The gunslinger pushed open the door of the general store, stepping out. He paused a moment, before stepping to the side of the door, lingering on the porch, head drooping low. He wore a suit you'd see around Vegas, gambler, a common style. A dark brown jacket and pants over a tan vest, which itself was over a white button up, completed with a long bowtie around his neck. A black desperado hat sat over his pale head, curling up at the sides. The barest reachings of rusty brown hair clawing its way out from beneath the hat at either side his head. His face was small, pulled tight together, making the rest of his head look wide, fat. Nose was big, arched. Eyebrows angled upward at the edges, eyes stuck at a permanent squint. Coupled with the permanent scowl on his thin lips, it gave him a look of permanent anger. As though he was always one change in the winds from unleashing violence on those around him.

The gunslinger stood there, on the porch of the store front. Making no indication he had plans to be anywhere else. A hand slowly and easily slipping into his pocket, withdrawing a cigarette and placing it between his lips. A lighter following it not long after from the pocket of his jacket. His head tilted back up as he took a long drag, the tip of the cigarette glowing bright as it burned down. The gunslinger exhaled, blowing a thick cloud of blue-white smoke as his eyes scanned around him. Perhaps searching for who next to make trouble for. He stopped after a moment, eyes locking onto something. The angle of his eyes growing shallower as he concentrated.

Then they snapped open, suddenly ablaze with surprise, fear. The cigarette fell from his mouth as his hand whipped down to his side-
I pulled the trigger. A chunk of meat and bone cleaved off the side of his skull as his head snapped back, body falling limp to the floor. The bullet continued to travel, blasting through the window of the storefront behind him, shattering it.

I leaned back from the rifle's scope, lowering the weapon from my shoulder. "Got him."

"Good." Boone grunted "Can I have my rifle back?"

The two of us stepped back from the rocks we'd been using for cover and started for Chet's general store. As we walked, I opened the bolt of Boone's hunting rifle and passed it back to him.

"Could've made the shot for you." Boone grunted, readjusting his scope.

"Could've." I answered back, equal measure "But he'd made it personal."

It'd been a while since I'd last been to Goodsprings. There wasn't much to bring me out that way, outside of paying everyone a visit. It was quieter, now that Cobb and his merry band of butt buddies weren't around to cause trouble anymore. The last time I could recall being there, I'd been running low of ammo, and Chet felt like gouging me for the price.

Strange how trouble had a way of winding up there.

I returned to Steve with the last bounty's finger, only to find him in the middle of processing the next one. I off-handedly asked who it was from this time, and learned that Trudy had been the one to send it. Apparently 'Jack' had been shaking people down for money, trying to start a protection racket. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty either. The townspeople tried to run him out on a rail, likely rbering the last time a guy like him hung around.

He put Sunny and Cheyenne in the ground. Left a few others in critical condition.

I felt responsible for that.

Not long after, Trudy did the sensible thing and called for help. The NCR refused to supply aid to anyone who wasn't under their banner, so it fell to local contractors. Steve was first on the list.

I'd been en route when Boone caught up to me. I hadn't bothered to ask if he'd come under his own volition or if Veronica had sent him. It worked out in my favor either way, meant I could save time. No sense in talking to a dead man.

Boone and me walked towards Chet's store in silence for a moment. We'd setup a short walk away, on a hill. Made sure we had a good vantage point, try to avoid collateral.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him looking at me, wary.

"...Well?" Boone asked.

"Well, what?" I asked back.

"This is the part where you get all mopey." Boone said.

"Why the fuck should I?" I asked "He got what he fucking deserved."

Boone grunted, nodding "Not arguing that. You don't normally se as fine with it."

"You see me complain when we put down Fiends or Legion?"

"… No."

I rolled my shoulder, re-adjusting my duster "Case in point. He earned the bounty put on his head, and I'm not questioning it. The only thing I want to know is how much I'm getting paid for doing it."

"You'd do good working for the NCR then." Boone grunted, clearly off-put about something "They'll pay you enough, as long as you do the work."

"Yeah, but they won't bother to run a few miles over to take of something like this?" I asked "Bad enough they didn't help with the Powder Gangers, a problem they caused. Seriously I gotta ask, Boone, what the hell?"

"You know we're spread thin." Boone grunted "Don't have the manpower to hunt down everyone."

"Must not, if they need to send people like Cass and me to take care of guys like Quigley." I said, shaking my head "Guess I'm just more surprised that they don't have First Recon doing it by default, since Dhatri was the one that started all this."

"…Used to be." Boone answered, "But people didn't like the idea of First Recon being used to hunt criminals within our borders."

A part of me wanted to snap back something sarcastic and a bit biting. Despite how affable I was, that didn't change the fact I was furious. Sunny was dead. She was one of the good ones, helped get me back on my feet after Benny blew me off them. Maybe she didn't have to help much, but she didn't have to help at all either. Now she was dead because someone hadn't bothered to help take care of one dumb motherfucker. It would've only taken one person to be the last thing he never saw. I'd been able to prove that.

Looking at Boone though, I knew he understood that.

The normal, stony look that Boone wore cracked, for a moment. The stoicism seed to melt off of him like hot wax. Leaving behind a tired shell, looking forlornly into the distance. I'd seen that look before. Any time we'd talked about Bitter Springs… or his wife.

Then it was gone, just as quickly as it appeared. With a shake of his head, Boone focused on the road ahead of us.
Which was good, because right about then, Chet stepped out of his store. He practically tripped over 'Jack', before stepping past him and getting a better look at the would-be Racketeer's corpse. He then twisted at the hip and looked at his store front, and the busted-out window attached to it. He visibly, and violently, gestured to the broken pane of glass, very faintly saying some expletives along with it. He then whipped around, clearly searching for something.

Until he locked onto us, then his face set into a glare that could cut stone.

This was going to be a fun conversation.

…

Chet held us up for a good hour or so before realizing we weren't going to pay for his window. Frankly, if that was the only collateral damage after everything else that'd happened, he should've been thankful.

Boone and me walked back to Steve's in silence after that. He was never big on small talk anyway, but this was a different silence. There was a tension to it I couldn't put a finger on. Made talking se more pointless. We got back to Steve's around sundown, found him still clacking away at his typewriter. Made me wonder if he ever took a break, or if he even slept.

He looked up and nodded at us as we walked in. "Made it back quick, How's the huntin'?"

"Quick and clean, minus some broken glass." I answered, retrieving Jack's finger and tossing it to Steve. He caught it easy enough, but seemed annoyed I hadn't just handed it to him.

"Anyone else get caught in the crossfire this time?" Steve asked, unwrapping the finger and beginning to process it, rolling the tip in ink.

"No." I said firmly "Clean, like I said. Took his head off from a hundred yards out."

"Good, he didn't seem like someone you should be makin' rookie mistakes with." Steve nodded, motioning to Boone "Who's this now?"

"Boone, a companion of mine from Novac." I answered "Had him spot for me."

"Could've shot him myself." Boone griped; probably not happy he was going to need to re-sight his rifle.

"Shit, you run through friends like hot grease." Steve said, shaking his head "First Red, then that zombie you were fuckin' around with, you ought'a be more careful."

"I told you why me and Cass are split." I said, getting an edge to my voice "- And if you've got a problem with Raul, I suggest keeping it to yourself."

"I'm just trying to keep you from making a stupid mistake." Steve said, tone no different than if we were having a pleasant conversation "At least you're not walkin' around with him anymore. Which I guess means you wised up a bit."

"He left of his own choice." I clarified, sharpening the edge to my voice "He decided he'd had enough of the work and left. If I asked nice enough, he'd probably come back."

"Your funeral." Steve said, indifferent "Day he goes feral and tries to kill you, don't say I didn't warn you."

I felt my blood beginning to boil, and had to bite back the urge to do something stupid. We'd only just walked in the door, and things were already spiraling. "Steve, he's my friend. And you have no fucking clue what you're talking about."

"The hell I don't, I've got a better damn clue what those bastards are capable of than you." Steve shot back.

"They're people Steve, not monsters out of some story book. We both know damn well what they're capable of at this point." I said, vindictive "It's the reason we're in this line of work."

"Sometimes the line's so thin you couldn't tell the difference." Steve said, unflinching.

"Would you say the same about Doc Friday?"

"Doc Friday was different!" Steve finally snapped.

"So's Raul, but you wouldn't know since you haven't even met him!" I shot back, shaking my head. "Seriously, Steve, the hell's your probl with ghouls?"

"My problem with them is personal. Until they've trussed you up like a Gomorrah girl and had you starin' down the barrel of a gun, you ain't gonna know what it's like."

"… try me."

Steve didn't say anything, and his expression was hard to read behind his bandana and goggles. But I had to assume he was giving me a questioning, or at least confused, look.

"We might not know each other all that well, Steve, but I gotta assume we trust each other enough by now to talk about stuff like this." I said, taking a deep breath "Even if you aren't willing to go sharing your personal trouble with me, the least you can do is explain this. If we're gonna keep working together, it helps to know who with."

I noted the fact that Boone was looking between us curiously. Probably wondering how regular of an occurrence this was.

Steve continued to scrutinize me for a minute, weighing something out in his. Then he sighed, aggrieved, and spoke. "I've had a number of partners over the years." He explained "People who've helped me on hunts, like those companions of yours, and people who've helped run the firm."

I nodded, listening.

"One of the guys I worked the longest with was a guy by the name of James." Steve continued "We chased bounties all around the southwest an' the gulf. We were on the job together for three, nearly four years. Took a good number of bounties together."

"Long time." I admitted, nodding.

"It was good." Steve agreed, something genuinely happy in his voice. It was gone just as quickly as it appeared "Right up 'til our last job." I noticed Steve's hand reach for his wrist, more than likely an unconscious movement. He gripped it gingerly, rubbing at it in a soothing motion. "We were down in New Mexico, searching for a Jet cook. Guy callin' himself Hindenburg 'er some such. We were a bit light on the details, save him havin' killed off several key members of the local criminal scene."

"Doesn't sound like a problem-" I said "-even if the guy was looking to fill the vacuum, big moves like that just paint a bigger target on you."

"Especially if you ain't careful enough to make sure you actually get everyone." Steve drawled.

"So, a bunch of Jet cooks hired you to hunt down another Jet cook?" I asked.

"I ain't partial to aidin' ' neither." Steve drawled "But most of the local government agreed he needed to go, and put the bounty through. Jet's dangerous stuff to start with but he'd apparently figured out how to make it stronger and purer."

"Sounds like a normal hunt so far." I said, nodding "Which means things started going sideways half-way through."

"Sideways? Try twisted like a fuckin' corkscrew." Steve growled, shaking his head "We were on the bastard's trail for more than a week before we finally got him cornered. Fuckin' set all kinds-a booby traps for us, an' we were lucky to make it through as much as we did. Had the bastard with his back to the wall."

"Then what happened?" I asked.

"We got fuckin' jumped, that's what." Steve spat, venom enough to poison Lake Mead in his voice "Jumped by a pack of mealy-mouthed fuckin' zombies. Fuckers came down on us like a goddamned hammer. Took myself, Hindenburg, and James as captives. Trussed us up like pack Brahmin and dragged us out into the White Sands. For the only reason I could gather bein' that they wanted to torture us for fuckin' shits and giggles."

I got the distinct impression things were about to go downhill rapidly.

"Any of those Ghouls have a name?" Boone grunted, taking an unexpected interest.

"A few, yeah, what's it to you if they did?" Steve asked in turn.

"During MOS, First Recon briefed us on what kinds of capacities we'd be working in." Boone supplied, as gravely monotone as ever "One of our duties was to keep our eyes open for persons of interest while on reconnaissance. Ones that we weren't under orders to kill anyway. Give the brass a chance to get a plan together to go after them, or get someone else to."

"So you'd help figure out where people were hiding out so proper bounties could be affixed to them?" I asked.

"If we weren't supposed to clip them outright, yes." Boone nodded.

Something about Steve's demeanor changed, grew focused. "Does the name Phillips ring any bells?"

"Hm." Boone grunted, acknowledging "A few, there were standing orders to keep watch for a family by that name. They were some of the only surviving ghouls to escape the Necropolis, back under Tandi."

"Fuckin' bastards is what they are." Steve spat "I had the displeasure to meet one of their elder boys, Ray, and have 'im whip me out into the desert."

"… We can't catch everyone." Boone said, regret only noticeable if you knew how to look for it.

"… No, you can't." Steve said, clearly bitter "But he and his boys dragged us out into the desert and had a grand ol' time takin' their frustrations out on us. Hindenburg, fuckin' rat, got lucky though. Ray found his ability to make stronger Jet useful, and had his brother take him east somewhere. If there's any justice, the both of 'em are long dead by now."

"That left just you and James." I said.

"Just us." Steve nodded, wringing his wrists again "… They spent weeks workin' us over. Made it a nightly thing to take one of us for 'entertainment'. Most nights it was small stuff, throw beer bottles at us, beat us, use us for punchin' bags. Tryin' to drag it out, I guess. Too many are cruel like that… Then there were nights they decided to get mean, creative."

I didn't say anything, just listened, this was one of those times where there was nothing to say.

One of Steve's hands reached up to the Bandana he wore as permanently over his face as I did my helmet. He didn't move it, or take it off, he just rested his hand on it in a motion much the same as his wrists. "Those nights, they'd take one look at me, then start laughin' their asses off, decide I was already pretty enough. Then they'd start back in on the beatin'… But James wasn't so lucky. Too 'smooth' for '… That Zombie fuck, Ray, hacked James' fuckin' nose off with a goddamn camp knife. Left him with a great big hole in the middle of his face"

I felt my stomach lurch uncomfortably. The thought only then occurring to me that I'd never seen Steve without his bandana or goggles. Being a man of privacy myself, I just never questioned it really.

"I managed to keep it from infection, despite us bein' trapped in a shit-filled hole. But it kept going like that. I'd get laughed at and beaten, but James would get it worse. Every time. Next time out, Ray decided to play five finger filet with one of his pals. Usin' James hand as insurance for his own. They went the whole night. By the end, they took a cleaver to the mangled stump that used to be his left hand. Gave him a 'clean slate' to work off of."
Steve's hands clenched into fists, anger welling into his voice like blood from an open wound.

"Then Ray went for one of his feet. They kept a couple of their group who'd long gone feral hanging around. That night, Ray decided they were looking hungry. He took an axe to James' leg, then stuck the stump to the fire to cauterize it. James was a strong man, I'd seen him take a lot of hits without so much as grunting. But I can't forget the way he was screamin'."

My stomach lurched again, and I felt bile sting the back of my throat like dozens of tiny needles.

"The last time, he wasn't even gonna pretend he had a reason for what he was doin'." Steve said, somewhere between frothing rage and tears "He took a fucking chainsaw and told James' he was gonna cut him in half, neck to balls…" Steve paused, falling silent for a moment, before a small sad chuckle seized him. "I will never forget the way James tore into that sick fuck. James let loose every swear and insult he could think up on him, I should know, we'd be thinkin' th up between beatings. He shut that Zombie Cunt and his posse of Maggot sacks up in a way I ain't never seen since."

"… What happened then?" I asked, knowing that whatever answer Steve gave, it wasn't going to be a good one.

The anger and pain came back quickly to Steve, settling over him like a lead weight "Ray cut him loose from the pole he'd been usin' to hang us up. Tossed James to the ground and beat him worse than he'd beaten either of us 'til then. Think I heard as many bones crack from Ray as I did James… Then, when he'd had his fill of it, Ray took a shotgun from one of his friends. He jammed the barrel of it all the way up James' ass and pulled the trigger."

Silence hung among the three of us. Dead in the air. The image of what Steve had described playing out in my head like some sick comic. Except the beating was as visceral and bloody as the gravity Steve spoke with. James' death in no way comedic. My mind oh so helpfully providing the image of his head shattering into bone and gore across the ground. Blood dampening the sands into metallic mud.

I forced it to stop before my stomach could make any more sudden movements.

"Fuckin' hell man." I said, shaking my head.

"Yeah." Steve answered, morose "But James told me what he was plannin' to do ahead of time. We'd been workin' on an escape for the entire time we were captive. We couldn't figure out how to keep ' busy long enough to make it happen… I thought James was goin' to try somethin' like that, even before he lost his leg. Once Ray started on him though, it gave me all the time to escape. Managed to get my equipment back, but I'd been in no shape to fight '. Wound up havin' to limp my way back to Ross' Well 'fore I could stop lookin' over my shoulder. Told the Rangers out there what happened, but I knew it'd be a miracle if they caught the bastards."

"So they got away with it, and you got to live." I said, finally seeing the whole picture, or at least enough of it.

"… I watched one of my closest friends get his head sprayed across the ground by that putrefyin' fuck." Steve spat "After all the hell they put me and him through, I don't give a damn what anyone says, Nine to ten, the only good Zombie's a dead one."

"It's hard to argue that." I admitted "You've met a sterling example of the kind of people this job has us going after. But that doesn't change that you have no idea who Raul is. If you're only judging something by its worst parts, you'll only ever see the worst."

"Sometimes, especially in this line of work, that's all that there really is." Steve said, almost growling before shaking his head "Would you say the same for the Legion?"

"Hell no." I growled "I'm just defending my friend."

Steve stared at me in silence for a moment, then sighed. "Like I said, I got respect for some ghouls, especially the squares like Doc Friday." Steve said "But this bounty put into perspective just what kind of animals they were. Maybe your buddy Raul is one of 'em too. But I ain't never met him, and he chose to avoid me regardless. I can tell this is something we're just ain't gonna agree on either, so let's just drop it. Your friend ever finds it in him to come meet me face to face, we'll settle up then."

"…" I nodded "That's probably for the better anyway. Last thing I need is to have bad blood with the guy paying me."

"Ha! You're learning already."

I asked, confused "All this aside, surprised to hear you're from the Gulf, you don't look or sound the type to be from Mexico."

"Mexico?" Steve asked, confused "What the hell're you talkin' about?"

"The gulf of California, down the west coast." I said, now confused myself "What other place is there?"

"… How 'bout the Gulf of Mexico?"

"… That's on the other side of the wasteland." I said.

"No shit Sherlock. Did ya' just assume I was one of those west coast boys?"

"Uh… kinda?" I said "I've never met anyone from that far east. Almost no one I've met treks that far."

"Good reason for it too, most of the roads 're worse than you think." Steve admitted. "'Specially if you're not careful, I've heard stories about the dust storms in the plains region. And I know for a fact it'd take an act of god himself to tame the Gulf."

"That a statement of the people, or the climate?"

"If you ever go there, you'll learn that the answer's both." Steve said, hand gingerly resting back onto his typewriter. "If that's enough jawin', you ready to get back to work?"

"Just about" I said "Just got one more question, if you're inclined to answer it."

"Shoot."

"What about your face kept Roy from doing to you what he did to James?"

Steve fell silent, looking up at me from his typewriter. Gauging me, probably wondering what it was that made me wear a helmet all the time. For what either of us knew, they might be the same reason. But he didn't let it go any further than that, choosing to give me a curt answer instead. "Made a mistake some years back. Left me a little disfigured. Given the chance, I intend to rectify it, someday."

"What kind of mistake?"

"The kind that ain't none your business right now." Steve said, growing audibly defensive "Can we just move along?"

I could've kept begrudging him, but at about that time I figured I'd been doing it enough. So I chose to let the sleeping dog lie again. "Alright then, what's next?"