AN: The Idiot awaketh, and with him a bounty of new fallout chapters. Actually it's just the one but oh well, between work, side work, and generally surviving it's a miracle I find time to write anymore. Plus Fanfiction made it ten times more difficult to post chapters from my mobile. I don't have a computer, I don't get that option... and I'm ranting again. Pay no mimd, enjoy the sixth installment of Six's story. Now if only it was the 6th...

SpenceretteN7- Thank's you ever so much for reviewing. The ghosts were my favorite enemy in all of fallout. A real horror twist on the whole game, the uber deadly hunter of unknown origins, and the inability to stay dead. I couldn't get enough of them. So I put a healthy dose in Christine's story. Anywayz, enjoy zeh show.

-BANG-

She would've jumped had she the energy. As it was, the solitary gunshot was left to fade away whist she shakily stood from her bed in the sand and shook said sand from her hair. Time must've gotten away from her, the sun was high in the sky and the empty whiskey bottle she'd been nursing the night before had disappeared into the dust.

As the dregs of sleep were pushed from her mind by what was sure to be one hell of a headache she reached out to snatch her rifle from the dirt. On instinct the first things her hands went to the dusted bolt and trigger mechanisms. Calloused hands brushed the dirt from steel and went to work insuring proper functionality. All this, just motions of muscles, left her mind to venture into memory.

Not surprisingly she quickly found herself reliving the previous night's escapades. One of the two people she semi-trusted in this life had very blatantly labeled her a freak of nature. That struck her deeply for some reason, maybe another memory still locked away tight. All she knew was the look in Sunny's eyes was one she wouldn't soon forget, but for now she was tired of feeling. The whiskey had numbed the wound when it was fresh, and now it was time to move on. At least she thought, not like there was any great wisdom to be found in her.

'Just get hammered and stumble onward'

Hell of a philosophy that. Mood set and rifle fit for duty she crawled out from the shadow of the watertower that she'd slept under and set course for Goodsprings. No matter how badly she wanted to leave this town for good she NEEDED the caps Sunny owed her. And that meant stowing her emotions long enough to collect. 'Who knows, maybe she's still so terrified she'll just hand over the money as a plea for mercy.'

The wooden memorials past her by, as did the freshly dug unmarked pit. She didn't look at it, couldn't look. Her very own grave, not a sight she enjoyed. And moreover, now behind her as she started back towards the quiet little village.

Her feet found the dirt trail that cut the gentle slope a winding scar down it's face. With uncaring steps her boots dragged her closer still to the town's one distinguishing landmark. The Prospector. There was not a soul to be seen nor heard, not unexpected given the desert sun baking the earth beneath their feet. But at the same time, someone must've had something to do outside. It didn't seem at all right that everyone would chose to hide from the heat.

She eventually rounded the corner of the general store and was instantly froze dead in her tracks. Her mind raced to catch up with her eyes, on the front deck of the Prospector was the lifeless form of an elderly man she'd yet to have met. Now from the neat hole drilled in his forehead she guessed she wouldn't be getting that opportunity. She searched for anyone, victim, captive, or otherwise that could've given her more information on the situation, and found none.

Not a soul was visible, working to her extreme disadvantage. For all she knew they had crosairs lined up over her face at this very moment. Taking that reality to heart she jerked her head back around the corner and started to form up a plan. First things first, why not just run? She owed these people nothing, and this conflict she had no part in yet could be well deserved for all she knew.

But at the same time, something was holding her back. The sight of that old man, executed and lying in his own blood struck a chord in her. It was wrong. And she wouldn't make it far broke as she was. So, running out the window left fighting an unknown number of yet unidentified enemies in a relatively unknown environment. Challenging wasn't the word for it.

Scouting the town would be to risky, to many places to hide, and she didn't know it well enough to try to escape during a firefight. That left the surrounding hillsides, where she was much more at home. But how to draw them out?

After half an hour of stalking around the hillsides surrounding the town she'd located a grass covered knoll that provided her a clear view over most the town and more importantly a unobstructed view inside the Prospecter. From what she couldmake tell there were at least five in the front room and an unknown number in the back, all with relatively light munitions. Couple of low caliber handguns, breach loaded shotguns, and a scarce few revolvers scattered about. The weapons then were there more for the intimidation factor than armed conflict. That said, she was also outnumbered, severly.

It wasn't hard to pick out the leader either, decked out in full riot response gear as opposed to the standard prison fare the rest wore. On top of that their movements also hinted at him being someone of importance, how they responded to his presence and how they all reported to him at some point or another.

He was of a darker skin tone, maybe in his late twenties from what she could make out, and a veteran of at least one armed conflict if the scaring over his face and hands was any indication of his past. Not so strange then that the others would follow his lead, especially considering how green the others were at this line of work. Sloppy patrols and constantly needing direction in every posting.

Common sense would dictate that their combat effectiveness would be crippled with him lost, they may even cease all together and run for the hills without a competent leader, and she had the perfect shot lined up, right on the back of his shaven head. So why then couldn't she pull the trigger.

"Because no one deserves to die."

She felt more than heard these words, spoken in a voice belonging purely to ghosts of memory. Lapses in concentration were the last thing she needed. Forcing the thoughts from her mind she checked her target once more, but instead of the band of convicts hiding in a saloon there was group of slavers, six strong, taking a leisurely stroll through a gully below her position.

Their gear hinted at their occupation, poorly concealed shackles and nets being the most obvious clues. The not so oblivious being the non lethal ammunition held separate from their primarily stock and the empty packs each one carried in addition to their relatively light loadout.

They preyed on the weak and the too easily trusting. Anyone outside a large group was fair game, such were the laws of the wasteland. At least under normal circumstances, this however was outside anything that resembled normal.

A small voice spoke up from beside her, "What is it? Who are they?" The queries fired from her favourite eight-year-old girl.

"Slavers, from down south by the looks of it." She scanned over their group once more to confirm her suspicions, but there was no mistaking them for anything else.

"Why are they here, what do they want?" Jessie wasn't scared, concerned maybe, but you didn't survive in The Divide living with fear.

She knew very well what the answer was, but Jessie no matter how tough she acted was still just a kid. "I don't know, nothing good though I can see."

"Your gonna stop them though, right?" This was why she didn't want Jessie following her. She didn't need to see this side of the world yet. "Your not gonna let them take us?"

"No, they're not hurting anyone." She took her eyes off the young girl for the barest moment to check the skies again. The storm that had been brewing miles off was baring down on them. Faster than expected, it came with Living in the Divide. Constantly hammered by storms the likes of witch would strip the flesh from bone if you were caught unprepared. One developed a sense for feeling changes in the weather here, these slavers likely had no idea what was about to hit them.

Jess seemed to know as well, "Another storm?" She nodded her affirmation. "We should go, they won't be a problem then."

"You go Jess. Get to shelter. I'll take care of them." Her eyes looked about to argue but Six beat her to it, "No buts now go."

"Be safe." And with that she was off.

Six watched the girl run off before turning her eyes to the wall of sand and debris driven by the wind growing ever closer.

She gripped her cloak tighter around her form, in moments the Kevlar weave and riot mask would be the only things between her and a hail of airborne razors. With that in mind she quickened her pace towards the group that had changed its course to meet her. Two of them had split off the moment they noticed her approach, likely circling behind her, the rest for now they wore welcoming faces and the facade of open arms to put the victims at ease, but she knew better.

"Afternoon 'ere lass" Very strange accent, definitely not from around here, a migrant tribe maybe? The appointed leader wore leather armor the same as the rest, but his face stood him out as a great number of tribal markings adorned the left half of his face, starting at the eye and radiating outward. The rest stood back, faces clean of identifying marks. "You wouldn't happen to 'ave seen a tradin post around? Me nd my boys 'ere are strapped for supplies."

She had to give it to them, they were half decent actors. She'd likely have been fooled by the man in her youth, but that was a lifetime ago. Nevertheless, maybe civility would prevail if only this once, "Please stranger, there is nothing for you and your associates here. I would recommend you turn back and ration what you have left."

The facade held as he shook his head in what was supposed to be good humor, "Nah, Not an option I'm afraid. Sure you don't know anywhere at all?" Still friendly, goons must not yet be in position.

Her gaze hardened behind her mask, "You and your boys aren't welcome here. I ask that you leave peacefully before we have to remove you."

His face never faulted, "That's a real shame lass, it really is. I's hoping not to 'ave to rough ya up. But if its come to that… BOYS!" The two goons reappeared maybe fifteen feet behind her. Each one a net in hand, just daring her to run. "Nothing personal girl, just making a living. Wrong place wrong time."

Her gaze didn't waver, "Last chance." Her mind was counting down the seconds as the breeze picked up behind her.

"Oh yea, and pray tell, jus what are you gonna… do…" his remaining words died in his throat as a wind driven wall of sand blasted over the cliff face that she had descended from minuets before. For the first time his face fell and fear crept into his eyes.

Before another order could be barked the wind hit with the force of a truck and didn't relent. She'd felt the wrath of the Divide before, the sand and glass shredded cotton and leather like paper and skin fared little better. Like thousands of tiny daggers thrown at every exposed inch of flesh. It was a pain so unlike any other, even the feared abominations inhabiting the Divide sought shelter from it. So she had little trouble out of them as she quickly incapacitated them one by one and dragged their unconscious forms to an alcove in the bottom of the cliff side, sheltered from the storm's winds.

It was there she left them, naked as the day they were born and with barely enough water to return them to a southern village. The wasteland would sort them now, her job was done.

The storm passed fairly quick after that, strange but not all that surprising given the unpredictablity of the weather here. Now as she stood atop her perk overlooking the valley, rifle resting atop her shoulder, six citizens of the wasteland awoke to face their trial. Sparing no more than fearful glances over their shoulders they set off back to where they originated from.

Beside her Jess was making her return trip to view the aftermath. As she drew to a stop beside her guardian she looked up to ask a question, "You let them leave? Why?"

She couldn't answer that right away. Ideas carried by people often don't convey to well to others, especially if they were born of very specific circumstances. The message all to often lost behind the method. After a few seconds she decided on the simplest explanation, "Because no one deserves to die."

The girl wasn't going to be satisfied by that, never would've been able to leave it there. "What if they come back?"

Six took her eyes off the retreating crowd to meet the eyes of the eight-year-old. "The wasteland has a way of sorting it's own, if they come back, we'll deal with them then."

The memories faded just as quickly as they manifested. The seconds having passed as hours left her exactly where she stood beforehand. Staring down the sights of a rifle, at the armored convict likely in charge of the operation currently getting in her way. And she still had the perfect shot, and yet still forces unknown arrested her trigger finger.

"No one deserves to die."

With a huff of frustration she dropped her rifle and began scanning the town for anything she may have missed. There wasn't much in the town to begin with residences and small gardens mostly, places of interest, Doc's house, old petrol station on the hill, and the general store. The general store off the bat had a mild selection of weapons and Chet had mentioned a small cache of explosives that he'd been saving for the right buyer.

hr /

She burned nearly forty minutes of daylight raiding the general store. But in the end came away with a ill fitting pre war biker's getup, comprised mainly of thick leather. Not a look she at all liked but at least it was some protection, later she would cut it down to just a basic suit of armor but for now she was stuck with it. Also in her bag of looted goodies were five firebombs from the highest proof spirits she could loot and and several sticks of dynamite from the "secret" stash under the mattress in the back.

All things said she'd preferred to have gotten more but circumstances as they were she would make do. It felt weird, having entire strangers lives balanced at the tip of her trigger finger, but at the same time it was also comfortably familiar.

A thought that clung to her brain as she took aim and without hesitation set her hastily laid plan into motion. First was the identified leader, remarkably he still had his back turned to her. Her sights danced across his lower back and eventually settled on a seam between the upper and lower portions.

CRACK

She paid no mind to the overly loud report of the rifle instead more intent on observing the results of her shot. As expected the unorganized scrambled for cover removed most of her targets but the leader was down for the count. The bullet found the unarmored seam and punched a messy hole in the Kevlar suit. From this distance if she had to guess it was spinal, he'd live if he got medical attention, but he wouldn't be walking for the rest of his natural born life.

The next victim was an older male, moving for the door, he took a round to the leg for his trouble. Two more followed shortly after, one standing to look out the window taking one to the shoulder, and the other being quote "Bit in the arse" as he tried to run deeper into the building.

-Phase one 'stirred' complete-

-Phase two 'shaken'-

From her pouch she drew a sole stick of dynamite and lit it. Standing up to throw finally gave away her position to the remaining convicts, a point they made clear as she felt the shot from the scattergun connect with her abdomen and send her forcefully back to the ground.

Immediately her hands went to the wound, and came back coated in red. Her eyes found it next, several small pin holes drilled through the leather. Thankfully it was just a small game load, anything heavier and she'd have been in trouble. Her thoughts however were cut short as the ground shook under the force of the explosion.

Teeth gritted and fists clenched she fought the pain of sitting up. It was all she could manage to climb to her knees. After witch she could see the effect of her plan. They were running scared. Explosions feet away from your position always had a way of putting the fear of god in a person.

She smiled as she drew another explosive bundle and pitched it over the rise, fuse lit. Their shouts of terror music to her ears. With one final pained effort she hauled herself to her feet to see several trios of convicts running for the highway carrying their injured between them. The next explosion tore through the air sending them bolting all the faster. As a final touch she grabbed up her rifle and shot the rest of the mag off to nip at their heels. Motivation to keep moving.

After they disappeared and she was relatively sure they weren't just circling around her she carefully strode back into town. One hand firmly plastered over her wounded stomach, the other around wrapped around her rifle. Thankfully the adrenaline from the shoot out was still doing its part to numb the wound, though not to severe from what she could feel, shallow shrapnel essentially with a hell of a bruise to go along with it, it still was going to hurt like hell later.

So, priority one, find Doc. Then money.

AN: So, there she be. Six saves the day, yay! But wait… She's a pacifist? Sorta. That all comes later. So stick around why not. Might be interesting. R&R