredulously. "How on earth is that—?"
"Because it was me and not you," Sandra snapped coldly. "Whenever there's other people around me—it's always them. But when it's just me—well—it's just me. And that's just better. That's just better…"
"It's not better—and it only feels that way to you," Arcade told her flatly. "What do you think runs through our heads whenever something happens to you? Because it's the same damn feeling and the same damn scenario, Sandra—and we don't want that for you any more than you want it for us—"
"No—y'know what? I don't care." Sandra pushed past him. "This is exactly why I left the fucking Mojave the first time—I knew this was gonna start happening to everybody around me, and I'll be damned if it didn't."
"What, Six—when you ran off from Quarry Junction and you didn't bother telling us?" Niner griped at her from behind, swiftly reaching his feet. "Because all we saw was you disappearing in a deathclaw nest, and then we didn't see you for another month and a fucking half—you put us through hell back then, and what—it's better that way? It's better if you put us through hell instead of you?"
"Yeah. It is," Sandra growled, planting her hand to the side door. "Because I've paid my goddamn dues by now. I'm done."
"Six—"
"Sandra—"
"No—goddammit—shut up," Sandra roared, making Niner and Arcade fall silent. "Just shut up and let me do what I do—all right? Because all this damage, and vengeance, and decision-making, and killing—that's not for you. That shit is mine—and that's where I fucking shine. You're just here to help me fix Vegas, and that's it. I'm about goddamn tired of everybody taking bullets for me—and I'm not having anybody fight my fucking wars anymore. Ever."
She smashed her palm loudly to the door, shoving it open and storming outside with haste.
Arcade let out a defeated sigh, trading frowns with Niner as they both remained inside the bus.
And Vulpes—who had sat by silently through the whole conversation, merely watching with folded arms—finally sighed and stood, heading out the side door behind her.
When he emerged outside, Sandra had already disappeared behind the vehicle, marching briskly toward the hatch in the ground that would lead her into the Thorn. Vulpes stepped around the bus, eyeing her from behind and releasing another sigh.
Sandra stopped at the hatch and prepared to open it, then paused, raising her head and spotting him a few feet away.
"What?" she barked.
Vulpes said nothing, taking another step forward, his eyes pensively locked with hers.
"What?" Sandra griped again.
Vulpes slid his hands into the pockets of his dark suit, still remaining silent.
Sandra cocked her head at him. "What?!"
"I'm waiting," Vulpes replied.
Sandra's eyes narrowed. "For what?"
"For you to open the hatch."
They both paused, Sandra staring oddly at him.
"I don't need you," Sandra hissed icily. "Go back inside."
Vulpes gazed into her, and—in the utmost of rarest occurrences for him—his expression seemed, just the slightest bit, to soften.
"Go!" Sandra ordered, snapping and jabbing a finger at the bus. "Just go the fuck awa—"
Vulpes snatched her hand from the air—gripping her wrist viselike and yanking her toward him in a swift and powerful move. Sandra inhaled sharply—suddenly in his face, almost nose to nose, and his penetrating blue stare burned directly through her own.
"I… don't care… how you're perceiving this whole thing," Vulpes snarled in a wicked exhalation. "But any way you look at it, from an objective view to a close one—any way you look at the past four years of your life—you going it alone puts you at your absolute weakest in every sense of the word."
Sandra took in several rushed breaths, heart pounding as he continued to hold her close.
"You've absorbed loss—and been destroyed by it—and that, above anything else, even above me leaving you right at the doorstep of the Mojave Express—is exactly why you've been working alone for four straight years," Vulpes stated firmly. "Because you—to your core—are terrified. You are terrified of loss, and that sparks about the weakest instinct you have—the instinct to push everyone around you away. Even people who are far better at this than you are. Your stupid instinct to go it alone landed you in a grave. Your stupid instinct to go it alone landed you in deathclaw territory with a man who was trying to kill you. Your stupid instinct to go it alone—is going—to get—you killed!"
He slowly pulled her closer more and more with every solid syllable he spoke, his nose brushing hers now, his hot breaths coasting past her face as he continued to fume into her with a searing cerulean glare.
"It astonishes me," Vulpes exhaled, tilting his head slightly and giving her a stony look. "It astonishes me… that you can take the most unlikely of people… you can inspire them, carry them on, and fashion them into weapons for your cause… and then just cast them away like they're nothing to you."
Sandra returned his stare, feeling a mortifying thing begin to rush back into her all at once—emotion, feeling, everything that seemed to have vanished from her now flooding back in a fell swoop, all of it suddenly creeping up on her in a steadily growing tidal wave.
"You can't even know… you can't even comprehend… how absolutely unthinkable this is," Vulpes told her, thrusting a finger at the bus. "A useless, selfish, shortsighted little chem-addict… is now fighting for an independent Vegas. And a spineless, fragile, weak little beta-male is now trying to march into gunfights for your sake. And then—you have—me."
He dragged her even closer, his hat going crooked as his forehead began to press against hers.
"I am… the greatest… of Caesar's frumentarii," Vulpes hissed with serpentine rasp. "I am… wholly, purely, and one-hundred percent dedicated to my cause. I lashed profligates to crosses, and I bombed them into oblivion with a burst of radiation that would put the Great War to shame. I pacified—I enslaved—and I fought in countless wars—all for a cause that I believed, with every fiber of my being, to be true and just. And me—that person, who did all of those things—is now working by your side instead."
Sandra took in a shaky inhalation, heart hammering as the emotion began to wage war inside.
"Do you have… any comprehension," Vulpes snarled. "Of how honestly impossible that is?"
She didn't speak, couldn't speak, hating herself as her eyes began to water…
"You have been an insane anomaly, a person who exists and functions against all logic and sense, ever since the day I met you," Vulpes disclosed. "And because of that, you have accomplished the impossible with all of us here, with my life, and with a chance at running the entirety of the region—and you will not—you will not—throw all of that away—just because someone died!"
"I'm not," Sandra croaked weakly, gently shaking her head. "I'm not…"
"You are—if you storm off alone and shove all your aces away—then you are," Vulpes snapped in response. "What did I tell you—the very first bounty we claimed, when we got that sniper rifle—what did I tell you?"
Sandra swallowed, forcing down tears and drawing a blank.
"I told you to check your sentiment at the door," Vulpes told her firmly. "Because when you find a tool or a weapon you need—then you use it. And that counts for everyone who fights by your side. Including me. Namely me!"
His grip tightened around her wrist.
"I don't care if you wanna let your little profligates wait this one out," Vulpes chided. "But you will not fall into the habit of pushing everyone away again. You will not fall into that weakness again—and you certainly won't do that with me. Especially not right here and now. You didn't promise me a new life and a way out just to walk off and leave me useless on the sidelines. You made me think there was a cause to fight for that was higher than that of the Legion—and you had better not make me doubt that now."
His fingers curled more firmly around her, coasting up from her wrist to her hand.
"There has never been a war… that was won alone," Vulpes told her definitively. "Ever."
Sandra fell entirely still, and—contrary to what she expected—the fiery emotions inside didn't burst, didn't explode, didn't blunder out of her without a hint of forethought. No—much to her surprise, as she stood gazing into Vulpes's sharp blue eyes, the storm inside felt to be calming now, his words sinking into her with deep, pure clarity.
It seemed, of all the people she'd known and loved in both the past and the present—this one right here, Vulpes Inculta of all people, was the one who knew her so well, he knew exactly what to say to bring her back to earth.
Sandra released a deep, calming sigh, her hand turning and clasping firmer around his.
"I know," she murmured. "You're right. I know…"
Vulpes let out a breath, keeping a hold on her hand as her thumb gingerly stroked along his knuckles, the two of them pausing as they shared a profound stare.
"But that…" Sandra said, glimpsing over at the bus, then back. "That's not the… only reason."
Vulpes's eyes narrowed questioningly at her.
"That's not the only reason I…" She gave the bus a nod. "Didn't wanna take them with me."
They stared into each other, a parallel gaze of understanding, their eyes the same, identical in both color and seriousness.
"I don't think they'd… get it," Sandra told him. "They'd just see it like… like I'm losing myself, or something. But I'm not. This is just…"
"Retribution," Vulpes stated.
"Retribution," Sandra agreed.
They paused, Sandra lowering her hand with his. She stared down for a moment before meeting his eyes again, and then, she flashed a sincere little smile, moving forward and trapping him in a close embrace.
Vulpes nearly took back, turning his head and giving her an odd look.
Sandra's eyes drifted shut, arms coiling tighter around him, savoring his warmth and the gentle heartbeat palpitating against her ear from just beneath his suit's undershirt.
"What're you doing," Vulpes uttered in a flat sort of voice.
Sandra rested her head in his collar, her eyes easing open, gazing past him and staring at the metal hatch to the Thorn.
"Checking my sentiment at the door," she mumbled into him. "Before I go in…"
Vulpes glared into the side of her head, his expression hardened and his eyes fixed on her, his arm slowly raising and wrapping around her as well.
"Before we do," he corrected her.
"M'kay." Sandra nestled closer, clinging to every second of closeness to pass. "Before we do…"
Vulpes stood fully upright, an arm locked around her as he stared straight past her—and now all the sudden, as he glared into the night and held the most baffling girl he'd ever known, it all came back, all came rushing back into him from a time he once thought gone.
She rested in his embrace, warm and snug there, and he felt much like he had years ago—that she belonged there, close and his, just as he'd once longed for. He didn't understand the connection he held with her back then, and he could scarcely understand it any better now—but one thing was for certain. That deeply-knit bond was most assuredly there, stronger and more powerful than he ever gave it credit for.
This person was so like him, so frighteningly similar—they were partners, like two halves of a whole, and that was, as he silently understood now, simply meant to be.
Sandra straightened up, leveling her eyes with his again.
"Ready?" she said.
Vulpes made a nod, adjusting his hat and motioning to the hatch. "Always."
Sandra smirked, stepping away and opening the hatch to the Thorn, she and Vulpes both climbing inside it, prepared to see this task of retribution through.
And at once, as her feet met the dirty metal floor of the Thorn's walkway, she felt her strength inside begin to rise up like magma to a volcano. Every word she wanted to speak and every action she wanted to take—it all rested on the tip of her tongue or the edge of her fingertips, ready and waiting to say and do whatever necessary to hunt Zimmer down and even out the score.
Sandra and Vulpes marched down the metal walkway, eyeballing every person who passed them by. After speaking to one of the ringleaders of the cockfights near the cage fighting area, Sandra learned what Hastings looked like, as well as where he usually hung out. So, she and Vulpes trekked off, returning to the outer walkways until they spotted the man fitting the description given to them—a man in thin metal armor, a dirt-spotted face, messy spiky hair, and a light brown complexion, standing against the wall with his arms folded.
Sandra sauntered up to him with ease, propping her arm to the wall and surveying him closely. Hastings noticed, scrunching up his face at her.
"The fuck do you want?" he growled in a raspy tone.
"I understand you're connected," Sandra told him. "All I want is to talk. Just need to have a little chat with a guy named Zimmer."
Hastings scoffed in her face. "Bitch, you got a lotta nerve walking up to me and barking demands. Unless you're here to sell that ass of yours, you better get the fuck outta my f—ahaggh!"
Vulpes's arm shot out—his hand locking around Hastings's throat and slamming him back to the wall. He held him there, pinning him in place as his face began to fade red.
Hasting choked, sputtered, slapping Vulpes's arm as he began to panic, suffocating on the spot and gaping desperately for air.
Sandra merely watched, as did Vulpes, their eyes an equal unfeeling blue as they waited patiently for the man to choke further.
Then, Vulpes loosened his hold, allowing Hastings to lunge forward, clasping his throat and gasping for air in several hoarse breaths.
"Je—sus—fucking Christ," Hastings croaked, raising his head and glaring at them furiously. "You fucking psychos—!"
"Yeah—you know it." Sandra shoved him into the wall.
"Yes—I couldn't agree more." Vulpes planted a hand to Hastings's chest, cocking his fist back and preparing to make a hard strike with his displacer glove.
"Wait wait wait—wait just a goddamn minute!" Hastings panted, frantically waving them down. "Look look look—I don't know Zimmer, all right?! I never met him—but I know a guy who can tell you. His name's Chase. Guy's a real heavy-hitter for the syndicate. He's up on the third floor of Gomorrah, okay?!"
Sandra and Vulpes traded eyes briefly, then released Hastings.
"You better hope you're not wrong," Sandra warned, jabbing a finger at Hastings before she and Vulpes began to stroll away.
Hastings gathered himself, watching as they walked off. "Hey—we never had this conversation! You hear?!"
Sandra and Vulpes ignored him, returning to the ladder and climbing out of the Thorn.
When they stepped onto the bus again, Niner and Arcade both perked up, sitting on the benches and looking to them expectantly.
Sandra and Vulpes sank into the front seats, Sandra starting up the engine and pulling away from Westside.
"You guys—there's a syndicate top-dog up on the third floor of Gomorrah," Sandra reported, driving around the nearest junk wall. "We're gonna go press him for info. Apparently he knows where to find Zimmer."
Arcade and Niner—hunching down behind the front seats—swapped glimpses for a second, then gave her questioning looks from behind.
"What… you… you're still goin' after the loot?" Niner guessed.
"No. Well… yes," Sandra replied. "But that's not the reason."
Arcade examined her worriedly. "Then what is…?"
Sandra sighed heavily, turning and trading glances with Vulpes.
"You wouldn't like my answer, Arcade," Sandra mumbled, speeding up and bringing the bus around the walls of Freeside.
After taking her usual route through the slummy town, she parked outside of the Vegas gate, pocketing her keys and turning to her friends.
"Sandra… please," Arcade sighed. "Please don't run off and…"
"What? No—you're going with me," Sandra said, glimpsing between Arcade and Niner. "Sorry—did I not mention? Yeah, we're all going."
Arcade and Niner both seemed taken back.
"Oh," Arcade uttered. "Well. Good. Okay then. Good…"
"Aaah… that means holdout weapons gotta be at the ready," Niner knew, turning and digging into his duffel bag. "Ah, lessee… I got a little 22, a straight razor, and a pair'a brass knuckles. Who wants what?"
"Well… I vote she takes the 22," Arcade remarked, jabbing a thumb at Sandra and resisting the urge to motion to her chest. "She, uh… well, she can… hide it the easiest."
"The rack to pack—hahaha, tha's right," Niner grinned, tossing the tiny gun over to Sandra. "And you, Mr. Fox?"
"I imagine you'd do well with a blunt punching instrument," Vulpes determined, reaching out and taking the straight razor. "Which leaves this for me."
"Vulpes," Arcade said seriously. "You've mentioned the syndicate before. I mean—you sounded like you knew who they were before any of us did. Anything else you can tell us about them before we go inside?"
Everyone's eyes shifted over to Vulpes, who sighed and crossed his arms.
"Gomorrah likely hasn't yet forgotten our last endeavor within their walls," Vulpes disclosed. "Which means we need to show the utmost of discretion the moment we walk through their doors. The Omertas were the original family to found the place, but the syndicate is more of an illuminati. A secret society that stealthily sneaks in, bleeds into another family, and slowly takes over them like poison to a wound. And—seeing as how we killed the head of the Omertas—the syndicate are probably the ones calling all the major shots within Gomorrah now. The good thing about the syndicate is—unlike the Omertas, they aren't from here. They originated from a place outside the Mojave, which means their numbers here are severely limited by comparison. So, if we do manage to succeed in taking down their main leader—Zimmer—then we likely won't have to worry about them again. Not unless their entire organization decides to uproot from Reno and reestablish themselves here in the future. Which won't happen."
"Ahm… what about all the leftover ones here in the Mojave?" Niner asked.
"Well… we have been killing those kinds of people quite a lot in taking Randall's bounties," Arcade replied with a sideways nod. "I'd say our career will clean that mess up for us, at least to some degree."
"And we can wipe anyone out we want once we're running New Vegas," Sandra disclosed, nodding and stepping forward, motioning for companions to follow. "Now let's go get some casino revenge again. Ring-a-ding-ding, bitch."