It was a quiet walk back to Steve's. Normally you'd run into some kind of trouble, being out on the road that long. But there was nothing. Almost like everything knew to stay out of my way at the moment. Didn't see so much as a gecko on those old roads.

When I got back, I half expected Steve to make some comment about how Boone had left now too. But he must have picked up that something wasn't quite right, because he didn't say a word about it. There was a moment, where he just sort of seemed to acknowledge that I'd come back alone again. Then he pushed forward, paid me, and took receipt of the bounty. He made some mention about taking a break, but I told him I didn't need one. Too many heads left to hunt, fingers to print.

Next on the list was Chuck Bowdrie. NCR ranger turned Legion lapdog. Sold NCR secrets and offed two of his fellow rangers in the process. Even if he hadn't done the former, the latter would've been enough to send firing squads after him. The fact that Steve was getting the first crack at it meant the Bureaucracy was dragging its feet. Couldn't fathom why, but I wasn't getting paid to either.

According to the little Intel we were given, while patrolling, Bowdrie and his former cohorts used to camp out at a shack not far from Boomer territory. The shack's regular occupant and purported owner had been more than willing to share space in exchange for some trade. Unless the Legion had already hopped him back over the river, there weren't many other places for him to hide. Not unless he wanted to catch a case of lead poisoning. It was a safe bet he wasn't going to be hanging around for long either, so I had to move quickly.

By the time I got to the shack, it seemed to be abandoned. The owner wasn't around, but I had assumed that if Bowdrie had come calling, they wouldn't've been crazy enough to stay. The place was trashed too, thoroughly turned upside down. Whether it'd been because Bowdrie'd been looking for supplies, or something else, I neither knew nor cared. It wouldn't help me find him any faster.

Though that wound up not mattering either, once I stepped back outside.

Bowdrie was there waiting for me. Him and two more legionnaires.

They must've just come back from a trip to casino, given the way they were dressed. Dapper suits, worn by the Strip's gamblers, and at least one fuity-mentat that'd accosted me on the Strip a while back. Unlike him though, these ones were smart enough to pack weapons this time. Gladii, like the one Pullo tried to gut me with.

Bowdrie was dressed in a ranger's traveling clothes however. Light brown jeans and a button-up, covered by a vest and neckerchief flipped the wrong way around. He wore cowboy boots, a hat, and had a lever-action shotgun resting at hip level in his hands.

Pointed rather haphazardly at my groin. Couldn't tell if that was intentional or not.

"You're dumber than you look, kid." Bowdrie said "Did you really expect to get the drop on a seasoned ranger?"

"Yes, actually, I did." I said, easing onto my backfoot.

Bowdrie sneered, taking a step closer "Close your eyes, kid. I'll make it-"

The moment his foot touched the ground, I dove back into the shack. Bowdrie fired, but I wasn't as worried about that in the moment.

I'd gotten used to the fact that these guys knew what was coming for them. I'd also grown wise to the fact that most of them would try and take me by surprise.

So, I'd left a present waiting outside, just in case.

Bowdrie stepped on it at about the same time I'd rounded back into the shack. His blast of buckshot tearing at the fringes of my coat, only narrowly missing me.

I heard the frag-mine beep in quick, shrill fashion, warning that it'd been triggered. I'm fairly certain they were designed that way as a sort of psychological warfare. Because it failed abysmally at its stated goal.

Most mines had a fuse of roughly a second and a half to three.

I was hardly behind cover when it went off, sending out shrapnel and a concussive wave that tore through everything around it. The metal of the shack's walls groaned and warped with the blast. The scrap wood and metal door snapped back on its hinges, breaking off and clattering to the floor. A few fragments of shrapnel found their way through as well, traveling as far as the opposite side of the room. My ears rang a bit with the blast, but the cover had helped dampen it a bit.

I waited for all of a heartbeat, before drawing That Gun and picking myself up. I kept to the wall of the shack for a sparse bit of cover, and leaned partway out the door.

The caution was ultimately unnecessary, there wasn't going to be any trouble.

I've run into my own fair share of frag mines. They're a good surprise weapon for a reason. Typically, any wastelander who's traveled around enough knows to watch for them. Once they start ticking, you don't get a very large window to try and avoid them. They don't fuck around either. It's not even the fragmentation that does the most damage, in fact the fragmentation just extends its effective reach. The truly dangerous part of a frag mine came from the shockwave of the initial explosion. Fragmentation can put holes in things, but the shockwave can tear them apart. But when you're poking holes in the sound barrier, things tend to get a little bent out of shape.

Or, y'know, pummeled into a thin red paste by a sheet of air moving at the speed of sound, whichever comes first.

The latter was more accurate in this case, Bowdrie had been right on top of the mine when it blew. The two legionnaires he'd had with him couldn't have been more than ten feet away on either side either. The fact that there was anything left of them was itself some form of cruelly twisted miracle. For me that is, hardly a miracle for them.

The assassin to Bowdrie's left had half their body rendered down to chopped meat, lengthwise. I could see broken ribs protruding for his chest, the arm and leg closest to the blast zone were gone almost in their entirety. The assassin to his right had managed to keep his limbs, but not much on them. The blast had sheared them to bloody flesh and bone. It took half his face with it. An eye dangled loosely out of its socket, surrounded by the raw, red remnants of what was once his face. Teeth visible through his cheek, slick and gleaming ivory yellow.

I'd almost say he got it worst, but then I saw Bowdrie.

He was lying a good few yards back from where I'd planted the mine. Half laying in a heap of tattered clothes and blood red mud. Couldn't tell what the other half of him was doing, the mine had left him bifurcated at the waist. Intestines and shattered bone dragged and splayed out on the sandy ground.

I left cover and started towards what was left of Bowdrie. As I drew closer, I could see that his brain hadn't quite caught up with the rest of him yet. Hadn't had the good fortune to realize he was already dead. His body convulsed, and his arms grasped at the ground, searchingly. At points fruitlessly trying to push himself onto his elbows, get up. But the strength wasn't there. They just scuffed the ground.

By the time I'd gotten to him, he'd all but ceased moving. The only thing that showed he was still there was the labored rise and fall of his chest. His face was sprayed with dirt and blood, his eyes unfocused and starting to glaze over.

Didn't see much point in wasting a bullet on him, but I did anyway.

It was easier to take his hand off when he wasn't flailing anymore.

Before I even realized it, I was back at Steve's. By now I was used to walking it enough that I was almost sure I could walk it blindfolded and with a gut full of whiskey.

Steve, as per usual, was sitting at his desk, typing. He paused for all of a moment to look up at me. Acknowledging that I was back so soon.

"Is Chuck dead?" Steve asked.

"No, he was just willing to part ways with his trigger finger." I said, holding up the severed appendage in a piece of cloth "Said he wanted to give pacifism a try."

Steve looked at me strange for a second, though I could only tell by the motion of his head. "That supposed to be some sorta joke?"

"It's whatever you want it to be." I answered "End of the day, he's not a problem anymore."

"…Right." Steve said after a moment "…Well, take a seat. Gonna take a minute or two for processing."

"I'll stand, thanks." I said, then motioned to the wall to my immediate left. There was a table sat against it, with a coffee machine on it. "You got any coffee for that machine?"

"'Fraid not, ran out about a century ago." Steve chuckled, shifting the papers on his desk "Got some coyote tobacco and mesquite pods ground up in the tin next to it. Brew me a cup, would ya?"

I nodded and approached the machine. More often than not you had to be working around a campfire or hot plate to make coffee. Most of the coffee machines in the wasteland were a bit burnt out. But I guess if you've got enough liquidity, you could scrounge one up that worked.

I loaded the hopper with the grounds and set some water through the machine. Heard it percolate as it worked through the system.

"So, I see you're still alone this time." Steve said, returning to his typewriter. "You run out of friends?"

"Told them to leave me be this time." I said, moving around to the chair opposite Steve's "Tired of getting caught off guard and having them be the ones to take the hit."

"That so?" Steve asked, swirling his steaming mug "Seems kinda…"

"Counterintuitive?" I offered.

"I was gonna say stupid, but sure." Steve said.

"Yeah, well I've been doing it that way for a while now, and I'm finding it's not really helping." I said "So I'm gonna give going solo a try for now."

"That can be real dangerous." Steve said "In this line of work, you gotta know who you can trust. You sure seemed to trust the past few people you brought in."

"I do trust them." I answered "And I trust them to know when I want to be left alone."

"Pushin' 'em away ain't such a smart idea when they're willin' to risk themselves for you." Steve said "Lotta people do this job alone. A lot of them are dead too. With some of the stuff I'm diggin' up, you'd be doin' wise to not be goin' alone."

"If it's so bad, perhaps you ought to consider actually telling me about it." I said, avoiding the more obvious topic.

I wasn't pushing them away, but I didn't feel the need to correct Steve. This was just the smarter decision for me. Less chance of someone getting hurt. End of the day, it was my call to make, and I made it.

If I felt I could keep them around, I would have.

The machine finished heating, and dispensed with the restorative elixir. I poured it into a pair of mugs and delivered one to Steve. He took it gratefully, holding it close to his face. Enjoying the aroma, I suppose.

"… Let me ask you somethin'." Steve said, setting his mug down "Where're you from?"

"... Why're you asking?" I asked.

"Just curious." Steve said "You've made yourself into a regular for me, an' we get into conversation pretty regular, seems like. But I don't know nothin' about you. So, I figured I'd ask about it."

"Office cooler small talk?" I asked.

"Hmph, somethin' like that." Steve answered "Just some of the simple stuff: 'where you from?', 'You got any family?', 'Who should I direct my condolences to?'. That sort of shit."

"Well, sorry to say, I can't tell you much." I said "I live on the Strip, and the people you've met are the closest I've got to any personal connections. But as for family or any place to call home, I got nothing for you."

"No shit?" Steve asked, surprised rather than sarcastic "That's something of an interesting situation then. How'd you manage to get a place on the Strip?"

"I'm doing business with someone affiliated with the casinos." I said "One of the perks is that I get free room and board. It's a temporary arrangement though. I'm sure once my contract is up, I'll be kicked back out onto the road."

"Still, not a bad setup." Steve said, rubbing his jaw through his bandana "Those people you travel with are all you got though?"

"When you say it like that, you make it sound sad." I groused "They're good people, and we see each other through thick and thin."

"Not sayin' they're not." Steve said "But I'm askin' about people closer than that. Parents, kids, maybe a girl you're sweet on or somethin'."

"Again, couldn't tell you." I said "Wish I could, but the truth is I don't even know myself."

"… That so?" Steve asked "How's that?"

"… Took a few bullets to the head a few months back." I said, after a moment "Was doing some courier work, and got a lead lobotomy for my trouble."

That caught Steve's attention. "You survived getting shot in the head?"

"Not the first person to do it." I offered "Was knocked out of commission for a few weeks trying to get back on my feet, but I've bounced back… Physically anyway. Brain's still missing a few pieces."

"Includin' little things like maybe havin' a wife and kids at home?" Steve asked, something sad in his voice.

I felt my chest tighten for a moment, then release. It wasn't the first time I'd had that thought thrown at me, normally I was the one throwing it. It hit different to hear it though. But it was gone quick all the same.

"Yeah." I confirmed "I got a few memories from before getting shot. Mostly the last few minutes leading up to it… But everything else is a blank."

Steve nodded, but didn't say anything for a moment. "…Sorry for asking."

"The fuck are you sorry for? I don't exactly advertise it." I said, raising my helmet enough to sip from my coffee.

"You gettin' shot in the head have anythin' to do with wearin' that thing all the time?" Steve asked

"You'd be the first person to guess it." I said, nodding "That's part of it yeah, but I started keeping my face covered to avoid getting spotted."

"People hunting you?" Steve asked.

"All sorts now." I chuckled "Legion, Fiends, Powder Gangers, and many more since I started working here."

"Very funny, wise ass." Steve chuckled.

"But no, I started wearing it first because I was afraid that was the case." I continued "In reality I was being overly cautious, started wearing it out of habit, and eventually traded to things a bit more protective. If I find something better, I'll probably move to it next."

"Well, not the worst thing I suppose." Steve agreed, looking down at his coffee. The steam wafting up in front of his bandana, fogging his goggles.

"…What about you?" I asked.

"Me?" Steve asked.

"I'm not gonna assume you wear goggles and a bandana purely for fashion's sake." I said, recalling Steve's story from the other day "You say you look pretty bad under it, how bad?"

Steve didn't answer again, choosing to silently mull over the options in his head. Don't know what most of them were, but I know the one he chose.

He reached a hand up to his nose and pulled down his-

"Holy shit." I said, fighting the urge to recoil.

"An' ya wonder why I keep my face covered." Steve smiled, or tried to smile.

I'd seen feral ghouls that looked better than he did.

A jagged, hairline scar traced the lower edge of Steve's jaw. Jagged more in the way it was cut than how it was. Like someone had struggled to keep the knife straight. It ran the height of his head, disappearing up into his hat and goggles. On the lower side it was Steve's skin, tanned and a bit dirty.

Above it, everything beneath the skin. Angry red flesh that'd been left to heal poorly in the elements. Turning darker shades of purple, colors more like dried leather than something you'd see on a person. Tendons and sinew traced with veins the color of hydraulic fluid, and dried by the Mojave winds. His lips were practically gone. Left so thin you'd be amazed they were still there. His nose looked as though it'd had the end clipped off, leaving two stumpy nostrils separated by a spur of bone. The left side of his face, he was stripped straight through in one spot, letting me see teeth underneath.

I'd seen better looking feral ghouls.

Most of them got to keep their face.

"Shit man, you look… shit." That was all I could really muster to say at the moment.

Steve took it in stride though.

"You took a few bullets to the brain, I got a knife to the face." Steve said, trying to sip his coffee, only for some of it to spill out the side of his mouth. He cursed and pulled his bandana back up.

"Guess it's my turn to ask then: What happened?"

"Bad shit, that's what." Steve said "A stupid mistake I made when I was younger. Makes a good reminder when I get up in the mornin'."

"Got any issue talking about it?" I asked "I didn't have much to share, but I was still willing."

Steve fell silent again, tilting his head to gaze down into his coffee.

"If it's too painful-"

"Naw, naw-" Steve said, shaking his head "I need to say it, probably best you hear it anyway. Don't want you findin' yourself in my shoes one day."

I nodded, taking another sip from my coffee as Steve eased into his seat.

"Like I said last time, I grew up down in the Gulf." Steve said "Parents raised me along the Mississippi river, spent most my life near it too. It was a peaceful upbringin', despite the Gulf bein' what it is. We were Brahmin ranchers, so we kept a tight ship. When we weren't ranchin', we were pickin' crops or wranglin' blue bellies."

"A what?" I asked.

"A catfish's inbred nephew." Steve said, an energy to him he didn't normally have "Big bastards that keep to the bottom of the Mississippi. But if you can noodle 'em out, you're in for a good meal."

"… I don't even know what a catfish is, but I want to eat it now." I said, intrigued.

"Good stuff, best when it's fried." Steve chuckled, almost sounding like he was smiling. "Yessir, that was my life for the longest time. Peaceful and quiet. Never even had to fire a gun until I was sometime in my twenties."

"What changed then?" I asked "Seems like you had everything going for you."

Steve's expression darkened a bit. The energy was there, but the happiness was waning. "I'll tell you what changed." He said "I fucked a girl an' got her pregnant."

"… Oh."

Steve shook his head "I didn't mean to say it like it was a bad thing. Truth is, that was one of the happiest points of my life. My wife, Rebecca, she was kin to one of our neighbors, Brahmin ranchers themselves. My folks and hers didn't get on so well, but the two of us sure liked each other's company… like, a lot. A whole hell of a lot"

"So you went and did the horizontal mambo." I surmised.

"So we'd sneak out and head to town." Steve corrected "Catch some shows, or go to the bar, get up to trouble sometimes… and occasionally do the Mississippi two-step, yes."

"Which led to her getting pregnant."

"Which led to her parents figuring out what we were up to." Steve said, a bit annoyed this time "I ain't so uncouth that I'd go makin' bastards."

"You certainly loved dancing though." I said.

"…"

"… I'll stop now." I apologized "You're trying to tell me a story and I'm just being rude."

"Yeah, an' I just wish you were wrong." Steve said, melancholic "We were young, an' young people do stupid things when they love someone."

"… What happened next?" I asked.

"… Well, faced by the choice of either runnin' away or provin' we ought to be together, I did what any man ought to do." Steve said, sounding quite proud "I screwed my balls on tight, an' asked if I could marry her."

"… Did it work?" I asked.

"Hell no it didn't." Steve said "Her papa kicked me square out on my ass the first time I asked. I tried again two more times and damn near lost my nuts on the second, and my pecker on the third. Fourth time he put a shotgun to my head and threatened to put me in a shallow fuckin' grave."

"Well shit, what'd you do then?" I asked "Did you actually wind up running?"

"Nope." Steve said "Stood my damn ground is what I did. I looked that man dead in the eye and told him 'Sir, you pull that trigger, an' you're daughter's gonna hate you to you're dyin' day.'"

I let out a whistle. "That was ballsy."

"Oh, but it worked." Steve said "Rebecca loved me, her Mama too after I'd been willin' to take no fewer than three beatin's tryin' to be with her again. Instead of shootin' me, her Pa pulled me aside and had a chat with me. Made the threats a father makes to a boy comin' to steal his darlin' daughter away. The threats he ought to make." Steve shook his head "After that, he asked again if I was gonna run away, an' I told him no. That was enough for him. We were married by the end of the week."

"And then you-"

"An' then we screwed each other silly, ya horny bastard." Steve said, shakin' his head "Damn dog with a bone is what you are."

"You're the one that started the story with 'I got a girl pregnant'." I said.

"Yeah, I did." Steve said, waving me off "… and yeah, I did. We were hardly married a month or two before it happened. Got our own place, between our parent's lands. Someplace they'd be close by, help us both… I swore I'd give them both as good a life as I'd been blessed with."

Steve fell silent, just staring down into his coffee. I noticed the way his grip on to changed. He looked about ready to crush it.

I almost didn't want to ask, because this was the part of the story I felt he didn't want to talk about.

But I had to.

"What happened to them?" I asked.

Steve waited a moment, before answering "… We'd been married a few months, when a man came to our door." Steve said, setting off red flags in my head "A drifter, or so we thought at the time. Just came into town apparently, and was lookin' for work. Said he'd help with the chores in exchange for a roof and some food. He made good on it too. I didn't trust him at first, you gotta be crazy to trust anyone who just so happened to 'blow into town'. But a few days went by, an' he proved he was a hard worker. Made himself look like he was above board. So I made the biggest and most common mistake you can make in this line of work." Steve paused for a moment, collecting himself. The next time he spoke, the amount of venom in his voice could've eaten a hole in the desk between us. "I let my fuckin' guard down."

Steve set his mug down on the desk and wrung his hands together. His shoulders hunched together, and I saw his breathing change. Slow, steady, angry breaths.

When he spoke again, most of the venom had drained from his voice, but you could feel the traces of it. "That bastard clubbed me in my goddamn sleep. When I finally came to, he'd trussed me up and stuffed a rag in my mouth. He'd been waitin' for me to come around again. Wanted me to see… Wanted me to see what he was going to do to 'Becca."

I didn't say anything. But I felt a hole in my chest I didn't even realize was there suddenly swallow my heart.

Steve's hands clamped onto one another like iron. "He… he raped her." Steve said "Right in front of me, I watched that bastard rape my wife. While I was tied up and couldn't do a goddamn thing… I tried. I tried to get loose, but the fuckin' ropes. Couldn't feel my fuckin' hands…" Again Steve paused, processing "Then, he took a knife. He cut her stomach open, right in front me. Gut her like a molerat. Put a fuckin' gag in her mouth too, made sure no one heard. No one would come and stop that sick FUCK!" Steve slammed his hands on the table, almost rising out of his seat "He made me watch as he slowly cut my wife open and let her bleed out. Then he… then he…"

Steve sank back into his chair. All the energy leaving him like a rush of wind. "Then he cut my unborn child out of her." Something caught in his throat then, almost as if he wanted to start crying. But he bit through it. "My girl." Steve croaked, trembling, physically shaking with rage at this point "That fuckin' animal butchered my baby girl right in front of me."

For a long moment after that, nothing was said. Steve let it hang there, and so did I. There's nothing you can say for something like that and have it take away the sting. No making it better. All you can let it do is ride. So I let it, until Steve was ready to say more.

"… He saved me for last." Steve finally spoke "After gettin' through with… 'Becca an' my girl, he came over to me. He leaned down and said 'It's not personal, you'd be doing the same in my shoes.'. Big fuckin' talk for a…" Randal collected himself again, probably trying to keep from going off on a tangent. "Then he took that knife of his, and carved my face off. Said he'd needed proof that he'd done it. Then he left me to bleed, probably thinkin' I was good as dead, missin' my face as I was."

"But you didn't." I said.

"But I didn't." Steve shook his head. "My good luck decided to come back right then. The bastard had a Regulator tailin' him, my old mentor, Marshal Cooper. We met after I'd had my face hacked off. He saved my life, bandaged me up. Informed my parents and 'Becca's about what'd happened… They grieved, but I don't think they ever got over it. I didn't."

"And then you left, didn't you?" I asked.

"Yeah, I left with Cooper." Steve said "Bought myself an old .44 and set out with him. Swore I'd find the bastard who brought my life crumblin' in, make him regret the day we'd met."

"… Did you?"

Steve sighed "Never got the chance, the wasteland's a big place. Too many places to hide. There were times I swore I was right behind him, but I'd always miss him. I searched for years, hopin' to catch him… But I gave up, eventually. Kept to the trade, but cashed my chips in on that bounty. I still keep my ear open, but he's been silent for a long time, no one knows where he is."

"What was his name?" I asked.

"What's it matter?" Steve asked.

"I've got a good track record for tracking people across the wasteland." I said "Maybe if I ever hear something, I could pass it along, and we could nail him together."

"I doubt it." Steve said "It's been a long time. I don't think I'll ever have the kind of luck I need to meet him again."

"Well maybe I do." I said "Even if you can't be there for it, I want you to know if I ever find this bastard, I'll make him regret the day he met you. That's a promise."

"…" Steve paused for a moment, then nodded, exhaling deeply "His name is Marko. I've brought him up in passing once or twice. Can't give you a last name, history, or anything really. The man's something of a ghost. But if you ever meet him, and I'm not there, make sure he bleeds, got it?"

"He'll be doing a lot more than that, I promise." I said.

"Thank you." Steve said, shaking his head "Alright- enough with the emotional Brahmin crap. We got work to do. Got your pay ready, if you want it." He extended a sack of caps out to me.

"You know it." I said, swilling back the rest of my coffee.

I stood and accepted the caps. Taking a second to count them out. Steve hadn't stiffed me on the pay yet, but it was good practice to be sure.

"There's a bonus in there as well, my way of sayin' thanks for puttin' that asshole in the ground." Steve said

Sure enough, I counted out an extra two hundred and fifty caps.

"You ain't gotta do that, Steve." I said.

"I know, but I feel I do. I loathe traitors of any sort, and I think you'll make good with it." Steve said "Put it towards considerin' what you'll do after this is all done. At some point, like it or not, you'll either be dead, or like me. So put some stock in somethin' more valuable than just workin', a'ight?"

"Like what, buyin' a farm?" I asked.

"Well, that. Or that red head you used to come in here with." Steve said snidely.

"Cass?" I asked "We're just friends."

"… an' if you believe that, you're dumber than you look." Steve said "So, ready for the next one?"