We gave the kid a burial outside Clark Field. I didn't know them, but it was the only thing I could do. It didn't make me feel any better about what had happened.

'I didn't known they were there.'

That's the thought that kept playing back through my mind. Randall had warned me, it was on the bounty's holotape, but I'd let it slip my mind. I'd assumed they handled slaves like Caesar did, not strapped fucking bombs to their necks.

How could I have known?

That didn't change I'd gotten them killed regardless.

While I was going to be wrestling with that though, I needed to keep moving forward. Needed to focus on something else. These jobs were starting to get to me in ways I hadn't expected.

We dropped Tony's finger off with Randall, and told him about what happened. He seemed surprised as well, the fact that someone was strapping bombs to slaves was something in need of reporting. He promised to pass it up the line for what it was worth. But in the end it would ultimately fall back on the hunter chasing the bounty to be aware of it.

Which was the same as saying, it wasn't going to change much.

But, in a small way, I knew I'd done my bit to try and keep it from happening again.

Not that it made me feel any better. Though that wasn't something a bottle of whisky couldn't remedy.

Either way, we pressed on. Raul, tough old bastard that he is, chose to stick around even after getting winged. Not that it was easy for him. Stimpacks and my minimalist degree of medical knowledge could only do so much to patch him up. I had no doubt he was going to make a pretty full recovery. But, it was going to take time to figure out what the Stimpacks and my lack of knowledge had missed.

That wasn't even accounting for the fact that he was effectively unarmed.

Raul's revolver was wrecked. The old guy was an absolute wizard when it came to his gun-slinging. But he was just that, as much as I hate acknowledging it, an old guy. His aim was sharp as knives, but he was about as good at close range combat as newspaper was for body armor. But I wasn't going to dissuade him. I'll take whatever help I can get.

The next schmuck Randall sent us after was a guy going by the alias 'Tommy', no surname or indication that was even his actual name. He was a former associate of the Omertas, as well as a known hothead. Apparently he killed someone for making a crack about his shoes. Which came to be his undoing, since the victim was apparently well connected enough to ensure 'Tommy' got a bounty put on him. As per usual, Randall made it clear the bounty should be brought in dead.

Unlike my usual reaction, I genuinely wasn't sure what the right approach was this time. A large part of me genuinely didn't give a flying fuck if we brought 'Tommy' in alive or not. He murdered someone in full view of about a dozen people. There was no way in hell he was innocent.

But after what happened with Tony, I was feeling conflicted. It wasn't even because I thought 'Tommy' was innocent in this case. It was more a matter of Just not wanting to get anyone else killed, I guess. Maybe my conscience was trying to guilt trip into doing something stupid, like that would somehow fix my mistake.

It didn't work, but it was enough to give me pause.

So, rather than go with my gut instinct, I decided to approach 'Tommy' with the same ultimatum as Tony.

Surrender or get bent.

Just to make sure things went smoothly this time, I didn't fuck around with sports equipment. I brought a Fire axe, a lever-action shotgun, and That Gun. I got the sense that, regardless of 'Tommy's' answer, this wasn't going to be a fight at long range. The Fire Axe and That Gun had proven themselves to me in the past, and would hopefully continue to do so. The lever-action, on the other hand, wasn't as powerful as its 12 gauge cousin but was faster for me to use. Assuming there was fighting, the close range and faster action would mean more damage in the short-term, at least. I wasn't planning for a long-term engagement anyway.

With that, Raul and I tracked 'Tommy' down to a corner of the Mojave called Tumbleweed Ranch. Technically it was Brooks Tumbleweed Ranch, but no one by that name had ever lived there, so far as I knew. It was one of the more common places for roving gangs and fiends to post up, if they needed a place to hide. It was just far enough out of the way for most patrol to miss, and close enough to make hitting most caravan trails easy.

It was an isolated location, an isolated target, and an appropriate amount of preparation, for once. Put it all together with the element of surprise and the Intel from Randall, and it was practically smooth sailing.

Raul and me approached from the south, on highway 95. The ranch wasn't easy to miss. We stepped off the trail and began walking the short distance to the dilapidated farm.

"You sure you don't want a gun?" I asked Raul

He shook his head. "My shooting hand's not there yet, boss." He motioned to his still sling-bound right arm.

"You still got a good one." I said, eyeing his left "I'm not asking you to charge in or anything, Just saying I'd feel safer knowing You've got more than a piece of pipe on you."

Raul just gave a dry chuckle "These old bones aren't what they used to be anyway, boss. I'm better off just using the pipe anyway."

"If you say so." I shrugged "Just keep back, if it gets ugly-"

"I'll be fine, boss." Raul said, walking off towards a collapsed silo to the west of the ranch. "I know when to keep my head down."

I watched him a moment longer, then started towards the house. I pulled the shotgun off my shoulder and cycled the action, double checking to make sure I was ready. Last thing I needed was to draw a bead on Tommy, only to find out I somehow neglected to chamber a round. Mercifully, for once, there was already a shell loaded and it didn't look to be fired yet. Wonderful.

I approached the door of the farm house, shotgun at the ready, and reached a fist out to bang on the door. I thought better of it at the last moment though, stepping off to one side of the door. Then I hammered on it.

"Open up!" I shouted "We know you're in there Tommy, You've got on-"

The sound of hammers colliding with the opposite side of the Door interrupted me. Splintered holes bursting outward on my side. Looks like I'd made the right choice.

Roughly a dozen shots later, the hammering stopped

"… Alright" I grunted "-Hard way it is."

I turned and kicked the bullet-riddled door to splinters. The inside of the building was about the standard for farm houses. The lead right into a large den-kitchen-storage space that took up nearly a third of the building's total interior. Tommy was in the kitchen space, standing beside a long table with a 9mm handgun.

He was in the middle of pulling the magazine.

I wasted no time drawing a bead on him.

Tommy made a face that looked like he shit himself, and went to flip the table for cover.

He got half way through the motion before his upper half caught a case of lead poisoning. I pulled the trigger and Tommy stumbled backwards, dropping both his gun and the table. He'd have lived longer if he'd just moved.

Regardless, Tommy stumbled backwards and collided against the wall. He rebounded off of it, and tried to move out of the way, Diving to one side. Except by then I'd already cycled the action and loaded another shell. I blasted him a second time as he fell, and immediately cycled the action to give another follow-up.

I calmly and quickly walked around the table, keeping Tommy in my line of sight. I found him scrambling for his gun on the floor. Though given how good of a job he was doing painting it red, I could imagine he wasn't really in any position to. The man was wearing anything more protective than the suits the Omertas did.

I gave a dark little chuckle and shook my head.

Tommy stopped scrambling and gave me a furious look "You think I'm funny, huh?" He gritted, his voice much higher and more nasally than I'd been expecting.

"Yeah, You're a joke." I answered, leveling my shotgun "A guy knocks on your door, and you try to shoot him. You're a real class act. No 'Who's there?', just shoot the fucker, and get on with your da-"

Tommy flipped around, snapping a fresh magazine in his pistol and thrusting it towards me. "Fuck y-"

I pulled the trigger and watched his head disappear in a spray of mist. His body snapping to the floor from the force, and his arm dropping.

A moment passed, and I kept my aim on his corpse.

"… Fuckin' clown, I'd have let you live if you'd just listened."

I reloaded my shotgun and slid it back over my shoulder. Tommy had been reported to be traveling alone. Which made sense, given the enemies he'd made. The only other people who'd be hanging around here would be raiders, and I got the feeling Tommy hadn't been the sharing type.

Honestly though, that just meant this hadn't taken as long as I thought it was going to. Which was a bonus unto itself.

I walked over to and stooped over Tommy's corpse, and began picking him over. There wasn't much on him, a few 9mm rounds, his pistol, a few caps, and a holotape.

Titled: A Word of Warning.

I stared at it for a moment, a weary sense of déjà vu washing over me.

I gave an aggrieved sigh, and popped it into my Pip-boy. Having a sinking feeling that I already knew where this was going.

Tommy,

I understand you recently left the Omerta organization under less than favorable circumstances. In the Mojave, to find yourself alone often implies extreme peril.

My gaze shifted to Tommy's Corpse momentarily, then back to the screen of my Pip-boy.

With that in mind, I'm willing to make you an offer. My firm specializes in contracts of a very risky, specific nature - assassination. We are always cultivating new talent, and at first glance you definitely possess the acumen for our business. I am willing to offer you a position, under one condition.

Soon you will be visited by contractors from my rival, Randall & Associates. Killing your assailant would be conducive to your health and beneficial to my business interests. If you bring me the head of Courier Six, and the ghoul he's been seen traveling with, consider yourself hired.

I took more note of the mention of Raul than I did myself. This wasn't the first note I'd from this 'Judge' asshole, but last time he'd mentioned Cass being my companion. The fact that it had changed to Raul had confirmed a very important fact. We weren't just being watched, we were being monitored. Regularly.

It would be wise to accinge yourself for the imminent confontation - the aforementioned individual, while new to the profession, is apparently precocious and quite capable.

Sincerely, The Judge

I stayed crouched for a moment longer, tapping on my Pip-boy absently, thinking.

This… did not bode well.

I stood up and removed the axe from my back. I used it to prod one of Tommy's arms out to his side and then relive it of its hand. I'd worry about the specific finger later. Right then, I deemed it more important to keep moving.

I wrapped up Tommy's hand, and stowed it some place it wouldn't get in the way. I then turned and calmly began walking for the door. Now that I knew we were under surveillance, I was going to need to keep my eyes peeled. Maybe whoever was watching would know that I knew they were watching now. Or, maybe they didn't, meaning they might be prone to being a little careless. Being calm would help keep them off their guard. Even if it didn't, it would keep me on mine. Panicking was a good way to get shot.

Which is why, when I felt the edge of a blade against the side of my neck, I didn't immediately freeze up.

I had just stepped out of Tommy's, and gotten no more than five feet from it, when it happened. I heard the keening of sharpened steel, a hiss of motion, then felt the cool, keen edge of something resting against the side of my neck.

Though I didn't freeze, or tense up dangerously, I did stop. Giving my undivided attention to whoever had decided they so suddenly wanted it. Given they hadn't decapitated me the moment they'd had the chance, I could only assume they were either stupid or after something else.

Behind me, a deep voice spoke up.

"… Step forward" It rumbled "Slowly."

Preferring my neckline where it was, I obliged. I took three steps forward, slowly. The blade not leaving my neck the entire time.

"Now, turn around."

Again, I complied, Turning a slow circle to face whoever had decided a close shave constituted a normal greeting.

Perhaps unexpectedly, I found a legionnaire waiting to greet me. A big one at that. Not as tall as I'd heard Caesar's legate was supposed to be, but built wide and strong regardless. Something that was only further exaggerated by the armor they wore. I was fairly familiar with the armors the Legion used. I'd had enough of their assassins trying to kill me after my little less-than-pleasant introduction to them in Nipton. I believe it was designated as 'centurion' armor, or some such. It was visibly more heavily plated with armor than the standard I was acquainted with. None of which appeared to be part of a coherent set. Grieves and pauldron from a set of pre-war combat armor. Hip and waist armor I'd seen on NCR Rangers. A chest piece I knew was better fit on a super mutant. Last, and most glaringly, one arm completely encased in a scrapped power armor sleeve. Helping to cement the impression they were a walking scrap pile.

A bladed, red plumed helmet sat on my assailant's head. Their complexion pale, with their nose wide and set betwixt pale blue eyes. Their mouth small, but voice deeper than I'd ever heard by then.

"So, you're nothing more than a gun for hire." The centurion spoke, disdainful "It's a shame that my friend was felled by such… lowly scum."

"Big talk for a legionnaire who needs to sneak around and put a knife to someone's throat." I gritted

For my trouble, I felt the edge of the blade begin to bite my neck. A hot, quick feeling that you only get when you feel something cut you. I felt something warm begin trickling down my neck. It was a shallow cut though. With the blade where it was, it wouldn't take much to bleed me dry if the Centurion felt like it.

Sadly, it had the opposite effect of what he probably wanted.

Given what I'd just discovered, I couldn't quite tell what this guy was after besides, well, my head. Was he the one who'd been watching us for the 'Judge'?

Or was this just a case of happenstance?

Only one way to know, and I was walking a blade's edge regardless.

"You gonna tell me what you want?" I asked, playing for time. "You could've killed me already if you wanted."

"Hm… I'm first spear centurion Lucius Pullo." The centurion answered "- Friend to the Late Vulpes Inculta. You slew my friend without cause, and I am here for justice."

"… Vulpes?" I asked "That's what you're here for?"

"You speak of my friend as though they meant so little." The newly named Pullo answered, their face further darkening.

Considering Vulpes had been little more than a speed bump to me in Nipton, he really didn't mean much. He and the legionnaires he had with him had put up a fight to be certain, but I hadn't given them much thought beyond that. The assassins that came looking for me afterwards were more of a concern than he was.

But, hey, when you execute a town full of people, you kind of show how much of a self-righteous prick you are.

Nipton may have been a shit-hole, as I learned after the fact, but no one deserves what he did. No one.

Of course, If I said that to Pullo, he'd probably slit my throat.

"I remember your friend well." I answered evenly "Recent events, however, have had me begin questioning the intentions of approaching, and hostile, strangers. So, before we continue, I must ask: are you familiar with a man calling himself 'Judge Richter'."

Pullo stared at me blandly for a moment. Short of asking Steve, this was likely to be the only way I heard anything regarding my unwanted observer.

"Who?" Pullo asked, quirking a brow

Unfortunately, that was about it. Figures, I'd be asking for too much.

"You don't need to lie." I said, suppressing a shrug. "I'm liable to be dead in the coming minutes anyway. Does it really matter whether you tell me what judge you serve?"

"…Profligate, you try my patience. Allow me to be clear with you." The blade pressed a little more firmly to my neck. It cut no deeper, but that wasn't much of a comfort. "The only Judge whom I serve, is Caesar. And on this day, I am gladly his executioner."

Oh, wonderful. I'd gone and pissed off a zealot and a psychopath. Just lovely.

I saw the murderous gleam in Pullo's eyes and knew I was about at the end of my rope. I still didn't see Raul anywhere. I didn't have anyway of knowing if Pullo had known Raul was here with me or not. If he'd been following us for long enough, it's possible he had. In which case, if he'd hurt the old man, Pullo was deader than Vulpes. But that was only if I could stop him from taking the easy solution and put a hole in my throat.

Thankfully, legionnaires never do things the easy way. It's kind of their thing.

"I see… Well, before that, can I make a final request?" I asked

Pullo glowered at me for a moment. "That would be?"

"The chance at an honorable death?"

Pullo stared at me for a moment, mulling the thought over. The Legion has a 'screwy' view on honor, to say the least. But, from the bare minimum I could stomach, the legion reserved only a few options when it came to 'executions'. If they were feeling particularly cruel, they would crucify you, obviously. Given they were a particularly cruel group of assholes, it tended to be their thing. Barring that, they might make a slave out of you. Make sure you die slow.

But, if they were feeling 'generous', they might offer you the option of a quick death. Either being beaten, or allowing you to struggle while being beaten

Pullo was here for revenge. Given he hadn't made any effort to try and take me captive, I could only assume he was intent to try and kill me.

Hence, trying to earn myself an 'honourable death'.

"Why should I allow such a thing to a profligate such as yourself?" Pullo asked, scrutinizing me.

"Because it is what I offered to Vulpes." I answered "Though my attack came unprovoked, your friend didn't shirk from it, or go quietly to the grave."

That was as fat a lie as I could've told right then.

Aside from absolutely provoking me, Vulpes died without much fight. The shotgun I'd carried at the time struggled to punch holes in armor, but the Varmint Rifle I had worked just fine. I blew out his knees, then took care of him when I had a minute to. His dogs and the small group of legionnaires he brought with him put up more of a fight than he did.

But, no need for Pullo to know that. If he'd already seen Vulpes' corpse, the most he'd know is that Vulpes had been grievously wounded.

Pullo continued to glare me down for several tense moments. The longer it drug on, the more sure I was that he'd just cut me and be done with it.

But, then he gave me small, grim smile.

"Very well then." He spoke, his voice smooth "I shall take pleasure in this."

I had very little doubt he would try.

His eyes darted to the shotgun on my shoulder, and That Gun on my hip. "… Discard them."

I looked at him for a moment, then complied. I carefully removed the two firearms from my person and, as gently as possible, dropped them to the ground.

"Further."

I rolled my eyes and gently pushed them further away with my foot. Even so, it wouldn't matter. If I was fast enough to drop and grab them, I'd run an even greater risk of repeating Tommy's performance. Within a certain distance, guns really just weren't as effective as a knife. Or sword in this case.

Granted, that range meant being closer than five feet, but that was splitting hairs at this point.

"That axe upon your back will suffice." Pullo said, finally pulling his blade back from my throat.

I gingerly reached a hand up to the spot he'd kept it against and rubbed my fingers against it. They came back sticky and warm with blood. But it was only a small amount. Likely a superficial wound if I had to guess.

I reached around and worked the fire axe off of my back. I brought it around front of me and bounced it in my palm for a second, getting a feel for the weight. Pullo probably wasn't going to give me time to get much more ready than I was, so I was going to have to find my ground as we went.

"I will spare you no time for final words later." Pullo said, his head bowing but eyes never leaving me. "If there is something you wish to impart unto me. Speak."

I flexed my fingers on the haft of the fire-axe, using the final few seconds to hash out a plan in my head.

"… My latin's a little rusty…" I grumbled "…Stipendio peccarti morsa estin."

Pullo's face faltered for a moment, one of his brow's steadily climbing his scalp in confusion.

"… Wait, no, that's not right." I grumbled

Pullo's confusion dropped, and he shook his head mirthlessly. Likely wondering how his friend got killed by an idiot like me.

"… Stipendium peccati mors est." I said, this time getting the words and tone right.

The reward of sin is death.

Unfortunately, Pullo didn't really seem to care. He fixed me with an even glare, and calmly took a stance before answering in kind. "Mors tua, vita mea."

Your death, my life.

With nothing left to say, I gripped my axe and went in swinging.

I took a horizontal swing with my axe, with Pullo barely pulling back in time to miss the bit of the axe. He immediately found his footing though, and sprang back at me. I raised my axe in a guard, his blade catching and biting into the handle. I twisted the tool in my hands and pulled, hoping to disarm him. Instead, he jerked back in the other direction. Freeing his blade and readying himself for another swing. Before he could in close for it though, I swing the axe in a reverse grip. The spike on the back of its head keeping him back, buying me a moment.

Pullo had a few things going for him. Despite his armor resembling a shambling mound of scrap, it was still comprised of functional pieces of armor. Most of it was made with stopping everything short of blunt force trauma and plasma in mind. My fire axe would be good for one of those, and maybe getting some leverage if I could catch him with the Poll.

By contrast though, I was playing with fire.

The leather duster Steve had given me wasn't a slouch, but it wasn't armor. It was genuine Brahmin hide to be sure, but that didn't mean much. It'd stop the random gecko bite, and the occasional slash or cut. But it wouldn't take much to change that. Especially given the blade Pullo was using was one of the legion's Gladii. They may not have been made of any better materials than the standard machete, but it didn't mean much then. The inward curve of the blade and swelled tip made the blade excellent for slashing and hacking. He'd have gotten the job done faster if he could stab me, but that was a slim difference.

All that in mind, and our first exchange added on top of that, it all boiled down to simple assessment.

We were about evenly matched in skill, but he was prepared for a close quarters confrontation.

This was going to get rough.

Not waiting for me to get a clean strike, Pullo came in again as my backstroke reached the end of its swing. He slashed at my chest, and I had less than a second to get clear of it. The blade barely catching the fringes of my duster. The near miss did little to discourage Pullo though, as he reserved the grip on his blade and continued to drive forward with a follow-up strike. Though counter intuitive, I dipped towards it, moving at such an angle I would avoid it, and be in a better spot to strike back.

The Blade missed its mark, clipping past my right arm, and I swung my axe low as I moved. I managed to catch the edge of Pullo's thigh as I did, but his armor bore the brunt of it without apparent complaint.

Not missing a beat, Pullo took the momentum from the hit and pivoted. Flipping the machete around once more, he took another pass at me. The blade went wide, and I used it. Gripping the axe with both hands, I rammed it forward, crashing the top of the axe head into his chest. It wouldn't hurt him, I knew that, but knocking him off balance could buy me precious moments.

He stumbled, slightly, retreating only two steps before finding his footing again. He came at me again, bringing his blade down in a heavy chop. Not having bought myself enough time to evade, I brought the haft up once more in a guard. This time, his strike had force behind it, and I felt it drive down towards and into my shoulder. Though it did not break my coat, I could still feel the impact.

Before he could retract the blade, I twisted the handle of my axe, then pivoted around it. I hoped to try and dis-arm him, but that wasn't my main intent. Pushing hard, I pivoted the handle and smacked Pullo on the jaw, the only part not immediately covered by his helmet.

Pullo tried to dip his head back, but he didn't get far. His machete was still caught on my axe, and he'd refused to let go. The butt of the handle cracked against his chin, and he toppled to the ground, machete still caught on my axe.

It took me less than a second to knock the machete off of my axe. I let it hit the ground, and closed in on Pullo with a swing. Prone as he was I should have had a clean hit.

Right as I closed in though, he retaliated. His arm flung at me, and a spray of gravel and sand assaulted me. If my motorcycle helmet had an eye shield, It wouldn't have been as effective as it was.

Since it didn't though, my eyes were pelted by the grit.

It didn't stop my swing, I still felt it connect, but as I recoiled for a follow-up I lost Pullo. I didn't try for a second hit, I could hear him scrambling off of the ground as I began swiping at my eyes. I managed to get some visibility back fairly quick, but I knew it wasn't enough.

It had eaten whatever time I'd bought for myself too.

I heard footsteps racing up behind me, and turned to face it on instinct. I couldn't be sure how the attack was coming this time, and guessed. Pulling the axe up on the diagonal.

It didn't work this time, I felt something bite into my right forearm.

I grunted, and pulled back, trying to get my eyes to re-focus. It didn't quite work. The most I saw were blurred blobs of color and my eyes tried to flush out the sand.

It was enough to save me from a second chop though, this time aimed at my throat.

Rather than blocking this time, I dipped and angled the axe handle to guide the blade away from my head. I then lowered the axe, locking the machete against its head. Pullo tried to maneuver his blade free of mine, but I wasn't afraid to play dirty either. Once more using his iron grip against him, I pulled him in close and bashed my helmet against his exposed face. His helmet might keep his brain safe, but it didn't do shit for the rest of his head.

He back-pedaled, and I gave him a helping kick to push him further away before pulling my axe back up to bear.

He found his footing again and went back into a stance, glaring me down.

"… Hmph." He grunted "Not bad… for a profligate."

"Funny" I spat "Gotta say, you fight like one."

Pullo's glare re-solidified as he wiped a trickle of blood from his nose "I can see how my dear friend fell to you… But, sadly, of the two of us, I am clearly superior."

My gaze finally cleared enough for me to see, and I followed his gaze. He was looking down at my arm, the one he'd managed to get a good hit on. He'd cut clean through the coat, and I could see and feel the welling out of my arm readily. It was trickling down the handle towards my axe.

I was going to need to tend to it soon, or else catching a sword to the face would be the least of my worries. But I knew Pullo wasn't going to give that time to me, so I grit my teeth and tried to bite back any lightheadedness.

Pullo held his stance as I did mine. Another of those tense moments that spans for a seeming eternity. One I was intent to use every second of.

Where the hell was Raul?

Normally by now head have jumped in guns blazing. Even without his revolver, Just having him there and trying to take swings at Pullo could help to by me the openings I needed. The fact that he hadn't hobbled back over from the Silo yet was worrying.

Then the thought that Pullo might have hurt the old ghoul came running back to the front of my mind. After which, I began glaring him down with almost equal intensity. I opened VATs and began very carefully looking over the kinks in his armor. None of them were very big, but they were there. Problem was, my axe wasn't very good for slipping past them. It could brute force past them, but that took time, which I didn't have. But if Pullo had hurt Raul, I was going to spend my last few minutes making him regret it. The Legion liked to stylize themselves after a bull? Fine, I'd slaughter and butcher him like one-

Oh, wait, there he is.

Just barely in my line of sight, I could see the top of Raul's head peeking out from behind the base of the silo. Asshole, had me worried for a moment.

But it also meant I wasn't fighting alone after all. If Raul hadn't decided to attack yet, he was probably waiting for the right moment. Given he had nothing but a pipe on his side, I couldn't fault him. But I couldn't wait for him to stand around and decide it was time to help me either.

I was going to need to make an opening.

Sooner rather than later at that.

VATs ended, and the moment of tension between Pullo and me stretched on. The odds were quickly slipping out of my favor, more so than they already were. I needed to end this, quickly.

But I already had an idea.

Shame it wasn't a good one.

"… Wanna hear a joke?" I rasped

Pullo quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Vulpes was a boar."

"…"

"… Get it?" I asked "It's a term for a male coyote, and Vulpes wore a coyote pelt on his head."

"… This is no place for paltry humor." Pullo ground out

"Of course, that's assuming it was a male coyote." I continued, ignoring Pullo "If it was from a female, then I can clearly, and gladly, say that he died like a bitch."

I saw Pullo go rigid, the light in his eyes erupting into a furious blaze.

"So, which is it?" I asked "Was he a boor, or a bitch?"

Pullo didn't answer.

He just threw himself at me, His machete flying towards my neck once more. There was more power behind it this time. It carved chips from my axe handle as I struggled to guide it away from me. Something I barely succeeded at as, even then, I felt the blade just barely catch me.

Once the blade was deflected however, Pullo followed it with a shoulder-check. He slammed into my axe, then me, and forced me to back pedal. But he kept the pressure on, his machete cleaving back around for another strike, and barely finding purchase on my arm. I tried to block, but he was swinging with a fury now. I'd bring my axe around to guard, to deflect, and each time he'd either over power it or clip me.

I knew I was going to be playing with fire, but damn if it didn't hurt.

His blade sung on the diagonal in an upward cleave, and I used it. I raised the axe head in a fashion to collide with the machete. They met with the cold ring of steel, and I locked them, twisted, and pushed the blade past me. Pullo's eyes widened as he seemed to understand what I was doing.

He was probably only half right.

Using the momentum from deflecting his machete, I swung high for his head. Instinct tells us, as human, to try and protect our heads. We know better, most times, than to try and take straight blows too it. Even when we know there's something there to protect it. Kinetic energy is a hard thing to stop.

As such, Pullo tried to dodge, but was too close to back-away in time. Instead, he dipped towards the axe, moving downward.

The axe missed his head, but caught the protruding plumage and blades of his helmet. The force of the swing transferring to them, and Pullo as a result.

His head jerked, and I heard the snapping of over-stressed leather

His helmet flew off with all the run-away force of a home-run. It bounced several yards away on the dry ground. Leaving Pullo's head exposed, along with his close cropped hair.

Unfortunately, I couldn't capitalize on it.

I'd thrown everything and the kitchen sink into the swing, and the extra momentum had the after-effect of carrying me with it. The axe nearly went flying before I could pull it back. By then though Pullo, despite probably having his bell rung, had retreated once more, shaking his head for clarity.

Not willing to waste a beat, as soon as the axe was back to me I lunged at Pullo. Bringing the axe down at his head.

It didn't connect.

At the last second, Pullo rolled to the side and sprang to his feet. My axe bit the ground before I could stop it. I went to pull it back, but Pullo was already upon me again. An explosion rang out in the side of my head, hard, even through my helmet. It sent me stumbling, and away from my axe.

I turned to face Pullo and found myself staring him down at the edge of a blade.

Fire burning in his eyes.

Not even having a moment to think, I pulled my arms up in a guard and felt the steel bite me. I felt the blade connect across both my arms, my coat hardly slowing the swing. I hardly had time to register it though. Pullo wasn't waiting for anything now. He swung again.

And again.

And again.

His machete began to blur through the air so quickly, it felt for a moment like I was fighting the wind. It didn't help that the blood-loss was stacking up now, and dodging wasn't as easy under the barrage. I dodged and avoided as much of it as I could. But I couldn't keep up then, not at that moment.

"I AM LUCIUS PULLO!" Pullo roared, a swing narrowly missing my arms. "CENTURION TO LORD CAESAR!"

The blade came up at a diagonal, barely catching the lower half of my waist.

"SUBJUGATOR OF THE DENVER DOGS!"

The Blade flipped mid-air, and it came racing down. I couldn't react, not in time.

I felt it crash into my left shoulder, slicing into me with a hiss. A howl of pain escaped me before Pullo kicked me in the chest. Immediately dislodging the machete.

"FIRST SPEAR OF LEGATUS LANIUS!"

I tumbled and rolled across the dirt scrambling back around Pullo, keeping his attention. I needed to get to my axe. Barely managing to clear the distance between me and it. I felt my fingers wrap around it.

Then Pullo kicked me in the side, sending me sprawling to the ground. I planted my axe against the ground for leverage, and tried to rise to my feet.

By the time I got to my knees, Pullo had his blade to my throat once again.

He glared down at me, his face rictus with rage.

"…And first battle brother to Vulpes Inculta." He finished, his voice quieting, but still dripping with venom. "Who on this day, I do justly avenge… You will die here. Pathetic… and alone."

Funny how moments can stretch into an eternity.

Especially when you have the proper view of things.

"Well… You're half right about that last part." I answered

One of Pullo's eyebrows quirked.

Then Raul brought a lead pipe down on the back of his skull.

Pullo didn't stand a chance after that.

The blade fell, and I sprang up, swinging the axe in a reverse grip. The Poll flying under and piercing his jaw. He gave a strangled howl, indicating it hadn't killed him. Feverishly, he tried to make another pass at me with his machete. But the tides had turned. Raul brought the pipe down on his sword arm with a sickening crack. The machete dropped and Pullo's arm broke.

This fight was over.

Using the axe as a lead, I flipped Pullo over my shoulder and slammed him into the ground. He came loose of the axe on contact and I reeled it over head.

I got a final look at him as he lay there, before the axe came down. He wasn't angry anymore.

He wasn't afraid either.

He looked… surprised.

He'd thought he was going to get what he wanted. He'd had me dead to rights, but had made a mistake right at the very end.

But I didn't hesitate.

Roles reversed, he wasn't going to.

The axe slammed down with every bit of force I could muster. His head split with a wet *thwack*, and the fight was over. I'd rather not get too into the details. All that need be stated is that gray matter isn't gray until it's drained of blood.

I stood there panting for a moment. Not because I was winded, but because the loss of blood was leaving me under oxygenated. I feel my grip slip off of my axe, and it stayed upright where I'd buried it.

Then I felt the backs of my legs give out and I tumbled to the ground.

I'm pretty sure I landed in a heap. It was rather hard to tell at the time, as I was trying more to focus on hitting myself with a stimpack. I had pulled one from my small cache of them and was struggling to get the cover off of the needle. Raul, angel of mercy he is, was kind enough to drop his pipe and lend me a hand. He pulled the cover off and stuck me. He hadn't bother focusing the medicine into a particular vein, so its effects weren't as concentrated or powerful. But the effect it had was both evident an superb nonetheless. I could practically feel the lacerations covering me slowly creeping closed.

Shame it didn't do anything for the lightheadedness or sudden onset weakness. It took me a minute before I was feeling coordinated enough to say anything.

"… Gotta say, not bad for an old man with a pipe." I smiled

"Hm." Raul nodded "Tried to find an opening sooner boss. But you were having a hell of a time of it as it was."

"It's good- well, actually its not, I nearly died- But I'm still breathing, so I can call it a win."

Raul nodded, still kneeling beside me. He made a motion to the former centurion "You think there's anymore besides him?"

"Don't think so, he kind of seemed to be a solo act." Willing to test my limits, I tried to sit up, finding the motion taxing and sluggish.

"Oi, easy boss-"

"No time for it." I groused, struggling to my feet "Just because he wasn't alone doesn't mean we're safe here."

Raul cocked his head in confusion.

"I'll explain on the way back to Steve's" I said, grabbing my axe and turning it into an impromptu cane. "Think you can do me another favor and find my guns?"

"… Hmph, of course boss, I'm just your little irradiated gofer." Raul smirked, then went to pick up my guns.

I took the opportunity to scan the horizon. Looking for anymore lone figures planning to approach me unbidden and looking for a fight. Far as I could see, the only thing watching us was the setting sun. Which, under it fleeting ray, made me feel just a bit stronger and hearty. That didn't change I now knew for a fact that someone was watching me.

But, as a silver-lining, at least I wasn't alone.

"… Yeah, thanks for that."