Winter in the wasteland was never pretty. Two weeks of a leaky ceiling, cold weather, and never-ending damp, and the vibe of the Ninth Circle shifted for the worse. Irritability was the order of the day, especially for Ahzrukhal. Presently, he stood in front of Charon, his chest puffed out and eyes flashing with spite.

"I want you to keep a closer eye on these bastards," he warned. His breath rattled out in clouds. "I caught one of them trying to swipe some booze from the shelf when my back was turned."

Ahzrukhal picked him apart with his eyes. Charon reveled in it, praying he'd caught the twitch of a smirk on his face. It wasn't the first time a customer had filched something that day, and he'd been watching the whole time. The missing inventory was the only excitement he could scrape together. After twenty years of business, Ahzrukhal's ambitions had shrunk to fit between the walls of the Ninth Circle. There were no more messy errands, no more debts to settle, and the chem-runs were few and far between.

"Charon. Did you hear what I just said?"

Charon looked at Ahzrukhal blankly. It was the easiest way to get under his skin. Ahzrukhal could only wait for so long before his discomfort showed. He dropped his eyes, pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and flipped open his lighter. He flicked it again and again, his scowl deepening with each spark.

"Look," Ahzrukhal growled. He chucked the spent lighter aside. "I know you're not stupid. I'm getting a bit tired of having to do my job and yours. You need to start acting like you have half a brain and watch these drunks more carefully. I'm getting sick of my stock disappearing."

"I will try," Charon offered.

Ahzrukhal bared his teeth.

"Don't try. Do. Get your thumb out of your ass and start paying attention to what's going on around you."

"Understood," he said flatly.

"Good," Ahzrukhal shot back. "You know how I hate to worry."

Ahzrukhal looked him in in the eyes again. Charon stood his ground. Arguing with Ahzrukhal had its charms, but it was moments like these that made for real entertainment. Ahzrukhal searched Charon's face for defiance, and Charon gave it to him, conjuring up the surliest look he could muster. Ahzrukhal practically withered in front of him. He shrank back, deflated. Charon smirked as Ahzrukhal turned and slunk back to the bar.

It had been twenty long years since he'd first reached for his shotgun, and Ahzrukhal was still afraid of him. How stupid was he, back then, to think obedience would make things easier? He tried playing nice - a year here, a few months there. He could never keep it up for long. Eventually, he'd stopped trying completely. Worth was right, after all. An eternity was a long time to sulk. After his first and only visit, the ghoul's parting words left a lasting mark. Charon took them as a challenge. He'd learned to wallow in misery like his life depended on it.

Twenty years passed, but Charon's murderous itch hadn't died down. He was totally certain of it, now. Ahzrukhal had fucked him over, big time. He'd tried for so long to dredge the memory up, but all he could find was loathing. No real explanation. To compensate, he kept a running tally of every new transgression, every irritation, and made a mental note to strike back. For a ghoul as wretched as Ahzrukhal, the strikes piled up fast, and with them, the urge kill only worsened. He'd picked at it every single day, entertaining the fantasy and letting it fester. It was juvenile. But Charon's conditioning didn't allow for much more than petty scorekeeping. His memory and his knack for grudges only sharpened with time.

With an ear-splitting squeal, the door to the bar opened. Ahzrukhal stopped in his tracks, halfway to the bartop. Any hint of discomfort fled as his face cracked in a toothy sneer. As if on cue, more than a few heads turned, Charon's included. He'd been praying all week for something interesting to happen, and this time, it actually worked. A human staggered through the door. They were an utter wreck, drenched from head to toe, dented combat armor and all. As they limped to the front of the bar, Charon marveled at the massive laser burn on their back, still spewing smoke.

"My, my. A smoothskin I've never seen before," Ahzrukhal sidled up to them as they passed, walking in stride. "Oh. Don't you look absolutely... miserable. Super Mutants give you trouble? Pull up a stool, lay down a few caps, and tell me all about it..."

They took a seat at the bar. Ahzrukhal fetched them a glass and smiled.

"Yes, yes. Sit. Drink. Pay. It'll make you feel better."

They nodded, still short of breath. Between gulps of whiskey, they glanced around the bar. Ahzrukhal let them be, busying himself with the radio that cut in and out. He banged on it incessantly, cursing. The rain outside was giving a bad signal. Charon watched the customers. With the music gone, he could hear them talking. Their conversations fell to a whisper as they zeroed in on the night's entertainment.

"They're loaded, I'm telling you," hissed a ghoul. "Look at the caps they're throwing down. Check out the pip-boy."

"Stole it off a vault dweller?" asked another.

"Nah, bet they are a vault dweller."

"You're nuts."

"No, seriously. They're wet behind the ears. You see how freaked they are? Bet they've never even seen a ghoul before! Freggin smoothskins. Hate it when the muties let one slip."

"Don't worry," sneered a third. "Ahzrukhal's gonna milk 'em for all they're worth. He always does."

Charon snorted. They weren't wrong. Ahzrukhal offered to top off the visitor's glass, scowling when they turned him down. He took a special interest in smoothskins, pumping them full of booze and chems until they could barely stand. This time, his special guest wasn't playing along. They slid off their stool and meandered around the bar, fishing for conversation and failing miserably. They didn't get much more than a few words out of anyone. After one too many cold shoulders, they made their way past Charon, dejected. They brightened up when they saw his shotgun.

"You for hire?" they asked.

They looked him in the eye. Charon cringed. This one was bad, even for a newcomer. They were too eager, too upfront. Not normal. Didn't they know what kind of place this was? That kind of attitude got people shot.

"Talk to Ahzrukhal," he said dismissively.

"Well I..."

"No."

They paused, bewildered. Charon guessed they weren't used to being shot down. He narrowed his eyes. Maybe the other ghouls were right. Vault dweller would explain a lot.

"It's just that-"

"I don't think so," Charon said. "Talk. To. Ahzrukhal."

"Whoa, alright." The human backed away. "Sheesh."

Nearby, several ghouls snickered.

"Man, Charon put 'em in their place," one jeered. "Always does."

Charon watched as the smoothskin trudged back to Ahzrukhal. He knew how these conversations usually went. His employment did have an expiration date, but not the kind Charon had hoped for. Twenty years of death glares earned him a price tag, and Ahzrukhal refused to haggle. There were more than a few offers, dead on arrival, and this wasn't likely to go any differently. The smoothskin leaned close. They nodded for a few seconds as Ahzrukhal spoke, then recoiled.

"...So he's your slave?"

Their words rang out across the bar. They looked disgusted. Somewhere in the back of the Ninth Circle, a ghoul laughed, and Ahzrukhal scowled.

"No, he is not," he said. He spoke loud enough for his customers to hear. "You insult me. I am a firm believer in personal choice... Chains are earned, never forced. Charon made some... choices that landed him in my employ. The matters of our contract is between him and I. No one else. "

Ahzrukhal loved his soapbox. Charon wanted to smack his past self in in the mouth for believing the shit his employer spewed. These little speeches were the closest Charon ever came to remembering what Ahzrukhal did to him, and it was because the ghoul was lying through his teeth. Charon seethed and mashed his palm into his temple. After twenty years of unexplained headaches, he'd gotten better at digging at his own brain, prodding at his blank memory until it regurgitated something. But it never gave him what he wanted, not when it came to this. What was it? He'd sat through Ahzrukhal's bullshitting too many times, and he could never nail it down.

The spike of pain came first. He didn't know why this time was different, but he'd finally gotten somewhere. It was something about the phrasing. A few more seconds of strained thought, and he grinned as his vision pulsed blue. He lived for the little victories, but that grin faded fast. A memory came to the surface, and it wasn't pretty. Charon expected as much, but he couldn't help but grimace at the grotesque image that flashed in his head.

There was an older man, twitching beside him on the ground, a massive hole in his chest. A female slaver stood over him with a smoking sawed-off shotgun. A few feet away, a group of caravaners cowered as the slaver jabbed her barrel at them. They looked from the slaver, to the body, and back again.

"Don't you all start getting ideas," she warned. "I'll do it again."

Another slaver stood behind her.

"What the fuck, man. Couldn't you just knee-cap him?"

He ripped his eyes from the slavers and stared at the body. The man's face was covered by a fogged up helmet. He could hear him sputtering underneath. His revolver lay in the dirt, a few inches from his splayed hand.

"I'd be dead if I knee-capped him, asshole."

The slavers stepped towards him. He crept closer to the body, as if it offered some sort of protection.

"That must be the kid."

"Yeah. I'd say so. Stickin' real close to him."

"So what are you waiting for? Nab him."

He tried to sprint out into the open wasteland. They grabbed him. He clawed at the slavers, kicked at them, bit at their hands as they tried to pin him down.

"Ouch! Quit it, you little shit!"

The woman slammed her elbow into his chest and knocked the wind out of him. Gasping, he crawled back towards the corpse.

"Go ahead. Cuddle with that dead fucker as much as you want. He's not pulling any more stupid stunts for you."

A knee on his back pinned him down. She snapped a collar on him.

"This thing's rigged to blow. You make a run for it, you go splat. Got it?"

The collar started beeping. He froze and laid in the dirt, cowering as they looked him over.

"What the hell are we going to do with this skinny-ass kid? God, did he piss himself? Jeez. Just put him out of his misery."

"No. Shuffler was real clear about that. Big one goes to Paradise Falls. The kid comes with us."

Her partner coughed and prodded the corpse with his gun.

"Great. So much for the first half. This guy ain't goin' anywhere. You fucked it."

"We'll take whatever caps this asshole has on him. And we're bringing in the kid. I like getting paid. I'm not ditching this job for one little screw-up."

The image faded too early. Charon growled, trying to bring it back. He needed more. He felt like puking. At least it gave the past some clarity, explained the murderous urges that set this all off in the first place. He was right, all those years ago. He'd never met Bug and Knicknack, but they made uncanny stand-ins for the slavers that truly deserved to pay. The memory of their brains on the pavement brought fresh satisfaction, but Ahzrukhal's words made less sense now more than ever. Charon looked up. The smoothskin was staring, and when Charon looked their way, they frowned.

"He doesn't say much, does he?" they asked.

Ahzrukhal laughed wryly.

"His company is rather refreshing, isn't it? But don't mistake his brevity for stupidity. That would be very unwise."

The smoothskin leaned in. Based on Ahzrukhal's lusty grin, Charon guessed they were asking about the price. The smoothskin grimaced. Definitely the price.

"Couldn't we work out some sort of deal?" they asked.

"I suppose we could do that, although you might not like the deal that I have to offer. You see, I don't like competition. Not at all."

They talked quieter. Charon didn't put much thought into it, still swallowing back the contents of his churning stomach. He guessed Ahzrukhal was on about Greta, the good-natured ghoul who worked the cafe on the opposite landing.

This particular scheme was on the top of Charon's shit list. Ahzrukhal's didn't just want Greta gone, he wanted her dead. The only reason Ahzrukhal hadn't ordered Charon to do it was because he wanted to cover his tracks, and finding someone else to do his dirty work was proving difficult. Based on the smoothskin's horrified expression as Ahzrukhal carried on, not much had changed.

"I want nothing to do with this shit," they spat at last.

Ahzrukhal leaned in. More whispering, and the stranger sat up, exasperated.

"Two thousand?" they croaked. They balked for a moment, then exhaled. "Fine, alright. Deal."

It didn't make sense. No-name wanderers like that didn't have that many caps. And if they did, they didn't bring them here. Charon waited for Ahzrukhal's anger, for him to realize he was being duped, but that moment never came. Just like that, his contract changed hands. Ahzrukhal's grin mixed with a touch of unhinged euphoria.

"I'll give you the pleasure of informing Charon yourself," he said cheerfully.

Charon's heartbeat picked up as the smoothskin approached. He still couldn't believe it.

"I, uh..." They looked back over their shoulder. "I have good news. I'm your new... employer?"

They tugged at their armor awkwardly. Ghouls across the bar stared, wide eyed, in disbelief.

Charon struggled to keep a straight face.

"That... is good to know," he said.

That was the understatement of the century, but he didn't have time to mince words. Any skepticism he had faded fast. Ahzrukhal wasn't his employer anymore. The end he'd waited for was finally here. He always wondered if he'd feel different when it happened. Relieved, maybe. He certainly felt something. Charon stepped out from the corner. The smoothskin chewed at their lip.

"So, I guess that means-"

"Please, wait here," he said. "I have to take care of something."

The smoothskin hesitated, stunned as Charon pushed past them. This couldn't happen quick enough. Charon's thoughts raced as he ran through every single murderous fantasy from the last twenty years. There was no spinning this time. No blue lights in the corner of his vision. Nothing told him to stop. It was tricky to name what he was feeling, but glee was as good a word as any.

"Ahzrukhal," he said, closing the distance between them. "I am told that I am no longer in your service."

Ahzrukhal tensed and looked him up and down. The mirth from earlier fled his face. Charon caught a flash of fear, but Ahzrukhal quickly masked it. He regarded Charon with half-lidded eyes and a disdainful flick of his cigarette.

"That's right, Charon," he said. "Have you come to say goodbye?"

"Yes."

Charon reached over his shoulder and gripped the stock of his shotgun. Ahzrukhal's hand snapped to his pistol. Too slow. He was dead on the first shot, a gaping hole in his cheap suit, gore sliding down the wall behind him. Charon shot him again anyway, turning his skull to a pulp.

"Holy fuck!" Seated just a few feet away, a ghoul at the bar scrambled back. Another ran up against the bar and peered over.

"Oh my god... he shot Ahzrukhal!"

Charon lowered his shotgun and glanced behind him. The rest of the ghouls stayed put, staring. For a moment, the music on the radio faded into static, leaving the bar in a hush. No one moved.

On the floor by Charon's feet, Ahzrukhal's cigarette still burned, the smoke leaking up into Charon's face. It stung his nose. The smell of rot was strong, too. Like any ghoul, he'd long since gotten used to his own stench. But the odor permeating from the smattering of holes in Ahzrukhal body was powerful enough to notice.

The headache came first, then the blue spots. That smell. He remembered the first time he'd been close enough to take it in. He didn't realize how bad ghouls smelled. They reeked like hot garbage.

Ahzrukhal stood over him, alongside a smoothskin in a dusty labcoat. They were in one of the museum's tunnels, one of the passageways from the abandoned exhibits. The slavers had dragged him there. They stuck close on either side of him, practically groveling as Ahzrukhal looked on with disdain.

"It... It didn't go well," said the female slaver. "Your mark was real twitchy. Freaked out when we went for the kid. I had to cap him, alright? I... I didn't have a choice."

"That's not ideal," Ahzrkuhal said bluntly. "He owed me, big."

The characteristic ghoul stink mixed with the smell of cheap cigarettes. Ahzrukhal was smoking one, and blew the smoke down, directly into his eyes.

"But... you got his boy, like I asked. He'll more than make up for it. I'll only knock a quarter off your payment. This is a special day for me, and I'm feeling generous."

Ahzrukhal leaned back against the wall.

"Listen, boy," he said. "It seems you and I are in a bit of a pickle. Your guardian owed me caps.

Quite a lot, actually. We had a deal, him and I. He was supposed to get me chems, and it seems he didn't hold our partnership sacrosanct. But that's not my problem. And it's not his, either. Not since he decided to pull a gun on these lovely people." He gestured at the slavers. "They brought you here to present you with a choice. I have to settle this debt, you see. And you've... inherited it. It's only fair that you get to choose how this goes."

"I don't have any c-caps."

"I know. But as it stands, a boy your age is worth plenty. You look about seven? Eight?"

"T-twelve."

"Twelve. Hm," he frowned and looked to the smoothskin in the white coat. "Isn't that a bit old?"

"It won't be a problem," the man reassured him.

"Well," he said with a simpering half-smile."It looks like you have two choices after all, boy. The first option... I could sell you to these fine professionals and cash in on my debt up front, which resolves my finances easily. You'd go with them to Paradise Falls. From there, I have a fair idea about where you'd end up. Raiders in Pittsburgh are buying up slaves right and left. Miserable place. They'll work you in the steel refineries until you drop, and then use your beat up little corpse to power the furnaces. Their slaves go belly up as quick as they buy them. Now isn't that despicable? Not my first choice for you. But I'm all for giving you free agency."

He took a drag from his cigarette.

"The second option, I must say, isn't ideal for my business, but I'm a charitable man. I'd let you stay here, in Underworld, on the condition that you work off your debt to me. I can't say how long it'll take, but I'll count the days in caps. I'm a man of my word. I'll be your... employer, in a fashion. I'll let you leave when your debt is paid. So which is it, boy?"

"The second one. Please. I'll work for you. I'll do anything."

Ahzrukhal smiled and leaned against the wall.

"Hmm. Are you sure? Once we've decided, there's no going back."

"I'll work it off. As long as it takes... Please..."

Ahzrukhal turned to the man beside him.

"I trust you'll take care of it, then."

"A transport's waiting."

"Fantastic. This is exciting. I can't thank you enough." They shook hands. Ahzrukhal handed the smoothskin a briefcase.

"We'll collect the rest when we bring him back," the man said.

"And when can I expect you?"

"Ten years on average."

Ahzrukhal nodded.

"Quality takes time." He snapped his fingers at the slavers. "Give this man a hand, won't you? Grab the boy."

The slavers gripped him by the arms. It was all a lie. A trick. He stared at Ahzrukhal, desperate.

"W-wait... But you... You said-"

"In ten years, boy. You can start working off that debt. Until then... I'll be waiting."

"Jeezus... H-Hey. Are you listening?"

Charon stepped back from Ahzrukhal's body, blinking the smoke out of his eyes. His new employer stood next to him, dumbfounded. Charon shot them an irritated glare. The memory was gone. A part of him still wanted more, but what he managed to remember told him all he needed to know.

"Alright," he said at last. He rolled his shoulders, shaking out his locked muscles. "Let's go."

They gaped at him in disbelief, then scowled.

"No. Nuh-uh," they stammered. "Hold up. What the fuck was that?"

"Ahzrukhal... was an evil bastard." Charon paused, delighting in the past tense. "So long as he held my contract, I was bound to do as he commanded. But you are my employer now. I was free to do what I wanted."

His employer glared at him, then looked away with a sigh. They turned and nudged Ahzrukhal's body with their boot.

"Fair enough," they said finally.

They stepped over the body and opened the fridge behind the bar. After a few seconds of rummaging, they pulled out an unopened bottle of wine.

"Just... don't make a habit of it," they continued. "Don't shoot anyone without asking me first. You belong to me, now. Or... S-Something. That's how this works, right? You're supposed to listen to me, aren't you?"

Charon looked at them for a moment, skeptical. The human was twitchier than Ahzrukhal on a bad day.

"I do not belong to anyone," he repeated. "You are my employer. And I will do as you command."

Charon spoke slowly, hoping it'd help the message sink in. The smoothskin uncorked the bottle, took a shaky swig, and looked sidelong at the bar full of ghouls.

"This is all a bit more than I'm used to," they admitted weakly.

They turned and stepped around the bar. Charon inhaled. He felt strange. His head was clearer than it had ever been. He watched the smoothskin as they walked towards the door. He had a sneaking suspicion they were a dewy-eyed wasteland tourist, the type that attracted trouble like a magnet. The fact that they were loaded only made it worse. With caps like that, it was hard to imagine anything less than total chaos. He had his work cut out for him. It was hard to tell what direction things would take from here, but despite everything, he felt oddly optimistic. Anything was better than rotting away in Underworld.

His employer stopped at the door and waited. They shot Charon a quizzical look.

"Well? Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

Charon nodded. He was more than happy to oblige. He stepped after them, and slung his shotgun over his back.

"As you command."