Domesticity

"Hey, it's your main man RedEye here, sending out some big congratulations to our brand new Overboss! That's right—if you haven't heard, Colter is toast! He's worm-food!"

Gage peered out of the window for what felt like the thousandth time that night, only half listening to RedEye's voice blaring out of the radio in the background. He scowled as he caught himself doing it again, staring down onto the makeshift fortress that was Nuka Town. He was acting like the boss's mother, checking if she was back safe.

"—can't wait to see what our new leader has planned. At least...can't be any worse than Colter, right? Right?"

Gage knew his concern lay solely with his own neck—if the plan failed again, he was a dead man—but he was still irritated with himself. He stomped across the room, turned the radio off, and dropped heavily into a nearby armchair. It creaked under his weight, but held, and he folded his arms, glaring at the nearby door.

Any second now she'd walk in like he'd told her to. Tell him she didn't fuck up everything up, that she was staying to sort this place out. Not that there would have been anything to sort out if Colter had just stuck to the fucking plan in the first place. Nuka World: an unstoppable force ready to take over the wasteland.

Trust Colter to fuck it all up.

Well, Gage thought idly, crossing his legs and then uncrossing them again. Not like he's a problem anymore.

It surprised him how little he felt over the matter, but Gage supposed he'd made his peace with the situation a long time ago—anger was a hell of a stimulant after all, and Colter had brought this place to the very edge. Even now it might be beyond saving, but that didn't mean he couldn't try with the new boss...if she ever returned.

Gage closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She'd bailed the second his back was turned. It was the only explanation for her absence, and meant he was a dead man.

He glanced up as the door opened, half expecting to see Nisha and the other bosses at threshold, ready to slice his guts out. Instead, there stood Bossanova, looking just as revolting, but with a drying stain of blood on her clothes. In her arms was a bundle made of plastic sheeting, tied up with old rope.

Gage jumped to his feet. "Where the fuck have you been? I told you to meet me here!"

Bossanova raised her eyebrow at him—or where her eyebrow would have been, if she had any—and regarded him like a back-talking slave. "I give the orders, Gage, not you. Do you have any eggs?"

"I—what?" Her question caught him off guard. "Yeah, in the cupboard. Mirelurk." He stared at her as she dumped her parcel on the floor, walked over to where he'd pointed, and began rooting through. He was thoroughly unsettled now.

"I give the orders, not you."

He'd heard a similar phrase from Colter, a counter to every bad decision he'd ever made, except coloured with a few choice swears. The words were enough to twist Gage's stomach with rage. This was a mistake. This was a fucking mistake. She was another Colter, and he'd just put her straight into power like some fucking—

"Sit down," came Bossanova's voice, and Gage snapped back to reality. She was standing at an old counter, cracking a large egg into a pan set over a portable camping stove.

Gage stared at her as she worked, before finding his voice. "Where have you been?"

"Sit down," she repeated.

Gage didn't move. Finally, she turned her head and looked at him. It was a strange expression—not angry, or even threatening—but still a look that told him plainly he needed to sit his ass down right-fucking-now.

Gage sat.

"Thank you," Bossanova said, smiling a little as she cooked. Gage had to admit whatever she was doing smelled good, and within minutes a hot plate of white mushy stuff was placed on the table in front of him with a mug of steaming coffee next to it. Still, Gage hesitated, glancing at the boss's withered hands, and she laughed, catching his eye as she splayed her fingers out to him.

"Nothing's fallen off, I promise."

Despite himself, Gage chuckled, but didn't eat. She sat down opposite him, tucking into her own food, apparently oblivious to Gage's lack of appetite.

"Boss," he said after a few seconds, "Where have you—"

She raised a hand and he stopped, a surge of annoyance coursing through him. He rose up, clenching his fists, and snarled, "I'm not your fucking dog. Give me an answer!"

Slowly, she tilted her head up to face him, and smiled a benign smile. "I've been playing meet and greet with the leaders of this motley crew."

Gage stared. "You...you already talked to them?" He had to credit her for initiative at least.

"Almost all of them. Didn't get a chance with the Operators. Still, I thought it would be sensible to size them up, and offer the same opportunity."

Damn right it was sensible, he thought. Maybe she wasn't so bad a choice after all.

Gage scowled. "You could have told me." He tensed his jaw, aware he sounded like he was whining, but she would have saved him a whole lot of hassle by keeping him informed. "I'm here to help you. If I'm not in the loop—"

"You're here to help yourself," she replied, sipping her own coffee without breaking eye contact. "I picked up on enough in the arena. If I fail, you die. Which is why we're having dinner. I want to know who I'm working with first."

Gage snorted. "Raiders."

She gave him another one of her odd looks, and slowly he sat down again. He didn't know what to make of her. She was sharp and seemed to know the game, which was good. But the secrecy...Gage chewed on his tongue. That could get him killed.

"So..." Bossanova said after a moment. "I get the sense this little scheme, whatever it is, isn't quite working out the way you wanted it to."

Gage groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Understatement of the fucking century," he muttered, his head pounding just thinking about the mess he'd been in for the last year.

"Tell me what went wrong."

Gage rubbed his eye, suddenly feeling very tired. He hesitated, then let his hands fall into his lap. Shit, where to begin?

Gage leaned back in his chair, still ignoring the plate of food in front of him, while Bossanova regarding him with mild interest, waiting for him to speak while she slowly ate. He frowned, searching for the words, and then said, "You may have noticed our former Overboss, Colter, was a fuckin' asshole."

Bossanova's cool demeanour slipped as she suddenly choked on a forkful of whatever she'd just put in her mouth. He watched her for a moment, perplexed. If Gage didn't know better, he'd say she was trying not to laugh. The thought alone made him want to grin, but he fought back the urge, keeping his face blank. He had no intention of getting buddy-buddy with her.

Acting like he hadn't noticed anything, Gage went on. "And that's me being nice. Ended up being poison for the entire operation."

"What operation?" Bossanova wheezed, still coughing a little.

Gage sighed, shaking his head. "Well...Christ, how do I explain this? Nuka World...shit, Nuka World was the dream." He turned his head, staring out of the open windows wistfully, even though the town and the rolling landscape beyond was obscured by darkness. "A fortress with enough raiders to rule the region—best goddamn idea I ever had...and the riskiest."

"Risky because of all the raiders?"

"Sorta. It's not so much the numbers, but more what makes the numbers. We got three separate gangs in this place, as I'm sure you noticed when you went to play meet and greet without telling me."

He couldn't keep the resentment out of his voice, but Bossanova seemed unmoved. She nodded, pausing with her fork halfway to her lips. "The Disciples, Operators, and the Pack?"

"Yeah." Gage ran a hand through the short mohawk that was his hair. "You also might have noticed the traders on your little detour around the park."

"The ones wearing the slave collars?" Bossanova said. Her voice gave away no opinion on the presence of slaves, which Gage took to be a good sign. Most people who hated slaves got all high and mighty over it. He had a tendency to shoot such people.

"Yeah, those assholes," Gage said. "They were the reason we needed three gangs in the first place. See, Nuka World used to be a trading hub, and the little bastards were dug in like ticks. Hired guns protectin' them, with shitloads of ammunition and medicine to boot." He grinned nastily. "But three gangs, man. Lotta raw firepower. We won in the end."

Bossanova considered this. "But there were survivors?"

"Well, yeah. Someone has to do the shitty jobs we don't want to. One of the perks of being a raider, see?" His smile widened. "Hence the collars. Any of them cause trouble, stray out of bounds—fuck, any of them just pisses one of us off and bang—they lose their heads." Gage shifted in his seat. "'Course, they ain't too happy about the change in management, but screw 'em."

Bossanova perked a non-existent eyebrow. "So far so good then?"

"At the time. But once we'd stormed the gates...things went downhill fast." Gage stared at a point somewhere over Bossanova's shoulder, anger twisting in his stomach like bloatfly maggots. "Colter got lazy."

"Ah."

"He decided Nuka Town was more than enough for all the gangs—nevermind what he fuckin' promised them," Gage growled, the hot rage seeping upwards like bile. "I tried to tell him there ain't enough room for three gangs in this one section of the park, but he wouldn't listen—didn't care that things were turning into a mess all around him."

Bossanova's eyes narrowed. "What kind of mess?"

Gage rubbed his forehead with his knuckle, the headache flaring up again. "It was little shit at first: heated tempers, arguments, the occasional shooting. Y'know, stuff you can laugh off over a beer afterwards." Gage shrugged. "Got worse over time, though—people started finding excuses to turn on each other, and that's when it really got nasty, even for raiders." He lowered his hand and looked at her. "If somethin' ain't done soon, there might be no coming back from it."

"You have three gangs under your control," Bossanova said coolly, looking extremely unimpressed. "Get to it."

Gage glared at her. "I ain't got shit under my control—Colter did. And as I already said: lazy asshole."

"Well now he's gone. What's stopping you?"

"Leading ain't my thing," Gage replied, shrugging. "Not got the presence. I prefer to...advise."

Bossanova gave a mirthless laugh, her black eyes glittering. "Oh, I see. So you're just going to paint the bullseye on my back instead?"

He bristled with indignation, sitting up straighter in his seat. "I'm just tellin' you it how it is. Would you rather I bullshit you?"

She didn't respond. Her attitude was starting to piss him off, but in all honesty, he couldn't blame her. She'd been dragged into this without any choice. Then again, the fact she was comfortable giving a raider shit made him feel slightly hopeful about her competence.

Gage scowled at her for a moment longer, then settled back again. "I mean, yeah, I won't lie...not making myself a target is part of the reason you won't see me stepping up an' runnin' things, but not all of it. I got experience in gangs—the knowhow to keep us both alive. My talents are best put to use helping a new overboss get all this shit under control. You get me?"

"A raider with talents," Bossanova said scathingly, forgetting her food for a moment and folding her arms. "Wonders never cease. What sort of talents would you say you have, Gage?"

He crossed his legs, staring her out. "Aside from being a good shot and having a foul mouth?"

The corners of her lips twitched.

"I've run with gangs nearly my whole life," Gage went on. "I know how they think, what they're after. And I know how to use that to your advantage."

"Tell me about the gangs," Bossanova said, her tone business-like, her gaze sharp. Gage felt like he was being interrogated.

"Well…" Gage bit his lip, wondering how best to keep this short. "You've met them already, haven't you?"

"I know, but I'd appreciate the insight, since it's one of your talents."

He shot her a withering look. She wanted information on them? Fine. "The gangs here ain't nothin' like the ones back in the wasteland. They've got strong leaders, they're organised, and they all fuckin' hate each other. Took a shitload of effort to stop them fightin' for five seconds, never mind getting them all on board with the plan.

"The Disciples are run by Nisha—those are the crazy bastards wearing the masks. Love blood and violence—got a particular fondness for skinning people." He suppressed a shudder, having witnessed Nisha's handiwork far too often for his liking. "Nisha can have her reasonable moments...though that's been less and less lately thanks to Colter's bullshit.

"Then you've got the Operators, the guys with the suits under the armour—look a lot cleaner than everyone else. Spoiled rich kids, but doesn't mean they ain't ruthless killers. If you can impress Mags, she'll listen to you, and she knows how to rake in the caps."

Bossanova nodded approvingly at this.

"And finally there's the Pack. I'm not sayin' they're savages, but...well, shit." Gage shook his head. " They're savages. I don't know how Mason keeps them on a leash. They dress in bright colours and bones because they think it makes them look intimidating, like animals do or whatever." He paused. "I think it makes them look fucking stupid."

To his surprise, Bossanova laughed. She grinned at him. "Glad we agree on something."

Her laughter rose his spirits a little. She had to cooperate for this to succeed—his life was on the line if she didn't. Gage nodded. "All the gangs need is someone to lead them. You just gotta show 'em you're the right woman for the job."

A long, uncomfortable silence followed these words.

"And why," she replied slowly, her tone pleasant and yet somehow dangerous, "would I want to lead this disaster?"

Shit.

"Well, why not?" A jolt of panic shot through him. She'd seemed interested a second ago, even warming to the idea. "Just give it a chance, okay? You might even have a little fun."

"Fun?"

"Oh come on." He stared at her in disbelief. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this after all, otherwise she wouldn't be asking such a stupid goddamn question. "You take whatever you want, from whoever you want. Anybody has a problem with that, you cut 'em down. You telling me that doesn't sound like even just a little bit of fun to you?"

Bossanova pressed her lips together as if trying to stop herself laughing again. After a second, she allowed herself a small smile. "A little."

Gage disguised his sigh of relief with a chuckle, his heart still beating nervously. "At any rate, if you leave now, that won't go down so well. But if you're gonna trust me on anything, trust me on this: I'm in it just as much as you are. There's already some blamin' me for supporting Colter all this time, including Nisha. This shit needs to work out, because if it don't, both of our heads are gonna be on sticks. I like my head where it is and I intend to keep it there. You get me?"

Bossanova said nothing. She stared intently at him, making Gage feel like he was being analysed somehow. He was half expecting her to go back to communicating through taps.

After a few long seconds, he tried again. "So, what's it gonna be? We doing this together or not?"

She studied him a moment longer and then said, "So you're that desperate you're willing to place all your bets on the first waster that comes along?"

Gage raised his eyebrow. "You saw all those bodies in the Gauntlet, right?"

Bossanova nodded.

"Well then. Pretty obvious you ain't the first. Lotta folks got fed to the Gauntlet and the arena—but the difference is you were the only one to make it out alive. Way I see it, surviving means you got what it takes. Or at least the potential. We need someone who can get shit done. Make real progress. That's you."

"I see."

Bossanova returned to her plate of food and silence reigned.

Gage stared at her. He had the strange feeling he'd just passed some sort of initiation—as though all of her questions had served to size him up, to see if he was suitable for his position. But that was ridiculous. Nuka World was his idea. She couldn't run the place without him.

More to give himself something to do, Gage pulled his own plate towards him, poked it awkwardly with his fork, and began to eat. Turned out it was still just egg, even if it looked like shit, but she'd done something to make it taste...different. Most likely the reason was 'not being burnt to a crisp,' but he suspected she'd added something too. Hopefully not poison.

Gage considered this for a moment and then shrugged. If she was trying to kill him, at least it tasted good. He continued to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, Gage saw her wince, but he didn't care. Raiders weren't known for their table manners.

"This is fine food," Gage said with his mouth full, spraying egg everywhere, before swallowing and then picking up his coffee, slurping noisily from the mug.

"I've had a couple of centuries to practice," she replied delicately, setting her fork down onto her empty plate and watching Gage eat with an expression of alarm.

"Pre-war?" he asked, deciding to play along for now. She needed him whether she believed it or not. Otherwise, she'd end up like Colter.

"Yes, pre-war. I used to run a gang of my own before the bombs fell."

"Oh yeah?" Now this piqued Gage's interest, He'd heard of pre-war raiders, but no one who really ran with them. Shovelling the rest of his meal into his mouth, he looked up at the boss and said, "What was that like?"

Bossanova pursed her lips, drawing them up to her nose cavity as her brow furrowed, her cheeks moving from side to side. It took Gage a moment to realise she was wrinkling her nose—except she didn't have one anymore. She flicked a piece of wayward egg off her arm, before leaning forward with a smile. "Back in my day, there was a bigger law presence. If you got caught, you could be locked away for the rest of your life. No hope of escape. Maybe even execution. So everything we did, we did it subtle. I intend to run things similar here."

Gage burped and leaned back in his seat, coffee cup to hand. He'd visited enough cities to have an idea of what she was talking about. It was the reason most raiders stuck to smaller settlements. "The others won't appreciate a quiet life, boss. You don't give them what they want, they'll kill you."

She rolled her eyes. "They'll get their blood and power, and whatever other itch they need to scratch. But that's all they'll get, and they'll probably thank me for it too. I'm aiming higher than Nuka World."

Gage blinked, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He frowned and lowered it. "Don't run before you walk, boss. You need to sort this place out first."

For some reason, she seemed pleased with his response.

"I like the way you think," Bossanova said, draining the last of her coffee, and looked at him with a slight crease in her brow. "I've never had much faith in raiders, but you seem..." She set the cup down, her eyes suddenly distant.

Whatever he seemed, Gage never found out, because the wooden lift outside the window rumbled to life, and ten seconds later, Nisha rose into view. Out of instinct, Gage picked up his gun as he rose to his feet.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Bossanova said lazily, "I invited Nisha for a quick meeting."

Nisha paused, staring around the room, before spotting the empty plates. She gave a soft laugh. "Never took you for a ghoul fucker, Gage. Can't say I'm surprised, though."

Bossanova stood up too, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she smiled. "I want to talk to you about a young lady that followed me from your hideout."

Nisha didn't move, but her mouth thinned slightly. "What lady?"

"Tall; muscular. Wore your uniform, smelled like a diseased molerat." Bossanova shrugged, while Gage felt a pang of unease. "I use the term 'lady' generously. She decided to attack me." A pause. "Did you know about it?"

His stomach tightened as Nisha's mouth thinned so much it disappeared. He'd expected some resistance, but this far already?

Nisha said nothing, giving a sharp shake of her head. Gage relaxed a little. He knew her well enough to see she was being truthful.

Bossanova's smile no longer reached her eyes. "I returned the favour." She bent down, not breaking eye contact with Nisha, and picked up the plastic sheeted bundle she'd brought back with her. For the first time, Gage noticed a dark liquid was dripping steadily out of it.

Ah fuck.

Bossanova tossed Nisha the bag, and Nisha caught it by the rope. She pulled out a knife—causing Gage to grip his gun just that little bit tighter—and cut the bonds free so she could peer inside.

There was a long, quiet moment. Then Nisha began to laugh. A true, hearty laugh. She glanced up at Bossanova, wearing a wicked grin. "Looks like our little overboss knows how to get her hands dirty." She threw the bundle at Gage's feet and said, "I didn't send her. I'm not that stupid. Lower your damn gun."

Gage ignored her but stole a quick glance at the package by his feet. A severed head had rolled out from the plastic wrappings. He blinked at it, and directed his gaze back to Nisha, lost for words.

Nisha, on the other hand, was not. She looked at him, the corners of her mouth teased into the meanest of smiles, and said, "Seems you might deserve a second chance."

"No."

It took Gage a second to realise who had spoken. Both he and Nisha turned to stare at the boss.

"I'm the one giving you a second chance," Bossanova said, her hand gripping hard at her sword hilt. All benignity gone, her gaze was cold and hard. Gage bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his grin. "If you say you didn't send anyone, then I'll allow a free pass this once. But keep your people under control. Now get out."

Nisha laughed again. It was hard to tell what she was really feeling under the helmet, but her smile looked genuine at least.

"So, Gage found someone with a pair of balls." She gave a short nod and folded her arms. "Good. Maybe you'll shape up after all."

Bossanova didn't reply. Nisha turned and left, still smirking to herself.

Gage waited until the rumble of the wooden platform faded before letting out a low chuckle. "Nice work, boss. She knows not to fuck with you now. Might even respect you for it."

"Do you think she sent the assassin?"

Gage considered the question, then shook his head. "Nah. Nisha ain't stupid, like she said. She'd kill you given half the chance, but only if there was somethin' to gain. Ain't nothin' to gain killin' you now, boss. If she thinks you aren't working to her benefit though, that might change."

Bossanova nodded but didn't reply, her rigid, hostile stance deflating as she sank into a chair. Maybe it was the light, but she looked a little pale. Gage decided not to question it. What the fuck did he know about ghouls? Instead, he took advantage of her silence and quickly outlined the needs for the park. The power had to be brought back on, but before they could do that, there were other sections to be claimed, each dangerous in their own right.

When he finished, she just sat there, staring at the opposite wall. Gage frowned. "You listenin', boss?"

"Yes," she said, still not looking at him. "Sounds like a solid plan to me."

"Then why you giving me the cold shoulder?" The accusation slipped out before he could stop it. Gage readied himself for the shit he was about to receive, but she simply shook her head and smiled.

"I was just...thinking." She paused, and then said, "I noticed you didn't put your weapon down during our little meeting with Nisha. Thank you for defending me."

Gage shrugged. He couldn't claim credit. "I was saving my own skin, boss."

"I know you were. But I appreciate it all the same."

Gage frowned. She sounded sincere, but why?

She seemed to know what he was thinking. "So long as I work to your benefit, you'll keep me breathing." Bossanova smiled. "I trust your need to stay on top, and I trust your judgement of the park, but I don't trust you about anything else. It's as good a place to start as any."

He stared at her. None of what she'd just said made a lick of sense to him. "I'm extendin' your life expectancy. What else is there?"

Bossanova shrugged. "Many things." She stood up and walked over to the severed head, nudging it back into its plastic nest. Then she picked the whole thing up, strode over to the window, and threw it out. "My trust needs to be earned." There was a distant thud, followed by a string of curse words and a splash. Bossanova looked at Gage. "Up to you if you want it."

Annoyance rushed through him, but he bit it back. She was trying to be cryptic, and he wasn't going to stop her. So long as she got the park up and running, he didn't give a shit about anything else. He waited for her to sit down again and then asked, "So...how did meeting the bosses go?"

"Well enough," Bossanova replied with a yawn. She stretched in her seat and met his eye. "Mags and her brother want money, and that's what I do best. I'll seal the deal with them tomorrow. Mason wants someone to bully him around—I can provide that, too. Nisha wants blood...that may be more difficult. I'm in the habit of killing when it serves a purpose, or when someone crosses me. Not for fun. But we'll see."

Boring, Gage thought, resisting the urge to roll his eye. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, "So why didn't you kill Nisha? Disciples wanted back alley justice." Gage held her gaze. He had to know. It felt fucking important somehow.

"Petty revenge won't get this operation started. Nisha and her gang needed to be put in their place, but I could do that without killing her. There's a delicate balance, and upsetting it isn't in my best interests. Or yours."

Gage stared long and hard at her. He felt a small spike of respect needle at him, but he pushed it away. She was pragmatic, but that didn't mean shit. Their eyes met again, and he realised from the placid smile she was thinking the same thing.

"Get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

Gage woke to breakfast.

Not that he knew it at first. The plate of eggs—Christ, the boss liked her eggs—and something Bossanova called "brahmin bacon" had been served with a jab to the ribs, jolting him from his sleep.

He hadn't questioned what it was or why it had been given to him—a hot meal was a hot meal after all—and he tucked in enthusiastically. But like steam rising from a fresh cup of coffee, the concept drifted to the forefront of his mind.

This was breakfast. Gage stopped, fork halfway to his hanging mouth, and stared at the wall.

"God help me, boy, I will teach you table manners if I have to beat them into you," Bossanova said, flapping an old rag in his general direction. "Shut your trap. I don't need to see what you're chewing."

Gage clamped his mouth shut, swallowed, and then said, "This...this is breakfast, isn't it?"

An amused smile flickered across Bossanova's lips. "That's traditionally what the first meal of the day is called, yes." She hummed and continued to cook, the pan making a pleasant sizzling noise as she worked.

Gage stared down at the meal she'd made for him, as if trying to scry some great universal truth from the yolky mess. He let his fork fall back to his plate with a clatter. "What the fuck is this?"

Bossanova looked over her shoulder and raised a non-existent eyebrow. "As you so succinctly put: breakfast."

Gage rose to his feet, sending the plate spinning. It shattered, scattering god knew what all over the floor, and he glared at her, his stomach lurching in a way he didn't like at all. "You know what the fuck I'm on about. Who makes this kind of shit anymore? Breakfast? What's your damn game? You're supposed to be the boss, not making...whatever the fuck this is."

Bossanova frowned. "It's bacon and eggs. If you don't like it, starve."

She turned her back on him and flipped the slices of meat in her pan. The humming returned a few seconds later, though slightly strained. Gage stared at the ties on her apron—where the hell did she get an apron from?—clenching and unclenching his fists. This was stupid. The whole thing was stupid.

Breakfast.

The last time he'd had breakfast, he'd been twelve years old. A few hours later, the raiders came calling. And just like that, he'd slipped away.

Fucking breakfast.

Gage scowled at Bossanova and dropped back onto the sofa with a heavy flump. She didn't turn around again until she finally moved from the stove. Her face was impassive as she stepped neatly over the ruined remains of his own meal, and sat down opposite him. He tried not to watch her as she ate, but within minutes his stomach rumbled. He frowned, staring anywhere but her, well aware of her eyes boring into him.

"Hungry?" she said eventually.

"No." Gage said to his knees. His stomach betrayed him by rumbling even louder.

"Clean up the plate, and I'll make you some more."

His head snapped up to look at her. "Why the fuck—"

"Because I'm not an animal, Gage," Bossanova interrupted, her gaze as sharp as her tone. "And when I get the opportunity not to live like one, I take it. Since we're partners in this, I extend the courtesy to you. If you'd rather I treat you like the rest of the feral rats crawling all over this camp, say the word. Otherwise, pick up your damn mess."

Her ferocity caught him off guard, and he leaned back into the sofa, eyebrows raised. "Feral, huh? Sounds like you got a grudge, boss."

"I'm pre-war. I can't help but judge by Old World standards." She ate another mouthful. "Besides, you agree with me, otherwise you wouldn't be in the position you are. Most of them are stupid, with no self control. No smarts. You're different. Doesn't take much to see who the brains behind the operation is."

"Flattery is nice," Gage shot back, feeling on edge again, "but don't think it'll fucking soften me. Because it won't."

"I know it won't. That's why you're smart." She finished her food and stood up. "So, do you want a second round?"

Gage glanced at the broken plate on the floor. Like hell he would pick it up. "No. I'm good."

Bossanova shrugged. "Suit yourself. Grab your gun. We've got business with Mags."

The Operator's hive buzzed with activity as Gage and Bossanova strode through the front door of the Parlor. Thick red curtains lined the walls over a dimly lit, richly furnished room. Little tables were dotted around, complete with tablecloths and chairs, and dusty rugs covered the scratched wooden floor.

As they moved into Mags and William's inner sanctum, Gage spied the—what had William called it?—chandelier he hated so much.

Gage rolled his eyes. Fragile and for show. Just like Mags' ego.

The head Operator was sat at the end of a long table, her fingers locked together in contemplation as she stared down her prey. Her brother stood in her shadow, waiting to strike.

The place was far too clean for Gage's liking. But for what it lacked in threatening decor and body parts, it made up for in smell. He appreciated not having to test his gag reflex, unlike every tense visit to Nisha.

Bossanova scanned the room, her face a mixture of approval and indifference. Whatever her "pre-war standards" were, the Parlor didn't quite match up.

Mags laid her hands back in her lap and slowly got to her feet. Like her base, she was cleaner than the average raider, her blonde hair styled intricately, her features unmarked and distinctly beautiful. She reminded Gage of the posters of movie stars still clinging to the crumbling walls of city ruins. Her brother was more nondescript, with greying hair swept out of his face and a trim beard. But still.

Clean.

A real raider got their hands dirty. Gage worked hard to keep his features blank as Bossanova marched ahead. Whatever he thought of them, they knew how to make money.

"Overboss," Mags said sleekly, her gaze sharp. "I wondered if we'd been forgotten, what with Nisha and Mason receiving private audiences on your first day." She gave a nasty smirk. "One would think you were playing favourites."

"I cut the head off a Disciple and put Mason in his place." Bossanova folded her arms. "And now I have the chance to speak to you without risk of interruption. Take that how you want."

Mags glanced over her shoulder at William. Her expression betrayed nothing, but Gage knew better.

He waited.

An Operator appeared at Mags' side as if he'd stepped out of thin air, two glasses and a dusty green bottle in hand. He set them down, opened the bottle with a dull 'pop', and poured out the blood red liquid within. The Operator handed the first glass to Mags, the second to Bossanova. He shot Gage a withering look and then left. Gage didn't give a shit.

Bossanova stood with her glass, watching Mags. Only when Mags drank did Bossanova follow suit.

Good. At least she's expecting trouble.

"You know this place will struggle to accept a ghoul." Mags paused, and eyed Bossanova over the rim of her glass. "What would you do if I addressed you as 'ghoul?' Hypothetically, of course."

Bossanova's smile remained fixed, but something dark flickered through her eyes. "I'd slice off your pretty little nose and feed it to Mason's Pack." She sipped her drink. "Hypothetically, of course."

Mags raised an eyebrow. William, on the other hand, stepped forward and said lowly, and calmly, "I'd tear your head off first."

"No doubt," Bossanova replied. "Won't get your sister's nose back."

William turned to Mags. They stared at each other for a moment, and then William returned to his place.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" Mags drained her glass and sat down, waving her hand at a nearby seat for Bossanova. Bossanova remained standing, staring down at Mags. Gage chuckled, earning himself a sharp glare from William.

Bossanova sipped her drink, and smiled. "Word on the street is you're good at making money."

"Good?" Mags set down her glass and crossed her legs. "We're the best."

"That's what I like to hear. So prove it."

Mags frowned. "Pardon?"

"Prove it. Show me your outfit. Your schemes." Bossanova finished her glass and placed it carefully on the table. "I'm Old World, honey. In my day, making money was my specialty. So let's see what you have to offer."

If Mags took issue to being called 'honey,' she didn't show it. Instead, she sat up a little straighter. "I have some knowledge about pre-war gangs. Which one were you in?"

"Cosa Nostra."

Whatever that meant, Gage didn't have a fucking clue. Apparently Mags did, though, because her eyes widened. She glanced at her brother, who looked equally surprised, and then back at Bossanova. "Rank?"

"Boss."

"I don't believe you."

Bossanova shrugged. "Does it matter if it's true?"

Mags laughed. "Would certainly add a pinch of romance to this whole mess." She leaned back in her chair. "And if you are what you say you are, you might be just what we need to get things rolling again." She paused, and then said, more to herself, "Mafia…"

Gage frowned. Now that word he knew.

"Get on my good side and I might even tell you about it." Bossanova gestured for Mags to stand. "How about you give me the grand tour?"

Mags stood without argument; without a hint of ill grace. Gage suspected later, when she came to her senses, she would rage over being ordered around her own base, but right now her sculpted features were filled with intense intrigue.

"Follow me, Overboss."

Gage learned more about Mags' operations in the next hour than he'd ever suspected or even cared to know. Most of it he understood—the basics of the schemes, including Lizzie Wyath's 'persuasion' experiments. But when Bossanova started to talk technical about money—something Mags lapped up—he tuned out. The Operators were brought into the fold to run their complex scams, not teach them to Gage.

One thing he did notice was how at ease Bossanova seemed around Mags. Well...not quite at ease. Her subtle, guarded demeanour pleased Gage—she was taking this seriously.

No, Bossanova seemed in her element. Mags responded in kind. She even let Bossanova into her private quarters to show her the latest plans she was putting together. At one point, he thought he saw Bossanova's hand reach out and take something off a desk, but it happened so quick, he couldn't be sure. Mags and William didn't notice, though, and carried on showing Bossanova around. By the end of it, Gage was half expecting Mags to announce their fucking engagement. Instead, the two women stared each other down.

"I hope you can follow through," Mags said with a curt nod. "Would be a shame to replace you after such a promising start."

" you for the tour. I think our money is going to be in good hands." Bossanova inclined her head and turned to Gage. "Let's get this show on the road."

Gage matched her step as they strode from the building. Unable to resist it, he stole a quick look back at Mags and William. They were muttering to each other, not paying any attention to him. There weren't any smiles, but there weren't any frowns either.

Gage breathed a sigh of relief. Bossanova had bought them some time.

A/N: Next update will be the 17th of August. Hope I've caught your interest so far!