I got Nancy to 'doctor' Straus in Novac. Straus had about as much right to call herself a doctor as Hildern did, but at least she knew what she was doing. She got Nancy hooked onto some Radaway, and I notified her parents she was safe. I broke the news to the other children's parents. They took it as well as could be expected: a train wreck the whole way 'round.

I waited a few hours for Raul to find his way back. He looked, well, he looked like hell, frankly. He looked exhausted, his clothes and hands were stained in rust, and his voice carried more gravel than usual. He must've been yelling up a storm after I left. I knew better than to ask him what he'd done to the bounty. I think we both just wanted to put the whole thing as far behind us as we could now. We couldn't change it, no matter how much we wished we could.

After having some time to rest and clean, Raul decided to head back to Vegas. Said that what happened in the mine reminded him how old he was. I didn't know what he must've dredged up, but I respected his privacy. If he wanted to talk about, I was an open set of ears.

I made my way back to Steve's from there. Explained to him what had happened on the job, what we found down in the cave. He tried to brush it off, but I could see it got to him too. Apparently not enough to keep him from making a crass joke about the bounty being a ghoul. Of all the shit I wanted to hear right then, a joke about how the bounty's finger was basically melting wasn't on the list. He apparently picked up on that, after that joke he didn't make another. Instead, since I'd come back alive without trying the same for the bounty, he opted to keep me on the payroll.

The next job wasn't an outright hunt, as much as it was an investigation, one happening practically in Steve's front yard. Somehow, people had been disappearing on the road between Primm and Mojave Outpost. Maybe not so strange a thing, but with the NCR in such close proximity, it was a little abnormal. With all the Fire-ants and Radscorpions prowling the road between the settlements, it was initially chalked up to animal attacks and acts of nature. But something about the frequency of the disappearances must of not have sat straight with someone, so they were paying Steve to investigate. Meaning I was getting paid to investigate, and resolve it as things unfolded.

I was sure there was only one way it was going to be 'resolved'. I wasn't going to bother trying otherwise.

So, I spent a few hours walking the road between Mojave outpost and Primm, alone. Of course, when I started, it was already getting late. Which I'd figured would only up the odds of someone-or-thing trying to nab me. But it didn't. So, I posted up at the old Highway Patrol station until morning. It'd been quieter since Cullen and his ilk had been taken care of. Left a few mantises for me to snack on too.

Morning came eventually, and I broke camp. Collecting the few supplies I had with me, I made my way back out onto the I-15 and began walking. I took it slow, made sure I wasn't missing anything. Trying to pick out individual tracks on a well-traveled road was like trying to find a specific grain of sand in a dust storm. There was always a chance you might, if infinitesimally small, but you'd more likely get the wrong one, and be stuck with sand in places you'd rather not find it. So instead of looking for tracks, I tried to focus on finding something larger. If multiple people had gone missing, and didn't just wind up some arthropod's lunch, then there was a chance they were going someplace specific. Since that was the assumption I was supposed to operate on, then all I had to do was look for off-shoots. Smaller, less traveled, or newly made paths stepping off of the I-15. They'd certainly be more noticeable than individual tracks, but there was no guarantee that the one I wanted existed. If these people had disappeared for the same reason, then there was always the chance that whoever was responsible avoided taking the same path back each time, making sure they weren't easily discovered.

Of course, if this were the case, that would mean the people who'd disappeared had willfully stepped off the beaten path for some reason. There had been no reports of fighting along the route to imply they'd been forced off, so they'd have to do it of their own volition. Not many wastelanders willingly step off the road in the Mojave without a clear path. It's a good way to avoid getting eaten. Which ultimately fed back into the 'beaten path' idea. The missing persons would be more inclined to investigate if they had something they could actually follow. It was just a matter of finding one that seemed plausible.

It took a few more hours of walking, and a few false starts, but I found the one I was looking for. Strangely enough, it was just down the hill from the Mojave outpost of all places. Which made me wonder how Ranger Ghost never noticed these people going missing. She'd noticed when Nipton had gone quiet, despite being miles away, but couldn't be bothered to notice something happening right at her doorstep?

Sounded right for the NCR, if not for Ghost.

I followed the path, walking South West into the hills, ringing every warning bell that the previous bounty had created along the way. But I knew I was on the right track when I found a note on the ground - beside the skeletal remains of an arm. Clearly the warning bells were going to pay dividends. The word 'Shelter' was scribbled on the note, along with a map crude enough to have been drawn by a child. Given it seemed to indicate the path I was following was the right one, I continued down it with increased caution.

The slope of the hills grew the further I went, until I was practically up against the canyon walls that seemed to ring the Mojave as a whole. The path weaved its way steadily on, but it was almost easier to climb the rocky outcrops and ridges than it was to follow it. As the day grew, it only seemed to worsen, the heat of the noon sun glaring down on the Mojave like some vindictive child with a magnifying glass, leaving the rocky ridges warm to the touch, and the Mojave sands dry and scorching.

Eventually, followed to its end, the path curved up and around an outcrop. Settling high enough that I could see the Mojave stretch for miles below. Reaching out to the west, until it ran into the hills that split the 15 from Highway 95. An impressive view, one of many that weren't easy to find in the Wasteland. Worth it if you could find a way to it.

But I wasn't there to sightsee. I was hunting.

Over the ridge, I found an unexpected sight: a manhole. The kind I'd seen all over Vegas, leading into the sewers and, depending where you stumbled, the Thorn. The manhole was set into a slab of concrete, obviously weathered and worn by the sands, but seeming to be well maintained besides. A part of me mulled over what it was for a moment, but there wasn't much point. This far out, at the end of an almost invisible trail, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, there was only a handful of answers.

A bunker.

A hide away.

A shelter.

Some place secluded enough that, if some people went missing, they'd likely never be found. Exactly what I was looking for.

Standing at the Ridge's edge, I crouched down, facing the manhole, getting ready to descend and put the investigation to bed.

Then I heard rocks shift and froze up.

It came from the ridge in front of me.

My head snapped up, and found a pretty face staring back at mine. A button nose, flanked by brown eyes and rimmed by a soft face. Cheeks full, and her jaw strong but not sharp. Sitting primly over a chin to match it, were full lips, a tender shade of pink. They curled up into a smile as my eyes locked onto hers.

"Hey Stranger." Veronica greeted "I'm looking for the postman, he been through here yet?"

"… Just missed him." I answered, straightening back up "-Said to keep an eye-out for a starry-eyed Californian in a dress though… I'd say he was half right."

Veronica gave a broad smile and walked her way up and around the ridge. She'd traded in that dress I'd found her for the hood and robes she'd worn when I first met her. Not that I could blame her, pink doesn't blend well with Mojave sand, and she cherished that thing like I did my privacy. From the outside, they didn't look like much. A set of roughhewn, muddy canvas tunic and pants, fraying at the edges and mantled at the shoulders. The Hood was of the same material, and deep, despite the shallow way she wore it. Underneath the canvas though, as I'd learned, were layers of padding and leather. A far cry from the recon armor her contemporaries wore, but it had suited her well whenever we traveled, despite her preferred method of conflict resolution involving her diving headlong into the fray. She had a lot of heart, and knew how to use it.

"What are you doing here Veronica?" I asked.

"What, a girl can't choose to check on her friend without a reason?" Veronica asked in kind.

"I didn't tell Raul to send anyone- actually, more to the point: how did you find me?"

"The Brotherhood has eyes everywhere." She answered with mystique "We see everything, and everyone."

"…"

"… Some of them even shoot lasers." She joked, harkening back to a conversation we once had.

"… Time and place, Veronica." I said, patient "This isn't either."

Veronica blinked, staring at me a moment as her smile faded. "Raul told us about what happened."

That was a surprise. Raul wasn't as stone-faced as Boone, but I knew the old ghoul had his own secrets. The fact he'd been willing to talk about what happened in the cave, even a little, meant something. "How much did he tell you?"

"He didn't go into specifics." She continued, giving me a sad, understanding nod "But he told us about what you found down there. Said that the guy you found 'got what he deserved'. But he said you were acting different when he saw you again, and wanted one of us to make sure you were okay. I volunteered, Raul pointed me to the guy you've been working for, and he pointed me after you. I saw you walking up into the hills, followed you, and here we are."

"Hm, well, sorry to make you follow after me." I apologized "But I wanted to handle this stuff on my own now."

"Hey, we just wanted to make sure you were doing ok."

"I'm pretty far from 'okay', Veronica." I answered honestly "It's hard to be 'okay' after something like that. But I don't need to be 'okay' to work. Not with the type of people Steve has me hunting."

Veronica's gaze gained a worried light to it. "If you're not doing alright, maybe you should take some time off. Clear your head."

"No, I'd say things are pretty clear now, actually." I said, matter of fact "I've been trying too hard to make something happen that shouldn't. That's not going to be an issue from here on."

The worried light in Veronica's gaze turned to something more concrete. "… Ok, now I'm glad I caught you. I'm going in with you."

"I don't need-"

"I'm coming with you." Veronica stated "That was a warning flag if I've ever heard one."

"I said I don't need your help." I growled.

"Well you're getting it, stop being stubborn." Veronica said, walking up beside me "So, who do we get to punch?"

"…Don't know." I admitted "-People've been going missing between Primm and Mojave Outpost. I was told to look into it, and wound up out here."

"How'd no one notice that until now?"

"No clue" I shrugged "All I know, is that I'm getting paid to find out who, where, why, and how to put an end to it. I think we're currently standing at the where, I figured out the why, and I already know how this is going to end. Only thing missing is the 'who'."

"Fine" Veronica said, squatting next to me and the manhole "We'll take care of it together."

"... Fine." I said, after a moment more "-Wait out here. If I need back-up, I'll let you know."

"That doesn'tsound like handling it together." Veronica prodded.

"If you knew how any of the last few bounties went, you'd know it is." I said, sliding my fingers around the edge of the manhole and gently lifting it open. I stared down into the darkness below, spying the rungs of a ladder just below the lip of the concrete. I turned back to Veronica again, descending into the bunker "Just hang back for a sec."

My feet echoed off the steel rungs as I climbed down into the bunker. Ringing up to my ears the same way the cool, stale dinge of recycled air dug itself into my nose. There was a tinge to something else with it that, in the moment, I couldn't put my finger on. The darkness of the bunker below only made deeper by the contrast of the waning light of the world above. I didn't have to climb far before reaching the floor of the bunker. Most like it were rarely ever far enough below ground to qualify as more than a hideaway, ten or fifteen feet at the most.

As I stepped off the ladder, however, what I found was different than most bunkers. While much of the place was marked by signs of age, it wasn't as bad as one might expect. The concrete flooring was cracked and crumbling, but in otherwise clean, even patched in some places. The steel walls were grayed and tarnished with oxidation, but none of it had begun to visibly rust, or was polished back to bare metal if it had. There was furniture, organized neatly around the room, with a staircase descending deeper into the bunker along one wall. Along the other was an Ice-o-rator fridge and a General Atomics stove, both spotless in appearance. Beside them both was a small table, piled high with all manner of pre-war goodies. Nuka colas, junk food, fancy lads, fresh water, and other tantalizingly addictive snacks. Muddled with the sting of recycled air, I could now place the delightful scent of freshly grilled Brahmin.

In short, if there were a more obvious trap in the Mojave, I had yet to see it. The entire bunker seemed more like a human sized mouse trap, especially given the sketchy path I had to take to find it.

Of course, it wasn't helped by the fact I was clearly being watched. Looking to the ceiling beside the ladder, there was a fully maintained, intact, and clearly functioning security camera.

The camera tracked to me, red light blinking, and paused on me.

"Hello, traveler, welcome to my humble abode." A smooth, calm voice crackled from elsewhere. My eyes tracking it to somewhere down the stairwell "Please, help yourself to the food, you must be famished!"

Rather than follow his offers for food, I started for the stairs. At the bottom of them was a pneumatically sealed blast door, common throughout most industrial ruins. On the wall beside it, rested an intercom.

"Allow me to introduce myself-" The intercom crackled "My name is Dr. Vincent-"

There was a ring of hollow metal as I descended the stairs, my boots bouncing off of their metal frames. I reached the bottom shortly and tried to open the pneumatic door. I wasn't surprised to find it locked, and immediately began prying off the cover to the pneumatic override. Something built into most doors like this, a steel plate set over a pressure valve. Beneath it: a rotary release, secured by a standardized pin tumbler lock.

I threw the steel plate aside, jamming a bobby pin and my screw driver into the keyhole. Feeling my way through the pins with practiced ease.

"Wait, what are you-" the voice, Vincent, crackled beside me.

"Give it a rest." I growled "I'd have to be an idiot to buy the shit you're trying to sell me."

Before Vincent could respond, I heard the lock click, and felt it glide smoothly into position. I twisted the rotary release, and the door slid down into the floor with a hiss. Beyond the door lay a hallway, looking more in line with what I expected of a bunker, rusted steel and cracked concrete. I could see an open room at the far end of the hall, and an offshoot halfway down the corridor.

I pulled my lever action shotgun around front of me and cycled the action, making sure there was a fresh shell in the chamber as I started forward. I could see well enough that the far end of the corridor led to an open room, few places to hide. I couldn't see anyone, so I sprinted to the intersection, snapping around the corner. Shotgun level to anything in front of me.

At the far end of the offshoot was a bedroom, if only the bare furnishings of one, the Bed in-line with the corridor. At the foot of it was a table and computer console, with a man seated before it, half-turned to face me. He was an older man, skin sallowed and beginning to sag with age, though I could see fat lying beneath it. Something that you never saw in the wasteland, fat. He wore the fatigues of a surgeon, the kind you'd find roaming the wastes. His head was balding, a crown of steel-gray hair ringing a smooth pate. Even at distance, I could see something in his eyes. Something wild and manic.

"Oh bloody hell." He swore, arm whipping towards his table. I saw a glint of steel in his hand as he began to rise from his table.

I pulled the trigger Shotgun ringing with thunder off the tight metal walls of corridor. The buckshot hit its mark, as Vincent twisted to one side with a howl.

I cycled the action, fired again.

The second blast shut him up.

I worked the lever again and walked down the corridor, entering into the bedroom, careful to watch the corners, make sure he didn't have anyone waiting to jump me. We were alone, save for a painting that hung on the nearby wall. An odd thing to find anywhere in the wasteland. I couldn't help but notice how striking it was either. Painted in a loose style, looking like clouds and mist of color pulling into vague shapes. Coming together in the shape of a wispy haired, gangly giant. They were crouched low, clutching what appeared to be a person in their hands, holding them so tight their fingers dug into the smaller man's flesh, crushing them. The giant's face agape as it rent the smaller creature limb from limb. Visibly and bloodily devouring them, The Giant's eyes wide with an emotion that ran the border of fear and madness.

I walked over to the man. He lay there shuddering on the ground, as blood began to pool around him in a syrupy puddle. In his hand, gripped loosely, was a cleaver.

"I…" He gasped, breath pushing the blood away from his mouth "-I can smell… the fava beans…"

Then he went still and silent. I kicked him softly just to be sure he wasn't faking it. Sure enough, he'd croaked.

I knelt down and grabbed the cleaver from the slowly expanding puddle, finding it had a pretty wicked edge to it. If he'd actually been close enough to use it on me, he might have done a number. Now it would just make collecting the bounty easier.

As I knelt down to sever his finger though, I heard someone gasp. I turned and looked back down the hall I'd walked in from. Veronica was standing in it, staring back at me.

"Holy crap" She said, starting towards me "Six, what did you do?"

"Killed him." I grunted, chopping the air a few times to test the cleaver's weight.

"I can see that, what happened to taking care of it together?"

"Faster to do it myself, thought you were going to wait outside?"

"Yeah, well, you said to wait a second and I did." Veronica answered curtly "What did he even do?"

"Fuck if I know, something, I'm sure."

Veronica reeled, looking like I'd physically hit her. "You don't even know what he did!?"

"Give it a rest, I don't need to hear it."

"What if he didn't actually do anything?" Veronica asked, distressed "You said you were just out here investigating, what if he didn't actually do it?"

"Oh, I'm almost sure he did." I answered, shifting to avoid the ever-expanding pool of blood "This far in the middle of nowhere, acting like that, he sure as sunshine had a hand in something."

"Thenprove it."

"I don't have to." I said, lining the edge of the cleaver up with the corpse's knuckle "I did what I was paid to." With a flick of the wrist, the cleaver snapped down, snapping cartilage and bone, cutting most of the way through the finger. Leaving only a thin flap of skin to cut through. I sheared it off, and held the severed appendage up. "Now I've got the thing to prove it."

Veronica grimaced, looking at me uncertainly, something between questioning and worried. "But what if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

"You don't know that, what if he was… whatever he said he was?"

"He didn't say." I said, motioning to the personal terminal on the table "He was too busy watching through a camera behind a locked door. You can't tell me that wasn't a trap up there."

"What if it wasn't?" Veronica asked "What if he was sitting behind a locked door because he was worried someone was going to attack him?"

"Then why didn't he lock the bunker altogether?"

"No one locks their doors Six!" Veronica nearly shouted "Name one time, one actual home, where someone has actually locked their doors!"

"… You know that only re-enforces my point, right?"

Veronica shook her head, now visibly worried, gesturing to the body on the ground "This isn't you, Six. When was the last time you just shot first and asked questions later?"

"… Nipton." I answered.

"Yeah, and you've had the Legion on your back ever since, right?" Veronica asked, not waiting for me to answer again "You're getting paid to investigate, so investigate! At least make sure you didn't just murder someone."

I stared at Veronica for a moment, and she stared at me in turn. Obstinate in what she wanted me to do. Truthfully, I couldn't blame her either. Certain as I was that this guy had done something, it wouldn't hurt to be sure now that the deed was done. If I was wrong, I'd have done the one thing I'd told Steve I wanted no hand in. That, I wouldn't abide by.

"Fine-" I said, gesturing to the rest of the room "There's another room further down that hall, I'll go check there. You start with this one, see if there's anything important."

"Hmph" Veronica huffed, giving me a lopsided look "Great, now that all the hard work is done, you're giving me the boring part."

"Don't get lippy with me." I grunted, starting past her "You're here and insisting on it, so you get to help. Check behind the painting too, see if he has a safe or something."

Veronica shrugged and got to work as I started back out of the bedroom.

As I walked back down the hall, no longer looking for a fight, my mind began to wander. Began to wonder if Veronica was right. What if I had just murdered an innocent man? Veronica wasn't wrong in that people tended not to lock their doors, even when doing so might be a smart idea. They locked their personal belongings away to be sure, but next to no one ever actually locked their homes, even when going to sleep. The man, Vincent, willingly offered food to me and wasn't actively malicious like every other bounty had been. Maybe locking the door had just been his own way of taking precautions. This place certainly would make a good hiding spot for less savory characters.

As I rounded the corner and started down the rest of the corridor, that thought only began to solidify. What if I had murdered a completely innocent person? It was the one line I'd made abundantly clear to Steve I wasn't going to cross. I wasn't going to be someone's hitman, good pay or not. This wouldn't have even qualified as a hit either, Vincent would be completely unrelated to what I was doing out here in the first place. He'd be a casualty of my own incompetence and paranoia, which was far worse.

As I entered the room at the hall's end I-

Oh…

Well, this changed things.

"… Veronica!" I called, voice echoing of the metal corridor "I found something!"

I waited a moment for her to come to me, hearing her foot falls echo back to me as I stared into the room. It didn't take her as long to get to me.

"Hey" She said, dipping past me, peering into the room "What's- OH MY GOD."

I think the smell got to her before anything else did. The rancid odor of putrefying fat and burned hair.

Along one wall, the entire length of it, was a cell. More accurately a cage. Enough you could keep two or three people, barely. I could see flies hovering over a filth covered bucket in one corner of it. The rest of the room was illuminated by a bare bulb in the center. The other side of the room held a few tables, and a stove with a massive pot on it. The tables themselves lined with butchery equipment. Knives, cleavers, saws, hooks, all tarnished gray and stained with rust, save for the edges.

There were bodies.

They were largely contained to the cage, men and women. They were all stripped naked and covered in grime. Bloody chunks were missing from each of them, from their legs, arms, backs, if not their limbs out right.

One of them had been disemboweled and left that way.

"… One" I said, suppressing the urge to gag, and taking a head count. "Two… three…"

I stepped deeper into the room, making sure I had a good view of the room. There were more in the cage.

"Four… Five…"

I turned away from the cage. There was a body strung up from meat hooks in the center of the room. By its feet.

"Six…"

I turned to the other side of the room, looking at the table. There were bit of meat and limbs amid the cutlery. Too many to count, or give anything accurate.

I turned to the stove instead.

I checked the oven. Was lucky enough to see Vincent hadn't been preparing anything in it. But I could feel heat radiating off of the stovetop. Coming from the pot.

I removed the lid as a cloud of noxious steam erupted from the cauldron. A myriad of bones and sinew stewing among them.

Including a trio of poorly cleaned skulls.

Eight.

There were eight victims… that we knew of.

If I brought that information to Steve, he'd probably be able to match up the numbers. Probably put names to faces on top of it. Or teeth, considering it was too little too late for the ones in the stock pot.

My fists clenched as I fought back the bile rising in my throat.

"…You still wanna say I was wrong?" I asked, weakly motioning to the roam.

Veronica bit her lip, looking like she was going to be sick as she shook her head. "No, god no."

I exhaled, doing my best to breathe through my mouth. There was no sense in getting angry now. "… I get it Veronica, I do. You want to make sure I'm not just losing my mind." I started back out of the room "But this? This could've been anyone, including us."

"I know." She said, looking to the floor.

I walked next to her, and turned her away from the room, starting back towards the hatch out.

"It's the same every time." I said, trying to keep calm as I walked Veronica away from it "Assholes like this, they get it in their head they can do whatever depraved shit they want. No one stops them, so they go on terrorizing the wasteland, driving people to be afraid of everyone around them. The world's a hellhole, and they think they're king of the scrap heap. They're not, they're just monsters. I'm done entertaining the idea that they can be brought in alive, or that they deserve the mercy they denied others."

We reached the main room, and Veronica looked up to me. She had nice eyes, big with a beautiful shade of brown that danced in the light.

I hated seeing tears in them.

Veronica wasn't innocent, none of us were. But no one should have to see things like that.

"I'm not going to let things like this keep happening." I said, gripping her shoulder "As long as I'm on the trail, these assholes aren't going to be with us for much longer. I don't feel bad about doing this now."

Veronica nodded sadly, and I let her take the lead back up the ladder. Back out in the desert, The sun had peaked, and was starting back towards the horizon now. Strange, didn't seem right for the sun to be shining for something like this. "Go back to the 38, Veronica." I said, trying to be as soothing as I could muster "This isn't something you need to be a part of."

"… Yeah." Veronica said, trying to smile "I-uh… I don't think this is for me. Just make sure you don't kill yourself?" She asked, concern clear in her eyes "It's bad enough Raul was worried about you, I'd hate to see what Cass would do if something actually happened."

I felt my head tilt to the side unconsciously "What's that supposed to mean?"

Veronica looked at me for a moment, then broke out into a barking, sad laugh. I let her, because she looked like she needed it. Then, instead, she smirked, and just shrugged. "You'll figure it out."