I turned it over in my hands again and again. It was heavier than it looked, but it moved through the air with ease. I almost thought it would snag on all the dust in the air from how jagged the blade looked. But even with the scratches crisscrossing the flat and the edge nicked and notched, it lived up to its name.

"First Blood."

I glanced up at Jericho, who was watching me with curiosity. He almost seemed slightly put-off by how intrigued I was by the knife, but then again, he was always put-off by me. The vaultie. It was always easy to tell from the way he chewed on the stub of his cigarette, the way his eyes didn't reflect anything but stale hate.

"Killed more than I can count. Each scratch tells a story, kid. If you're lucky, you'll add a few." In a single smooth draw his old bayonet left its sheath, just an inch from my throat. I gulped, trying not to choke on the dust and cigarette smoke.

"So, I'd suggest you two-"

I hopped back, getting out of the bayonet's range. But as I did, Jericho moved forward and slammed his foot into the middle of my chest, sending me sprawling backwards into the catwalk railing. The rusty steel rail groaned under my weight, and I threw my arms out, groping the air for balance.

"-Get very, very cozy with each other," Jericho finished, walking forward with a lazy wide slash. I dodged to the left, making a spinning swipe at Jericho's leg, but he just lifted it and kicked me in the face, sending me the the sheet metal floor of the catwalk.

I didn't waste time feeling for a broken nose. I rolled right, avoiding Jericho's stomp, and rolled backward onto my feet. The catwalk in front of Jericho's house was flat, but not too wide-

Jericho lunged forward again, a lot faster than I expected- he had his fingers around my right wrist like iron and brought his bayonet in for a finishing stab. I drove my knee up into his locked elbow, making him grunt in pain, and twisted my torso to the side- enough to keep from being killed, but not enough to keep the bayonet from slicing deep into my jumpsuit and into my ribs.

I groaned and sank to the ground, fingers clutching my side. Jericho grabbed my hair and yanked my head upward, making me stare him in the face as his bayonet hugged my throat.

"You still don't get it. You don't stop, kid. Not until you're deader than fuck, you don't stop fighting."

I nodded weakly. Blood trickled down my neck, dripping down onto the knife.

"So... it plays the radio?"

I picked at the screen of my Pip-Boy 3000, trying to get the dirt from out of the cracks. I couldn't figure out how it got behind the screen... dammit, it'd probably never come out. The dials crackled with sand whenever I turned them, too...

"Not just that." I waved the hunk of plastic in front of Jericho's face. "Won't come off- it tracks my vital signs. Heartbeat, breathing, all that. And this-" I pressed a button and a map of the area came up- outdated, but still useful. The bombs had switched the landscape up a bit, making the elevations a bit inaccurate.

"Not bad, kid," Jericho muttered slowly, trying not to seem too interested. "It do anything else?"

"Yeah. If I piss off the Overseer, he can make it explode."

Jericho stared at me, mouth hanging open.

"... That was a joke."

I stared. And stared. And stared some more. I don't why, but... I couldn't look away.

It looked at me. I froze, awestruck, but it went back to chewing garbage as if I wasn't there.

Jenny Stahl watched from behind the bar counter of the Brass Lantern, waiting on a slow day. "Something wrong?"

"... The... the cow... "

She tossed her curls. She did that whenever she was bemused. "The what now?"

"It..." I crinkled my nose, squinted my eyes. Maybe the radiation was getting to me. "... It has two heads."

"Oh. The Brahmin. Yup." Stahl cleaned a few mugs with spit and a grimy brown scrap- I made a mental note to stick to Moriarty's.

I scratched my neck. Two heads? Two brains. That was hard to believe. But with two brains, there'd have to be two spines, but would they fuse together where the necks met or did they just go side-by-side down the back? Which one controlled the feet? Maybe they split the feet between the two...

"... How does that even work?"

"You'd have to cut it open."

The Brahmin turned its head- heads- to give me a cold glare. I decided against it.

The bubbles from the Nuka-Cola and whisky seemed to dance on my tongue, making it difficult to think. This was one of Jericho's odder training lessons.

"Billy Creel."

I breathed deeply, closing my eyes. Really? Creel? "He has a daughter-"

"It's a fuckin' life-or-death situation."

I frowned at Jericho as he gulped down his fifth vodka. He probably bled the stuff... "Okay," I mumbled, my voice slightly slurred. I leaned forward a bit- sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, we had a pretty good view of the saloon. "I guess... walk past his right side, and put a knife in him."

Jericho slammed his glass down on my fingers. "Wrong."

I jerked back my fingers, sloshing half my drink over myself. I shook out my right hand, grimacing. "What the hell do you-"

"Look."

I curled my fingers into a fist and watched. Nova walked her way across the busy saloon, looking for potential buyers. She eventually stopped at the end of the bar counter, leaning over to chat with Gob.

The entire time, Creel's head had been turning so slowly I had barely noticed. His entire body had moved, but just slightly- and his left eye was flicking left and right every time he took a drink. The only part of him that seemed to have kept still was his hand, resting on his leg. His left hand...

Jericho grunted in contempt. "Been missing that eye for years. See how he wears his holster on the left?" Now that I looked, Creel did. And that holster held a dangerously large revolver... "Trained himself to be left handed. You don't guard caravans without being a killer shot, and missing an eye- not a fuckin' joke, kid. You would'a been dead before you knew it."

I probably should've been disturbed that Jericho was using the residents of Megaton as examples on how to kill. But at the time, I was just in awe.

More flashbacks. Boring, but the little things count.