We found Cormac at Violet's former kennel. He'd set up there now that she'd been put down. Managed to keep the rest of the Fiends off him. As much by blood as by trade, if the corpses he'd decorated with were any indicator. Keeping them strung up on hooks and chains, or otherwise lying about. He had a few Fiends on his payroll, less than half a dozen, and they were all alert. Either he knew to keep them wired on the right stuff, or kept them starved and jumpy. There was at least a dozen of them, none carrying any particularly special armor or arms. The exception being Cormac himself. Whatever money he made; he must've spent on his personal security. He was clad from collar to cleats in reinforced metal armor, but felt the need to expose his head. Wore the same stupid sort of hat Motor-Runner used to wear. Was wiser than him though, Cormac at least had the common sense to carry a light machine gun rather than a chainsaw.

Heavy armor, heavy fire power, and bigger numbers. Against almost anyone, that'd be enough.

Cass and me weren't just anyone.

Cass's new shotgun made mincemeat out of the Fiends before they even had a chance to realize we were there. She'd always had fantastic discipline and control, giving her a larger magazine only emphasized that.

While she'd dealt with the Fiends, I'd tangled with Cormac myself. With practice, I'd learned how to deal with armor using my axe. Even reinforced as it was, I punched holes through it, made that machinegun of his worthless at close range. A swing broke his arm at the shoulder, even if it didn't cut him. The blunt trauma was enough. Took the poll of my axe to one of his knees, shattered the bone, put him on the ground.

By the time Cass had finished with the Fiends, I was already working Cormac over. Broke his other leg with a good swing. Was making sure to hit his armor. Even if it dampened the blow slightly, I wasn't looking to kill him.

Yet.

I braced a foot onto his broken shoulder and knelt down, getting into his personal space. He was a dirty little man, skin like creased leather, with blue eyes and a sparse mustache.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and if there's a brain rattling around in the thing you call a skull, you'll answer." I growled looking Cormac dead in his pale blue eyes "Where's Richter?"

Cormac paused a moment. I didn't peg him for being stupid. Guy ran a slave outfit between groups like the Legion and the NCR and was somehow still alive. Had to be smart, or at least a little quick.

Which meant he probably knew he was dead no matter what happened.

So, he inhaled and spat a glob of bloody spit at the visor of my motorcycle helmet.

Wrong choice.

I calmly ripped the helmet off of his bald head. Used the softer bits of it to wipe my helmet clean.

Then I slammed it into his face. Hard enough that I could hear his nose break with a dry *crunch*.

He howled at that, and I tossed his helmet aside. I dragged my axe up to his face letting him see the edge of it.

"That was rude of you." I growled "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to spit?"

"F-fffuck you!" Cormac hissed, blood running down from his broken nose, along either side of his face.

"…"

I lowered the axe blade to the side of his head. Let it bite just in front of his ear.

"You don't seem to get it." I told him "All I want is an answer, and I'll be on my way. You seem to think I won't get it out of you."

I let the axe dig in, a trickle of blood began to roll down the side his head. Cormac's expression faltered.

"You also seem to think I have to be 'nice' about how I do this." I growled "That some infallible nonsense is going to keep me from sinking to your level, and keep me from methodically carving you to pieces." I leaned in closer, so close my helmet was only just barely hovering away from his face. "You assholes killed a good man and a friend of mine. No one is going to save you. You're going to die just like every person you've trafficked. Scared, in pain, and very- very alone."

A bolt of terror shot through Cormac's eyes.

"The only thing you have control over-" I hissed "-is how quickly this happens. And if you waste my time, I'll take the other ear next."

Cormac's eyes went wide.

I started pushing the axe blade deeper, downward. It wasn't sharp, not enough to make it clean and easy. I was going to have to use sawing motions.

"W-wait- WAIT!" Cormac shouted.

I stared intently at the man, silently begging him for a reason to say something stupid.

"Map-" he sputtered "T-there's a map in my pocket!"

"…"

Without moving the axe, I reached down and began fishing in Cormac's pockets. First one only had a few caps. The other had a holotape in.

I pulled the holotape up to my face, then glared back down at Cormac.

"I-it'll lead you to Richter, I'll take you there myself- I swear!" Cormac croaked

"…"

I slid the holotape into my pocket and stood up, pulling the axe from the side of his head. I handed it to Cass.

"I believe you." I told him "Thanks."

I reared my boot up and stomped his head in.

…

The Judge had set up shop to the east of Mojave Outpost. It felt so close to Steve's shack they might as well have been in spitting distance. He'd set up shop in a bunker that looked like it must've been recently built. An odd experience in the Mojave, probably the wasteland at large. It was set back in the cliffside that ran east of the Outpost. A short walk through the hills brought us to a steel blast door, the kind you find inside of Vaults and bunkers.

Cass and I stood outside it. It was past noon, but not quite sunset yet. There was a cool, damp breeze blowing in off the hills, racing up the cliffside. I took out Steve's pistol and checked the cylinder. Six shots, hollow points.

"Right here the whole damn time." I growled "Right under our fucking noses."

"Always are." Cass grimaced.

"How many do you think are going to be in there?" I said more than asked "Don't think he'd be stupid enough to be alone."

Cass looked down at the map we'd taken from Cormac. There was a note attached to it, detailing a 'shipment' the Judge was having sent to him. Including a note about picking out a young 'red-head' for him.

Cass made about as much effort to hide the contempt in her eyes as I did.

"Wish I could say." She spat "Almost feels like we're the ones walking into an ambush."

"Wouldn't be surprised." I grunted "He's been a step ahead this entire time. Odds are against us that he planned for something like this."

"Maybe." Cass nodded "But he's got this coming."

I nodded, bitterly "I know this flies in the face of everything we did for your men." I started "I'm sorry, because if you felt like this-"

Cass waved her hand, dismissively "This isn't the Van Graphs or Crimson Caravan." She looked at me, a reassuring light in her eyes "It's not Benny either. This animal is beyond the reach of everyone, even if he wasn't here in the desert there isn't much they could do to him. There comes a point where the only justice you're going to get for something is chasing it yourself." She turned back towards the blast door. "You beat yourself up too much about this stuff."

"…Would feel wrong if I didn't." I said.

Cass smiled "And I like that about you."

I gave Cass one more sideways look, then reached for the door. I took a calm, banishing breath. There needed to be nothing but focus until this was over. "Ok, let's go fill a grave."

I twisted the hydraulic release and the hissed open with a rattle and squeak of steel. The light from the desert spilled down into a dark stairwell, concrete and tarnished iron. The way sparsely under lit with dank and sickly yellow light. The dull hum of fans and the dry air meant the ventilation was working properly. The Judge had clearly put effort into keeping the place in working order.

We stepped through, and the door slid shut behind us. Leaving us in the dim yellow light as we descended the stairwell. The cool air growing cooler and staler the deeper we descended. I kept Steve's revolver drawn and pointed down the steps beneath us. If someone rushed the well, it was best to know I stood a better chance of getting the first shot off.

We descended four flights of stairs, and came out into a large open room. Like the bunker the Brotherhood used.

Except the brotherhood didn't normally leave guys standing in the atrium.

There were four of them total, all wearing the green and tan of pre-war combat armor. Two of them were sitting behind sandbag barricades, right at the entrance to the room, an assault carbine and a flamer trained my direction. At the far side of the room, against the opposite wall with a door betwixt them, were the other two. One held a laser rifle.

The other hefted a minigun.

I suddenly felt woefully inadequate.

Cass and I had just stepped through the door, when the guard to our left turned towards us. His weapon was lowered, but only half a motion from either Cass or me. He regarded us with dull, dead brown eyes and a snarl on his lips. I also noticed the band of darkened iron wrapped around his throat, with a receiver of some kind built into it.

"Holster your weapon." The guard said "You've been expected, the Judge is waiting for you."

I noticed the guard to our right began to shift, pointing his flamer our way.

Yielding to caution, I slid Steve's revolver back into my holster. Turning to Cass and motioning for her to follow suit. She gave me a curious look, but listened. I think she knew in a contest of what was worse, burning to death beat a mouthful of buckshot. But she knew as well as I did, this was tenuous. The moment we had the shot, the Judge was dead. We just needed the chance to take that shot first.

As I turned to continue forward, I took note of the flamer-guard. Just like his carbine counterpart, he had a collar around his neck as well. As we passed through that atrium to what I assumed was the Judge's office, I had ample time to size up the guards guarding the far door. Much as I was beginning to suspect, they'd been collared too.

I recognized the collars.

There'd been one on the body of the slave that'd been working for Tony Idaho. Rigged with enough explosives to take the poor bastard's head off. Given what I'd seen of Cormac, and knowing he'd provided the 'help' currently watching us, Tony had probably gotten the 'help' from him too. Or a similar broker at least. It tracked that they were being threatened in much the same way.

Step out of line or attack the boss: boom.

Made me like the situation even less.

I looked to either guard as I reached for the door and opened it. They were watching me intently, almost expectantly. Their lives were on the line in a way that made it them or me at the drop of a hat. Considering what I was there to do, and what I knew the collars could do, even if I succeeded, they were dead men. Who they were at that moment didn't matter. Good or ill, they weren't people anymore. They'd been reduced to a wall of meat and gunpowder meant to keep me at bay if push came to shove.

I was aiming to shove really hard.

I released the latches of the door and it hissed down into its steel frame, revealing the room beyond. It was another large, concrete and steel room. But the combative, bare furnishings of the previous room gave way to more lavish furnishings. Turning the bare concrete and steel walls into something that could be vaguely construed as 'homey'. A massive king-sized bed was to the right of the door, nightstands to either side of it, one with a lamp, the other a radio. Past the bed, a well-used lounge chair and coffee table, a bottle of whiskey on the table. A massive painting looming over them. Even just past that, strange as it was to see in the open, a bath, clearly piped into the concrete somehow. I didn't want to think about what it had been used for, being where it was. On the opposite side of the room, to the left of the door, was a modest sized kitchen and a large dining table. The table even had fresh flowers on it, and was dressed for use like it was pulled straight from the Ultra-luxe. Shelves of booze, potted plants, the whole nine. All of it pristine and repaired to the point that it was as close to perfect as you'd find anywhere.

In all, a luxurious showing of what the judge's ill-gotten gains had afforded him.

The monster himself was in front of us, seated at a large desk in the middle of the room. An ornate, all wood affair that you'd scarcely find any place in the Mojave. Two more guards flanked either side of the desk, guns drawn but at rest. Likely believing the intimidation factor would be enough.

Steve had described the Judge succinctly. A seven-foot tall, pederass-butcher. Frankly, being curt didn't capture the Judge properly. He was seven feet tall, and even when sitting behind the desk, he clearly looked it. He was a broad, fat bastard in a gambler suit, common attire as I was finding. He had a gambler's hat squeezed around his corpulent head, face weighed heavy with blubber and wrinkles. He had a wide nose, a pinched mouth, and the weight of his face crushed his eyes into a permanent squint. Despite the spare tires ringing his body, I could tell the bastard was strong. He held and carried himself powerfully, even accounting for his already large frame. Steve had said he'd put bullets in his chest before the Judge could see it coming. I could see why he didn't give him the chance.

Frankly, I wasn't surprised the Judge had shrugged it off either.

Cass and me approached the desk. The Judge, who'd been staring down at papers resting on his desk, looked up to us. His full, blubbery face betraying no emotion, as he looked to us blandly. "Your arrival is well timed." He spoke, voice deep and accented by his jowls. "Your restraint is noted. Most in your position would have swept into these chambers with little mind for dialogue.

"The word diplomacy is still part of Shotgun diplomacy." I answered evenly.

The Judge leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. "Do you know who I am?"

"Judge Richter." I answered "There's a list of sobriquets I could include after that. I'm not going to."

"Titles are a trivial matter." The fat man rumbled "What I can do, however, is more important."

I didn't answer, not much caring if he kept prattling. It gave me a chance to examine the room, take in my surroundings before I did something stupid. There was a second painting, on the wall opposite the other, of a skull, flanked by a vase of flowers and an hourglass. I could see unease in the guards flanking the Judge, itchy trigger fingers they weren't allowed to scratch yet. A hatchet, handle vaguely spattered with rust and edge gleaming cold and sharp, sat on the Judge's desk, beside his paperwork.

"I represent an organization of like-minded individuals." The Judge continued "We're beginning to assert ourselves across the carcass of North America. In time, we'll be able to establish control on a… regional level."

In other words, the Judge, and whatever else he represented, was trying to muscle into the Mojave. But given the current power struggle, was having trouble setting up shop. Having competition in the Legion and the NCR actively hounding you might do that.

"I imagine Steve and myself were getting in the way of that." I answered coldly.

"Correct." The Judge answered, unsteepling his fingers. "There's no room for people such as Mr. Randall in our organization… For those of your persuasion however, you might find salvation."

I said nothing. But if I didn't have my motorcycle helmet on, he'd probably have seen the scowl I was giving him.

"That you've made it here means that Javier is dead." The Judge rumbled again "More than proving your capabilities. Despite your obdurate nature, I'm willing to extend an offer to join our organization. This will be your only chance."

I glared at the Judge hard enough I could've bored a hole through that fat head of his. But I willed my voice to stay even, stay cold.

"… I imagine this offer would come with some level of amnesty for transgressions against your organization." I said "Tell me, does that extend towards my companions as well, or will they be put to the sword in my place?"

The Judge looked at me a moment, then letting his thick lidded eyes slide towards Cass. "Amnesty would be given to all who've traveled with you, so long as you do nothing further to revoke it."

I nodded, adding to the image that I was considering his offer. "I can't imagine I'd be working completely alone. Who else would I be working with, and where might I be working?"

"People you've never met, and places you've never been to." The Judge answered "Littlehorn, for example. Although, there is someone I'm sure you will have heard of, in our organization. Marko."

I felt a chill roll down my back at the mention of that name. The story of what had happened to Steve's family as fresh in my mind as Steve's fate.

The Judge's thick jowls jostled into a smile. "He's just a man. The most human sort really. That you or Mr. Randall treat him as something greater is folly-"

I tuned out his rambling at about that point. The last thing I gave a crap about were the delusions of a pedophilic psychopath. I only maintained the illusion for the sake of the situation, and a potentially greater goal.

"-homo sapiens in its purest form." The judge finished.

"Where is he?" I asked, giving no inclination of emotion or intent.

The Judge lips curled upward. "On an endless journey, sowing strife at every possible opportunity." His expression sobered "that said, I heard rumors he was marauding through the Llano Estacado. But that's only speculation."

I had no clue where that was.

But the fact that the Judge was able to keep even remote tabs on Marko meant he was closer than Steve had been.

"Marko is just one man." The Judge grated, clearly having reached a conclusion about our conversation "I'm sensing you're apathetic about my offer. Understand: there is no turning back now."

"…" I relaxed my shoulders, and played on "Call me slow, but I'm vague as to what you want me to do. I'm a former Courier by trade and all, but sometimes I like to know the message I'm being asked to deliver."

The Judge fixed me with another bland, almost annoyed look, but obliged. "I shall put it into a phrase that, as I'm aware, Randall would use when hiring someone." The Judge leaned back "Are you willing to kill people for money?"

The question struck an ugly, angry chord in me.

"Is that all?" I asked, sensing that Cass was giving me a look.

"What more need be said?" The Judge asked in kind, a statement more than question.

"Bonuses, payment?" I asked.

"Beyond walking out of this bunker with you and your paramour's life in tact?" The Judge ground, before pondering a moment.

I heard Cass quietly ask "Paramour?"

"… If you enter our ranks-" The Judge answered "I can guarantee a signing bonus to the tune of fifty thousand caps."

I stumbled for a moment, then let out a low whistle "A- uh- tidy sum."

"More than you've made working for Randall in its entirety." The Judge affirmed "Well, What's your decision?"

I entertained the notion of the Judge's offer for a moment. Beyond putting a bullet through the Judge's dome, Steve's last request had been to hunt Marko down. A goal greater than the revenge currently stewing in its own sweat and back fat before of me. That I could make money, and chase vengeance more ably than Steve ever did. It was a worthwhile offer for that alone.

But I only let that notion linger for a moment.

Then I put a bullet through its head and buried it shallow.

Horrible as I could be, far gone as I went, I was no one's personal assassin. My companions were no one's lap dogs.

That this fat repugnant fuck thought I had even a remote interest in his offer was an insult beyond the pale.

"A worthwhile offer." I said, trying my best to sound affable, jovial "… counter offer-"

I drew Steve's pistol from my hip and locked my arm at my side.

The Guard's weapons swung upward.

VATs snapped open.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Close on three.

I squeezed the trigger, arm pivoting to the guard on the left of the desk. A wad of hollow-pointed death crashed into the side of his forehead. Chiseling off a chunk of meat and bone that left his brain exposed as he crashed backward.

My hips twisted; the gun tracked to the Judge.

The ball of lard and tallow had his hand on his desk, grasping at the hatchet.

I squeezed the trigger a second time.

Blood bloomed from the Judge as he fell backward in his chair, toppling to the floor heavily.

The guard to my right drew bead with his weapon, a carbine.

I twisted, racing his trigger with mine.

He won.

A bullet tore through my helmet, the force dragging my head with it. The wad of supersonic lead tore a groove along the side of it, grazing my right ear. The material cracking and shredding almost instantly under the pressure and force.

I'd come a hair's breadth of getting my head cleaned out.

He'd missed, by the barest of fractions.

I didn't.

The trigger knocked back and the hammer fell a third time. Steve's gun rocked in my hand as thunder rang off the walls. The bullet hit the guard right between the eyes. The hollow point shredded through him in an instant. A burst of gore and blood splattered out behind him. The guard's knees buckled and he hit the floor dead.

The momentum imparted from the guard's bullet twisted my head, and I went off kilter.

I fell sharply on my gun arm, doing my best not to miss-fire in the process.

"Six!" Cass shouted.

"Door!" I wheezed.

I flopped around until I was able to get eyes on the doorway behind us. Right as the shots were fired, I could hear the motion beginning. The other four were about to come charging in, and surprise wasn't on our side now.

The Minigunner wheeled around the edge of the door, barrels beginning to spool.

Cass had heeded my warning though, and had put her attention to the door. Her shotgun swiveled around off her back, the muzzle finding itself angled towards the minigunner. Before his barrels finished spooling, Cass tapped the trigger in a burst of three. Sending fire, fury, and thunder towards our would-be assailant.

The first shot caught the Minigunner in the chest, colliding harmlessly against his armor. But he reacted instantly, and pulled back behind the wall. The second shot clipping his shoulder and the third going wide. Through the now unoccupied door I could see the far wall. The guards with carbine and flamer were beginning to rush the office.

That was going to be a two on one fight for me and Cass.

I couldn't wait for the room to stop spinning, and began forcing myself to my feet. Light flashed and flared in the room with each tolling boom from Cass's shotgun. She was keeping suppressive fire on the guards. Buying us precious seconds. The Assault Carbine and Laser Rifle we could likely handle. I wasn't taking chances dancing with a Minigun or Flamer. But Cass's shotgun only held so many rounds. As soon as she ran dry the music was going to start in earnest.

I got to my knee and took aim at the door. The moment one of them craned their head around to see, they'd catch an eye load of .44 magnum and a quick case of lead poisoning. It was going to be tight, gambling like that.

As I began to get a bead though, the thought occurred to me.

They're all wearing slave collars, and their master was dead.

Shouldn't they have gone off?

I was answered when Cass let out a sudden howl.

My head whipped back to her and she suddenly curled forward, shotgun dipping away from the door.

A hatchet lodged in the crux between her neck and shoulder.

My eyes flicked back towards the Judge's desk.

The Fat bastard was on his feet. Hunched to lean on the desk, but standing. A massive hand clamped over the side of his neck as blood oozed through his fingers and under his palm.

"WRETCH!" The Judge hissed.

Cass faltered, but kept to her feet in my periphery. She immediately re-leveled her shotgun towards the door. Of the two threats she to deal with, burning to death or being ripped apart in a hail of bullets beat an axe in the shoulder. But I wasn't an idiot, she was hurt, and hurt bad. A little further to one side would've been a fatal injury.

Which drew a snarl from me. I slid between Cass and the Judge, my back to her.

"You alright?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"I'll live." Cass snarled, motioning her injured shoulder "Get that for me?"

I reached my off-hand up and pulled the hatchet out. Eliciting a strained grunt from Cass, but she remained solid otherwise. I immediately stuck her with a Stimpack, last thing she needed was blood loss. The fact that the Judge was still moving was more proof the universe hated me than anything else.

"Plan?" Cass asked.

"Don't die." I said, glaring down the Judge as he began working his way around the desk.

"Great." Cass ground.

"I kill him, the rest will drop like flies." I said, not turning to look back "Can you hold them?"

My ears rang as Cass loosed another shot. "I've got…" Another blast rang out. "Fourteen shells."

"Reload?" I asked.

"Not unless you want to be swi-x cheese." Cass said.

"Right."

The Judge came around the desk and lunged to us.

I took aim and put a round through his right leg, just above his knee.

"FUCK YOU, YOU FAT FUCK!" I snarled, squeezing off the last two shots into his chest. At that distance I knew I'd hit my mark.

That The Judge ate four rounds of hollow pointed .44 magnum spoke to what Steve had said. The Judge was a monster.

I'd make sure he died like one.

I pressed the cylinder release and slammed the plunger. Brass tumbled through the air as I slammed fresh rounds into the cylinder. As I snapped the cylinder shut, The Judge got close enough to make a swing at me. His mallet of a fist skimming past my helmet with skull-cracking force as I dipped aside. I brought my arm up to jam the barrel of Steve's gun into his ribs. His arm lashed back sharply, knocking my arm aside before I could pull the trigger. His off-hand came out in an open claw, releasing his bleeding neck and reaching for mine. I slipped back out of reach as his hand passed through where I'd been standing. My arm snapped out, and I squeezed off a shot. A wad of .44 tore through his forearm. The mushroomed lead tearing out the other side, and lodging itself into his chest.

The Judge howled with fury and pain; teeth bared as he made another swipe at me. I slipped past it, kicking his wounded leg as I did. The brief jolt causing him to try and backstep. I used the retreat to drive in, smacking him in the eye with the heel of the revolver. He swung, wild and blind, missing his mark as blood continued to pour from his neck.

As soon as his arm passed, I jammed the barrel of the revolver against his neck wound. Give him a second hole to contend with.

Which was when the asshole with the assault rifle finally managed to get lucky.

I couldn't see what went down, focused on the judge as I was. But half a second before I pulled the trigger, a second set of gunshots clashed with Cass's.

A bullet whizzed past my head, and I dove backward, distancing myself from the Judge. Mid-flight, my head cocked to the side, tracing the bullet. I was treated to the sight of Cass diving aside as well.

Dangling in the doorway, supported by a pair of outstretched arms, was an assault carbine. The guard wielding it, blind-firing from cover. More than enough to force an opening, and cause you to hit the wrong person.

Which he did.

I hit the ground, and flicked my attention back to the Judge long enough to see a round tear through his chest.

Good help was hard to enslave, it seemed.

I kept low while the guard mag-dumped blindly into the room. Cass was smart enough to do the same, and the Judge had enough presence of self to at least kneel. Impressive given the amount of blood he was losing, or perhaps just easier.

After what felt like an eternity, the Guard's carbine finally clicked dry, to the joy of my screaming ears.

Almost as quickly as his arms pulled back though, the minigunner took his opening. He stepped out into the open, hefting his behemoth of a weapon. Swiveling quickly around despite the weight it carried. It took him a second to figure out where to start spraying.

In that second Cass, still on the ground, swiveled her shotgun around to him and resumed firing.

The Guard's armor was made for this sort of thing, and buckshot doesn't work as well on hard targets.

But taking five blasts of 12 gauge at point blank wasn't something you walked off.

Each blast hit him with concussive thuds. The green armor he wore denting and spattering leaden silver with each burst. The blasts shattered what little trigger discipline he had. On the third blast his minigun went off without even having a target. Lead and fire belching out in a deafening stream as the gun flared wildly, before finding its way to the ceiling. The fourth shot blew out his knee, and the fifth caught him again on the way down. Crumpling him to the floor. I couldn't tell if he was dead or not.

The guy who immediately came in after him wasn't.

The idiot with the laser rifle dashed in, rifle low, and more alert than the first guy.

Cass tracked to him before he got his weapon around to her.

Near deaf as I was, from all the gunfire, I missed an important piece of information. Mercifully, Cass reiterated it, when she began scrambling with her shotgun. Hand flying for the magazine.

She was out of ammo.

The rifle hefted towards her.

My pistol whipped towards him, VATs snapping open-

The Judge's bloody body loomed over me. Frozen mid-flight as VATs drew the world to a crawl. Hands outstretched, blood hanging in the air in mangled droplets and spindly streams.

My arm was already in motion, couldn't correct course.

VATs closed again.

The Judge crashed down onto me before I could line the shot up. His mass and frame obscuring my line of sight. Arms like lard-lined girders knocking my arm aside as Blood poured down off of him. Spattering thick and sticky onto the front of my helmet.

One of his massive hands found its way to my throat, and clamped into place. The other began slamming into my head. My helmet's integrity was almost broken by the bullet ripping through it, but it dampened the blows enough. But each hit elicited a creak and groan from it, the material compromised and less inclined to take the strain. Each thud of his fist on my blood smeared face delivering flashes of white that blanked my mind for a second. Made worse as my lungs began to burn. They tried desperately to pull in fresh air, and were met with the tightening vacuum The Judge made.

Through the blood smears, I saw a flash of red light off to my side, where Cass had been. Heard the trilling 'zap' of a dilating laser. A shuffling of feet and cloth, someone howl in pain.

I jammed my legs upward, trying to force the Judge off me.

He squeezed harder, and my mind started going white. For a brief moment, I remembered what Steve had said about the Judge once beat a man to death with his own jaw.

The man was too strong.

More gunfire filtered to the background as my ears began to ring, head growing hot and starting to swim. The Judge loomed over me, blood leaking down from beneath his paling face, rolling off his chin. Lips peeled back in a blubbery snarl.

Adrenaline hammered my body, brain searched for an answer to its oxygen shortage, getting desperate.

I had enough freedom of movement to keep hitting him.

I whipped my arm up, around him, smashed the heel of my pistol into the side of his face again. Hammering the corner of his eye. First hit shook his head.

I felt bone break on the second, felt something squish.

The Judge didn't release my throat as his right eye socket broke inward. Blood gushing from the wound, matching the one on his neck. He howled in pain and fury.

The edges of my vision went black.

Then a boot flew between my head and his.

His hand separated from my throat. Air rushed into my lungs and tears stung my eyes. The Judge, halfway off me, reeled backward, before snapping to look at who hit him.

Then Cass swung her shotgun by the barrel, cracking him across the face with the grip. Looked like she caught him where I had before.

The Judge's head snapped to the side, dragging some of his weight off me. My oxygen starved mind had enough clarity to coil back my legs and plant them in his chest. I pushed with concerted effort, knocking the ball of lard and litigation off of me. The Judge stumbled back several feet, as I struggled to find my breath. He stood there, staggered and dazed, Suit stained with blood, half his face caved in, Arm with a bloody hole torn through it.

Then Cass flipped her shotgun around, and emptied another shell into him.

Cloth tore, blood sprayed, the Judge fell on his rear.

Despite his wounds, he didn't stay there. He even got to a knee and tried to get back up.

That was going to change.

My eyes flicked back to Cass, and where she'd been when I'd last seen her.

The guard with the Laser rifle was dead, head blown off in a ragged mess. The Minigunner was starting to get back-up, but struggling. I could see the guard with the assault rifle barely peeking around the corner, trying to jam a new magazine into his carbine.

The guard with the flamer rushed through the doorway. The nozzle of his weapon glowing with fire of the weapon's pilot light. A bulbous wad of flame jetted from it as he primed the trigger, the weapon rising towards Cass and me.

Cass began to reel towards the trio.

I beat her to it. Smaller gun's good for that.

I tried to aim for the Guard's head, stop him before he lit us both up like legion candles. But my aim was shot, was too busy trying to catch my breath. So, I aimed for his arm, shoulder, someplace where the plating was weakest. I pulled the trigger, the gun rocked in my hand.

The bullet caught the guard in the hand. The one holding the nozzle. The force and impact rent it into shattered bone and shredded meat. The guard's arm flared to the side as a howl escaped his mouth. He barely kept his grip on the thing.

It also broke the trigger.

Like a dam let loose, gelatinized hellfire leapt from the weapon. A stream of almost literal liquid fire escaped the weapon. Coruscating through the air in a disturbingly beautiful way. But gravity was to be obeyed, it had to come back down.

It just happened to land on the Judge.

The burning liquid was the first thing to land on him. Followed quickly by the gallons of unburnt fuel that now escaped the damaged weapon. Igniting almost immediately as it connected with its roaring kin. Turning a fire that would have already been terrifying into one demanding of awe and horror in so small a space.

A puddle of fire and heat spread around the Judge, quickly encroaching on the rest of the room. Whatever the guards may have been planning to do, it came undone instantly. The fire stole everyone's attention. It grew quickly as the flamer emptied its fuel tank, something that only took scant seconds with the damaged trigger. As the hiss of the tank died away to the roar of the flame though, a voice rose in chorus to it.

The Judge's guttural voice could be heard amid the flames. Roaring and booming with the growing inferno, choking and desperately fighting for air against the conflagration. I could see his silhouette in at the heart of the blaze. Watched as he flailed and struggled against an enemy he had no power to stop. An enemy almost as old as the winds and furious as any storm. The stench of burning fat and hair filled the air. Thick, greasy black smoke began to sting the eyes almost immediately. The heat forcing back anyone stupid enough to get close, promising only pain and death for any it could lend but a tender kiss to.

The heat and light forced me to scramble back, away from the fire. I even felt Cass instinctually grab and pull me away from it. But it was spreading fast.

And the Judge was still screaming. He was roasting alive in his own personal hell-scape. How a man with his injuries could survive as long as he had, in such pain and horror, I had no idea.

But he deserved every second of it.

I looked to the guards, the trio of idiots still blocking our only escape from joining the Judge. The three of them were watching their soon to be former 'employer' in abject horror. The galling light of the fire dancing and playing with the fear in their eyes.

The one with the Flamer turned to look at me and Cass.

We stared him down unwaveringly.

Realization raced through his eyes.

I almost felt pity for him.

Too bad I stopped caring.

My arm swept towards the blaze, gun took aim into the fire, pointing at the shade in the haze of heat.

A crack of thunder leapt from the gun as it jolted in my hand.

The shade's head split in half; viscera lost in the blaze. It crumpled slowly to the ground, going still and silent.

Through fire and blood I'd christened Steve's pistol, hereafter: Sweet Revenge. Bittersweet.

Shrill electronic beeps sounded next to us, and I heard one of the guards give a panicked scream. Then it was drowned out by the splattering of shattered fruit and slosh of wet blood. I spared the guards half a glance.

They'd all hit the ground, headless.

I looked away from them, back to the blaze. It was only growing bigger, hotter. Smoke and heat were stifling the air, making it hard to breath.

"We need to go." Cass said, grabbing my arm and pulling. I stayed in place. Staring at the Judge's charcoaling corpse.

I'd fulfilled one promise, at the cost of another. There was no telling how or when I'd get another shot at trying to track down Marko. Steve had spent years searching, and had gotten nowhere. Marko was a snake that couldn't be pinned down easy. Even if I hadn't worked with the Judge, the fire would claim everything else. There was no putting it out. It was too large, too hot, and had too much to feed on. The only choice was to let it burn itself out. Cook until there was nothing left.

All gone.

For all I knew, I'd blown my only chance of ever fulfilling Steve's last request.

"Six." Cass urged, gripping my shoulder harder "Come on."

"… Yeah." I said, turning away from the inferno.

The fire chased us out of the bunker. Smoke and heat thick in the air. My ears rang from all the shots fired. Head swimming from the hits the Judge landed. Cass looked about as good as I felt. Burn and cut marks, growing bruises, coat with a few new holes in it.

But we were alive.

The Judge was dead.

As we ran up the stairs, choking through the smoke and away from the hell beneath us, it was cold comfort.

Court adjourned.