The Long 15

by TheSupremeButterball

Vincent is a boy with a secret and a weird kind of luck. Running away from home at 16, he never imagined the danger and the power he would find in the ruins of the I-15. Planting himself in the middle of a power play for the wasteland and its future, he finds leading the best show in all of New Vegas has a steep price to pay.

14. Secret Agent Man

"Put it down."

"What? I'm just—"

"Put it down."

Lawrence reached for the boy. A hand beckoned for the scissors. Vincent glanced between his work in the mirror and then to Lawrence as the man inched closer. "I just need a trim."

"You're ain't just butchering your hair, you're also hoggin' the bathroom." Fingers combed through the boy's thick mane. Longer than Lawrence would ever keep his. Uneven, choppy hair only partly concealed by strong waves.

"It's so poofy… And look at this!" Vincent snatched the paper off the counter and shoved it to Lawrence. The ranger blinked until eyes focused on the print. News Vegas, the light chronicle that circulated around the city, mysteriously appearing in the old-world newspaper boxes wherever they remained. Among recent headlines of the NCR-Legion war, advertisements for casino events, and something about an alleged Lake Mead "monster", "Who Are They?" stood out. Front and center in gossip columns of trash that hadn't changed in two-hundred-plus years, a gray, fuzzy photo of the two. Taken across the street of the Lucky 38 and through a dense crowd captured the two leaving on some day neither remembered. "I don't like it! They took a picture of me and now they're talking about us and now everyone will know who I am and what I look like!"

Paper crinkled between them. Lawrence folded it before tossing the flimsy stack on the counter. "It's a grainy photo," he stated. "You can't even see our faces clearly."

"I just don't want to be seen!" Vincent pleaded to the man as if he'd have control over that. "I need to look more manly, capable, tough. Poofy hair isn't manly."

"I used to cut Marcus's hair all the time." Lawrence stole the comb from Vincent. He brushed against the grain of dense waves, raising thick locks, and imagining a better cut. "He was obsessed with how his hair looked—drove me crazy." A smile cracked through as Vincent chuckled. "You'd look great with shorter hair, at least on the sides."

"How short are we talking?" Suspicious eyes squinted at Lawrence's reflection.

"You can lose three inches and still have plenty. I'll take it off the side before I touch whatever you got goin' on up here."

"Well…" Vincent's posture relaxed. "Alright, but leave something to cover the scar."

Lawrence smiled. The wide kind of smile that crinkled his eyes and brought out his laugh lines that Vincent loved so much—but also because those smiles always preceded a kiss. Scissors and comb went to work, occasionally he brought a razor into his arsenal. Shearing off layer by layer of thick auburn hair, revealing darker brunette colors beneath and coating the boy's shirt in shimmering fuzz. The first time Vincent cut his hair, he imagined his mother would have had a heart attack if she could see it. Every time he'd protest it's length she'd always find some excuse not to cut it. It's too beautiful! It's so long! The boys will love it! Look at all the ways you can braid—Just thinking about it made him gag. Now, he had someone practically begging to cut his hair. One more throw of the dice he would have never predicted.

"How's that?"

"I love it!"

Vincent spun around and squeezed the man. Pressing his face to Lawrence's bare chest, taking in all the man's radiating warmth and love. Scissors and comb clinked on the counter then Lawrence returned the boy's hug tenfold. "I promise that's gonna feel a lot better when we get hot n' bothered—outdoors or in." Vincent laughed. Smile eyes beamed on him like a spotlight. Pure glee he needed to see in the young man every so often. Between night outs on the town or a quiet evening inside, he found himself living for those little moments again. Moments he thought he'd never have after Marcus.

A renewed confidence broadened Vincent's shoulders and straightened his back. He led the way out of the Lucky 38. Some of that confidence was lent to him from new and properly fitting clothes—a shower to clean away the trouble of their last mission didn't hurt either. At least today, this would be their day. No inquiries or tasks from Mr. House. Nothing that absolutely needed to be done, yet. Early morning on the strip was an acquired taste. Something about the sparse crowds, the flashy lights relinquishing their domain to the sun, and the glare off the millions of windows often exacerbated the routine headache—the inevitable ache was the very reason they ventured outside the comfort of the tower before noon. Lawrence wheeled the bike down the shallow steps and waited, usually staring from behind dark sunglasses and sizing up the crowds that often gathered around the Lucky 38. Watching and waiting like the two were some kind of oddity or maybe they just didn't believe the rumors and needed to see for themselves. By now he had gotten used to the looks from those who were up at such a strange hour, but none dared to approach him—until now.

"Wait!" The stranger called, jumping up from his post on the sidewalk and clutching the bag slung over his shoulder. Ratty overalls much too big for him flapped as he jogged to the two. Hot breaths plumed in the morning chill with every huff. "I have something for you."

"Oh?" Vincent stared at the simple thing. Twine seal wrapped around thin edges. Then, he spotted the exaggerated cursive elegantly labeling the bland paper—the intended recipient.

"They mentioned to look for the scar," the courier stated, proudly smiling as if he'd finally remembered something useful.

Vincent shot him a glare. "Who's 'they'?"

"Well…" The courier's smile faded with a shrug. "Everyone, I suppose. You were in the paper." Vincent hummed. Displeased, but holding his tongue. He pulled the twine loose. "Nice hair though."

"Thank you." They spoke in unison.

Arms crossed as Lawrence turned to the boy next to him. "I cut it."

"I grew it."

Tense silence pushed the courier away. A brow arched over Lawrence's sunglasses. "You know why I left it long on top?" He asked, raising a hand and brushing fingers through Vincent's waves. Then he clutched the mane when the boy least expected it. "Something to hold on to."

Vincent scoffed as he batted away Lawrence's hand. "You're dirty."

"Is that a statement or a suggestion?"

Vincent pulled on his helmet and took his seat behind Lawrence. "Just drive."

"Well, hold on—what's the letter about?" Vincent splayed the letter out on the ranger's back. Quiet mumbles tickled Lawrence's ears as he peered over his shoulder at the boy. An interested hum forced the man to twist back a little farther. "The suspense is killing me."

"It's a business offer from someone named Clyde McCormick for a 'transportation' service so getting across the strip is easier for tourists."

"The McCormick Caravans owner?"

"I'm not sure, but it's something to check out," Vincent pondered. "Could be lucrative if he's legitimate. He's offering to meet at the Oasis Lounge in the Crystal Oasis if I'm interested in hearing more—Would you go with me?"

Lawrence shrugged, "I'm not really business inclined, but I can tell when someone's bullshittin' me."

"Exactly why I'd like you to come," Vincent agreed, folding the letter and stuffing it into one of many pockets of his vest. "I'll buy you a drink and you can be my arm-candy too."

"And here I was thinkin' I'm too old for a sugar daddy."

Each time he visited the old Mormon fort, something new caught his eye. More tents appeared within the walls while those left to the open parking lot diminished. Inside the once-was-a-museum, renovations continued. Exposed innards of old piping, electrical wires, and insulation stuffed between crosshatch beams waited to be removed, replaced, or destroyed entirely to make way for more space. The finished rooms already occupied patients in need of intense care. Refugees from recently annexed Legion territory, people caught in the crossfire of Freeside's conflict, or those in a different war entirely. Money well spent for sure, but it still felt like a single drop of water in the entirety of Lake Mead.

Julie hummed. A tilt of her head obstructed the glow, but Vincent caught glimpses between the spikes of her mohawk. Brilliant white illuminated the black plastic. Glowing in a slate blue and highlighting his own fascinating inner workings most never would see in their lifetime. "You have an abnormally thick cranial vault," she said, rather impressed by the boy's effortless advantage. Julie turned to them, "It's marginal though, not a defect, just something neat about you."

"That explains a lot," Lawrence muttered. Vincent shot the ranger a warning, but the man only smiled away the boy's threats.

"Wow." Curiosity finally brought them to their feet and they joined the doctor at the glowing wall. Vincent stood on his toes, steadied by Lawrence next to him. "The frontal bone took the most impact then it looks as though the bullet skidded across the coronal suture and barely grazed the parietal," she explained while an index finger guided their eyes along the path of impact, something so obvious it didn't need a professional eye to notice. "From everything I've seen, you've healed quite well."

"Why do you think I get these awful headaches?"

"I believe they may go away entirely at some point." Julie hummed then flicked the switches. The white screen turned gray then the regular lighting took over. "The headaches may just be a symptom of the meninges repairing itself."

"The men-menges?" Lawrence echoed; tongue twisted as he pushed out the unfamiliar word.

"It's essentially the sac that holds the brain and protects it and the nervous system from trauma," she explained in the company of a gleeful smile that always came out when she got to teach someone something new.

"He got a thick one of those too?"

"Maybe," Julie chuckled. "Given the damage caused to your skull, Vincent, I don't doubt it was traumatized as well, but it's been some time since the incident, and you appear to be in full control of your mental and physical faculties."

"What about my eye?"

Julie sighed. Arms crossed as she held her clipboard against her chest. The thick stack of paper crinkled and scraped her coat. Notes which she added to since visiting. "Miosis can be caused by disease, chem use, trauma such as what happened to you. Your pupil is paralyzed so it won't adjust its shape like it used to—Fortunately, it's harmless by itself."

"I guess as long as I can see."

"That I don't doubt," she smiled. "You're in better shape than a lot of the people I see here—"

The siren wailed.

An airhorn from beyond the transitioning museum's walls. Julie rushed out first. The two followed behind, catching only a glimpse of her from the main hall as she flew down the stairs into the chaos.

They stumbled, leaving little drops of blood on the pavement. Shaking from the chilly touch of near death. Then came the cries. Anguished calls, fearful for their fate as they were carried between those kind enough to shoulder the extra weight. Far too many to count among the scrambling hoard of doctors and nurses ushering them into tents or setting them down where they stood. Medical jargon mouthed off too fast. Pained wails and cries echoed across the fort. A father screamed for his son among the mess until he saw the child on a stretcher taken to one of many tents. A King's man followed, carried by his peers as they called for help. Burned. Blackened in precise streaks—streaks only caused by energy weapons.

One soldier crashed on the entrance's steps before them. A singed uniform revealed the burn on his leg beneath. Jittery like the two other men in uniforms whispering coarse words to their friend.

"What happened?" Lawrence met them at the bottom of three steps. They stole a double-take at the ranger. Scowls loosened as if they recognized the man. No duster, just the scraped, pitted chest armor and a frigid pair of eyes evaluating each of those soldiers told them all they needed to know.

"Goddamn Kings sho—"

"No we didn't!" Heavy stomps thudded all the way to the door from the tents. "You NCR thugs ambushed us!"

"Hold on!" Lawrence warned.

"No, I ain't need to hold on!" Nostrils flares and fists clenched when he turned to Lawrence. "My buddy Ronny in there needs to hold on—"

"You aren't pickin' up where you left off here. Either of you," Lawrence declared. He pointed to the three soldiers, "I want to know what happened." Vincent followed the jab to the soldiers. No bullet wounds. Not as awful as those locals or the King's man. No. Just a few burns and maybe a bruised ego or two.

"I do too," Vincent stated. Arms crossed as eyes narrowed. "I've never seen any Kings or NCR soldiers sporting energy weapons."

The King's man scoffed. Brows narrowed and face bunched with an exaggerated shrug. "I don't know who was using what, I just know bullets and lasers went flying and people got hurt."

"The three of you should know better," Lawrence chided the soldiers. Frowns gathered as they sputtered excuses.

"That's right!" The King's man scoffed.

"You." Lawrence turned his disapproving scowl on the man. "I ain't takin' sides here. As far as I'm concerned, every one of you are responsible for those people getting' hurt."

"Let's hear what happened," Vincent suggested. He nodded to the King's man. "You first. What's your name?"

"Reggie," he stated proudly, straightening a slouch as arms came undone from his chest. "It was a 'round the corner, by the water pump. Me n' Ronny we're just hangin' out waitin' for Tapper's shift to get done. Next thing I know, lasers are flying. Bullets next! I see Tapper shootin' so me and Ronny join in."

"And where do they fit in?"

"I saw them firin' back!"

Vincent turned to the soldiers, "Now's your turn."

"We were fired on first—"

"Bullets or lasers?"

"Lasers."

"Interesting…" Vincent turned to Lawrence, taking the ranger by his arm into the privacy inside the museum. "How likely is it that three privates get their hands on energy weapons just to graze a few Kings and hurt who knows how many people just standing nearby?"

"Only special forces use energy weapons and not often," Lawrence informed. He glanced back at the group. Three soldiers whose name tags he already committed to memory and a lone King's man in an outfit far too many of them wore to truly tell them apart. "And even then, they'd stand out like a sore thumb—power armor glintin' in the sunlight n' all. Not something you could miss."

"I doubt that this was an order from their superiors," Vincent pondered, waving away the notion with a hand. "But, what if this was deliberate?

Brows furrowed over Lawrence's stare. He leaned against the pitted wall as arms folded across his chest. "Who would stage an attack to get a few knuckleheads to kill each other?"

"Either side," Vincent shrugged. "Some disgruntled NCR personnel looking for revenge or making a reason to fight. The same could be said about the Kings, or any local honestly."

"Locals with enough caps for energy weapons?" Lawrence shook his head. "Kings or NCR, yes, but I think we can scratch off the typical Freeside floater."

Arms crossed as Vincent's eyes fell to the cracks in old cement. Energy weapons, deadly and precise in the right hands, not just any trigger happy bum. Lawrence was right though. No local in Freeside had the caps to scrape together to get something like that when any regular gun would do the trick. It would be somebody wealthy. Somebody who didn't like either side… "The Kings don't attack the locals, not unless that guy already has their own gun cocked."

"I wanna believe my own side ain't stupid enough to do something like this."

"Well, I think there's ways to find out."

Lawrence peered over the rims of his sunglasses. "What did you have in mind?"

—

"No!" The King's voice boomed over the music. A gospel of burning love came to a rude halt, revealing the graceless squeaks of rubber soles on stage. Lawrence sighed as he sunk further into his seat. The ranger's scowl deepened with every pause and so did the cybernetic dog nosing the man for affection—perhaps the only thing keeping the ranger from completely losing his patience. The King joined his crew on the stage. "Step. Step—Thrust." Collective ahs rounded the stage. "Break time. Y'all need to get yourselves together."

"Is this what they really do all day?" Lawrence muttered. The dog's expressive face smiled as he panted. Completely content as Lawrence combed through a thick black and brown coat. His tail wagged ferociously and soon Vincent couldn't resist him either. A mix of flesh-and-blood beast and robotic or cybernetic—he couldn't tell the difference—completed the affectionate hound. Set between two organic and perky ears, a glowing dome housed his brain. Thick, transparent glass let all see the dog's innerworkings. The other half of him was that of a mechanical set of hind legs. Smacked right on a steely thigh, a rough, scraped up emblem of chipping red paint bore a familiar shape. Not so pristine, however. Vincent could quite place it.

"Find some new friends, Rex?" The King patted the dog's side. Hollow metal clanked while loving eyes rolled up to his master. "Good to see y'all found each other again."

Vincent chuckled, "I don't know where he'd be without me."

"So, what can the King do for ya?"

"We just came from the Mormon fort," Vincent explained before Lawrence could. "There was a shootout and some of your men were wounded."

"Shootout?" Dark brows furrowed as the King leaned forward. White suit crumpled, revealing tiny alterations of purple thread in the shoulders' seams. "How bad we talkin' and with who?"

"A few NCR soldiers," Lawrence admitted. A sigh followed while hands kept busy smoothing out Rex's coat.

"But—" Vincent interjected, holding off the King's passionate words he was so generous with. "There's something odd about it. Nobody knows who fired first, but more importantly they were fired on by energy weapons."

"Energy weapons, huh? My boys don't care much for energy weapons." The King hummed. The kind of hum where one leans back as if pushed by the weight of their realization. "Van Graffs…"

His mother often told him some old-world saying, "You can't see the forest through the trees". Typically, when he was upset about something, but she didn't have the energy to know the true reason nor console it. As he got older, he eventually found the wisdom in it, but now at this point in his life he applied it to something else. Delicate matters and ethical recourse he'd never imagined he would tackle one day—or hope to tackle. Retaliation in Freeside against NCR immigrants and soldiers, an impending refugee crisis as Legion fires continue to burn their way into Nevada, and the political intrigue among the casinos' hierarchy that made California's congress look like petty school-yard squabbles. Now, a new item was added to a long list labeled "Look Into": The Van Graffs.

Famous or infamous depending how you look at them. On one hand, shrewd business relations elevated the Van Graffs to a lofty and wealthy position among the New California Republic's elite. On the other hand, you don't get there without stepping on someone along the way. And now, far from their lair in California, they found themselves a stake in Freeside, much to the King's dismay. One thing the King and Lawrence agreed on however was that they were nothing good. But how does one deal with nothing good?

Ideas and plans faded the further down the boulevard they rode. At the embassy, coddled by the safety of the strip and all its robot guards, none of Freeside's squalor, smell, or danger could be found. Metal clinked overhead. A tall flagpole stood in the center of the embassy. The flag stretched out, unveiling the two-headed bear with every gust.

"Oh, no." She fought back a smile beneath those dark shades. "Not you two again."

"Good to see you too," Lawrence mirrored Jackie's smile as he leaned against the spire fence. "Unfortunately, I come bearing bad news."

Jackie lowered the glasses. Glancing between the two, pondering if either or both were responsible. "Go on…"

"There was a shoot-out in Freeside. A few Kings and three privates. Civilians caught in the crossfire. No casualties I know of yet."

Confident shoulders fell with a heavy sigh. Jackie pulled off the shades entirely before starting a short pace to ease nerves. "I bet it was Reyes and his cronies—I am going to wring those idiots' necks."

"I don't think either side instigated it."

Jackie paused. "Why?"

"Both the Kings and the soldiers said energy weapons fired on them first," Vincent explained. "We talked to the King and he's suspicious it may have been the Van Graffs exciting things."

"Van Graffs?" She rolled her eyes. "There probably still—"

"Well, look who it is!"

The loud clap drew attention to the senior ranger marching over. "Clint!" Heavy pats on the back between him and Lawrence along with a strong handshake completed the impromptu meeting.

"I was hoping to see you soon."

"Why? What's goin' on?"

Clint glanced at Jackie then Vincent, acknowledging them with a nod. He never let that friendly half-smile fade. Not even in the tiny interrogation room when he paced around the table of an annoyed MP. Content to listen to Vincent and Lawrence recount the truth behind some casino heist rumors spreading like fire through the strip. But Vincent had seen that look all too often since carving out his place in New Vegas. Those smiles his something

. "Jackie, can I talk to you more about what happened in Freeside?"

"Sure," she nodded. A hand waved for Vincent to follow. "I'm due for a break anyway."

Impatient silence festered between the rangers as they watched one lieutenant MP and one civilian retreat into the shade of the embassy. The center fountain restarted its cycle. Water gushed, pluming up like a great mushroom cloud and misting the few that lingered in the midday sun. "What's going on, Clint?"

"Did you go to Helios One?"

"No."

"Huh," Clint hummed. He mirrored Lawrence's posture, exposing leathery forearms gleaming beneath a thin layer of sweat. Scars here and there broke up the monotony of a dense coating of blonde hair. "I was certain you would."

"We've… We've been a little busy with things lately."

"I still think you should."

Brows furrowed as he looked to the man. Something in his tone set off alarms. Not the type who skirted around getting to the point—unless something was keeping him from doing just that. Clint left Lawrence without another word the last time they met, but he didn't think much of it then. Yet, before that when he met the older ranger at the Mormon fort for the first time in months, the first conversation with Clint that left Lawrence confused. A confusion that emerged just when Lawrence thought he sorted out all the intrigue the man relayed to him and only after when he couldn't press for real answers.

The supposed sighting of the Legionnaire at Helios One, the suspicious comments on the some vague they butting in and mucking up the rangers' organization. "Clint." He met the man's eyes. A mahogany brown that stood out on an overly tanned, aging face. Staunch just like the rest of him, something Lawrence always tried to emulate. Rarely did he ever spot anything other than confidence in the man and now, it seemed Clint was holding back. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

"I don't like the reports I've seen from Helios One."

"And you want me to look into it?"

"I trust you, Lawrence," Clint nodded. He clasped his hands behind his back and broadened shoulders. The assertive stance Lawrence often saw before Clint would excuse himself. "I remember when I first met you." A smile broke through. Fine lines drew creases on a weathered face. "A scrawny, lanky kid, couldn't shoot straight to save your life, but I saw it in you. The tenacity, loyalty, conviction—You proved me right when I saw your name on my list of recruits." He extended an open palm to Lawrence. Instinctively, he shook Clint's hand. A strong grip he learned to match as he got older and each time, he was taken seriously that much more. "I don't doubt your loyalty to the rangers, Lawrence, because I trust what I see."

"Right…"

—

Flung out in the middle of nowhere, just off the I-95 and south of Boulder City, sat the solar array of Helios One. Among the audience of solar panels that wrapped around the enormous plot of land, stood a tower. Tall enough to give anyone vertigo just looking up at its apex, but only if the reflection of the sun on its steel skeleton didn't blind you first.

"Well." Vincent sighed. "Do we just walk in?"

Lawrence crossed his arms. A quiet hum tugged his throat as he stared at Helios One. An entourage of soldiers guarded the only entrance—two heavy steel doors. "Honestly, I didn't think this far."

"What?" Vincent leaned forward. Leather seats croaked beneath him as he bumped Lawrence's shoulder.

"We could always wheel 'n deal. You've gotten pretty good at that." Vincent pulled back. The ranger laughed as he twisted around to gauge the boy's response. "I'll just tell them you're a civilian contractor. Helios One isn't fully operational and it's no secret. So, let's pretend you're here to make it operational."

"What if they recognize me? Aren't I on some NCR list of people to be suspicious of or something?"

"The shit-list? No, I don't believe you are."

Vincent shrugged. "Alright let's try."

"Wait."

"What?"

Lawrence pulled Vincent back to him. A warm hug, not that either needed to be any warmer than the sun offered, but not something one could just turn down. "Thanks for doing this."

"It's important to you," Vincent smiled. "So, it's important to me."

Gravel crackled under boots, kicking up dust onto the cement foundation. A wide expanse sat in all directions. The road they came from shimmered like water in the East. Further West, steep drops and inclines formed the jagged mountains lost to a blue haze. Weeds and brush littered the landscape in all shades of gold. Then there was the bleak gray concrete square plopped down in the middle of a quiet scene in the Nevada wilderness.

Sparkling glares scattered across black lenses before Lawrence tucked the sunglasses in a pocket. Curious eyes followed the two. One ranger and one civilian they debated the gender of in hushed tones. Typical chatter Vincent heard more often than he liked to admit, but at least they had the decency to keep quiet about it. Sometimes those onlookers like to voice their opinions. Oddly enough, it seemed to happen less since the ranger joined him. Lawrence exchanged salutes with the senior guard. A plain woman donned in a beret as beige and bland as her fatigues. "Ranger Garrett."

"Lieutenant Haggerty," she announced. "Nobody mentioned you'd be coming. What's your business here, ranger?"

"Civilian escort." He adjusted the heavy duffel bag slung on his shoulders. "Part of the repair crew."

The lieutenant looked to Vincent, evaluating the boy through narrowed eyes. Unarmed, as far as the lieutenant and her charges could see. A Kevlar vest, patchwork lower-half of a jumpsuit, and dusty boots—inconspicuous or at least that's what Vincent aimed for. "Hello," he smiled, thrusting a friendly hand to the woman. "The name's Benjamin, Benjamin Dover. I'm here to get those solar panels working—you can call me Ben, by the way. I know I look young, but I've been working on delicate machinery since I could hold a wrench. I'm from the Boneyard and y'know it's a long way from home. I've never been this far east—"

"Ok!" The lieutenant's eye's bulged as she plucked her hand from Vincent's grasp.

"I hope you don't mind if I linger for a bit?" Lawrence inquired. He nodded to the boy next to him. "It's been a long trip…"

Inside the misplaced concrete beast of a building, the warmth of Nevada's fall staved off at heavy steel doors. Soldiers wandered the halls, filling up the reception entrance like their own lounge. Beneath the chatter, a few laughs, and daring card games, the radio sang tunes between intermittent news reports. Lingering odors of sweat and steel violated the newcomers' noses. Reconstruction sat on either side of the repurposed hall. Supplies and tools scattered about during the worker's hiatus. Plaster dust coated linoleum floors. Peeling faux tile curled away in corners. Lawrence led Vincent through the hallways. A maze under repairs and the only solace from the smell of one too many men cramped in the building. An abrupt stop brought them to a door. Lawrence stole a peek over both shoulders before shoving himself inside, yanking Vincent along with him into the closet.

"What's going on?"

Lawrence shut the door. "I saw him."

"The guy? The one you're looking for?"

"Yes." Lawrence paced the narrow room. "He's got the same everything." He reached into his duster. Hands fumbled around in a hidden pocket before he pulled out a notebook paper. Blue lines faded at creases softened from a long journey in the ranger's pocket. A solemn face of ink and graphite stared back at Vincent. Short dark hair, empty eyes and thick brows overhead a gaunt, prominent bone structure far too unique to confuse with anyone else. Then a scar crossed his lips. Small, but noticeable. On the page's lines, Lawrence's detailed notes of the man's features, headed by blocky letters that titled the portrait, Enemy Alpha. Hands hung from his belt. Pensive eyes narrowed on the floor, glancing about as he pondered his next move.

"With the other soldiers—he's a spy!" The ranger's frown turned a grimace. Lawrence leaned against the door. Vacant stare set on dust laden shelves left unused for centuries. "Does he know who you are?"

"No, he's never seen me up close and not without a helmet on."

"Then we have the upper-hand. Maybe this is what Clint was hinting at?"

"Maybe…"

"I got the feeling he doesn't trust me—not a complaint, just an observation," Vincent noted. "Why wouldn't Clint outright tell you? Unless he didn't know the guy could be a potential spy?"

Lawrence shook his head. "From how he was beatin' around the bush, I think he's assessing who he trusts right now—Me included."

"Then he is suspicious of espionage or something else going on within the army or maybe the rangers." Vincent joined the ranger at the door. He leaned on Lawrence's shoulder, gazing up at the pensive expression dimming the man's face. "You mentioned once that vagueness is what you have to work with sometimes. How much do you honestly trust Clint?"

"He's like a father to me," Lawrence declared. "He's why I became a ranger—I owe a lot to him. Small stuff don't bother Clint so he wanted me here for a reason."

"Let's poke around then," Vincent smiled, catching Lawrence's eye. He left the ranger's side for a nearby shelf, snagging a dusty, beat up toolbox. Metal rattled around inside as he pried it open. "Ought to look the part too—take my vest. I'm going to put some of my stuff in the toolbox in case I need it."

Lawrence shoved off the lumpy duffel bag. A grunt suspended it before carefully lowering the burden to a stained linoleum floor. "Think I can get away with followin' you around?"

"Just pretend you're my handler or something."

Clanks rang down the hall. Bouncing between walls and dodged by words of a minor dispute. Curious eyes glanced up from full hands of cards. Chatter paused only for a moment, unlike the radio that kept on, fighting the cacophony barreling down the hallway. Round the corner came the two, returning to the soldiers' lounge. "What do you mean you don't know who to report to?"

"Well, I just forgot the name"

"Where's that damn letter—" Lawrence patted his duster, searching for a letter he wouldn't find. "Took three goddamn days to get here," the ranger grumbled. "And you don't know where to go"

"If you're looking for the idiot in charge of getting the place up and running, he's on the second floor," a displeased soldier spoke up.

Lawrence looked up at the man, then the entire table of a poker game. The same soldier gestured to the hallway behind him. "Thank you. At least someone knows what they're doing."

"Hah!" Vincent scoffed as he followed Lawrence across the room, full toolbox clinking all the way. "Good, 'cause I sure as hell know you don't."

Lawrence paused in the doorway. "Hey." He shot the boy a glare, "Watch it short-stack. I'm your ride back home."

"Is that a threat?" Vincent planted fists on his hips. Lawrence laughed as he turned into the hallway. "Are you threatening to leave me on the side of the road?" Vincent sauntered in the corridor after the trail of chuckles. "I will file a complaint."

"Do it—Need help spelling my name?"

Lawrence waved the boy along to the flight of stairs at the end of the hall. "Did you get a better look at him?" Vincent whispered as he rounded the stairwell corner.

"I did…"

Vincent reached to the ranger. Setting a palm on an exposed forearm, he looked to Lawrence. An assuring gaze promised the man his due would be coming soon. Metal creaked and groaned under their steps. Winding up a wide and squared box, the second floor opened to chambers of machinery. Consoles and computers stuffed into every inch of the store-house. Behemoth vents overhead sucked out hot air, swirling into the dark beyond the ceiling mess of pipes, wires, and lighting. A few people wandered the array of computers. Donned in grease and dust-smudged jumpsuits, they inspected long threads of wires and tubes branching off little ropes into consoles and towers. Tucked away in the corner, misplaced laughter rose over the static.

"Check it, dude."

"Stop messing with the buttons again. We have no idea what those could do."

"Mr. Fantastic is in charge of this operation," the man retorted. Dressed in a dingy lab coat and unneeded sunglasses, a mediocre creature hunched over a panel of buttons. Dark, light, while some flashed and others beeped as he planted open palms on a whole section.

"Who's in charge?" Vincent hollered over the machinery.

"What—" The odd man spun around. "I am in charge of getting this place up and running."

The quiet man next to him sighed. "He's just a part of the team here working to repair the solar array and get the output of the plant to usable levels."

"This operation relies on me!"

Vincent exchanged glances with Lawrence. Some little voice spoke inside him, urging, not to question further if past encounters of colorful people ought to be learned from. "I'm Ignacio, by the way. Are you a soldier too or?"

"We're here to help."

"Here to steal my thunder more like!" Mr. Fantastic shouted.

Ignacio peeled his glare off the strange man, turning for another room as he waved for the new additions to follow. A small office from the looks of it. Cluttered desks shoved into corners while filing cabinets squeezed in between. Ambient whirring halted behind the door, yet the floors still rumbled, vibrating against rubber soles. "I suppose no one briefed you on the operation status yet—The solar panels are operational, just a few are non-functioning which isn't crucial to generating power. The main issue is a technical problem with the mirror control systems—the doors won't open."

"Can't someone just climb up there and open them?"

Ignacio crossed his arms through a shrug. Black eyes glanced up in search of an earnest answer, "Not really. Not unless they can parachute on to the observation deck at the top of the tower. See—" Ignacio paused with a sigh. "He did something and woke up the old guard in the tower. Defense robots and sensor-triggered laser turrets keeping us from actually getting up to the tower. There's even turrets on the roof of the buildings too."

The corner desk creaked under the ranger's weight as he sat down, despite the mess of papers and odd parts here and there. "So how'd that bonehead get hired?"

"Ugh," Ignacio groaned, rubbing his temples and hanging his head. "Something about a theoretical degree in physics—Thinking about anything that comes out of his mouth gives me a headache. I try to tune him out and focus on my work."

"I got another question. Ever seen a soldier around here, kind of gaunt in the face has a scar across his lips?"

"Yeah, he makes me uncomfortable," Ignacio admitted. "Something about him just… Rubs me the wrong way. I don't talk much with the NCR personnel here beyond what work needs to be done—Did he do something?"

"Potentially," the ranger muttered. "Think anything suspicious is going on here?"

"Aside from Mr. Fantastic being hired rather than another credible scientist? No."

"So these robots in the tower-building," Vincent interjected. "Nobody's cleared them out yet?"

"After the first attempt killed one of the soldiers, the lieutenant didn't want to risk more of her men. So we're in here trying to break into a heavily protected network to give us control of the mirror—" Ignacio's collected demeanor drained away. Dread set in as he peered over Vincent's head and out the small window in the door. "Oh no! What is he doing now?" Ignacio rushed for the door. Vincent j slipped out of the way, wincing at the slamming door. Back into the fray, Ignacio's pleas were lost under the humming of engines nested one floor below. The scientist and one of the maintenance people argued back and forth while the only sound mind among the crew attempted to put out a literal fire.

"Alright what's the plan now?"

Lawrence shook his head. Defeated shoulders slumped as he returned to the corner desk, this time claiming the chair and then some as he sprawled out. "I have no idea," he sighed. Slow steps filled the silence as Vincent meandered to the ranger. He squeezed between Lawrence and the desk, taking the tabletop as his own seat. An affectionate hand combed through Lawrence's dark mane, massaging out all ideas the ranger could possibly come up with in the few minutes they would have. "Obviously I can't approach him. I can't just assault someone in uniform. I—" His groan digressed to a sigh.

"I'm thinking about it too," Vincent promised. Lawrence adjusted his posture, leaning sideways and taking the boy's lap as his pillow. "Maybe ask around the command, be casual, low-key… Maybe go through his stuff if you're feeling daring."

"I just might."

"Don't get in trouble though," Vincent laughed. "I can join you if you want company or be here if this is something you need to do by yourself."

Calm returned to the server room. Well, as calm as it could be. Faint smoke polluted the air, fogging the cramped chambers as a short-staffed crew worked away on a near hopeless endeavor. However, the smoke was a welcome change from someone's unwashed and lingering stench… The notorious Mr. Fantastic occupied himself with a collection of unlabeled buttons. Pressing one then waiting for a reaction before moving onto the next. Occasionally some ruckus between the walls and vents reignited his curiosity. He'd "ooh" and "ahh" at his discovery before loudly announcing the trigger to rattle the vents or steam the engines. Unbeknownst to the nuisance, his entertainment-machine had been unplugged long ago. Still, Ignacio watched the man closely as he went about his own work.

Another drawn out sigh of frustration and exhaustion blew dust off the terminal. "I didn't catch your name," Ignacio noted. Quick fingers flashed across a keyboard. "Is it Vincent, by any chance?"

Vincent paused. He glanced up to the man from the disorganized notes scrawled on scrap paper and half a clipboard. "Oh, um"

"I only ask because I've heard so much from my colleagues about a philanthropist who goes by Vincent—I'm with the Followers of the Apocalypse." Ignacio turned away from the terminal as the glowing screen reset itself. Gentle eyes had observed the boy when he thought Vincent wouldn't notice. "I don't mean to draw attention to it, but the scar gave you away."

Tensed shoulders relaxed and he turned his back to the terminal set up. "Alright you got me," Vincent admitted as he met the man's eyes. The faint glow of terminal screens cast a flattering light on the scientist's angular face—A kind and pleasant face at least.

"I'm curious why you're here," Ignacio asked. Voice matched his reserved, calm demeanor. Disarming as well, Vincent caught an occasional smile from the man while they chatted between tasks. A complete opposite to the self-described "Mr. Fantastic" buzzing around like a fly.

"Just looking into the place" Vincent shrugged. He glanced up from his clipboard to Lawrence. The unusually quiet ranger corralled himself to a corner of the room. Watching personnel go back and forth, he stopped a few passing soldiers, but some approached him—and from an exchange of smiles and laughs, they approached with friendly intentions—maybe people he knew or rather people who would like to know a ranger. And then he'd slouch back into his corner. Thinking, brooding...

"Does it have to do with Mr. House?"

"No." Vincent pushed off the consoles, turning his back to Lawrence who wouldn't have noticed anyway. "The soldier my friend asked you about, he's been looking for. He could be a Legion spy." Vincent's voice lowered to a whisper, "Please don't mention anything or do anything. It's really important."

"Oh," Ignacio glanced to his terminal. A messy string of code populated the black screen. "Well," he smiled at the boy. A smile that caught Vincent off guard by how genuine it was. "You're helping the Followers a lot right now; I won't screw that up—I'll help if you need."

"I appreciate that."

"Since you have a generous side" Ignacio continued. He turned his focus to the screen while his voice trailed away. Silence swelled between the two. His smile faded yet lips twitched and muttered to himself. Typing paused again. "Do you also have a sensible side as well?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been helping my organization because you like what we do—Because you want to help people in some way?"

"That's correct"

Ignacio paused hasty typing. Dark eyes peered into Vincent's as if to search for an honest answer before the boy could speak. "Well, would you be willing to maybe help me?"

"With?"

"I have reasons to believe Helios One isn't just a solar array—It can be used as a weapon."

"A weapon?" Vincent inched closer to the scientist. Voice fell to a harsh whisper once more. "How?"

"I've been digging into the files left behind—physical, digital—and I'm positive this place was used for covert weapons testing or creation. There's a codeword that keeps coming up; Archimedes."

"You want to know for certain?"

"I've kept the NCR personnel in the dark about it and I can only hope no one else knows. It would also explain the Brotherhood's former occupation."

"How would we even know if it's real?"

"This isn't the primary control facility, if you haven't noticed."

"Only the tower can tell us." Vincent sighed, "Of course." Shoulders dropped. There was always a catch. "I'll see what I can do."

"Wait, don't tell the ranger," Ignacio pleaded.

"I won't. I promise, but he is the only way to get in there without bringing in the rest of the army."

"What if he finds out?"

"Lawrence isn't the technical type—luddite n' all that," Vincent assured with a smile. "He's more than happy to shoot machines rather than peek in them."

Had Lawrence been thinking any harder, Vincent was certain smoke would come out of his ears. His face set in a scowl over tightly crossed arm. A posture more akin to a pouting child than a contemplating ranger.

"How you doing?" Vincent asked.

"Hm?" Lawrence emerged from his trance. Scowl loosened once he felt Vincent leaning on his shoulder. "I'm just drawing blanks is all."

"Well, I found out something else…" A lone brow arched as the ranger's eyes rolled over onto Vincent. "This place could have maybe, possibly, been a weapons testing facility in another life."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Ignacio is with the Followers. He recognized me and decided to tell me because he needs to know for certain if it exists."

"And then what? Let's say that tower can sprout legs and stomp around the wasteland makin' people look at their ugly mugs in the giant mirror 'til they die of fright—What's he gonna to do?"

"If we can get into the tower facility, we can know for sure," Vincent explained. "If it is some kind of weapon, I want to know what it does before the NCR, House, Legion or anyone else finds out."

Lawrence stroked his beard, "I see what you're sayin'…"

"So how do we tackle a security team of homicidal robots if we can't find their off switch?"

"I could get a hold of EMPs and a lot of aloe vera for the laser burns."

Vincent nodded, "It's a start. You go get whatever we need, I'll stay here and make sure you-know-who doesn't get wise."

"Sounds good," Lawrence stood up. He looked to his right then to his left. Two empty hallways and a dwindling team in the room once noon rolled around. He pulled Vincent into an embrace. A needy hug that wanted more comfort from the young man than could be given in such a place. However, it was the ranger's departing kisses that lent some idea to Lawrence's troubles. The longer, wanting kisses, not the kind that pleaded for both participants to remove their clothes, but the kind Lawrence initiated whenever he merely needed love. Comfort he wouldn't ask for directly for some hidden fear Vincent had yet to unravel

Except, he could imagine this time what may have bothered the man. A certain Legionnaire protected in NCRA fatigues probably stolen off a dead soldier. Lawrence couldn't just outright accuse the man of espionage without proof nor just kill him on suspicion, he was right about that. But perhaps if that spy wound up in a confined space while, bound, and prevented from leaving until the ranger returned…

Occupied with further attempts to break through the security system, quiet steps went unnoticed by Ignacio. Vincent retrieved the toolbox and slipped out into the hallway. Heart quickened with the speed of anxious thoughts. Somewhere small, cramped where he could get the upper-hand. Plenty of such rooms existed in the old building. He scoured the maze of halls and rooms, eventually winding up in a secluded section of Helios One's operations, but also not too far from where he last spotted the suspected spy. Another supply closet. A caved-in wall to the left of the door exposed the building's metal framework and all its delicate innards. A flip of the switch sent sparks flying from a bundle of wires. Then the dim, overhead light flickered on. Dust fluttered about through the air. Shelves stocked a thick carpet of powdered bygone years. Nowhere anyone would want to be or go looking.

Perfect.

But once he lured the man in the room then what? He couldn't just brandish a gun and hope no one saw and most definitely couldn't use it. Glowing shards blew up with another electrical surge in his peripherals. Spindles of wiring poured out the wall, overflowing on metal pipes and rebar support. A makeshift taser? Vincent shook his head at the prospect of electrocuting himself instead of his target—Unless. He spun around, closing the door then taking to a squat as he plopped down the toolbox. He rummaged through loaded clips, his pistol, and all the junk he snatched while touring the facility unsupervised. Stuffed into the corner of the box, the black roll gleamed back at him. After flipping off the switch, he opened the door again and worked away under the faint light of the hallway. He pulled the thick tape, coiling it around dormant wires as a sure grip on power itself. Vincent flipped the switch on once more. A quick touch at the tape job tested his reflexes as well as his weapon. No jolts to him, but the wires buzzed vibrantly, sending sparks each time he flipped the switch.

Then came the issue of how to lure that Legionnaire into an obvious trap… He shut the door again. Left alone to his thoughts and a flickering light that reminded him of the uncooperative light socket in the speakeasy he grew up with. The ladies always had a way of coaxing out caps and so much more from the patrons. His mother didn't like him being down there, especially once men started asking if he was on the menu too. Still, he learned plenty from them. How to talk to people, how to read them, persuade them; both things that he found himself using now more than ever, and once in a while he utilized the nuclear option. The sole reasons those young women in the brothel earned their pay. An abhorrent, appalling option that sent his skin crawling and stomach turning in protest. Something he always told himself he'd never do again after each time he had to use the terrible ploy.

No.

He shook his head, refusing to force himself back into that little box he loathed—Ignacio! Ignacio could help. He even offered—Except electrocuting and restraining a maybe-spy for the sole purpose of being interrogated by a ranger with revenge in mind wouldn't go over well with someone aligned to the humanitarian efforts of the Followers... A long sigh let the vacuum for anxiety to seep back in. Yet his nuclear option got him out of bad situations a few times. This time it would be for more than him. A more important reason than stealing food, finding shelter, or getting out of trouble. A labor of love and preservation given the maybe-weapon… But more so for Lawrence, he reminded himself.

Then never again.

Sometimes he questioned his sanity. If he truly was the man he believed himself to be or if he was merely a pretender. It didn't help when he looked in the mirror, now intentionally devolving into a miserable creature he hoped he left behind in Yucca Valley. A little brush of his hair here and there hid the scar. Then he had to lose the binder… He breathed easier without it, but it came at a cost. The cost of exposing such an alien part of himself he never wanted nor liked.

"Ugh!" He growled at the sight. A disgusting betrayal to himself and everything he had worked for stared back in the mirror. His heart raced in his chest as he gripped a dingy bathroom counter. Eyes closed. Blood rushed away from his brain leaving an airy feeling. For Lawrence, he reminded himself. Over and over again until the anxiety and light-headedness passed. On the bright side, the sight cemented the fact he knew about himself long before anyone else—He was indeed supposed to be a man.

Vincent loosened the trained gait and ventured back into the hallway. Smiling back at those intrigued faces he passed but suffocating in the jumpsuit that hugged his form too tightly. A few "hellos" from the soldiers confirmed his disguise—the kind of hellos that offered more by their tone rather than words. Then he spotted the one he was after. His target. His prey.

Alone in his cramped barracks, the suspected Legionnaire hunched over his boots. Swiping a bristle brush back and forth and loosening the Mojave soil from his tread. "Oh, hello there!" Vincent leaned in the door. Plastering a smile over the unpleasant turmoil he felt inside.

The soldier paused at the feminine lilt. He looked up to Vincent. "Hello, did you need something?" He set his boots down, quickly stuffing his feet back inside.

"Well, yes. I need help," Vincent admitted, twiddling fingers the way he remembered the women back home did when feigning interest in some John's dull conversation. "There's a heavy shelf-thing in the way of a wall I need to get to—"

"Say no more," the man grinned, already jumping to his feet.

"Oh, thank you!" Vincent sighed in relief. "I'll show you where it's at."

The soldier followed him down the hall. Side-by-side, he still bore an amicable smile to the alleged damsel in distress. A sweet smile that was a disguise equal to Vincent's. Eyes poked. Prodded. Touched. Another reminder of everything he hated about being in that little box. "I saw you earlier with that ranger—you some kind of maintenance crew?"

"I am," Vincent nodded. "Here to help with the solar array and all that fun stuff."

"You might be here a while then," the soldier chuckled.

"Well if that means seeing more of you…" Vincent shot a coy glance at the stranger. The soldier's lingering eyes fell below the face he ogled, unable to resist the precision of a few bobby pins that held the disguise's allure all together. "It's this room here—Oh, the lights went out again! Sorry…"

"No problem," the soldier noted as he pushed through the door.

"I got a light in my toolbox somewhere…" Vincent scanned the hall for curious eyes. Empty. He rattled the toolbox, joining the stranger in the dark. "Ah! Here it is."

With a flip of the switch, lightning flashed. Bouncing off the walls and frying the unsuspecting soldier. Vincent slammed the door, hushing the heavy thud of the soldier's fall. He tossed aside the taped bundle of wire for stowed rope. Not even done smoking, Vincent jumped on the man before he'd wake. Tying and knotting hands and feet as many times as necessary and then a little bit more. Lastly, a towel for a gag to top it off.

He looked over his work and breathed a sigh of relief. Done. It was finally done. Now he had to just wait for Lawrence… He collapsed on his butt, a cloud of dust pluming up under him. Shakes rattled him. The thrill of a hunt, but more for the choking anxiety and frustration he thrust on himself. Hands disheveled his hair. Rustling fervently back into its preferred position, yet nothing quelled it. Not even donning the tight comfort of the gifted vest nor ripping away the concealed pins keeping the jumpsuit conforming to his curves. Chest heaved. Lungs vied for air they couldn't get. He retreated to the safety of a corner. Rocking to and fro, consoling terrible thoughts and reminding himself why he had done it. For the man who loved him despite his most glaring and unforgivable flaw. For Lawrence.

The disgruntled soldier, bound and kept under control by threat of another electrocution glowered at the boy the moment he woke up. When the hour passed, Vincent decided to emerge from the closet. A quick survey caught Lawrence in his own search for Vincent. He tugged the man's sleeve. Lawrence spun around and before words could say anything he already knew to follow Vincent.

His jaw dropped. "How? Why would you?" Nostrils flared. Eyes widened as he turned to Vincent.

"What?" The boy mumbled. Taken back by such a foreign reaction from the ranger. "I did this because you couldn't—"

"You put me in a bad situation!" Lawrence exclaimed. Vincent's glower softened. Elation turned inside out, dragging him down and chilling his limbs. The harsh tone of his lover brought back the shakes he hoped finally disappeared. "Fuck."

"Is this him or not?"

"I'm very positive." Lawrence's posture fell to a slouch. He rubbed his temples before fingers lowered and dragged down his eyelids. "But I need to know more. I can't just murder a man because he fits a vague description. Hell, he could be some kid out of Bumfuck-Nowhere, New California who just happens to look like the guy I'm after."

Vincent slinked away. "How can you not know?" He quickly spat as if it would give him his dignity back. Any confidence evaporated under the ranger's scrutiny. Lawrence was right. He didn't think how things would have gone had Lawrence been incorrect. Brows furrowed and Lawrence looked back at him. Vincent reclaimed a step forward, plunging into his own anger hidden beneath a shaky veneer. "You want to know what I did to get him here? For you?"

Lawrence turned around, planting palms on the wall as he pressed his head to the door. Deep breaths filled his lungs, holding for a few seconds then releasing as he refused to say anymore. Vincent pulled away from him. Crossing arms as he paced the length of the crowded room in slow steps. Lawrence's breaths and Vincent's pace followed. Only regret of lashing out remained in their diversions' vacancy.

"I'm sorry for yelling," Lawrence whispered. "I know that bothers you and I just wasn't thinking right."

Vincent halted his final lap at the ranger's side. "I wasn't thinking either—Well not about consequences other than you appreciating what I did…"

"I know why you did it, but I'm not always right," Lawrence shook his head. He reached for Vincent. A gentle hand parsed through short hairs around the boy's ears then cupped the curve of his head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Vince. What's done is done so let's keep movin' forward."

"I'll think of better and less… dumb ways next time."

Lawrence turned around. The reluctant audience member to a lover's quarrel sat unamused.. A scowl narrowed on the soldier. He shirked off the duffel bag. Vincent reached to the straps and pulled it aside. Scuffs of soles on dust pierced the quiet. Scrapes against debris and crumpled linoleum rang in everyone's ears as Lawrence's rigid walk led him to the man. A moment he'd never thought he would have—if it was indeed him. He knelt in front of the man, eyes locked while Lawrence opened his notebook. The first two pages, he kept blank, but there was one picture on the third page Vincent spotted some time ago, long before he ever realized who it was. Sketches of a smiling man guided by an old photograph secured under a film of tape. A little fuzzy by its age, and even more obscured by a lack of color. Only one person in that picture Vincent recognized as the ranger he'd come to love so dearly.

"You remember this man?"

Dark eyes he'd seen only once or twice before glanced at the pictures and sketches—A privilege he didn't deserve. Everything about the soldier dared unwind the composure beat into Lawrence from training. Calm, collected, and composed—Always be deliberate in your actions. He could practically hear Clint guiding him through the wilderness. But enemies in war weren't always personal. The random Legionnaires unlucky enough to fall into his crosshairs were never personal. This man however, made it personal.

Gaunt and narrow by a malnourished upbringing on the frontier. A man that learned to dodge rather than hit after getting that scar. More dotted the topography of his skin. Raised, shiny patterns—Burned off markings that hinted who his true people were. Those he was born into for which those patterns were sacred or customary or even an identity altogether. And then those who gave him scars meant to strip that identity away. He had seen it so many times before on numerous Legion fodder. The burns were merciful. Only the initiates who agreed got their markings burned off. The ones that didn't… They had nasty scars in the wake of a fileting knife.

Lawrence pulled the rag from the soldier's mouth. The man grimaced, licking parched lips only to find the after taste of oil. "What the hell are you doing, ranger?"

"Do you remember him?" Lawrence asked again, this time with a threatening tap on his notebook.

"No."

A hand thrust to the soldier's throat. Clamping down on his narrow throat and forcing him back onto the floor under Lawrence's weight. "Looking at you a little closer at you." Gasping for air with wide eyes, the man's face bloomed red, deepening as purple webs crawled up his throat. "I'm beginning to doubt that," Lawrence growled. Vincent stepped forward. Hesitant to interrupt the ranger, but the misplaced smile on the soldier's face kept him back. "I promise he'll be the last ranger you'll ever kill." Lawrence pulled back from the Legionnaire, but not without a hard shove to remind him who was in control.

"No, you will be." The man's hoarse voice wheezed under the strain. Chest filled then deflated rapidly as lungs vied for more air.

"It is him… Right?" Vincent whispered. "What do we do?"

"Use him as bait."

Out in the light of day, eyes struggled to adjust to the light. Gentle winds funneled through the valley. Dust devils twisted through the array of solar panels, threatening to nick glass and dirty receptors. Lawrence scouted the mechanical farm. Guards stuck to the outside of distant fences, patrolling for threats they'd never imagined were already inside. Vincent led the trio. Their hostage stuck close to Lawrence under threat of the pistol pressing into his side and no prospect of being spotted in such a huge facility. At the center of the solar array, stood the tower and the small two-story structure implanted beneath all those long gleaming, steel girders and suspension cables: their destination.

Vincent opened the door. An inconspicuous thing no one would take as a gateway to certain death. Darkness stared back at them. Lawrence pushed the Legionnaire along, "Go on, bait-boy, do your thing."

The Legionnaire grumbled. Reluctantly, he led the way into the dark, guided by Lawrence's head lamp. "Stay close," he whispered for Vincent as daylight leaked out the door frame. A short hallway brought them to another door. A sturdy door one might find in a casino vault. Long bracers clamped it shut behind a gear-shaped mechanism. Rusted and tarnished without care, surely little could stand in the way.

"Once that door opens," Lawrence started. Ominous baritone voice funneled through the barren hallway, ricocheting off metal and hard concrete like a stray bullet until finally planting itself inside his captive's head. "You better run." Lawrence stepped back and let the soldier reach for the door. Metal grated against itself like nails on a chalkboard. Hinges moaned and creaked upon waking from a deep slumber. Old and steel bones clanked as the guards stirred on the other side. Lawrence pushed the soldier in once ancient lights turned on for long awaited guests.

The soldier jumped to his feet. Creeping inside, following the wall for protection. Head swung back and forth in search of shelter before the wall ended. Further into the short corridor he pressed on. Rigid posture and careful steps dared not rouse the unseen force. Some steps behind him, Lawrence clutched an EMP grenade, ready to push a humble little button to activate the palm-sized beast. At his side, Vincent stayed close, arms stretched out to a sweaty grip on his pistol as he watched their captive.

Stirring mechanics clang. The captive halted. Wide eyed as lasers fired on him. He scrambled, rushing for anything he could find shelter with as sparks flew around him. Vincent's iron sights followed the impostor while Lawrence flung a grenade around the corner. A quick peek then he snatched another from the store wound on his waist. A flurry of neon green exploded, lighting up the room and revealing it larger than anticipated. A catwalk stretched across an open basement. A second flash burst and Lawrence spotted the turrets mounted in the far corners. Another grenade went flying, farther and harder. Then the synthetic garble of a sentry bot bellowed out from below. Lawrence rushed from his protection.

"Lawrence!" Vincent called. Taken by surprise, eyes followed the ranger as he dodged the remaining onslaught of the laser turrets. Across the room, the Legionnaire hid among equipment. Gladly not a part of dangerous events, but still watching closely for his escape. Vincent turned the corner, braving the firefight as Lawrence had done so. He unleashed his clip on the second turret. Sparks frenzied in its nest, crawling across sleek housing giving enough light to perfect his aim. Shot after shot eroded its armor. Lasers whizzed past him. Shaving close enough to burn without touching. One last shot jolted hands left buzzing in the pistol's repetitive kickbacks. A fiery explosion ignited the turret, consuming it in a grand display and lending light in a dim room.

Quiet returned to the chamber. Echoes of blasts and whizzing bullets still rang in Vincent's ears while laser lights burned his irises. "Lawrence?" He crept out from the corner and to the catwalk. Several pockets of rooms descended below him. Machinery, desks, and typical office equipment littered each square. No more robots at least…

Sudden clamor pulled his attention to the stairs. The ranger huffed as he climbed up the stairs. Vincent sighed in relief at the sight. Unharmed and still whole. Lawrence's dispatched target, a bulky, charcoal colored sentry bot disassembled by copious explosions of EMPs and bullet holes lay behind him at the foot of the stairs. "You scared me!"

"I scared you?" Lawrence laughed. "Boy, you give me grey hairs. Look at this—it wasn't there last week."

"There isn't anything there, it's just a trick of the light." Lawrence scoffed and shook his head. He pulled himself up from the steps by the railing as he searched for their captive. "He's over there. I think he got hit."

"Deserves it," Lawrence grumbled. Heavy boots thudded on concrete floors as he crossed the room. No longer hidden behind stored equipment and desks, their hostage pried at the door they came through. Curses hissed as his bound grip faltered. Labored breaths huffed into dusty metal as he gave up turning the locked wheel. A glare wandered over to the approaching ranger.

"Get whatever it is you want over with," the Legionnaire ordered. Framed by singed fatigues, red skin glistened like scales on an exposed and twitchy leg. Lawrence yanked the soldier along by his collar. Threads ripped under tension and a wince. "I am not who you think I am."

"You ain't very convincin'."

"Is this a personal vendetta? Or you just like assaulting random soldiers? Petty," he spat through a twisting grimace. "Childish—"

Lawrence thrust a fist in his side and the soldier's wince turned to anguish. "I didn't ask for your opinion." The soldier coddled his gut as he doubled over. Lawrence's disdained tone followed him to the floor. "As far as I'm concerned you should be burned alive just like you did to Marcus—Get up."

On the second floor, a tidy command center waited empty. Devoid of its users for quite some time, yet it still worked. In the center of the base, a holographic table illuminated a virtual scene. Data and code he couldn't imagine what it possibly expressed. Various keys and buttons rounded the circular frame. Smaller screens lay blank, dormant until someone more knowledgeable would come along.

"I can't wait to hear about your trial," The soldier prattled on. "How many rangers have been dishonorably discharged?" Lawrence shoved him along, keeping his grip on the rope tied around their captives' wrists.

"Why would Caesar send a spy here anyway?" Vincent inquired. He peeled away from the hologram and ventured on to the numerous displays. Various screens and console models he'd never seen in the junkyard back home. High-tech, sleek, and silver. Quietly thrumming if you listened close enough.

The soldier sighed, "I'm not a Legion—"

"If what you said is true," Lawrence spoke over the captive, garnering a sharpening glare with each word. "Then they'd be interested too—I mean, the Brotherhood's occupation here is common knowledge. They go where the good stuff's at."

Vincent pressed a key. Dormant screens lit up in a glaring white array. Pristine interfaces filled the glass, beaming back at him in all their precisely labeled and defined glory. "Well the computers still work. Give me some time and maybe I'll figure something out…" Lawrence sauntered over to the boy. He leaned against a tower console, stealing discreet glances between Vincent and the soldier. "How are you going to get rid of him?" Vincent whispered.

The ranger sighed. Fidgeting fingers stroked each other, feeling roughened pads across unworked skin. "I don't know, put a bullet in his head and stuff him in a closet?" Clicks paused and Vincent glanced up. The moment he walked into that closet and laid eyes on that soldier, the ranger Vincent knew so well ebbed and flowed in a foggy cloud. "What?" Lawrence muttered.

"Sorry, just thinking," Vincent shook his head. "This console controls the solar array and the mirror, so I can at least get that working."

Lawrence nodded and departed the boy with a pat on the shoulder. A vicious side to the man emerged. Not one directed at Vincent, but still it was rather jarring. However, he had seen it before—in Nelson. He couldn't blame the man though. Fingers paused their keystrokes. No, he couldn't judge Lawrence on that. Not when he had done the same thing to Benny. The only difference was Lawrence never saw how atrocious his young lover could be. Monstrous. Vicious… Garnering the interests of the praetorian and the self-titled Caesar as an ovation. What would Lawrence have said at that moment? Would Lawrence dare to stop him? Question his morals and ethics? He often debated it himself at times. And frankly, had the same happened to him and he lost Lawrence, Vincent had no doubt he would do the same to avenge the ranger. In fact, he thought the ranger's hurt so much worse than his own. Vincent survived, but Lawrence was left behind. Whatever Lawrence would do to that soldier, it couldn't possibly have matched his own terrible act.

"Lawrence," Vincent called. Lawrence paused investigative rounds of the room, circling back to the boy. "The mirrors work, and I disabled any remaining security forces…"

"But?" Curious brow arched as he leaned on the same console.

Vincent glanced at the captive stowed in the corner. A miserable and sulky expression twisted his face. Quiet until he conjured up his next verbal attack on his captors. Vincent leaned to the ranger. "I found something."

Lawrence rounded the console tower. He weaved an arm around the boy and focused on the screen. Quiet lips muttered the words written in the file in Vincent's ear. One of many files Ignacio might have seen. One with enough information to confirm suspicions that led them down an even bigger rabbit hole dug two centuries ago. One after another; correspondence, schematics, projections. Everything ever written about an experimental weapon dubbed Archimedes.

"Well, shit." Lawrence mumbled. "What can we do about it though? Is there a way to take it down, make it not work?"

"I don't know,' Vincent sighed. "I could try and just delete the files, I guess? I have no idea what half of these even mean or…"

"Whatever keeps this out of anybody's hands," Lawrence urged. He squeezed the boy's shoulders, a subtle hint the ranger believed in him completely. A kiss on Vincent's cheek followed. He wished it were only that easy—as easy as Lawrence's kiss or encouragement. In reality, there would be something he could miss. Some minuscule thing that would give away the fact something insidious lay dormant in Helios One. Digging and digging. Typing until he was too aware of all the tendons in his hands and the strain on his wrists turned his joints solid. Staring at the screen focused to tunnel vision set. Weary, blinking far too often to soothe dry eyes.

Beyond the terminal, another kind of war waged. One where threats were glances and pithy comments were weapons. One where the ranger skirted a little further closer into enemy territory. Coaxing, goading the captive to do something, say something, give him any excuse to rough the man up again. Prodding and subtly interrogating the captive. The Legionnaire only watched. Unwavering in the face of death, he followed Lawrence's paces around the room. He tested his restraints in plain sight. Huffed and sighed as if absolutely bored with his situation.

"It wasn't me."

"The hell you on about now?"

"I didn't kill that ranger. I was there, but it wasn't me."

Lawrence scoffed. "Aw, you really poked my conscience. Guess I just have to let you go now."

"Not even curious to know who did?" The soldier laughed. "The NCR is full of hypocrites. You all tout your supposed morality, yet here you are… A ranger, torturing and accusing me of crimes I never committed without evidence."

"I haven't got to torturin' you yet."

"Lawrence."

The ranger halted. Hesitant boots twitched in their place. He stared down the prospect of unleashing years of anguish on the man responsible for it, yet Vincent's voice lingered in his ears, pulling him away and whispering for his darker urges to wait. He rejoined the boy at his station. "I was able to transfer the information left on this system to my pip-boy, but I can't get rid of the weapon itself."

"What do you mean?"

"From what I can understand, the tower doubled as a test weapon. It collects energy from the solar array as normal, but it has a secondary function that concentrates the energy, like a giant energy pistol."

"So we'd have to steal the whole tower to guarantee no one gets this thing" Vincent sighed, shoulder hung mid-shrug. Lawrence wrapped arms around him, completing an unprompted, but welcomed hug. "You did what you could, Vince. I guess we're done here."

Vincent led the quiet walk through the halls. Behind him, heavy boots scuffed and thudded against the floor. Even without present threats, his heart still pounded. Mulling over what Lawrence would do as if that would really ease the tension that suffocated them in an already stuffy building. He looked back to Lawrence and the captive in his grips. Unflattering lights cast deep shadows across his face, hiding vibrant eyes under heavy brows. Crow's feet lurched out, grabbing at minor dips in a face he often thought so flawless. Cheeks shallow beneath prominent bones, deepening the unseen laugh lines around his mouth. "Go outside," Lawrence whispered. "I rather you not be down here."

"Wait!" The soldier yelled. "I'm not who he thinks I am." Deep-set eyes bulged as he jerked forward. "You can't let him kill me—this guy is crazy!"

Vincent took a step back then turned around entirely. He gripped the wheel of the door. Clammy, barely cooperative hands labored to open the heavy door. Stuck. "Lawrence" Another turn confirmed it wasn't any lack of strength. "I can't open it."

Brows furrowed, casting deeper shadows across the ranger's face. His hold on the captive released, only to move North and wrap around his neck. Gags sputtered, barely escaping a narrowing airway. He squirmed, clawing at the ranger's sleeves. Writhing in the stronger man's grip, but only when he went limp did Lawrence let go. The spy fell to his knees. Lawrence marched over the collapsed man. He gripped the wheel, grunting and grimacing as he pried the door open.

"Shit."

He pressed flat palms on the chilly metal door, resting the burden of his weight against it. Head hung as eyes stared at the floor. A timid voice spoke up in the silence. "Are we locked in here?"

Behind them, the Legion soldier stirred. Coughs and gasped choked out while lethargic hands tested their restraints. "Not forever," Lawrence declared. Muffled grunts tugged on the rope wound around the captive's hands.

A return to the control center wasn't his preferred place to be. Lawrence left him there, taking the spy to some other section. A heated interrogation funneled down the halls occasionally as Vincent stared at the same terminal, now in search of a way out. Shuffling poured into the doorway. He peeled away from the terminal screen, eyes stung and adjusted to the dim lights. "What are you doing?"

"Tying him to something so he don't disappear." Lawrence explained. He pulled the rope, winding it around and around then knotting until the gagged Legionnaire was held up only by the pipe he was bound to.

Tired eyes returned to the same screen he had stared at for the last hour and then another hour before an attempted departure. Brows cemented themselves in fear as he fought to keep eyes open. Exhausted and tired, Vincent mulled over just how they could get out let alone what had locked them in. Pressing the same key over and over as he stared at the screen, the current issue only led to more fears hidden beneath the surface once it was too quiet. Black lines warped and distorted shapes the more he searched for their meaning. Vision blurred only to be blinked away and come back minutes later. When his forehead nearly hit the keyboard for the second time, Lawrence pulled him away from the screen.

"Come here," Lawrence guided Vincent away from the console and back to his spot on the floor. With his back against the wall, he pulled Vincent to his lap.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know." Lawrence reached to his side, grabbing the neatly folded duster off his body armor. "It's been getting colder," he said, draping his duster over the two as far as it'd stretch. "So, I'd assume it's night outside."

"I couldn't find anything."

"We miss things when we're tired," Lawrence whispered.

Soft fabric under fingertips. Rich scent flooded his senses, pulling comforting memories from the depths of an overworked brain and for a moment Vincent had returned to their suite in the Lucky 38. Except he never shivered inside the comfort of the most luxurious room on the strip. "Lawrence, whatever you decide to do, I would never hold it against you. I couldn't without being a hypocrite."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"For… everything, I guess. Whatever you plan to do to him, or when the NCR's forces regroup to hold the dam. I can't blame you for being loyal to the NCR, but I also don't want to lose you."

Lawrence pulled him closer. Gentle sways rock them to and from. Steady breath rustled on fabric and in his, caressing away cold spots in the gaps of their shared warmth. Shoulders deflated, tensed muscles relaxed, and he melted in the ranger's arms. The only place he truly wanted to be anymore. The lofty suite and all its luxuries would be nothing without Lawrence. Much like the mismatched threads holding buttons to his shirt or the patches in his jeans, the ranger held everything together.

Slamming steel jolted Vincent awake. The glinting barrel evacuated any sleep that lingered. Frightened heart slowed once he saw he was on the right side of the gun this time. Steady breaths brushed against his neck. "Stay here," Lawrence whispered,

Lawrence rose slowly, shaking off the stiffness and pin-pricks needling his legs. He crossed the dim control center, noting their captive still in place and still agitated as a white glare flashed across the Legionnaire's eyes. Fogged floodlights blurred Lawrence's colors as Vincent watched him slip into the haze. Careful steps whispered back down the hall. Quiet the farther he went until silence returned. Vincent held his breath. He stared at the misty doorway, uncertain if it was a dream. An eerie feeling settled inside him, urging him to move. He flung Lawrence's duster over his shoulders then snagged his own pistol. Now, it began to look more like sense rather than paranoia when the ranger kept his guns so close… Cold metal pressed against his palm, cementing him in reality and assuring Vincent this was no dream. Clouds poured from the overhead vents. Washing down like a soothing waterfall on hard concrete. He noted the initial chill when they first arrived but thought nothing of it. However, the fog swirling about the air and clouding floodlights did little to ease suspicions.

Hushed steps resounded off hard walls. Echoing, funneling down the halls to challenge his senses. One or two? More? Vincent shoved himself into a recessed corridor. One of many hiding spots in the hallways meant to tame a mess of wires and pipes of varying thickness, now pulled Vincent into the dusty trap. Steps grew louder, harder. Only one.

"Vince?"

The boy sighed in relief. He rushed out the cramped hole, a whirlwind of dust and webs followed behind.

"What are you doing in there?" Stiff posture relaxed and arms lowered as Lawrence stowed his pistol. "You are going to give me a heart attack—I think I got a new grey hair coming in..."

Vincent crossed his arms. "Guess we're not in danger if you're concerned about your hair."

"What woke us up must have been the door unlocking, cause I got it open."

Squealing hinges mustered up a wince as the boy pushed it open. He crossed the threshold of the door. Far behind him in a distant room of concrete was Lawrence and a difficult decision to make. And soon, they quieted behind the last door. Chilly fall twilight graced warm cheeks. Clean, cool air filled his lungs as he stared up at the sky. The glow of New Vegas outshined the natural light, but the far sun in the East threatened the city's reign in due time.

Sometime after the anxious pacing, he decided to plop down on the dirt, leaning on the heavy duffel bag brought along. But such relief was short lived realizing how much time had passed since he left the ranger inside. Vincent abandoned his comfort on the ground and stood in front of the door again. He rested a palm on the cold handle, mulling over thoughts and waiting for the warmth of his hand to be sucked away completely like it was his timer. A deadline to determine if he wanted to go back inside and risk seeing something he didn't like. Seeing the ranger in a way he didn't like. Vincent shook his head, loosening any thoughts that warned him not to interrupt. He twisted the handle. One last warning ignited all the nerves across his body like a fiery wave.

Vincent flung open the door.

A ghostly apparition stared back at him. Once that figure stepped into the breaking light of day did Vincent finally breath. "Are you alright? I was only going in to make sure—"

Lawrence slipped by him, only a nod as his response. He slid down the wall, landing in a cloud of dust as a hand covered his eyes. Vincent joined him in silence. He took the ranger's hand and a responsive squeeze replied. As the chill of night settled in, time wandered away. A quiet, but not uncomfortable scene that brought about a sense of déjà vu pulled them back to the shores of Lake Las Vegas.

"I don't know what to do," Lawrence finally spoke, a small whisper above a gentle breeze. "I don't know if it's him now." He rested his head against the wall and stared up at the sky. The haze of distant lights fought with the dead of night. Just a faint strip of twilight, the same murky zone he now waded in its deepest parts and unsure if the sun would finally rise. "I couldn't live with what I wanted to do, but I also couldn't live with doing nothing. I owe you a whole lot of thanks, though. If you hadn't done what you did, I wouldn't have found this."

"What is that?" Vincent looked at Lawrence. The ranger pulled his hand from his duster. Caught between his fingers, a notepad. Thinned and dog-eared from its use, but not one of the ranger's.

Lawrence flipped the cardboard flap over, revealing the first page. Line after line of neatly written nonsense cluttered the first few pages. Numbers filled the margins here and there, but nothing about it seemed more than just scribbles. "A code. Like what we use to communicate with on the radio so the Legion don't know what we're planning. They also use them for spies. I found it in his personal effects. I asked Haggerty about him when I came back, said I was an old friend and wanted to leave something in his bunk. She told me where to go and I snooped around… Then I ran into you."

Vincent turned to him. Eyes focused on the intrigue before him. Another bend in his road or perhaps a dead end. No matter what he said or done, Vincent couldn't have turned him away. It was only fair, right, and justified. He had his revenge some time ago and now it was Lawrence's turn.

"I'm going to hand him over to Clint."

He finally exhaled, losing the absent-minded clutch he had on Lawrence's arm. "I'll be with you."

Venturing back into the maze of hallways and rooms just to get out of the gated facility and rounding the perimeter brought them to noon. A long meeting with Ignacio and then a few rangers stationed at the facility wrapped up their efforts. The spy would be held under those rangers' guard and as soon as they'd return to the strip, Lawrence would tell Clint about the event as planned. From there, he wasn't sure what would happen, but that wasn't what Vincent asked. The real question was what would happen inside the ranger's head. A sullen expression after several interrogations while stuck in that stuffy control center left Lawrence's questions weaponized against him. Was that really the soldier who murdered Marcus? Was he giving his former lover justice? Was it something he could live with?

Vincent held the ranger's hand as they trekked back to the bike booted and stowed on the dirt roadside. Crisp fall air flew in overnight. Cooling his lungs even at the height of noon on a sunny day. "Lawrence," Vincent started. Steps slowed and the two stopped entirely. "What's that?"

Shoved off on the Northern fence of the solar array, colors danced, kicking up dirt and sand as they circled a drum. Purposeful steps picked up again, bringing them to the odd gathering of NCR uniforms lined along the fence.

"Oh, not these people again," Lawrence grumbled. The dramatic through of his arms fell back to hit his sides. Singing came into earshot as eyes focused on familiar and wild patterns drawn on their skin. Every one of them donned a variety of sunglasses, each as unique as their wearer. Their sole audience, a band of irritated soldiers watched between rolling eyes and thin-lipped sighs. When she stopped, so did her people. Drums ceased as they looked at the two. "The great helpers, I'm-Vincent, That's-Lawrence return!" Sky-Watcher flung out her arms for a wide embrace at a distance. A chorus of elated voices joined in.

"You know these people?" Lieutenant Haggerty emerged from her band, marching towards Vincent and Lawrence. Huffing and puffing, flared nostrils and bloodshot eyes beat the two until she could get her hands on them. "I thought his name was Ben—"

"Yes, we know them." Lawrence shifted on his feet as hands settled on his belt.

She leaned to Lawrence. "They showed up late last night. We put the facility on lock-down cause we thought they were a Legion patrol. They disappeared and now they showed up a little after dawn."

"Look, they're harmless, just a little weird."

"They refuse to leave."

"Hold on," Vincent ordered as a sour look stiffened his face. Hands rose as he parted the crowd. "Glad to see everyone still around and in good shape from the looks of it," he greeted Sky-Watcher, ditching a discerning scowl in the place of a smile.

"And you as well, friend," Sky-Watcher grinned, removing the sunglasses curved to the shape of the number 2088.

"Mind if I ask why you're here?"

"The great basking of curse!" Sky-Watcher announced. Another chorus of excitement rose and with that Lawrence couldn't sit back on the sidelines. "We watched from the hills, waiting for the sun to fill the tower with its light!"

"I don't suppose you'd be alright staying outside the fence?" Lawrence asked. "The NCR soldiers here aren't very welcoming to guests."

"Ah yes, we have encountered Grumpy-Bear-Men before," Sky-Watcher nodded. "We mean no harm. We only wish to gaze on the great monument to the sun."

"Oh I thought so," Vincent nodded. "Carry on. Have fun."

They turned away, trekking back to the lieutenant and her men loitering the perimeter. The odd-pair's hushed debate ceased once in earshot of the lieutenant. "Well, Lieutenant Haggerty," Lawrence started, plastering an absolutely-not-annoyed-smile on his face. "Don't mind them, they're just some locals workin' on their tans." Haggerty's scowl narrowed on Lawrence, then fell to Vincent for his fair share. She crossed her arms and lips thinned. "I suggest not getting too close to whatever they eat or use in their fires—"

"Excuse me?"

"Welp, time to go!"

"We got the mirrors working," Vincent piped up as Lawrence urged him along. "Already talked to Ignacio about it and I sincerely recommend canning that Mr. Fantastic guy."

"Nice meetin' you," Lawrence waved off the confused lieutenant. Drums and dancing sparked again just in time for a distraction. A chorus of praises for the sun tower chimed out of key behind them. "Keep movin'. Nope, don't look back."

---

100k+ words?

Do I know what I'm doing? Absolutely.