"Number Nine"


Ch. 12: When a dead man walks.


Warning: sensitive material ahead. This chapter contains political controversy (it might offend some people) and unhealthy comparisons between ideologies you might or not identify with.

I'm not trying to "indoctrinate" anyone or to be deliberately disrespectful. I am simply following Fallout Lore and taking a guess of how both sides of the same armed conflict would view their respective enemies. Thus I am talking about Communism and Capitalism, about how the Anchorage conflict might have soured political relations between Canadians and Americans and the like. I'm not sugar-coating it. Read this as it was intended: as a work of fiction and nothing more.


"But I don't look back
And I cannot reply
I don't look back
While I'm waiting to lie
I'll carry on
While they want to decide for me

Once again."

- Lacuna Coil, "When a dead man walks"


Six had gotten very little sleep that night.

Sandwiched between Cass and Veronica as the three of them could squeeze in the king-sized bed of the room they had been assigned, she had spent a good hour, first attempting to contact Zorro through the chat with no luck so far, and then she had started to talk with Yes Man, checking on the AI's progress regarding vocabulary and tactfulness in a conversation.

And, she had to admit, the AI learned quickly.

01:55 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

:D YES MAN D: Hey, Sulli? :D

Six repressed a long-suffering sigh. Yes Man had started to call her that some time ago, and she hadn't the heart to tell it to stop.

It brought lots of memories to her. Sweet, painful memories.

01:56 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Yeah?
:D YES MAN D: Out of all the movies in your Database… what's your favorite?

Six's brows furrowed. That was a question she hadn't been asked since… since she was a child.

She remembered the movie, how countless times her Big Bro and Big Sis had humored her infantile, girlish infatuation over a deceased music star from the past and had endured the same old holotape over and over again with her between the two, her head over Big Sis' knees as she would comb her hair and her feet over Big Bro's as he would tickle her from time to time.

And she would take both of their hands and join them.

It was perfect. They had been the parents she barely remembered.

The ones who had died fighting for a lost cause.

Big Bro had battled for the same cause, and he hadn't been very proud of what he had managed to accomplish during his serving years. Many quit while still retaining all their limbs attached and some semblance of sanity. He hadn't been different. It hadn't mattered that his little sister and wife had been both proud of him; something had always weighed down his usually cheerful disposition.

He had been a good man haunted by memories of the battlefield and dead comrades he would never speak of. Not even with the love of his life.

Now, she knew what that felt like. For Boone and she would wear that same distant, hardened expression from time to time.

01:58 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Gotta lots of favorite movies, Yes Man.

She didn't want to go in there. Not yet.

It still hurt too much.

So much that she hadn't worked out the courage to open the old chats with Big Bro and Big Sis to read their old messages, to hear the audios, and see the images attached.

Not since Vault 5. Not since Burke.

01:59 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

:D YES MAN D: Is it the one you have reproduced the most with the video player?
Courier VI: What?
:D YES MAN D: By statistics, the movie you have played more often if your Pip-Boy's memory serves as an example, is the file called 4

Six blushed furiously. This goddamned AI?! So unbelievable nosy!

02:00 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Shit, Yes Man. Would you stop rummaging through my bloody stuff? Please? With a fucking cherry on top?
:D YES MAN D: Why do you curse so much? D:
Courier VI: Because you're pissing me off, damnit! There are just some things you're not supposed to know about a person if said person doesn't want to tell you about them!
:D YES MAN D: Oh, sorry, I didn't know I was being intrusive again! :(
Courier VI: Well, you are.
:D YES MAN D: Sorry! T_T
Courier VI: Okay, okay, just… even if you, in fact, know things about me or any other person, simply don't mention them unless I - or the other person - feel like telling you.
:D YES MAN D: You mean… that it is acceptable to omit the truth to be polite?

Six sighed with exasperation.

02:06 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Not just to simply be polite, Yes Man, but to take into account the feelings of the other person. You might hurt said person's feelings by throwing your knowledge of them to their face.
:D YES MAN D: Did I… did I hurt your feelings? :(

Six gave the question some consideration. Did Yes Man's knowledge of many of her preferences hurt her… or were the memories attached to those preferences what truly hurt?

02:08 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: I don't know.

She received lots of blushing, crying, and kissing emojis in a row as if the AI were attempting to convey actual feelings in those cute mood characterizations.

In fact, lately, Yes Man had been quite busy modifying the emoji chart, visually adapting the small icons to the default smiley face the AI had shown on their first encounter when it had been confined inside the memory of a pirated securitron.

Now, said smiley had developed a range of characterizations that varied from happy and sad to things more specific as blushing pouty.

Six bet any scientist worth their salt would literally kill for having the opportunity to watch how an advanced AI attempted to imitate human responses and to be able to access said AI's database.

But she wasn't any scientific. She was a courier.

And not even a particularly good one.

However, her musings were interrupted as soon as she noticed the alert of new messages on the upper right corner of the Pip-Boy's interface.

02:11 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: Shouldn't you be sleeping?

Six bit her lower lip. Vero, by her left, rolled onto her and quickly took her face away from the slight green brightness, muttering incongruent groans.

Waiting a full minute until she was sure the Scribe wouldn't stir from her sleep, the girl typed back. Her heart racing with a vengeance inside her ribcage.

02:13 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Shouldn't you?
Fox: I merely need six hours of sleep to be fully rested. You, on the other hand, I wouldn't be so sure if this morning was any demonstration of your endurance versus lack of sleep.
Courier VI: Bleh.
Fox: Oh, I wasn't the one asking for "five more minutes" the very instant your alarm started beeping.

Was he… teasing her?

Six didn't know why, but the notion made her blush furiously while there was some odd fluttering inside her tummy that made her blush going from pink to scarlet.

02:14 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Shuddup. Was your fault.
Fox: My fault?
Courier VI: Yeeep. I would have got my nine-hour beauty sleep if you weren't such a chatterbox.
Fox: I was under the impression that you found my palaver at least entertaining enough to keep your eyes open for nearly three hours in the morning. However, if you want me to stop talking, just say the word, and I shall not keep you any longer.

His words gave Six some pause. It had happened to her before that, due to lack of voice inflection and body language, the person on the other side of the chat would take her words too seriously and end up offended or worse: hurt.

She neither wanted to offend nor to hurt him. She should have used some emojis to clarify that she was also jesting.

Or weren't they simply jesting?

02:15 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Hey, I wasn't even half-serious. I just find it funny that you talk so much through the chat while you keep mostly to yourself while we're traveling, that's all. You shall speak to me as long as you wish, okay? :)

He didn't respond for a while, which got her really nervous. Just when she thought she had made some progress with him… there was always this uncertainty, this tension between them that would revert things to count zero.

She didn't want to screw up. She just wanted to be friends… but his sometimes remote, sometimes defensive disposition didn't make things any easier.

He could be interesting, well-versed in some types of literature and even entertaining at some points… but she wasn't ignorant of the fact that he didn't trust her more than strictly necessary.

And he didn't trust her friends one bit. He would reply to Vero's friendly chat and indulge Raul in some Spanish bantering… but all of that was just a front.

He wasn't comfortable around them yet, and Boone's distrust and persistent bullying did nothing to alleviate the general tension inside the group.

He needed to trust them, and the rest needed to accept him for this to work.

Shit, was he going to answer, or did she manage to piss him off now?

02:21 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: Very well.

Whew.

02:22 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: I have a question, though.
Courier VI: Shoot.
Fox: Are you going to tell me exactly what you intend to get out of all of this?
Courier VI: Of what?
Fox: Don't feign ignorance, Courier. It doesn't suit you.
Courier VI: Would you stop calling me "Courier"? It's a job, not a name.
Fox: And your name is…?
Courier VI: It's Six. You know it very well.
Fox: That is not even a name. It is a number. And you know it very well.

Wordy smartass.

02:24 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Would you believe me if I told you that I don't remember my real name?
Fox: No.

For fuck's sake… were all Legion spies this unbelievable suspicious of everything in general?

02:25 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Well, it's the truth. I don't remember my own name, okay? Talk to me again after some mob boss attempts to blow your head off, and we'll see about your thoughts on such a kick in the head.

She knew she sounded defensive, but she was talking to him like, really normal and cool? And he had started to talk like an asshole.

If her abilities at making friends were plain awkward, his' were near nonexistent.

Would he have any friends in the Legion? Like… best friends and all?

Six suddenly felt sad, thinking House might be right and Zorro wouldn't want to be friends with a girl.

Cass and Vero had told her that legionaries despised women, after all.

02:27 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: I see that I have offended you. I apologize.

All of a sudden, her destructive thoughts dissipated.

He… had just apologized? Did legionaries truly apologize?

Or was it just another spy tactic…?

Okay, maybe now the one being an asshole was her. After all, she hadn't been so different from him a few months ago.

Distrusting him would only make him more and more defensive, and Boone was already to blame for Zorro's absence at dinnertime today. Raul said he had been reading, so he hadn't wanted to disturb him, but Six had known better.

Besides, she had been the one who had invited him over. Now she deals with it.

02:29 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: It's okay. The others have also tried to "make me remember" by throwing endless questions that I cannot answer at all. They still try, from time to time, and though I appreciate that they care enough to keep trying… I can't help but feel pretty stupid.

Was she really telling him this? Couldn't she be more pathetic?

Once upon a time, amidst the smoldering ashes of Nipton, he had been crystal clear on the Legion's disgust upon betrayal and weakness.

And THIS was weakness.

02:30 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: Why should you feel stupid for lacking answers in the face of, I assume, a brain trauma that has rendered you an amnesiac?

Her heart skipped a bit upon reading that. Was he… trying to reason through her situation, like he had done in Nipton and the massacre he had unleashed?

Was he trying to make her feel better as he had done that time?

Or was she chasing shadows, liberally interpreting intentions to suit her needs, her perception of him?

Did she really know who she had invited to partake in her - to this day - group's harmonic balance?

02:32 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: Dunno. I admit that I'm just amnesiac with silly things like names, dates, or time perception. It's weird… and a bit annoying, but the Pip-Boy has helped me keep track of faces, cities, and tasks so far, so I'm not complaining.

A few minutes passed in silence, and, while her hyperactive brains raced, her eyes started blinking more than necessary, a gentle notion of getting sleepy slowly sitting over her.

It felt exhausting having to sort out her impulsive decisions at this ungodly hour, and his ambiguous manners did nothing to quieten her many worries over having made this time a poor decision regarding her allegiances. None of her other companions were as… intense as Zorro was, even through an innocuous virtual chat where he couldn't make use of his physical charms.

Which were many, she had to concede.

02:38 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: I have one last question.
Courier VI: Hmmm?
Fox: You mentioned a brother. Can't you contact him so he can answer all your questions regarding your identity?

Where her heart should have been, a heavy marble tile sunk on her chest in its place.

02:40 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: I don't know where he is… I don't even know if he's still alive or if he would recognize me after so much time.
Fox: Then, why not use your Pip-Boy to contact him?

Tears welled up in Six's eyes. She had tried that. Lots of times.

Her Big Bro's device was either broken, or those messages hadn't reached him… and they, at this point, should have reached him.

Maybe he was in possession of his Pip-Boy no more… maybe a raider or a Prospector had it.

02:41 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Courier VI: It's… not that easy.
Fox: When did you two part?
Courier VI: … When I was eleven. Can we please stop having this conversation?
Fox: Did something happen?
Courier VI: I don't want to talk about it.
Fox: Why?
Courier VI: It's personal.
Fox: So personal that you prefer to remain in the dark so you don't have to confront him?
Courier VI: I don't know what you are insinuating, but I love my Big Bro so much I'll gladly cut both my arms so I could see him one last time, okay? Now, this conversation is officially over, so I bid you goodnight.

She was about to close the chat when another message popped out.

02:43 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: I didn't mean to upset you. Goodnight.

A single tear cascaded down her left temple to her hidden bullet scars.

But she had more hidden scarring than those mementos of an old life, with old duties and old sins her memory hadn't wiped out despite all.

For that, she knew it now, was her penance for her cowardice. To recall every last of her misdeeds and forget those people she had once held close to her heart.

She had been so scared of what Burke or even Tenpenny would do to her if she didn't comply that she forgot how to be a decent human being. Benny's happenstance had been her ultimatum.

She ought to stop allowing herself to keep being a marionette in the hands of powerful men and start doing what was right instead of what was easy.

However, she was still scared… so scared…

Scared of Burke's veiled promises of retribution and pain, scared of what her friends would think of her once they learned who she really was.

Scared of what a disappointment she would turn out to be should her Big Bro learn about everything.

Scared… of what this suspicious, irritable, questioning Legion boy would do once he knew about her betrayal to her old unit… about her cowardice, bending to the orders of an evil man that held no fondness nor respect for her wellbeing.

She was a rat. A miserable, lonely rat.

She fell asleep re-reading her last conversation with Zorro, allowing Yes Man to fill the Pip-OS with smileys, hearts, smooches, and words of encouragement.

Funny that the only entities that loved her unconditionally were robotic to some degree.

She missed ED-E and Rex so much right now.


With the years passing, the climate shifting and global warming had given way to longer days of scorching sun and skin-searing sandstorms that, ultimately, had ended up replacing the familiar long nights of frostbitten moonlights and blizzards… but, for him, every time he dared to close his eyes, his mind came back to Anchorage.

That was mainly why he never slept.

His nervous system had endured painful years of adaptation until the need for sleep had been almost completely eradicated.

Almost.

He required less than ten minutes daily to complete the cycle and reset his brains so his treacherous system wouldn't disconnect without warning.

Ten minutes that, with each day of each year of each blooming century passing, he still found it to be a necessary evil to endure for survival. Ten minutes that would transport him many lifetimes back, when he still had recognized himself in the mirror.

He recalled the operation, the many details that were left out, the men who lost their lives at the Communists' hands. Strategy unclear, orders clear: to reclaim the Trans-Alaska Pipeline and liberate the city.

General Chase and his crazy battalion of damned men against Jingwei and his Crimson Dragoons.

Red Menace everywhere.

Eleven years of occupation, months of preparation. The so-called Sino-American War.

Commies, Canadian trash, shady politics, the mission, the oil… long live America.

The memorial still held ground back in Washington DC. He hadn't revisited it since…

Everything was filled with memorials these days, mementos of dead people on dead History.

Red Menace everywhere.

The Anchorage Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial…

A man coughing from the other side of the glass, a girl screaming.

The man collapsing on the floor, surrounded by his own fluids and burned skin, the girl punching the unyielding crystal.

The man died. The girl cried once and never cried again.

The man had left behind promises never fulfilled. The girl had tried to become a reflection of such promises up to that point. Just because she had loved him so much. It had been her burden and curse to bear.

The man became a shadow cast upon the girl. The girl became a monster.

Then, the radio became silent after that as well.

Just like he was silenced a long time ago. Chase had silenced him.

Red Menace everywhere.

A simulation becoming real, a training morphing into pathology, an experiment going terribly wrong… for the last couple of centuries had been quite an experience to live in fear.

That's what it means to be a slave. That's what it means to live under indefinite Martial Law.

Nobody had come to tell him otherwise. Nobody said that the war was over.

Commies, mutants… for him, everything ended up being the same.

Red Menace everywhere.

The explosions, the heat, the bones through muscle and peeling skin… many mushroom clouds and burning filth after, and he recognized the man in the mirror no more. Instead, the eyes that watched him from the other side were the eyes of a corpse.

Paranoia. Crushed hopes burning into his rotting breath.

Hands drenched in blood and copper corrosion. Cries of children buzzing through his ears, constant whispers echoing in his memories, bearing sins tattooed all over his skin.

Purging people like one would purge vermin.

Never doubt, never question, never look back, never talk back.

Never disobey a direct order.

There wasn't a plan anymore, no superiors to obey, no country to fight for, no more snow in Anchorage… only eternal, radioactive sands.

Trapped within his darkest nightmare, the memories he didn't want to remember, every day ten minutes felt like ten years coming back from the North, crossing the Eastern Coast, marching on forever.

A soldier without a cause to defend, a dog without a master to follow.

Chase would chase him forever. The compulsion, the simulation, the conditioning, the madness, the sadness… and the contract.

Chase would give him orders, even from the grave.

The Red Menace was gone, but not the fear.

His orders would always keep him prisoner. His reality permanently warped into vain hopes and resignation, his soul empty, his mind never drifting away.

Sometimes he wished the Red Menace would have just swallowed him. Sometimes he fancied himself a whole man again.

But then, he would awake from those ten minutes his decaying nervous system required so much and find a corpse of a man in a corpse of a country seeking void desires from compassion-devoid masters.

And compassion shall he not show. Compassion would not save her. Not after this.

He had seen it, the city of vices alight anew. Enchanting lights illuminating the darkness from miles ahead, robotic security, and walls made of garbage and waste. Everything surrounded by an impoverished population composed mainly of outlandish Republican soldiers, farmers, merchants, chem addicts, beggars, and sewer dwellers.

Should he want, he could start sowing the asphalt with their corpses, and none would be the wiser.

Too easy.

Old master for an old city, new customers for a new regime coming from the West. Old empires emerging from the ashes of forgotten History, rearing their hungry head from the East.

A different America, a different Red Menace, but the same rules applying over the chessboard.

War never changes.


Veronica Santangelo had emerged from the bed that morning feeling good.

She had gone to the bathroom to have a chilling-though-invigorating shower and had styled her short hair with a few golden hairpins she had found in the Lucky 38's Master Bedroom before their departure.

Taking care of her appearance made her feel pretty and happy with herself.

She brushed her teeth, took care of a few stray hairs out of place, and returned to the bed to shake Cass and Six awake.

The former had risen from the bed stinking of whiskey, bearing puffy eyes and a delightful, loving attitude she had demonstrated when she had danced with Veronica to the bathroom's door before putting her pretty ass on the toilet.

The latter had groaned twice, first ignoring Veronica's gentle prodding to get her awake, then mumbling miserably something about not feeling very well.

Worried, Veronica had rubbed her temples and shoulders should this was yet another of her headaches and had abandoned the room with Cass without rolling up the blinds.

Nonetheless, when they had found their way to the resort's kitchen and, after some waiting, every single member of their ragtag group had put in an appearance save Rex, which was still recovering from his neurosurgery, Six and Jimmy; Veronica had frowned, starting to suspect that something smelled fishy there.

When she asked Raul about the young man, and the ghoul had responded that he had left him sleeping on his bed, Veronica's frown deepened.

She was having none of that.

"Cass, Arcade." – she had called after finishing their respective breakfasts – "Come upstairs and help me with those two. Can't have them in bed all day."

"Leave the girlie be and don't even bother with the albino." – had been Boone's nonchalant reply between munches of bighorner meatloaf, courtesy of Lily – "He's not worth your time."

That had ruined Veronica's good mood. In fact, that had pissed her off a great deal.

"First of all, he has a name, Boone." – she had snapped – "Second: he's like, what? Six, seven years younger than you?"

"By NCR standards, thus my standards, he's legally an adult." – the sniper replied arrogantly – "Your point is invalid."

Raul snorted humorlessly while he merely shook his head from side to side as Cass rolled her eyes and Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"For fuck's sake, Boone!" – Veronica exclaimed – "This mind-fuck you have over any possible healthy, breathing young man being Legion is getting out of control!"

"That's rich." – was Arcade's sarcastic adding – "I'm flattered you think I'm also included in that 'young men' category of yours, Veronica." – when the Brotherhood Scribe turned to him with a surprised look on her face, he added as a way of explanation – "Didn't think he hasn't subjected me to his interrorgating crap already?" – he scoffed – "Followers' lab coat, glasses and actual regard for human life don't mean a thing when you commit the mistake of playing the smartass part by quoting Cato over there and there." – he added, pointedly staring at Boone, whose fierce scowl masked very effectively the shame he must be feeling at the moment.

That or the man was a living golem made of pure granite.

"Have it your way." – said sunglassed golem grunted, picking his coffee mug with more force than was truly necessary – "Don't come later saying I didn't warn you."

Frustrated, Veronica turned heel to the stairs when a skinned hand grabbed her by one of her robe's sleeves.

"Don't touch the lad unless he specifically allows you to do so, Señorita Veronica." – she heard Raul's raspy voice whispering – "He doesn't like it."

Veronica looked at the Mexican ghoul with a blank expression and nodded slowly, taking in his serious undertone.

"Divide et impera." (1) – said Arcade solemnly once the three of them were upstairs – "Who gets who?"

"Cass and I will be taking care of Jimmy." – was Veronica's reply, to Arcade's much relief as he wasn't feeling like having a… urgh'man-to-man' conversation with a boy he barely knew – "You deal with Six. She will hear you out if you try to reason with her."

Once they separated, the redhead woman giggled.

"Oh, I'm so looking forward to seeing the face Tribal Boy puts on when we'll be breaking into his sanctuary." – she murmured malignly like the cat that got the cream.

"Don't overdo the joking." – Veronica warned – "Remember that he's not used to any of us. Less your antics."

"Aw, come on. The kid could use a good tease." – Cass pouted – "Either that or he ends up becoming yet another bittercup like the one with sunglasses downstairs. And I've already had enough with one sticking around souring my whiskey, thank you very much."

They stopped in front of the room's door.

"Don't touch him or invade his personal space, okay?" – Veronica warned one last time, her hand finding the doorknob.

"Alright, alright, Lil' Riding Punch." – Cass replied, briefly pinching the other's cheek playfully - "Whatever you say."

Then, the petite brunette opened the door with more force than necessary while exclaiming cheerfully:

"Alright, it's time to get out of bed, Sleeping Beauty!"

The room was nearly pitch black, and the only sign that there was, indeed, someone inside was the brief, brisk movement both women detected coming from a rumpled vortex of covers and clothes over a mattress that formed an almost impenetrable fortress over a furled silhouette.

Veronica didn't miss a beat when she went to the window, and, with a noisy intent pull, she rolled up the blinds, allowing warm light to seep all over the room. After that, she returned to the occupied bed, where a long, chalky hand grabbed one of the pillows to get it inside the covers' warm fortress.

Veronica squatted to the same visual height where a small gap opened amidst fabric rumpling to reveal a pair of sleepy blue eyes eyeing her distrustfully.

"Good morning, Jimmy." – the Scribe said, smiling – "Are you gonna get out there any time soon?"

The blue eyes frowned, and the fabric gap closed stubbornly.

"Cute." – was Cass' sarcastic input before picking the sheets' ends and yanking at them.

Immediately, an outraged gasp ensued.

"What do you think you are doing?!" – were the first words the young man deigned to direct at them, yanking at the sheets as well to prevent the redhead from taking them with her.

"Not a morning person, are you?" – Cass teased.

"Get out!" – he hissed.

"No." – she retorted, yanking at the sheets with more force – "You get out of that bed, Tribal Boy."

She managed to take with her most of the covers, leaving a very angry, red-eared Zorro clinging at the last remaining sheet for dear life. He directed a nasty glare at the two women behind a curtain of disheveled white curls.

He could be taller than the two of them, but right now, to their eyes, he was but a child.

A six-foot-tall, fibered to the last muscle, angry child who knew how to use a weapon.

"Get out!" – he insisted, cocooning inside his sheet as if to preserve modesty, his ears burning with shame - "GET OUT!"

Cass crossed her arms, eyeing him with a smug smile.

"Look…" – Veronica spoke awkwardly, attempting to reason with him – "You're not doing yourself any favors by locking yourself up here. Just ignore Boone if he starts…"

"I don't need coddling!" – he replied, his intonation vexed and haughty in one – "I'm not a child!"

"Then stop behaving like one." – was Cass' calm but firm statement before pointing to the nearest chair, where a pile of clothing neatly folded rested, with her index – "Clothes." – she ordered, taking a beat in-between each sentence – "Bathroom." – she said after pointing to the door behind her to, finally, point to the entrance – "Breakfast. Now."

Eyeing the red-headed woman as if he were seeing her for the first time, he got up from the bed. Still hissing and seething but also wary of the two women, he took the bundle of clothes in silence while not allowing the sheet to slip from his body and rounded the room's quadrangle without giving them his back, frowning in anger and also in confusion, until he got to the bathroom's door and disappeared inside, closing it with more force than truly necessary.

"We will be waiting here until you get out!" – Cass warned, clearly trying to keep her voice firm while her face contorted in laughter told a very different story – "Don't make me repeat the shower prank!"

The answer was a huff while the sound of water running disguised more hissing and grunting.

Veronica's lips were curved inwards as she kept on not allowing laughter to escape from them.

"Gotta admit it." – Cass whispered to her – "He's cute when he gets petulant, isn't he?"

Veronica snorted.


Arcade Israel Gannon readjusted his glasses over his long nose, pondering what he would say to a teenager he knew to be as stubborn as a bighorner bull.

Despite his scandalous lack of tact and nonexistent palaver, Boone was admittedly more fitted for this task than him.

Hell, Six liked Boone a great deal more than the rest of them, and it showed when she would always select him as her target practice for hugs. Whenever Six got upset, Boone was always her first and foremost choice to seek comfort.

It wasn't that Arcade resented her obvious preference for the gruffy ex-sniper. He wasn't exactly the hugging type, and feelings were not his strong suit when it came to affection.

He knew how to deal with his own feelings… most of the time anyway… but Arcade was, if anything, quite… clumsy when it came to confronting other people's feelings, and worse if said feelings had something to do with him.

Besides being boring, or so he thought, his inability to express his emotions had been a constant source of frustration and disenchantment towards any potential dalliance he might have entertained in the past.

Admittedly, there have been some good men along the way, but lovers make poor confidants and even poorer life choices when they start calling you 'cold', 'distant', or 'not really committed to this' when your priorities about helping people in need surpass your amorous disposition.

However, since his rather odd and, initially, out-of-place incorporation to Six's merry band of nonconformists, Arcade had started to feel that he, oddly, belonged to a place.

Sure, there have been the Followers… and Daisy and the other old-timers from his obscure past… But, with Six and the others, he had found purpose, comfort, and effortless camaraderie with her and the rest he hadn't known he had been looking for so desperately all these years in hiding.

He missed having a family he could trust, and now, with their hands full of good deeds and problems waiting to be solved, Arcade could say that, for the first time in his life, he was in the middle of something good and greater than all of them together.

And he felt happy about it.

Maybe Henry would complain and even strongly advise against the course of action he had been thinking of taking with Six and the rest, and now even more with their new addition, quirky and reserved as this Zorro Salvaje youngster was; but Arcade felt that, if someone could help him to set in motion the plan he had been defining inside that head of his filled with fantastic improbabilities, that was Six.

He knocked gently and opened the door very slightly, allowing a slit of light to pour inside.

"Hey, Six?" – he asked quietly, adjusting his glasses yet again and searching for the tiny bundle wrapped in several layers of covers as the cold in Jacobstown, being high as the alpine community was and in the middle of February, was quite remarkable.

He detected something stirring at the right side of the door, where a well-kept queen-sized bed laid to rest.

Arcade slid through the door's aperture and closed it quietly behind him. He wasn't the most sharp-sighted of their group, but he knew a thing or two about conducting himself in a closed space amidst the gloom. Perks of having attended countless Followers' encampments where many lights came out of lanterns and candles by night.

He sat down to the nearest side of the bed, and when he took his eyes down, he saw the dark, disheveled tuft of Six's hair over sleepy eyes directing their sight to him, questioning.

He took several unruly locks out of her eyes and smiled.

"You're missing a damn good breakfast nesting up in here." – he said in a light tone – "Coffee, bighorner meatloaf, bighorner crust with pinyon nuts, toasts with bighorner butter, bighorner cheese rolls… practically anything you can come up with as long as the recipe includes bighorner derivatives somehow." – he added humorously, eyeing the teenager as she blinked twice.

A short silence ensued.

"I'm… not really hungry, Arcade." – she spoke after a while, her voice tiny, insecure – "I just… want to stay here at the moment, you know?"

Arcade inhaled once and exhaled quietly. Playing the mother hen part was something he was comfortable enough with… but playing the confidante? He would have to coax answers from her to tell him why she didn't want to see a soul today.

And he wasn't very confident with such a role.

"Are you feeling unwell?" – he asked patiently.

She hesitated.

"Yes." – was her lame answer.

"Is it physical or emotional?"

Hesitation again.

"I'd… rather not talk about it."

"Something happened?"

"It's nothing…"

"Please, Six, don't give me that at this stage." – he pressed – "I've been involved in more dangerous trips and political movements these last months with you than in my entire life on my own. Hell, I might even have developed a serious pathology of jumping into dangerous situations just because you tend to drive into them like a kamikaze, and I happen to care about your safety. This being said… Have a little faith in me?" - he finished, inflecting a hopeful, amicable tone to his voice.

But she still harbored some hesitation.

"It's… complicated." – she said.

"Try me."

Furrowing her brows, she sat over the mattress, eyeing Arcade warily.

"… What if I tell you that I happen to have more answers about my past than I let you all glimpse… and those very answers aren't one bit pretty?"

Arcade blinked once. Of all the things he would have expected from Six, this was something he got a sudden pang of familiarity from.

Because, when it came to bear the weight of an obscure past, he was the first one who could relate to such a notion.

However, Arcade, always the diplomat, rose from the bed instead of tackling the situation directly.

"Mind if I roll up the blinders?" – he said casually, much to the young girl's astonishment, as he walked towards the window – "While I appreciate your sense of mystery and dramatics, talking about gloomy things in the gloom makes a very impractical choice when I cannot use these handsome features of mine to charm you into a less somber mood."

He didn't wait for her to answer when he pulled on the handles and the morning light poured gently all over the room.

"And God said, 'Let there be light', and there was light." – he joked, smiling when he saw Six's scrunched-up nose at the quote. While she had never said it openly, Arcade had witnessed her putting on faces each time someone had mentioned religious topics in front of her, most prominently Followers, whose majority professed Christian faith – "See? Less darkened environment for a conversation, I'm sure, it's less shady than you intend to make me believe."- and then, when she was about to protest, he added – "Your friend, the new guy, skipped dinner last night and now you two skip breakfast in perfect synchrony. You wouldn't happen to know something about that, do you?"

Her sudden furious blushing only served to confirm his suspicions.

"Boone was bitching last night about you two communicating through your Pip-Boys' private channel." – Arcade offered as a way of explanation, his smile not faltering – "He fears the young man is, somehow, doing some brainwashing to lure you into some obscure plan involving the Legion and many of Boone's usual paranoias fed by his amazingly elated imagination."

The girl huffed, tiredly sinking the heel of her hand in one of her eye sockets.

"Boone worries way too much." – she replied – "And Zorro… well…" – she gesticulated as if lacking words – "He asks… too many questions."

She jumped slightly when the sudden surge of laughter coming from the blonde Follower's doctor came without warning.

"What's so funny?" – she asked, crossing her legs over the mattress as she directed him a dumbstruck look.

"You." – the man replied – "Finally having run into your match." – when she gave him a further surprised look with those big eyes of hers, he added – "Do you have the slightest idea how unbelievable inquisitive you can be when you want to? When I first talked to you, I merely asked if you were the Courier from the radio everybody seemed to know everything and nothing about. Your answer?: a round of questions about my job with the Followers, my field research, my views on the current political matters and then, when I told you that you had been an invaluable help to the Followers, you came up with excuses to watch me work and bombard me with more questions while Veronica picked her nails and Boone polished almost a full pack of cigarettes in utter silence." – he didn't bother to hide his grin when her mouth open in a big 'O' and her blushing deepened – "They explained it to me later… or rather Veronica told me as Boone entered in a 'you're male, you're Legion' mode, that I had passed the test and you wanted to add me to your 'growing collection of passive-aggressive goodie-two-shoes fools'… or that was how Veronica wanted to put it anyway." - he finished, recalling the Scribe's rather peculiar ways of describing in what consisted this collective of theirs where everybody followed the lead of a brilliant yet daredevil teenager who could repair a power generator and provide an entire community with electricity… as well as dabble into Great Khans, Powder Gangers, or even Fiends' territories and leave completely unscathed while having gathered Intel any NCR officer worth their salt would kill to get their hands on.

Veronica had also told him that every last of them, even the floating machine and the cyberdog, were there to ensure that Six's constant flirting with death didn't end up with her chewed up and spat over the endless sands of the Mojave.

Because, as Arcade discovered later, the man who had embedded two bullets in her skull had filled the teenager with such dread that she had sought to be as equipped with backups as possible before confronting him. One didn't exact revenge out of a mob boss single-handedly and without political sympathies that would cushion her against a very potential payback.

Benny had fled The Strip not because he feared Six but rather her pull with many factions that likely would present his head before her in a silver platter to gain her favor, most prominently Mr. House and his securitrons once his plan to take over had been uncovered.

However, if Arcade was truly honest with himself, her plan of becoming instrumental in the affairs of many present factions inhabiting the desert had gotten… perhaps a bit out of hand since she had emerged from her early grave in Goodsprings.

It was one thing to want to appeal to the good graces of every faction she happened to exchange pleasantries with… And another entirely different thing was to act as an intermediate between such factions, so they forged unstable alliances like Samuel Cooke and the rest of the ex-convicts on Vault 19, tasking her with ensuring their access to some sulfur sediments by killing a horde of fire geckos to, later, ask the Great Khans if they happen to enlist more help for their cause.

And let's not talk about dressing up as one of those very Great Khans to ensure the Fiends didn't blow their heads off while they crossed their territory to sell them chems. Arcade had never felt so inadequate and violated when he, dressed as immodestly as possible and with his blonde hair gelled up so it looked more like a mohawk, had followed Six's suicidal lead inside the wolf's den. This, to deliver Motor-Runner his package of filth while she petted his two dogs as if the man, besides wearing a salvaged Power Armor, didn't have almost double the age of most of his acolytes, signaling him not only as a brainwashing dangerous motherfucker, but also as a survivor.

Not for nothing, the NCR offered a steep reward for his head.

Arcade wasn't sure what good the Fiends' presence did to the Mojave, but it was remarkable that, since they were receiving regular shipments of chems after Six had rescued the Great Khans' original drug runner from a Legion cross, they had remained unbelievably quiet and compliant, ceasing their hostilities with McCarran.

It wasn't the best solution, to keep a bunch of psychopathic junkies holed up and filled with filth so they didn't return to their violent raids, but Arcade wasn't complaining… much.

It was fine as long as their group didn't start a war with the sizeable chem-addicted tribe, thus becoming NCR pawns. Not ideal, but fine enough.

Besides, the Fiends were but a side problem to the actual fight the entire desert was preparing for once Caesar decided to make his move again across the Colorado.

And Arcade wanted to help prevent a horde of chauvinistic murdering rapists led by a fucking megalomaniac madman from trampling into the lives of many innocent people and convert them to their insane creed.

Whomever Six chose to carry their flag for the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, being the NCR or House, didn't matter to Arcade as long as the Legion was driven out of the Mojave.

And he couldn't help but want to add his 'little grain of sand' to help the cause.

"Six…"

It might not work at all.

"I've… been meaning to talk to you about something for a while now…"

But it was worth a try.

"… If you have some time, I'll appreciate it very much."

He still couldn't believe that he was going to trust this much to another soul. It felt like forever since he felt a connection solid enough to spill his guts.

Six didn't disappoint when she smiled, head cocked to one side in question.

She looked tired but much sprightlier since he had come to bid her out of bed and confront the new day ahead.

"I'm sorry, Arcade." – she said instead, laughter filling her eyes – "But you're not my type. Can't we just be friends?"

The man actually laughed at that one. Six had an amazing way of making others comfortable around her with just a few well-placed words. This joke of hers was clearly an answer to his visible nervousness, for he was taking a lot of time between sentences and cleaning up his glasses with his sleeve a bit too compulsively.

"I thought my charm could win you over, but I guess it wasn't meant to be." – he joked as well, feeling immense relief in friendly banter, reassuring him that what he was about to disclose was okay – "However, leaving my hurt vanity aside, I… really must tell you something. It's… important to me."

Six nodded gently.

"What is it?" – she asked even more gently.

Arcade inhaled deeply.

"As… you probably have already deduced, any day now, Caesar's going to try to march across Hoover Dam and kick NCR out of the Mojave." – he felt bad when her smiling disposition slowly morphed into a frown as words kept abandoning his mouth – "We're getting caught up in something important out here." – she had to know, she had to trust his words to be true despite mentioning immediately after the topic she dreaded the most – "Hell, after how you handled Benny, you're practically right in the middle of all this."

She directed him that kicked puppy look he knew so well, hearing Benny's name almost enough to distraught her.

"Listen, Six…" - he tried once again, regretting the effect his words were causing on her, already scolding himself for even bringing up the scumbag in their conversation – "I know I'm just along for the ride, but it's made me think about the past, how I might be able to help out."

Shifting in her sitting position, she eyed him, confused.

"I… think I don't follow, Arcade." – she said – "You're already helping a lot and…" – she sighed – "About the other thing concerning Caesar and their war with the NCR… I'm not so sure I want to mess with either faction just yet."

"But you have the intention to." – the blonde man pressed. He had to know if he could trust her to do the right thing in the end – "Right?"

The girl's lips pressed into a thin line.

"You don't understand…" – she muttered, avoiding eye contact – "My current balance between factions is precarious at best… but I've managed to avoid any relevant confrontations between them and me thus far. I'd… like it to keep it that way… at least for now."

"Six." – Arcade said, approaching her once more, his pale green eyes intent while his hand took hers – "Don't pretend you're just surrounding yourself with potential military aid while cleansing The Strip from the rotten influences of the Three Families just because there is money in it." – he gave her tiny hands a gentle squeeze, encouraging her to open up as much as he himself was attempting to – "I'm not saying that there isn't gentleness on your part playing an important role when you help other people out. I've seen how you treat the poor and needy in Freeside, bearing nothing but love and care when you try to fix their problems. That's why I accepted your invitation to become your group's medic in the first place."

She retreated her hands from his grasp, her eyes darkening while stubbornly keeping them out of his'.

"Maybe I am making up for something." – she said absently, her voice weighted with an echo of something so painful that Arcade debated seriously if he should just hug her and let his grandiose plans lie in wait for a better moment – "Maybe the retrieval of my Pip-Boy has made me recall something… that I've kept ignoring as my purpose of finding Benny was my sole goal until he…"

"Forget about Benny." – he cut her mid-sentence, grabbing her gently by her shoulders – "Don't spare a single more thought for that waste of a human being, Six. He doesn't deserve it." – and, when she was about to open her mouth in protest, he added – "And neither of the possible ghosts of your past deserves more than being left behind if they torture you this way."

She grabbed his arms as well, her black eyes burning like coals.

"What would you possibly know about ghosts of one's past?" – she demanded, fiery, frightened, immensely vulnerable in her adolescence.

Arcade smiled sadly.

"Perhaps way more than you might suspect." – he answered, earnest and pained as well, knowing she deserved some sort of explanation for all of this – "I… wasn't always with the Followers, or with the NCR." – releasing her, he sighed and walked towards the window again, willing himself to find the right words – "My late father was… an officer in a group called the Enclave, a remnant of America's pre-War government." – however, he didn't get the chance to elaborate further as he heard the unmistakable click of a gun's safety mechanism pulled off – "Six…?"

However, when he turned again to the insecure girl he had left sitting cross-legged over a mattress but moments ago, he found her crouched on the floor, using the bed and mattress as leverage for her hands as she pointed at him with her 10mm pistol.

How she had moved so quickly, Arcade hadn't the time to ask, for she spoke.

And her voice and eyes conveyed an extreme degree of coldness the Follower would have never suspected she was capable of.

But what unsettled him more were her words.

"Who are you?" – she demanded – "Who has sent you?"


Stepping out of the shower, Vulpes picked a random towel that he and Raul had unearthed last night from one of the many semi-destroyed drawers in their shared bedroom and proceeded to dry off his hair, mulling over his failed plan.

He had meant to attract the Courier by staying in his room, appealing to her seemingly nurturing disposition, so he could further interrogate her on their already two unfinished conversations while alone.

Last night he knew it won't work, so, after failing to pry more out of her through the Pip-Boy's chat, he had decided to skip breakfast as well putting on the brat act – the NCR dog's hostile attitude had been the perfect excuse - so his absence would press her enough to come to try to dissuade him.

However, what he hadn't expected at all had been Becky and the Cassidy woman coming to get him off the bed instead.

He had meant to play difficult at first, so they would give up eventually… but the audacity the redhead had displayed when pulling the covers off him had… greatly unsettled him.

Admittedly, he wasn't proud of the little scene he had put on. He had… lost his cool.

The woman had made him feel exposed, vulnerable. And he hated it.

He hadn't felt so vulnerable since…

"… May this serve you as a warning that you are not unique, you are not granted any special concessions, and you are entirely expendable."

Shaking his head as if that would rid him of unpleasant memories, the Master Frumentarius put on his clothes as well as his carefully constructed mask of indifference. After all, he had a job to fulfill.

He opened the bathroom's window so the humid room could get some ventilation before Raul and he would use it again.

It almost ran into a solid form that went flying after a rather eloquent squawk, leaving a trail of black feathers behind.

Crows this far up in the hills? – the young man thought, poking out his head briefly to first take a good look at the snowy terrain and the building's roof overhangs.

Both places were filled with rows of perched corvids. And Vulpes knew for a fact that these animals tended to inhabit seashores, sparse forests, and generally terrains that comprehend wide esplanades like the Mojave Desert. Odd.

Two knocks on the bathroom door awakened him from his reverie, and he stepped out of it wearing his clothes – the typical pre-War military stuff the Courier lent him as they were the only available that could adjust to his' and Gannon's height - and an unamused expression that seemed to elicit sniggering between the two women. This, plus his wet messy white waves still sticking to his nose, contributed to his annoyance.

"About time." – the Cassidy woman teased him, gesturing in a mocking servile manner – "Shall we, your Majesty?"

Mouthy woman.

He didn't dignify her with a response and walked to the exit door with his unlikely bodyguards after him.

He wouldn't admit it for the life of him, but… thinking about the prospect of breakfast made him feel ravenous.


"Six…" – Arcade's voice was paused, drawing the words out slowly – "What are you doing?" – he attempted to walk toward her, but he soon was persuaded on the contrary when the barrel of her gun raised just a tad bit to get aligned to his head.

"Don't move." – she ordered, rising from her crouched position and separating both legs so she could find an equilibrium point where the gun's aim didn't differ much from her original target – "Put your hands where I can see them." - she instructed – "Over your head, now."

Still dumbfounded, Arcade did as requested, still not getting the whole grasp of the situation.

"Six… are you alright?" – he ventured a question, but his words were met with an even more challenging stare from the girl.

"Don't call me that." – she snarled – "Stop pretending and address me by my true name. I imagine he has had to, at least, tell you that much."

"What are you talking about?" – the man asked, starting to get really nervous in a situation he didn't understand at all – "Six, it's me! Arcade!"

"Enough!" – she barked, her eyes suddenly too gleamy, her hands betraying the slightest of trembling – "Did you have fun, huh? Playing the fool all of this time so you could get me alone and… what? Dispose of me? Knock me out so you could get me to him and claim your reward?" – her visage, if hardened, became a pained expression whose eyes spoke of hurt, of betrayal – "As always, he has chosen a compelling actor to play the part. I admit I never suspected a thing. However, if I recall correctly, besides you being, along with Zorro, the only other one approaching me instead of me approaching you in the first place, you were way too good to be true the day I asked you to join us. A fully educated Followers doctor AND a researcher that, very conveniently, is one of the few people around that knows how to actually use energy weapons saying yes to a total stranger asking him to become her group's medic? I should have known that there were too many inconsistencies all along the way: your knowledge of Poseidon's Energy Project SEMELE and REPCONN's inner battle, your recognizing what the remains of a crashed Vertibird, a technology nobody but a few privileged factions know about, were… Would have pegged you for the Brotherhood type, but Vero would have told me already." – despite the coldness of her tone, her lower lip trembled a bit as she kept talking – "I know it's stupid on my part to ask this now, but… How could you?" – she accused, her big eyes getting glassy by the minute – "After all we've been through together? I know that, to you, I must be a stupid child and nothing more, but… I thought you were my friend."

"I AM your friend!" – Arcade exclaimed, desperate to know what may have possibly had unsettled her so much to accuse him of working for third parties against her – "Talk to me, Six! Tell me what this is all about! Who is this person you think I am working for?!"

"STOP LYING!" – she exclaimed, tears already cascading down her small face – "You know exactly who! He's so good at that… finding out your weaker spots and exploiting them to his convenience." – as she kept talking, Arcade found himself becoming more and more horrified, her obsessive tone increasing in paranoia – "He knew I didn't have any remaining friends. No comrades, likely no family… Now I understand what he meant when he wrote, 'I have sent an old friend of yours to deal with this unpleasant situation'. Let's fabricate a friend out of thin air!" – she exclaimed bitterly, tears and sobs making her voice strain – "Let's make Birdie feel what's truly like to be the idiotic child everybody knows she is!"

Arcade would have covered his mouth in shock should both his hands weren't currently occupied looking as less threatening as possible to this clearly frightened girl who was disclosing something much darker than he initially had dismissed as mere teen drama product of life out in the Wasteland coming from a Vault past.

Because everyone in their group thought that Six was a Vaultie through and through. Her Pip-Boy, her academic competencies, and her manners said that much.

And, to this day, she hadn't done anything to discourage such a notion. Hell, she knew about pre-War stuff even more than him! And that was quite something, given Arcade's upbringing.

But this level of drama… wasn't a drama at all, but more on the lines of a tragedy.

A tragedy that, somehow, had a man - for she referred to this person as he – orchestrating a presumably twisted-up plan to… made her feel inferior? Punish her?

And what did he have to do with such a terrible character, anyway?

However, he didn't get a chance to defend himself when an old cracked voice he knew so well burst into the scene while another pair of gun safety mechanisms were pulled off.

"I don't know about idiotic children…" – Doctor Henry, along with his ghoul assistant, Calamity, were now inside the bedroom while aiming their laser pistols at the girl's head – "But I do know about careless ones." – he added, not pointing anybody in particular, but Arcade knew that last statement was undoubtedly meant for him – "Pull that trigger, and I might not care that you're a child, at all." – this time, his admonishing tone shifted when his eyes took in Arcade – "I told you not to trust these people with secrets like this. I told you to keep your distance, to not needlessly throw your life to the dumpster just like the rest of us did." - his gaze hardened – "If Daisy were here, she would have told you the same, but you never listened. You never wanted to."

If Henry's words stung, Six's sobs did it even more.

"Motherfucker…" – she hissed, accusatory – "You had all of this prepared, didn't you?"

The cold sweat that had been gathering on Arcade's back made him shiver.

He had never been a very religious man despite having joined the Followers' cause very early in his youth, but… Arcade actually prayed that something happened so this madness could end at once.

A gunshot explosion was the answer he received.


"Cheer up, Jimmy!"

Lifting his eyes from the creaking wooden steps he was taking down to the promise of a fulfilling breakfast, Vulpes gave Becky… Veronica a blank look.

He didn't understand this young woman's concern over his mood; less he understood her need to appear witty and cheery all the time in front of the rest.

Because, besides being extremely chatty even when everybody contented with easy silence, the Brotherhood Scribe had apparently adjudged herself the morale booster part of their group as soon as some conflict – as minimal as possible – arose between the disparity of their members. Not even the Courier was as conciliatory as Becky was.

If she were Legion AND male, she would make a fine Vexillarius, the standard-bearers whose presence on the battlefield inspired legionaries to fight to the death for the glory of Caesar.

In fact, if every member of their group could be conscripted within 'Legion AND male' category, Vulpes could easily find suitable positions for each of them on Caesar's army: Becky would either be a Vexillarius or a precocious Praetorian; Cassidy would easily find her place amidst Lanius' ranks, being as direct, obscene and raucous as she was; the Followers doctor, Gannon, either would likely end up becoming a safehouse keeper… or starting an entirely new category of his own by becoming Caesar's personal Consilium, for Vulpes was sure that the Imperator would love to talk with someone as educated and… imaginative as Dr. Gannon was; Raul would be a fine Magister as his inclination towards teaching younger people how to defend themselves while not being overly affectionate would do some good to the children; Lily would… eh… either find herself in the kitchens or… well, basically substituting Lanius as Legatus after the stupid brute of a man would dare to challenge her in combat and would find, before he could get his bearings, his brains splattered all over the arena ground. To the Master Frumentarius, the image as appealing as a good tower of warm, deliciously sweet pancakes. Hell, he would stuff a whole tower of pancakes inside his stomach while watching Lanius getting decapitated by Lily. He would literally pay for it and become the poorest, fattest, happiest fox ever.

Nevertheless, although very begrudgingly, Vulpes had to admit that the NCR dog was leader material… but he likely would never surpass Decanus rank given his asocial predisposition.

And the Courier… the Master Frumentarius was increasingly convinced that she would do just fine amidst Frumentarii ranks.

Every member of this group had soldier-like qualities that, if properly honeyed, had the potential to become a deadly squadron any army would kill to have on their side.

A pity they were a bunch of undisciplined, boisterous Profligates misguided by their twisted, obsolete interpretations of good and evil.

"I assure you that, despite what you might believe, I am quite content right now, Becky." – was the answer he directed to the waiting Scribe.

"Fuck, kid." – the redhead woman scoffed by his side – "If this is how you express 'contentment', I don't wanna be around when you get depressed."

He was briefly tempted to reply something mordacious to her until, out of a habit he had recently developed since the Courier had gifted him the Pip-Boy, he checked the hour on the digital device.

And found the usual alert of a new message flashing intermittently on the upper right corner of the screen.

However, his feet took on a rather violent halt when he opened the chat interface and found that it wasn't the Courier who had written to him.

10:52 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

:D YES MAN D: Please, help her! \(°Ω°)/

What the…?

10:52 AM Tuesday, February 21, 2282

Fox: Who are you?
:D YES MAN D: There's no time for that! They're pointing laser weapons at her, and her heart rate indicates that she's very nervous!
Fox: Who are you, and what are you talking about?
:D YES MAN D: Go to her bedroom! Upstairs, third door at the left! HELP HER! HURRY!


Communication stopped there.

"You okay, Jimmy?" – the brunette asked, eyeing his tense frame with expectation until his blue eyes collided with hers.

"Whose room is the third door on the left upstairs?" – he asked out of the blue.

"That sounds like ours." – she answered automatically, jumping in surprise as he turned heel and darted back upstairs – "Wait! What's wrong? Where are you going?"

He didn't answer or turn around, but he gestured with his long hand to follow him.

Veronica eyed Cass with concern, but the redhead shrugged, following the unpredictable young man that could get them in trouble should the resident supermutants deem them troublemaking enough to squash their sorry arses like bugs.

However, that notion quickly shifted when they saw the bedroom door open, and there was a heated argument not just between Six and Arcade… but also the old doctor and his ghoul assistant issuing threats to the girl, who apparently thought they had set her up.

Nearing the door while putting his index finger over his lips, Vulpes signaled the two women to approach silently while taking a swift sneaky peek through the entrance.

He then communicated with non-verbal signs that three armed people were in that room. He also vocalized the ones he wanted each of them to neutralize, though not a sound escaped from his lips.

Cass would get the ghoul while Veronica would disarm the old doctor. He took care of the third person.

The two women, already in alert mode, nodded in acquiescence. Good.

Vulpes signaled positions, counted down to three with his fingers, and gave the silent order.

They marched upon the room like thunder. Cass effectively tackled the ghoul woman to the ground while Veronica twisted the doctor's firing arm behind his back, kicking his laser pistol away.

Vulpes just kicked the Courier's hollow of her knees, bending her forwards as he grabbed both her arms and impeded her from shooting one terrified Dr. Gannon.

Nonetheless, she ended up pulling the trigger. An explosion and some wood splinters and speckles of dust later, she maneuvered with all his height and weight and managed to make him roll forwards on the bed. With her still in his arms.

The show they likely were offering, rolling over the mattress and rumpled sheets, would have been embarrassingly ridiculous if the situation hadn't been so severe.

However, did the Courier have some agility and nerve-based force to last enough against him for Vulpes having to keep her kicking legs under control, trapping them with his own.

"No!" – she screeched, wriggling between his powerful limbs like a particularly pesky worm – "NO! GET OFF! GET OFF!"

She attempted to maneuver with Vulpes' weight again but only managed a tighter grasp around her.

Vulpes had been maintaining both her arms stiff over her head, avoiding her shooting anybody. He didn't expect it when she pulled the trigger again and blew off part of the bed's headboard.

He cowered, they shifted, rolled over the mattress' edge, and… fell on the ground with a dead thump.

"Enough." – he said after grunting in pain as his spine had been the one taking the brunt of the fall – "I said enough." – voice calm, he removed the 10mm from her hands and threw it to the other side of the room while his trained muscles subdued her, clearly, far-inferior strength – "Stop it, now."

She seemed to relax for a second, but that didn't trick him into releasing her when he got into a sitting, more comfortable position and kept her prisoner between his arms and legs.

She renewed her screeching, making his sense of hearing sore as he contained her kicking feet and pointed elbows.

"NO!" – she wailed, nose red and eyes full of tears – "NOOOOOOO!"

Willing himself to calm, Vulpes endured her screaming and squirming when, invasive, the thought of a small boy crying and kicking, unconscious of his own strength, threw on the most violent temper tantrum any of the women of the tribe had ever seen.

The child would scream, stomp, bite and throw any near object at those who braved approaching him.

But the little fox had been taking care of his, by then, youngest brother since he was a baby and knew how to soothe his enraged attacks.

Freeing her still kicking legs from his hold, he reverted her position with her back against his chest to sit her on his lap, her legs aside, secure her chin over his shoulder, and, while avoiding her headbutting him by grasping her nape, he started to awkwardly pat her back, shushing her gently, willing his mind to recall how he used to lull Perro when not even his own mother would attempt to get near him.

Like his lost brother, she struggled and even sank her fingernails against his torso until her bodily tension eventually diminished, and she started to sob quietly.

However, when he attempted to pull her off him a bit to see her state, her thin arms engulfed his torso in a vice grip while her face nuzzled the crook of his neck.

She wasn't letting him go, so he repressed a sigh and kept patting her back while the hand on her nape sank long fingers amidst her unruly short hair, surprisingly soft despite looking like a raven's nest.

She continued sobbing, and he raised his eyes in time to watch how the old doctor attempted to punch Becky in the face, and she, despite being remarkably shorter than him, stopped the punch midair and subdued him until he tasted the floorboards. Cassidy had the groaning ghoul under control with a knee over the other's spine while immobilizing her arms.

However, the scene didn't get any better as two quick sets of steps registered all over the corridors until they stopped at the entrance.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" – the NCR dog's voice boomed while stomping his way before the embraced figures of Vulpes and Six – "Get. Off. Her! NOW!" – he demanded.

"Not now, Boone!" – Veronica snapped after getting some help from Raul when she pointed him to the discarded guns so he could get them far off the twitchy fingers of their respective owners – "Arcade, are you alright?"

The still paralyzed blonde man needed a few extra seconds to answer with a silent nod, still eyeing Six as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"What the fuck happened here?!" – the altered sniper's voice didn't help with the Courier's altered state when she nuzzled further into the crook of Vulpes' neck, filling his shirt with wetness as she kept crying.

The Frumentarius' unconscious answer was scratching her nape absently whilst he squeezed her a bit closer. She squeezed him tighter in response.

Then, her face shifted a bit, and her lips found his ear.

Her voice was so low that Vulpes had to concentrate on grasping what she was saying.

"John Henry Eden." – he said out loud so the rest of the present company could understand – "She says that… you didn't have enough with what happened with… Project Safehouse and the Vault-Tec Industries network of underground shelters for social experiments." – as her lips kept moving against his ear and her words filling his brains, his own words translating hers became increasingly strange even to his ears – "She says that you… monitored the Vault Behavioral Project from the Poseidon Oil refinery in Navarro and… developed the FEV Curling-13, based on the virus that created the supermutants in the first place. She says… that you wanted a second holocaust so bad you ended up being administrated and led by a machine."

Arcade's face lost all remaining color while, struggling to get up aided by Calamity as Veronica released him, Doctor Henry sighed.

"The ZAX computer was our founders' doing." – he said absently, sitting on a chair nearby, his old body resenting the brief struggle he had against that woman with the pneumatic gauntlet – "As well as the Vault Behavioral Project. The orders were 'to continue the American legacy and, once all the Communism would be eradicated, we will claim our rightful place as the sole heirs of all humankind'." – he scoffed disdainfully – "Before the War, the Enclave was a cabal of powerful individuals from across the United States, including presidents, members of the joint chiefs, prize-winning scientists, wealthy industrialists, members of the military, influential politicians and other powerful men and women who, together, formed the éminence grise of the United States of America. And then… after the bombs fell, they saw not only the ghouls and the supermutants as sub-humans that ought to be eradicated, but also the Wastelanders and the people living in the Vaults." - he shook his head – "They treated people from the outside like guinea pigs to test their discoveries with. Slaves, convenient pawns to do their bidding. They didn't care about the problems they had created in the first place. Instead of addressing the nature of their failures, they wanted to eradicate them. That's why I never saw eye to eye with the leadership and left."

"Henry…" – Arcade murmured, for the first time in his life, at a loss for words.

"But you're making a mistake if you think the boy works with them." – the old doctor continued, directing to Arcade the fondest look the Follower had ever seen in the other man – "I am well aware that certain chapters of the Enclave, remnants if you will, do still operate throughout the American Wasteland. Even maybe in other countries as well." – he inhaled, clearly in pain at disclosing a chapter in his life he had deemed already closed – "But Arcade wasn't even born when the oil rig exploded. You shouldn't adjudge the sins of a father to his son. And I include myself in those sins if that makes you feel better." – for the first time, the old man sounded tired, immensely tired of all those years seeking a way out of the weight his roots had put over his shoulders – "I'm curious though. To which Vault did you pertain to harbor such resentment against the faction that lied about protecting your ilk and used you instead?"

Her voice, small as it already was, faltered, and more tears welled up Vulpes' shirt.

After a while, her words found his ear once more.

"Vault 5, under the Cambridge Academic Center of the Commonwealth." – he translated, suddenly very aware of the location the girl was describing.

The Commonwealth was in that direction even Caesar's Legion hadn't dared to set foot on, centering more on the western conquest.

Northeast, Atlantic shore, the old State of Massachusetts.

This girl, quite indeed, had traveled the Wasteland from one side to another. Besides her ties with the old Washington DC, she pertained to another entirely different kind of Wasteland.

The sharp breath intake on the old doctor's part was the only sound amidst a sepulchral silence that had been cast upon every individual present in the room.

"Good Lord…" – the old man gasped, horrified – "You… you are part of that program…"

"Henry…" – Arcade, throat dry raspy as sandpaper, dared to ask while putting a hesitant hand over his father's old comrade's shoulder – "What program are we talking about?"

The Courier was shaking fervently under Vulpes' fingertips while Doctor Henry's head came to rest between his also shaking hands.

"Military indoctrination coupled with fighting VR for the First Phase, and then…" – the man swallowed – for the Second Phase, Biological experimentation with long-term Cryogenesis…"


"Surprise!" – a whole chorus of voices right after the video recording had started. She had known about the party the entire time… and yet, just to please dad, she had pretended it had been a surprise. The video footage was awful and nearly half the time unfocused… but she hadn't gotten hold of her Pip-Boy yet and had to work with an old recording device she had been wearing like a pendant around her neck. That was supposedly the big event of turning ten: getting your own personal device – "… Turned the lights on too fast. You blinded the poor kid!"

Then, a few clapping and the mandatory 'Happy Birthday'.

"Happy birthday, honey." – his face, somehow, seemed the only one that had gotten the best recorded. She hadn't allowed him to get out of her sight much time – "I can't believe you're already ten… I'm so proud of you."

And she had felt so proud of him… Doctor James Alden.

Her father. The only man that had mattered to her during the first nineteen years of her life.

"If only your mother…"

His voice, always so deep, so smooth…

"Congratulations, young lady."

And then… the Overseer. Alphonse Almodovar.

He always had the voice of the smug rat he was.

"I don't have to tell you how special this day is, do I?" – her father was special. Her birthday and the Overseer's praise… she couldn't have cared less – "Down here in Vault 101, when you turn 10, well… you're ready to take on your first official Vault responsibilities. So here you are. As Overseer, I hereby present to you your very own Pip-Boy 3000! Get used to it. You'll be getting your first work assignment tomorrow. Hahahahaha!"

As funny as a molerat's excrement.

"Enjoy your party." – and then, dad's soothing voice again - "You're only ten once, so have fun."

She had loved him so, so much…

"Happy birthday! We really surprised you, didn't we?"

And then… the voice of a little girl. Amata Almodovar. The Overseer's daughter.

Her supposedly best friend.

"Ha, ha! Your dad was afraid you were onto us. But I told him not to worry. You're so easy to fool."

Yes… she had been easy to fool… so naïve, so innocent… Easy to fool.

She stopped the clumsy footage and took a languorous drag at her cigar, misting the device's screen for a few seconds with toxic smoke.

She played an audio recording she had gotten from an old radio transmission this time.

"It feels like you left home a long time ago, but I know you're still out there. I just hope you're still alive to hear this." – a pause, some static noise in between sentences - "Things got worse after you left. My father's gone mad with power. If you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help stop mine." – of course, Amata. Always the Samaritan for you. We are best friends, aren't we? – "I changed the door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and you still care enough to help me, you should remember it."

She had remembered. Just as she would remember the day she had crossed the threshold of Vault 101 again.

After another drag, she searched her database and selected yet another video footage.

This time, the image was well-focused and crystal clear.

"Tell me that again." – this time, it was her own adult voice addressing the bloodied image of a dying Hispanic girl, crimson pooling around her as well as the Enclave soldiers she had killed before… - "Tell me that it's all my fault."

The girl she was recording gurgled and focused her sight for a second, raising a trembling hand to the camera.

"P… please…" - she rasped.

"Please what?" – her voice sounded impossibly cold, even in its mocking.

"H… help… me…"

"Now you want my help, again?" – she laughed humorlessly – "How can I be of any help if 'it's all my fault'?"

The footage extended for a few minutes more whilst the light extinguished from Amata's eyes as her form lay still on the Wasteland's barren soil.

"Tell me again that it's all my fault, bitch."

Then, the recording abruptly ended.

Finishing her cigar, she dropped the butt outside the walls of this fortress. Her fortress.

Her gilded cage.

Directing her steps slowly back towards the padded terrace chairs and table, she accepted the bourbon shot Burke handed to her.

"Reminiscing, songbird?" – he asked placidly, stretching a hand over the table and putting a few strands of long golden hair behind her ear.

She leaned into his touch like a cat.

An affection-starved cat.

"Charon has written again." – she informed after a blessed, truly rare moment of contentment only this bad, bad man could provide her with – "He has managed access to The Strip and has assessed the perimeter already." – lacing her dainty fingers with his, she added – "He asks for clearance."

Behind dark tortoiseshell glasses, steely eyes gleamed with predatory anticipation.

"Tell him to proceed the way he deems best."


LATIN:

(1) - "Divide and rule."


A/N: ... dense chapter is deeeeeense as fuck, but I've managed to get through it victorious, ha!
Sorry for the delay, but between how complicated-wise this chapter had become and then that I am feeling a bit depressed lately (due to confinement, nothing you're not familiar with, so don't worry), I've been struggling as to how I wanted to develop it and how much I wanted to say and how.
What has to do Six's aversion to the Enclave besides the obvious? And what about Burke, Laura, and Charon? There are questions and unresolved issues, I know, but now Vulpes is growing closer to our little group and Six has managed to get a hug out of him, yay! :D
Not the ideal setting, but relationships are starting to develop, and bonding is slowly breaking through the ice.
Like it? Hate it? Too much info? (déjà vu question, I know).

Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: loved your very detailed review and, as promised, here's more answers, more questions, and... bonding. Vulpes is DEFINITELY aboard the Adventure Time train, and I wouldn't dream of giving him 'recruitable follower' status and waste him as just the 'romantic choice' for the Courier and that will be all. But you see, he has a personality of his own and, while he's good at infiltration and spying... the Courier's group demands much more commitment and it's a bit too much for him right now. Give him some time to sort out how much he wants to get involved and we'll see ;)

Thank you so much! ^^