"Number Nine"
Ch. 04: Nowhere Man.
"He's a real nowhere man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody.
Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?"
- The Beatles, "Nowhere Man"
As soon as consciousness hit him back to the living realm, Vulpes' first physical sensation, besides the cold breeze cutting through his lips and cheeks, was how incredibly sore he felt.
His back ached, his limbs felt heavy and excessively tender, his throat felt irritated, his head was beating in perfect synchrony with his heartbeat, his eyes hurt…
And this was the sensation Profligate drug addicts were so intent on getting from the chems? He simply didn't understand it.
Touching with his fingertips the cold hard granite ground he was lying on facing up the sky, the Courier's sweet warmth no longer sheltering him, he slowly opened his eyes, preparing to find himself alone and, possibly, deprived of his hard-earned price rounding his left forearm. Shame and self-deprecation for having fallen for such a predictable deception were already on the tip of his tongue.
In one night, he had made all the mistakes of a rookie legionary fresh out of training camps.
Oh, were Anguis still alive, the man would have had so much fun with his current predicament...
But alone, he wasn't. And the electronic device was still attached to his forearm.
For, sitting cross-legged merely a few paces from him, was the Courier. Her naked arms and legs were shivering while she tried to shelter herself from the chilly air by sitting against the protruding ventilation hood to avoid wind from one direction, her almost-bluish fingertips trying in vain to rub her arms up and down.
She hadn't abandoned him. She hadn't betrayed him.
Hell, she had even bothered putting him face up so he wouldn't get any sorer and had wrapped him with his own jacket so he wouldn't be cold.
"Oh…" - she whispered, her voice sounding small and trembling as her teeth were chattering uncontrollably – "Y-you're a-awake. H-how d'you f-f-feel?"
Oh, silly, silly girl…
He tried to answer, but he only managed a pitiful short grunt between the cold and how sore his throat felt.
"Y-yeah… d-drugs a-a-are n'thing but s-shit." – she nodded, understanding and, clearly, trying to make him feel better… until her expression suddenly changed to one doe-eyed look – "W-would y-you f-f-forgive m-me? I-I didn't kno-ow y-you d-d-don't like b-being touch'd. I-I ap-p-pologize, it will n-not hap-p-p'n again. P-promise."
Had she… had she just… apologized for touching him?
Nobody had apologized for violating his personal space before. Never.
Deciding that being apart would not benefit any of the affected parts for the time being, and with still a handful of hours of darkness and cold ahead, Vulpes rolled slowly to one side and unwrapped himself from his jacket to open a gap with his left arm, growling an unintelligible invitation.
Casting him a doubtful look, she shivered again.
"A-are y-you s-sure?" – she asked timidly, honest uncertainty tinting her small voice.
He grunted again impatiently, signaling with his eyes for her to get the hell already inside the jacket with him.
He hadn't to insist more as she seized the opportunity and crawled into his embrace.
As soon as her lithe form was flush against his, he proceeded to rub both her arms to create heat from friction between them. Their limbs were numbed from the cold, so the operation of rubbing and being rubbed was clumsy, slow, and a bit awkward for both of them.
However, as feeling returned to Six's arms, she let out a relieved sigh.
"Aaah, much better." – she sighed with contentment – "Thank you. I know this is not the most ideal situation, and you don't like people touching you and…" – she swallowed, watching as he squinted his two eyes in an unamused glance, telling her how needless this conversation was – "Anyway, I just want to say that I… appreciate the gesture and all of that."
His now-furrowed white brows accompanying an unsmiling gesture communicated to her that he didn't appreciate the current conversation and that she should shut up now. He wasn't a child needing coddling from her and her misled notion of pity.
He wanted no one's pity.
A good three-hundred-second parenthesis passed between them in tense silence. She staring at his throat, him looking at the horizontal concrete he had ahead.
"So…" – Six started, risking a peek to his very blue, very gelid eyes – "Wanna learn how to use the Pip-Boy?"
His face relaxed. That was definitely a yes.
However, their current position made things difficult to maneuver his wrist and left forearm to be visible for both of them.
So, they switched positions again, ending up with his larger structure spooning hers. Luckily, they were too numb to acknowledge any type of inadequate friction between them.
"Let's see." – she instructed, accommodating his left arm around hers so she could use her right hand to pinpoint things on the screen – "See this wheel? It is for switching between menus. That's it. You've got three of them: Stats, Items, and Data. Each menu has more submenus, so you navigate through this in tree branches. Like starting from a seed, the device itself, then to the main stem, which is the Operative System, thus the interface. This OS's interface is structured in tree fashion, or branches that are the menus, and each branch has smaller branches, which also are the submenus. You getting a feel of how the structure works?"
Vulpes nodded, fascinated. He already knew how a standard RobCo Operative System worked on terminals and such on a very basic level, but listening to her explaining it this way made it look much easier.
"We are going to customize your Statistics Menu, okay?" – she waited until he switched to the desired menu – "Let's start with the basics: introduce here your gender, your age, your weight, and your height." – she could feel him tensing behind her before adding – "I don't mean to pry. I will close my eyes if you want, but this information is crucial for the device to check on your vital signs and estimate your level of nutrition, radiation, and chances on V.A.T.S. Very useful if you get injured and/or poisoned. It helps to have a better grasp on your current health."
Vulpes' hand hesitated before starting typing at a surprisingly fast pace.
So, twenty years old. – Six mused internally, watching him finish the quick form – He's older than me.
How did a twenty-year-old boy become one of Caesar's Commanders? Had he been recently promoted? Six wasn't really sure; the NCR protected their intel as much as Caesar's Legion did, and, even if they knew that the coyote-headdress wielder was one of the Legion's Commanders, they didn't know his name, not to her knowledge. Many just recognized what he represented, but the NCR soldiers' epithets for him varied from 'Dog Head' to 'Terror of the Mojave'. Along with the dictator himself and Golden Mask Dude, he was the NCR Most Wanted these days.
And she knew why.
"Okay…" – she continued as he hit Accept – "Tap over that small cogwheel symbol. It's the Main Settings." – he was very quick at learning, which made handling the OS' interface faster and easier, plus she hadn't to repeat herself – "See also those little symbols there? They're what you can change/enable/disable on the device. Now switch on the Geiger Counter there so we can see how much… HOLY MOLLY!" – she exclaimed after checking his Statistics' Bars twice – "How can you possibly have 502 rads?! That's Advanced Radiation Poisoning, man!" – she was completely scandalized while he looked completely unfazed by such results – "This thing has to be wrong, or it's still loading your Stats into the system, calibrating your pulse, temperature, and structure; you cannot possibly be halfway going ghoul."
Oh, but he could. To his knowledge, he could very well be as contaminated as the device read. Given his and every single person's constant exposition to irradiated water every time he bathed, he ingested pre-War food and drinks… and his' and his Frumentarii's more than questionable treks all over the desert, no matter the irradiated creatures and contaminated points on the landscape as long as they served the Legion's purposes... Add to that a twenty-year-old life where pre-War medicines had been a 'civilized world', then 'a Profligate thing' concept that one should not tamper with… it was a miracle he hadn't presented any poisoning symptoms yet.
Instead of dying with honor bleeding all over the battlefield, many of his colleagues died lying on their backs, either in a bed or on the hard ground alone if they were very unlucky. They died the slow death by consuming themselves from inside by cancer as if they were men twice older than their actual ages.
That was yet one of the many reasons children were so scarce in this world, particularly in the Legion: because radiation caused people to become sterile.
He had come to terms that he was going to die a young man many years ago. He didn't feel particularly threatened by leading such a dangerous, coming-short life. As long as he was fulfilling his role in the shaping of History, regardless of whether this very shaping ended up wiping the entire human race or not from the face of the Earth, he could live with the consequences.
He always did.
However, despite his grim thoughts, he had to admit that he was enjoying himself right now a lot, learning computing from this restless creature who seemed so enthusiastic and positive about everything in general since they had decided to work together that she was becoming quite contagious.
She looked happy as she kept explaining the excellences of pre-War tech, showing him how to scan the shape of an object to aid the device in identifying the purpose and usefulness of an item, creating a database about what items could be more practical and/or valuable. You only had to sort out the search system and organize items by category in alphabetical/value/weight order. Then the device would present you with a list of options depending upon your needs regarding how to organize your backpack and your economy.
It was very intuitive, and, with time and continued use, the stored information helped make a more personalized experience.
Then, she played him a tutorial video about how to use the Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System, or V.A.T.S., since she said she couldn't teach him how to use it at the same time he tried it.
He discovered why.
The very moment he learned the exact twist that he had to play with his wrist, his pupils dilated, and, suddenly, everything became incredibly slow.
While his brains were reeling with the most amazing sensation ever, a feeling of freedom and invincibility he had rarely experienced in all his short life, his eyes were burning, and he could hear his heartbeat as if the organ itself were about to implode from inside his ears.
Somehow, he could perceive a far greater visual range than average, and his eyes could outline bodily heat. He focused his eyes on his companion, and he watched, totally bewitched, how her body was divided into logically separate sections, each one showing a percentage between 0 and 100.
And her current closeness read high percentages on her head and neck while it read next to nothing as his eyes got her form downwards.
His experience was abruptly cut the moment he felt her hand around his wrist.
"Don't abuse it." – she warned – "V.A.T.S. uses technology that synchronizes with your heartbeat, nervous system, hormones, and neurotransmitters. Through small electrical shocks, it gives you a natural adrenaline rush, that's why you perceive everything slower… but if you abuse its uses in too short a time, it could produce embolism that could destroy your brain." – she was explaining all of this with something akin to concern dancing behind her dark eyes – "Be careful."
After such an experience, he felt more drained than he had cared to admit to himself.
She seemed to perceive his mood and showed him the Book, Music, and Movie Databases she told him she had copied into his device for him to enjoy.
When she had done such a thing…?
Despite his sudden inner questions about compromised data she could have just altered, the Courier made him sweep through the monstrous Music Database divided into folders until she found the archive she was looking for.
"Listen, listen." – she pressed excitedly while opening a small compartment and taking a pair of wireless earplugs from it, giving him the left one – "These guys are the best."
This way, confusion growing bigger with every second passing, Vulpes Inculta found himself rather unwillingly, but soon appreciatively, introduced to some dead music quartet that started to sing about some lonely man without a point of view who didn't belong anywhere.
'The Beatles' she said they had been called.
"Listen, man. Me and my pals here aren't moving until you start giving us answers."
Swank's nerves were already on the very verge of collapse. Everything had gone wrong on a seemingly relaxed night: first, the girl and her little weirdo friend with the oily voice bearing House's message; next is Benny losing ass ranting about psycho brats while leaving a disgusting trail of blood all over the new carpets, disappearing a moment later from sight. He had not returned. Neither the gal nor her companion had come back down.
And now these… he didn't even know how to call them: a group composed of two guys, two gals, a mangy cyberdog that was also pawing and drooling all over the goddamned carpets, and… a thrice-motherfucking supermutant with the biggest blade ever strapped to its back. A supermutant House's securitrons had allowed entering The Strip. A supermutant with a free pass on human territory.
A supermutant that could cause a lot of trouble and broken furniture if angered enough.
All of them asking questions about the girl, saying that the dog had tracked her down here, that they had House's approval in all of this.
He wasn't quite sure, but bluffing or not about their allegiance with House, Swank would need a Valium later. He just knew that.
"You better listen to my friend here, or there will be consequences." – the shortest, youngest of the two women added, clearly backing up the soldier's not-so-eloquent discourse abilities – "Consequences that wouldn't make your life any easier. If you know what I mean."
Swank just gave up. He felt so tired, so done with everything… to think all had started with him just wanting to get laid…
Never again was he going to get involved with a teen. Not for nothing; they had the 'T' for 'Trouble'.
"Look, she and her friend approached me in Big Man's name, dig?" – he answered, drained, wanting for this night to end to take a shower and go to bed as soon as possible – "Got my blessing, went to confront Benny and… things have gotten a bit out of hand since then."
"What friend?" – now it was a tall blonde man doing the talk, his glasses reflecting the ceiling lights to Swank's eyes annoyingly – "Describe them."
"Young tall fella, blue eyes, white hair." – the Chairman answered, internally rumbling as he recalled the uneasy feeling he had gotten around that one – "Voice soft, funny accent, bit handsy with the gal. Thought he was her boyfriend or something. She wasn't exactly squirming, you dig?"
The alarm looks he saw on the four human integrants of such a ragtag group informed him that pretty-weirdo-boy hadn't been on the menu till now. There was something in their story that did not add up.
And he wasn't just risking angering House again just for the sake of some folks wanting information on one of his agents. He couldn't allow these crazy people with that filthy dog to go roaming armed and pissed off all around the casino searching for some girl they may or they may not want dead.
However, there was the supermutant with the meanest blade ever strapped to its back…
Motherfucking diplomacy it was.
He offered them to stay at the Casino Floor - all expenses on the house - while his men, not Benny's, took a peek at the Presidential Suite and Benny's private room to see if the gal and her companion were still around.
Grudgingly, they accepted.
And he came to dearly regret his invitation as soon as the supermutant sat over two stools that creaked dangerously under its enormous weight, and the redhead cowgirl started asking for their most expensive brand of whiskey.
It was going to be a long, long night.
The first sun rays poking out on the horizon got them both by surprise as music had been flowing in good company. Vulpes' no longer so sore throat had invited to ask whispered questions about the meaning of some lyrics and many references he could not pinpoint.
She, the Courier, had happily provided, inviting debate and something she called 'brainstorm'.
From Beatles, they had moved on to a guy named Bob Dylan that had been gifting their ears with some profound reflections about how many years can some people exist before they were allowed to be free and how many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just didn't see.
For so, he had pondered the same questions often.
It seemed that, even before the Great War, people had kept asking the same questions with no answers to hold onto.
It was a bit disheartening that, even with all their History on their backs to learn from, people, same as the war, never changes.
However, as the sun hit on his sensitive retinas, Vulpes' bubble had burst violently and he had become again Caesar's greatest Frumentarius who, in a cold display of hypocritical pragmatism, had started to ask himself just what in the Spear of Mars was he doing lying down on cold hard ground embracing this unappealing thin female body attached to a mind full of pretty although useless philosophies and theories, giving voice to dead thinkers pertaining to a dead civilization.
Within a moment, he disdained her. Her sweet warmth, her endearing enthusiasm, and everything she represented. To him, she was just a Dissolute.
Good enough to be converted into Caesar's vision without vices ruining her body and mind, but too idealistic to come around easily.
However, Caesar would enjoy sharing his vision with such an uncorrupted, young soul as much as Vulpes himself had done this night. She might have something to contribute to his Lord's Causa yet… even if that something would end up being merely a perfect object lesson for the many Profligates who admired and supported her Courier legend.
Just for the sake of example and, hopefully, indoctrination in her case, she had to meet his Lord. One way or another.
Nonetheless, he had to keep his amicable façade with her if he wanted her relationship with the Legion to flow as smoothly and easily as possible. He was sure he wouldn't gain anything from her by bullying her into buying Caesar's philosophy just because he said so.
He had to convince her, to make her see the difference between the right thing to do and the convenient thing to adopt.
For it would be a shame that they somehow ended up being enemies because he had not been able to behave like what she thought was a decent human being. Time he will have to show her what decency actually was. All the time in the world.
That was why, after suggesting they look for some way downstairs without alerting the security staff, he allowed her to keep his jacket to shelter her from the cold until full daylight would settle its unforgiving wings of fire and heat over Sin City.
Profligate… Dissolute women liked it when men offered them comfort and protection, right? Just like any other Legion woman - slave, Priestess, or civilian.
As she accepted his gesture with a beaming smile, thanking him with words and not with annoying touching, he thought she would make a fine addition to Legion women.
Her status would only depend on how well she assimilated their culture… or rather how well their culture would assimilate her.
Swank's right eye twitched twice the moment his sight landed on the broken latches firmly screwed on crooked doors, riddled furniture peppering the floor with splinters, bullets embedded in the walls, exploded bottles, and disfigured corpses staining the carpets with liquor and blood… the fucking NEW carpets, damnit!
What the fuck Benny had been thinking?! This hadn't been a social reunion but a battlefield!
He didn't fucking care whether the girl and her boyfriend had attacked first. Benny should have known better than to take them to the motherfucking Presidential Suite, where all the parties and reunions with the Brahmin Barons and other important NCR influential figures - fucking Ambassador Crocker included - were always conducted!
This was a disaster, an utter, complete disaster…
As he passed through the adjoining rooms seething with anger when he saw the mess Benny's stupid gorillas had created in their wake, he prayed not to find the girl's or her companion's corpses. He couldn't afford to lose more points with House, and the Chairmen were already on the tightrope in his book.
Relief washed over him as he saw the dismantled ventilation grill in the last bathroom.
So, the kids had managed to escape.
Let's pray they don't pass a lousy review on House. If he contacted them again, he would offer them free drinks, games, and the key to a lovely suite to compensate for Benny's rotten moves and treachery.
Anything that would assure him and his brothers not becoming the next target on the lens of House's securitrons.
Something had changed.
She could tell as she kept descending the rusty steps of the emergency fire escape staircase that his gaze was always intent either on the horizontal steps or the closing ground, never above where she was descending after him.
True that she appreciated his null impulse to take a peek at the depths of her skirts. True that she was secretly relieved to have still his jacket on as she was using the significantly longer sleeves to avoid contact between her bare hands and the crust of rust all over the metallic steps, yes… But his demeanor had taken a slight, although not entirely unpleasant, shift the very moment the sun had risen.
The second he had gotten unwillingly drugged by Benny's hand, he had been incredibly open and trusting to her. She knew the Psychojet had something to do with that as, besides turning the user into a more violent individual, Psychojet also disinhibited said individual's conduct, making them blunter and easier to read.
But he had overcome the chem's effects in an hour or so, and he had gotten sleep recovery time; so, when he had woken up, he had been, if nursing the chem's 'hangover', perfectly sober and aware of his surroundings.
They both had had a really fun time while he had discovered how the Pip-Boy worked, and she had been happy watching him enjoy it. And even happier she had felt the moment she saw that he liked music and was willing to discuss the meaning of the lyrics.
However, the very instant he had suggested they both look for a way to get down as, in daylight, things would be quieter on The Strip, she had seen that guarded look he had used when she had awakened in his room returning to his eyes.
Maybe he could induce others to believe that he was being merely complacent and even polite, for his body language and how he schooled his features were crafted to please, to make others feel at ease around him.
But Six was a good observer. That was how she could predict more or less how specific topics and intonation would please or awaken a particular reaction from others. And she had seen him unguarded. She had seen him enjoying her teachings. She had seen him altered and annoyed. His eyes betrayed him even if his entire body sent mixed signals to her.
Fair irises had this peculiar disadvantage that someone as observant as her could tell if the owner of such eyes was interested or not, excited or not, tired or not. Pupil dilation was a reflex move; thus impossible to control it fully.
On that field, she had more vantage than him. Her eyes were so dark that pupil dilation was hard to read without direct light.
That was why she was behaving extremely compliant and polite around him now. She could tell that he didn't find her a half-bad company, which was a start… but his guarded demeanor disguised as apparent ease discouraged her from further approach.
It was to be expected - she tried to reason with her emotional side that was already giving up while repeating that familiar painful mantra about that she wasn't good enough, that no sane kid would want to be her friend, that she was an egghead nerd and a geeky weirdo -, he was a spy, and his work consisted on deceiving and extracting information from the enemy. And she, though not having been actively antagonizing the Legion all these months, wasn't an ally of his either.
And something told her that this boy, in particular, wasn't quick to trust anybody.
But hey, good friendships were a constant work of care, time, and perseverance. Best friends were the hardest to get; if he needed building trust and time, she would procure them for him.
At least he didn't seem bored and/or uninterested like Jerry the Punk and the others had been. Otherwise, he wouldn't be so considerate to her. No matter his interest wasn't of immediate friendship, the good thing was that they had some common interests. Friendship could be built around shared interests, right?
Or, at least, that was what she chose to think.
They reached a small metallic platform leading them to an emergency red door.
Zorro asked for one of the hairpins she was still wearing on her hair, and she provided one. It was fascinating looking at him while he worked out the rusty lock; he seemed so intent, so focused, and yet so deft while tinkering with the lock's inner mechanisms… Six wondered if he would teach her how to do it if she asked him real nice.
Making a soft, pleased hum as the familiar click gave way to the interior, Vulpes took a quick peek before signaling the girl that entering was safe.
They found themselves inside one of those emergency corridors that gave open either to stairs or maintenance rooms.
There were two possible ways: an emergency elevator or a maintenance door. Both chose the second.
"Hey! Hi there, good to meet you!" – an electronic, overly cheery voice greeted them as soon as they set foot in the new room – "What can I do for you two today?"
Vulpes' first instinct had been to tackle his and the Courier's weights to a corner behind bulky machinery that he believed to be an assembly workshop of sorts.
For, in front of his hand pointing the 9mm that he still had on his power, a securitron was buzzing while an odd smiling interface was flashing on its screen, not the typical police-like brand of Mr. House that crowded The Strip.
"Don't worry about me! You can shoot if you want!" – the machine exclaimed with creepy artificial joy – "I won't complain, promise!"
"What's this place?" – Six's voice over his right shoulder as she poked out her head behind him while on tiptoes asked timidly – "What are you doing here?"
"Why, this is Benny's workshop. When The Tops got renovated, he had this half of the floor blocked off for his personal use!" – the machine immediately answered – "I guess you could say it's my entire world! I don't think I've ever left this room! But that's okay – I'm not complaining!" – however, as she was about to ask again, the altered securitron continued – "About your other question, which is a good one, by the way: my function is to monitor Mr. House's data network and decode his encrypted transmissions!"
Vulpes and Six exchanged a dumbfounded look. Seems like this mission of theirs hadn't ended just yet.
"Aaand you're telling us all of this because…?"
"I was programmed to be helpful and answer any questions I was asked. I guess nobody bothered to restrict who I answer questions for!"
Lowering his gun slowly, Vulpes raised a brow.
"What are you exactly?" – he asked cautiously.
The machine buzzed as if it were excited about being questioned.
"As I understand it, I used to be just like all those other securitrons out on The Strip, but then, my neuro-computational matrix was completely reprogrammed! To be nice! Very, very nice!" – it replied – "But enough beating around the bush and allow me to introduce myself! I'm a PDQ-88b securitron, but you can call me Yes Man!"
The Bull's Fox's ears perked with an instinct that this would be a one-time chance to gather as much intel about House and the Chairmen as he wished.
Unbeknownst to him, his temporal allegiance with the Courier had proved much more interesting and profitable than he could have possibly anticipated. Maybe she wasn't a great fighter, alright, but she knew how to follow orders, and her presence and aid had proven instrumental in finding this gold mine of information.
The Legion must benefit from her collaboration; she must work with him, no matter the cost. Caesar shall have her as his emissary to a New Era. His Mercuria.
Vulpes shall have her by his side when the Second Battle for Hoover Dam occurs. His Frumentaria Fortuna.
For she had already demonstrated that luck was on her side, and she provided for those close to her. She was a walking charm, like those that the wise women in his tribe had worn at difficult times when decisions had mattered the most.
He hadn't thought about those women for so many years that now, with memories emerging from the pit of his gray matter's archive, they flowed easily. He recalled how each of those very women had been spared from the massacre; their blessed daughters - whose faces they had painted in white, a virtue symbol - had ended up being offered to the Temple as Priestesses, venerated and untouchable. The best fate for a tribal girl in the Legion. Their male counterparts had not been so lucky when the Legatus in charge of the operation had ordered Dimidio amidst them to gather the strongest among the young ones. The most severe form of population screening and punishment for those meant only to watch.
A perfect object lesson.
His tribe had been a thorn on Caesar's side despite how much the Son of Mars wanted to say the opposite. His tribe had been large, with an old tradition of passing on the chief's name to the eldest male child until one of his younger male siblings would challenge him to earn the name in fair combat. His had been a tribe of warriors, a tribe of hunters. A tribe whose name had been widely known all over the valleys South of Utah.
A tribe whose memory was nothing more than tiny snippets that every year faded more and more into oblivion as battles were fought and comrades fell all around him.
He had been the chief's second child, with zero interest in challenging his older brother for his name when both would be older. He had liked his birth name; he didn't see the appeal in changing it. His father had told him that he was smart and way too intelligent for his own damn good.
However, his father had fallen down in combat, and his older brother had perished later on the Dimidio.
Seven siblings. Six boys. Five had undergone the Dimidio. Four assimilated. Three remained with the scars of memory. Two dead. One had been a newborn baby at that time.
And none of them had been left untouched by the Bull's horns.
He had survived. The wise women of the tribe had said that his bleached skin tone and hair gave him an alien appearance, made to slide through the dark since his sensitivity towards sunlight cataloged him into a night predator position. Born to strike from the shadows.
And those women had ended up being right.
However, since the assimilation day, Vulpes hadn't put much thought into that imprecise notion that was fate. That had been a 'tribal concept born out of ignorance'.
But now, he wasn't so sure anymore.
That encounter at Nipton couldn't have possibly been merely accidental. He knew it now.
"Very well… Yes Man." – he spoke confidently, his musings food for another time. He had to savor them first, to acquire a taste of them – "Would you be answering some questions for me?"
Cass' forehead lay over the bar counter since the coolness from the furniture was helping a bit with her hangover.
In truth, she rarely underwent hangovers, primarily due to the almost non-stop supply of liquor running down her throat, then through her system, easing the nonsensical nature of her life in general.
However, since that little girl had entered the seedy bar from the NCR Mojave Outpost's barracks asking if they had Vanilla Nuka-Cola, Rose of Sharon Cassidy had started to, slowly but surely, find herself soberer than she would have liked.
First, she had mistaken her for a boy and had shooed her away, saying something along the lines that "he had to be ten years older and have a dick at least half as long as Long Dick Johnson to have her remotely interested". After that, she was pretty sure she had fallen asleep over the counter, for the next thing she recalled was having a stiff neck, and her titties had felt too damn hot when she had awakened with what she thought was a pre-teen boy still in front of her. But this time offering her a glass of water and some of those pre-War painkillers called 'aspirins'.
She had accepted the glass with a grimace, not used to the tasteless liquid that didn't burn her throat as she had kept swallowing it with the offered small white tablets.
After twenty minutes, she had felt better and had kissed what she still had thought a boy on the cheek, telling her that "he was sweet as fuck, but she wasn't in the mood to fuck sweetly".
The very instant the petite teen had opened her mouth, and the soberness hadn't allowed any mistake in recognition, Cass' face had gone as red as the sun at rush hour.
She said she was called Six, that the floating mechanical sphere buzzing over her head was her friend, and had immediately asked if she had seen a man in a checkered suit.
Cass' first reaction had been having a hearty laugh. And she hadn't had many reasons to laugh back in her previous situation without having any news from her caravan employees.
However, seeing that the gal in front of her had been deadly serious, Cass had felt even more embarrassed for being such an asshole with such a sweet girl. So, she had invited her for a late lunch as a way to compensate for her inadequate behavior.
The girl hadn't asked for something overly expensive, and Cass had been thankful for that, not knowing how much her savings would buy her whiskey and food… and whiskey again if she didn't start to move her ass soon.
The Six girl had suggested the redhead accompany her through the desert until they reached a population named Novac. Cass had asked if she wouldn't want to stop at Nipton, and the girl had replied way too calmly that Nipton had been wiped out by the Legion, that she had seen the banners and the burned corpses.
To say that Cass had been freaked out had been to fall short. And the Six girl had been immensely neutral as she had spoken of fire ants crowding the road down the Outpost soon after delivering the Nipton news. All of this while swallowing a whole box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes and giving a soft patting over the buzzing device… that every damn time responded to her touch with goddamn excited beeping.
Way too weird for Cass' tastes, she had politely declined her offer, saying that she was waiting to hear news from her employees, that she couldn't move from the Outpost until she closed some deals here in the Mojave.
The day after the small girl and her floating device had disappeared in the desert, news on her caravans had arrived: heading North, her last caravan had been burned to the ash, driver included.
Suddenly, her existence had come to a halt, and she wasn't sure how much whiskey she would need to silence that small voice on the back of her head reprimanding her, saying that she should have accompanied the Six girl, that she shouldn't have allowed her to leave with that creepy flying piece of junk as protection.
Many weeks had passed with more travelers dropping news about the attacks on caravans being more frequent and virulent every time. And the fire ants multiplying themselves down the road didn't help anything to improve everybody's grim mood since news on Nipton's fate and the threat of Caesar's Legion gaining ground had caught on to them. One of the officers, a Sergeant of sorts, had gotten so depressed that he had polished half the bar's reserves on beers before heading into the desert randomly, completely piss-drunk. His body had been found by the Rangers a couple of days later, surrounded by radscorpions. Lacey, the bar's owner, had limited to lament over his unpaid bar tab.
However, one day that Cass was already pondering how deep in the bottle one could drown before reacting once and for all; three merchants had arrived at the Outpost heavily escorted while saying that some crazy nuts were wiping the road from the fire ant plague.
An hour and a half later, the one and only Six girl had reappeared… followed not just by her beloved pile of floating trash but also accompanied by two men, a young woman, a cyberdog, and far better equipment than those weeks earlier.
She had arrived saying that it was her group's doing that the fire ants were no more. And she had had the necessary witnesses to back her claims.
Ranger Jackson had recompensated their efforts by passing them two ammo boxes and some caravan luncheons.
Then Six had come to the bar to give her drunk ass yet another glass of water and more aspirins while she asked if Cass would be willing to sell her business to the Crimson Caravans Company.
First, Cass had been pissed off, but when she had seen Alice McLafferty's signature on the offer letter, she had wanted to challenge the girl to a drinking contest.
However, one of his companions, an NCR ex-sniper, had cut the fun before it started saying "no alcohol for the girlie". The party pooper. He acted more like a big brother to her than a companion.
So did the rest of her group, for what Cass had seen in the coming months after signing McLafferty's offer letter and agreeing to be a plus one in Six's growing group. She was a kid, and even the cybernetic dog was intent on protecting her no matter what. Cass couldn't blame them. Six was so small and good-hearted that the Mojave would chew, swallow and then fart her out like some bad memory if nobody did anything on the matter.
That was primarily why every last of them were aiding her on her quest to find some bloke named Benny who had stolen something from her after shooting her twice in the head and leaving her for dead in a cemetery.
Cass had said that they should chase the cocksucker and give him hell. The rest had agreed.
It had been a long time since somebody actually listened to what she had to say, that somebody agreed with her and backed up her ideas. Six often consulted every one of them (even the fucking floating sphere, whose ostensible 'language' only Six could interpret) before taking a risk or making an important decision.
And, after a month of traveling with them, soon adding Raul and Lily to the party after some hilarious, nonsensical, and overly dangerous skirmishes with way too many supermutants for Cass' tastes, the former caravanner had grown the nerve to ask if they may look for her disappeared caravans.
Everybody had agreed to help her.
She was glad they had managed to recover some ammo and supplies from the four shot-down caravans they had encountered on the roads, pretty close to the locations the investigators she had hired in the past month had informed they had been seen.
Cass had been heartbroken at first upon discovering that all her employees were dead. But soon, she had become angry as fuck when she had noticed the consistent pattern of shooting both the human and the brahmins to ashes, knowing certainly that only an energy weapon would have been capable of doing such a thing.
Sad and also angered for her and the innocent people murdered when doing an honest job, Six had promised Cass to find the culprit.
And she, of all people, had been the first one in years to make a promise to Cass… and abide by it.
Six wasn't good at picking locks, but she was extraordinary in making herself scarce around people and overhearing conversations that weren't intended for her ears.
So, she had signed for temporary employment with the Van Graffs after overhearing a talk between the King and his big-mouthed right-hand man, Pacer, about some shady business between Gloria Van Graff, a former lover of his, and the Crimson Caravans Company.
The Van Graffs had laughed in her face the first time she had presented on their local, the Silver Rush, to sign for nightly guard substitution after the former employee had… 'displeased' Gloria by sticking his dick in other cunts that weren't hers. Not for nothing, Van Graff women were famous all over New Reno territory for not to be crossed and not to be cheated by their lovers, even if they were the first ones into the polyandry practices. Every single one of the sons and daughters of the family matriarch, Tiaret Van Graff, were products of different fathers.
However, due to the lack of candidates at that moment, Gloria had decided to give Six some test time to see if she fit the bill.
And she had. It had been funny to watch from a distance, Boone perched on a balcony in the nearby Atomic Wrangler with his scope lens focusing on defending the girl from any creep who dared to put a finger on her while the rest of the group had stuck to strategic positions to raise to her aid should the other guard, a man named Simon, would prove insufficient to shield her.
However, the more drunken, pissed off, rude, and snobbish clients arrived at the local's door, the better she behaved. Never losing her cool, constantly dealing with them politely with a smile on her face, sweet to the point nobody left the building after doing business with the Van Graffs without waving her goodbye.
From that night on, the Van Graffs had started to give her more diplomatic-oriented jobs, clearly seeing her potential. And Six had been able not just to increase the group's laughable economy substantially, but also be privy to many of the family's dark secrets.
That way, she had found out how they had boycotted Cassidy Caravans' business through an illegal arrangement with Alice McLafferty.
Knowing this but being unable to get ahold of the documents that would prove their accusations without violence as the NCR surely would demand it as a condition in order to open a file case against both organizations, Six had devised a plan to bring down both the Van Graffs and McLafferty without affecting the whole Crimson Caravans Company and without making the NCR suspect a thing: first, they would attack the Silver Rush and leave no survivors who would speak ill against them. They already had the whole Freeside's blessing on their side since Six and her group had been nothing but helpful to its people. The Van Graffs had been undesirable vermin that had settled down there by force. Nobody would sell Six to the NCR.
Next had been, with the aid of some explosives courtesy of Six's unofficial allegiance with the Vault 19's Powder Gangers, to blow up the safe's lock where the incriminating documents had been stored.
Then, next had been paying the services of a good master forger that had falsified both McLafferty's and Gloria Van Graff's handwriting and signatures in a series of false documents not just incriminating both parties on their Cassidy Caravans boycott deal but also the preempted assassination of its former owner, Miss Rose of Sharon Cassidy.
With those documents in hand, they had gone to the Rangers at the Mojave Outpost claiming that they had been attacked first, that they had found those documents and that they wanted satisfaction from McLafferty's shady policies.
Premeditation murder attempt were far more severe charges than property destruction and – ironically - workers' assassination. That, coupled with self-defense shooting testimony that ALL of the Freeside inhabitants would back without hesitation… and bureaucratic evidence, had demoted Alice McLafferty back to Shady Sands to be legally processed.
Even Cass had been monetarily compensated by the actual owners of the Crimson Caravan Company, the Jamison Family.
And they still were well-regarded allies in the eyes of the NCR.
Nobody had done so much for Cass before.
Besides being thankful, the redhead had developed a soft spot for the girl in the last few months she had been traveling with her. The way she treated people was incredibly endearing like they were actual people and not tools to be used, itches to be scratched, or even dirt to be scraped from one's boot. And she didn't make any distinctions between humans, ghouls, or supermutants. For her, everybody was people; hence why Raul and Lily were so comfortable traveling with her. She wasn't bothered by Raul's rather peculiar ghoulish body odor or Lily's mental issues in the slightest; she hugged and kissed them on the cheek the same way she did with the rest.
In fact, she was sometimes so loving and open that Cass had found her affection a bit overwhelming. And she was sure that Boone wasn't the overly-affectionate type… but for Six, he remained quiet and compliant every time she decided to hug him just because she felt like it.
And whenever she found toys or sweets during their scavenging at many abandoned places, she always gave them away for free to the many poor children on the Freeside. And every dosage of Med-X or Addictol she found, she never sold but rather gifted to the Old Mormon Fort just to help people. That had been how she had caught Arcade's interest in the first place, another frequent victim, along with Veronica, of her hugs and kisses. Not that any of them were complaining about it, though.
How could somebody not love someone who answered needs with love and care?
How could she possibly not be sickeningly worried to her guts when said person was missing?
How could she not drown herself in misery, sitting on a barstool like she had done back on the Mojave Outpost's barracks? She felt so incredibly shitty and useless that even the whiskey wasn't helping this time.
Since her mother had died, Cass hadn't been willing to worry over anybody's welfare in all these years full of whiskey, work, and sexual company to fill a greater void that, with every friend chewed and spit out by Vegas, increased a little more.
She hadn't noticed she had been depressed until a glass of water and a handful of aspirins had been put on her hands to clear her mind and start asking herself some questions. The answers hadn't been pretty, and the solutions had been nowhere near until a certain geeky kid had come back with more water and aspirins and a renewed offer to travel with her.
Six had given Cass back her will to move on and look forward to what the future might have in store for her.
She wasn't letting her down. Not if she could help it. Her father would never forgive her if he discovered that his daughter, a Cassidy, had forsaken a person she owed so much to.
So, she had gotten up from her defeated position over the counter, adjusted the brim of her cowboy hat, made a clicking sound for Rex to follow her, and had stood with all her might and foul alcoholic breath in front of that cocksucker who had given them free will on the Casino Floor to grab him by his shirt lapels.
"Listen, motherfucker." – she hissed, suddenly sober, her tongue firmer than it had been in months – "Me and my friends here have been patient enough putting up with you and your crap till now… but I think that enough is enough." – the man, tired as he seemed, was sweating profusely under that suit of his. Cass liked that. She liked better her men trembling and submissive, going clammy and tender between her expert hands – "Either you show me where my friend is, or I don't fucking care if I end up like a goddamned strainer at your brutes' hands if that means I manage to shove my boot up your sorry…"
However, when she was about to shake him like some common bar brawler, by her side, Rex's ears perked while raising his head as if searching for something.
Swank, still with his shirt lapels between this fiery woman's hands, observed fascinated as the cybernetic mutt neared one of the casino walls with a ventilation grill a few feet over the floor and sniffed. Could it be that the animal…?
Rex's snout stuck to the wall that was giving away the smell he had been looking for so long since he and the friendly little human's companions had gotten inside this odd and noisy den. Briefly standing on his two hind legs to better reach the source of the smell.
"You got something, boy?" – Cass approached the hybrid animal as the dog continued sniffing the wall, then the floorboards.
Rex barked twice, panting excitedly as he recognized the smell. It was faint but not enough to cheat his artificially enhanced senses. He ran to the den's exit.
"Rex has found something!" – Cass exclaimed, earning more than one stare when the rest caught on to her more intelligible pronunciation – "C'mon!"
She hadn't had to say it twice. Even Lily moved quicker than usual (primarily due to her size) to catch on with Rex and the humans losing ass after the cyberdog's barks.
However, as soon as Swank found himself alone, the morning breaking through windows, his otherwise impeccable suit disheveled and sweaty, and lots of work ahead to repair Benny's little misadventure with those two problematic brats - starting with checking the Chairmen's savings to see if there was something that could be done with the Presidential Suite, the two barstools the supermutant had slouched, and the carpets the mongrel had pawed - the now new official leader of the Chairmen combed his fingers through his gelled hair and sighed.
Lots of bureaucratic papers awaited on his desk, and now he had to devise some way to make him and his brothers trustworthy again in Big Man's eyes. A task that would depend on his next diplomatic moves with those two. In case they were still alive, that is.
He would send one of his most charming, best-looking guys to investigate and, should he manage to localize the brat couple, to extend an invitation to help themselves around the casino as much as they wished. As a goodwill gesture to House and his human agents, no expenses should be spared for them.
Damn, he needed a bath. A hot, long one.
The small elevator down the maintenance hall had gotten them below far more levels than they could have suspected. And the discovery they had made had answered, at least, one crucial question: how Benny had managed to escape without alerting The Strip's robotic security. For, after showing his cards, they were pretty sure that House would have never allowed such a rat to escape from its hole without interposing fire and steel between the man and the Platinum Chip.
The small elevator was one straight trip either to the thirteenth floor upwards or downwards, where they were right now.
And 'downwards' had been a relatively small naked room that had sported a massive hole on one of its walls that had led into what looked to be a hidden part of the now partially blocked by concrete rubble Vault 21.
Long, silent, and utterly empty corridors led to a handful of metallic closed doors that neither could crack open. So, they had to follow the only logical path that, probably, had led Benny East, outside The Strip.
Taking the left side of the first corridor, they opened one by one a series of metallic doors that led on a straight line to a final one that ended on a pile of concrete rubble that could be climbed on to reach the opposite side through a decent-sized space where a grown man would fit pretty tight but sure.
Vulpes wasn't sure where this odd adventure would lead to. And yet, he, despite feeling as tired like an old man, was having some fun playing with locks from the impossible metallic doors and a few footlockers that had harbored a bit of a juicy loot on dynamite cartridges he had tossed onto some dusty military duffle bag he had found on the floor. Luckily for him, the Courier hadn't asked for sharing, so everything would go to his name.
He couldn't stop thinking they had gotten back on Benny's track thanks to his talkative machine Yes Man. It said it didn't know where the Chairman leader had gone but that he had escaped using "his secret escape elevator down the hall".
So, the man had been expecting company, after all. And he had confided these secrets to a machine. A machine he hadn't bothered to restrict who it talked with.
Not very smart, considering the half-assed plan he had managed to bake during all of these last months without raising suspicion. Well - although clumsily - played.
Yes Man had proven a fantastic fountain of knowledge when he had asked all the details on Benny's obsession with the Platinum Chip: the fool was hoping that, by inserting Yes Man's neuro-computational matrix into the Lucky 38's mainframe, it would override House's control over the securitrons on The Strip.
And that wasn't the best part of the plan: to upgrade Mr. House's securitrons, Benny had to reach an underground facility that was, luckily for Vulpes, situated below Fortification Hill where his Lord's encampment had been settled.
Theoretically, said underground facility had the appropriate hardware to read the Platinum Chip. And the Legion had complete control over it.
That was why he hadn't uttered a word about hurrying after Benny. If what Yes Man said was true, the rat would end up sooner or later attempting to infiltrate Caesar's troops.
All he had to do was send Alerio to alert Caesar and the rest of the encampment of his presence.
And, to sweeten the deal, he would send a letter with Alerio describing how vital the Courier's presence had proven to gather this much intel. His Lord wouldn't have any qualms about inviting her to Fortification Hill despite her age or gender. And nobody would argue with that.
The Courier would be immediately regarded as an ally of the Legion, and the men wouldn't dare touch a single hair of her head.
Thus, if she felt that the Legion was a community that would welcome her with open arms without having to deal with legionaries displaying the standard misogynistic behavior that would surely chase her away in no time, she would end up trusting them.
She would feel special. Special and protected. That, Vulpes and his men would provide in abundance. With three or four Frumentarii keeping an eye on her and ensuring that she felt at home, there wouldn't be any unnecessary unpleasantries on the way by the hand of a rude, peas-for-brains Miles. (1) And he was sure that Caesar would approve.
With her comfort, allegiance would be a matter of time. And she would be rewarded for her loyalty. There wasn't any need to deceive her, just a mere… reconditioning of her beliefs and points of view that he was sure Caesar himself would be delighted to explain to her.
Nobody gets hurt. Everybody gets what they want.
Perfect. He loved when plans got this smooth and with all the loose ends conveniently attached.
He was excited.
However, the moment they found their way back to the populated area of Vault 21 as if they had been just exploring around a bit, Vulpes redirected their steps to Alerio's room. Then, as soon as the man opened his door and allowed Six to enter his bathroom to wash the blood from her face and take a pee, the older Frumentarius surprised Vulpes in an unsavory fashion the instant he handed him over a letter from Caesar.
Vulpes read the contents in silence while schooling his expression to remain neutral. Alerio wasn't exactly one of his most favored Frumentarii, and the man knew it.
In fact, their age difference and the suspicion Vulpes had of Alerio wanting to overthrow him the same way he had done with Anguis two years ago, their relationship was tense. They were professionals, yes, but their silent grudge wasn't helping with that the last thing Vulpes wanted was for Alerio to witness him losing his cool.
Although written neutrally, the letter carried some undertones that let him know that Caesar was impatient and a bit… displeased about no reports on the Courier arriving yet. This, along with his required presence on the Camp Searchlight operation, made Vulpes' excitation turn into slight bitter resignation.
For a moment, he had forgotten that, while the golden-masked Monster of the East was Caesar's hammer to strike on his enemies, Vulpes was his finger to point example whenever the Lord deemed necessary.
A new lesson had to be taught. Now, more specifically, to the NCR.
And Vulpes never failed to deliver.
Feeling rather than seeing Alerio's eyes over him, Vulpes folded the letter parsimoniously while approaching the room's metallic desk, where he found a lighter beside a full untouched pack of cigarettes. Even if Legion laws forbid tobacco as much as it outlawed chems and alcohol, the Frumentarii were dispensed and could use a minimum dosage of those substances as atrezzo for their performance to blend in the Profligate culture. And Alerio was a master at making himself as inconspicuous as any other regular man.
Vulpes turned to face the man while the remains of the letter burned on his fingertips.
"What news on your uncle, Fox?"
'Your uncle' or 'my uncle' was the official way of referring to Caesar among Frumentarii while incognito.
"Still in precarious health and eager to receive some news. He asked me to take a stroll to Searchlight to gather a letter from his son." – Vulpes replied nonchalantly, cautious about letting the other know that he wasn't invited to accompany him on his mission – "Maybe he would like to hear about the girl I've met this night."
Alerio's eyes gleamed as he invaded Vulpes' personal space to lean over his ear. Not close enough to touch him, but still too close for the younger man's comfort. Alerio knew damn well that he loathed physical proximity.
"So, it's true, isn't it? I was right." – he whispered, a hissing satisfied undertone in his voice – "She is the Courier."
"Not a word." – if equally low, Vulpes' voice was a warning in itself – "And no questioning, no touching, no innuendoes, no nothing as soon as she gets out of that door. Not until he reaches a decision about her."
"Are you really going to ask him? Is she worth the effort?" – the incredulous tone on Alerio's voice was fractured the moment he alluded to her gender – "Does she know… or is she as cute and innocent as she looks?"
Stupid and ignorant were the real connotations behind his words. Despite being a Frumentarius, Alerio was Legion through and through, too much pride to see that a woman was a sentient capable of coming up with her conclusions and forming her own opinions.
That was why Vulpes knew better than to underestimate her.
He didn't have to answer Alerio when she emerged from the bathroom clean and fresh as morning glory as if on a cue.
"Sorry, was thirsty." – she said while wiping her mouth of water remnants – "Your turn." – she indicated Vulpes with a toothy smile.
Inclining his head, the young man entered the bathroom to clean himself of the excess of dried blood staining his mouth and hands, and Six found herself alone with the strange thirty-something man that was giving her a very odd look.
Six had disliked him from the moment she and Zorro got into his rented room. Unlike Zorro, who, despite his previous violent demonstration, was now stiffy but adorkably weird in her book… this one's weirdness was unsettling, and the shady air around him wasn't something she was eager for to analyze too deeply. She just wanted to get the hell outta here with Zorro.
She didn't trust this one.
As soon as Vulpes emerged from the bathroom and saw the Courier's tiny hands around the ears of the duffle bag while handling it to him, he immediately caught on to her hurry to leave the room. Undoubtedly, thanks to Alerio and his constant creepy staring. Urgh.
They bid their goodbyes while Vulpes slid a small piece of paper to the hand of his Frumentarius in which he instructed him to take his place tomorrow morning at the Gomorrah to keep an eye on the Omertas.
The rest was a pleasant, quiet walk upstairs to Vault 21's exit.
However, when they got outside, a loud barking welcomed them while a pair of thin but strong arms encircled the girl's small frame.
"Shit, Six, shit…" – the unmistakable reek of booze and a streak of red hair tickling her nose informed Six that she was in Cass' arms – "Don't do this to me in your motherfucking life ever again, you hear me? Never ever!"
"Cass…?" – Six whispered, encircling the other woman's thin frame as well – "You sound…"
"Sober." – the former caravanner replied grumpily – "And it's your stupid ass' fault!"
"Hey, leave the rest of us a bit." – the friendly voice of Vero broke the tension as she slid an arm around Six's back as well, pinching one of her cheeks playfully – "I also want a hug as compensation for the bad night you have given us all."
"I'd rather have a nice long reprimand as compensation." – Arcade's mother-hen voice let Six know that he wasn't feeling remotely happy at all – "What did you think you were doing, Six?"
Once the two women released her from their shared embrace, the girl looked to the tips of her combat boots. She had worried them; she had scared them. She deserved it.
"Whoa, and who's this?" – Cass elbowed her while casting an appreciative look at Vulpes, who was being thoroughly sniffed all around by Rex.
But soon, the young man got cornered against the Vault 21 Gift Shop's entrance and paler than usual as the hulking mass of muscles of a certain Nightkin got in front of him.
Everybody held their breaths until Lily's enormous arms opened at both sides.
"Jimmy? Little Jimmy - my, how you're grown up!" – the supermutant exclaimed happily – "Come over here and give your grandma some sugar!"
At that very moment, Vulpes didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
LATIN:
(1) - recruit
A/N: here we go! Six has gotten the OK in Vulpes' book, Vulpes is overthinking how to deal with her, Arcade is a mother hen, and Lily being Lily ^^
I know I've written too much for such a little time taking place on the fic, but I needed to introduce some concepts and characters' motivations and backgrounds to establish a solid story.
I know these mammoth chapters have a lot of information... but I find myself incapable of writing smaller ones as I do not want this to end up with 40 or more chapters.
We will discover much more about Six's and Vulpes' pasts while they get used to being around each other. Some reviewing or criticizing would be swell, but I am happy that I've managed to get some people interested so far! Thank you for your support!
Any questions, I will answer them gladly.
