Red wire to blue wire. Green to yellow. Orange to purple. Gray to... to... wait.

"Jericho," I whispered, staring at the knotted web of colors in front of me. "The gray wire..."

Lying on his back behind a small stack of sandbags and cinderblocks, Jericho smoked a cigarette and watched the irradiated clouds drift by. "I just told you."

I tried to keep my hands from shaking, but I had just packed about five pounds of C4 and a handful of rusty nails and bolts into a payload that I was about to become far too intimate with for my liking. The gray wire in my fingers seemed a little too warm. "Jericho, for the love of God..."

"Gray wire to sensor module, complete the circuit. Not that hard, kid. Fuck. This is rookie shit, ya should know this by now."

Hurriedly, I connected the lone wire to the acoustic-sensitive device, and leapt behind the sandbags, nearly crushing Jericho. He shoved me off into the sand, and we waited for about thirty seconds.

Nothing happened; the sensor module was stable.

"There has to be a better way of testing those modules."

"If there were, we'd know by now, now wouldn't we?"

The trek continued.

Even at high noon on a cloudless day, the sun burning through through the radiation-thinned atmosphere, I felt... good. The weight of the battle rifle slung over my shoulder, the low gusts of sand whipping around our boots, the jingle of Ashecroft's spurs, the warmth of wolf pelts hung at my belt, the sweat in my palms.

When had I last felt like this? The first few days after Jericho had taken me under his wing, maybe? Showing me how to shoot, hunt, and survive in this sick husk of a world? Before I knew just how wrong this place was. Just how deep below the surface I had been living.

But now- Ashecroft halted at a yet another cliffside, shading her face with a hand as she peered up the face of the crag. This one was a bit higher and steeper than the one we had climbed before... but I didn't feel fear, or doubt.

"What's the plan?" I asked Ashecroft as I caught up with her, flicking off a baby bloatfly that had landed on her hat. She turned to me with pursed lips.

"Up is th' shortest way. Th' roundabout'll-" she pointed left, then right- "take days. Hard going, rough rock, rougher critters. Banks of th' Potomac 'r bad country."

I didn't even blink. I almost mouthed off with a 'what are a few more dogs?' before I saw the seriousness in her eyes. "Then up it is."

We pulled off our packs and took out a grappling hook, a few steel stakes and two lengths of rope- usually used for tying up lawbreakers or hanging them for the vultures to pick clean, but aside from some bloodstains that refused to come out, they were just as good for rock climbing. Ashecroft clambered up the jagged rocks, rope tied around her waist, and I covered her at the base of the cliff, rifle in hand.

"See anything?"

"Can't see m'house from here. We're makin' good time. Don't see 'r tracks, either," she added, a hint of a complement in her voice.

I almost felt proud. Sure, it was her idea to hang the dog pelts from our belts, so they'd drag and obscure our footsteps, but still.

The ringing of the butt of her revolver against the stakes jarred me back into the present. "Third of th' way up. C'mon. It'll hold."

I shouldered the two bags and up I went. So I was afraid of heights, I admit it. You try living in a hole in the ground your entire life. But somehow, instead of the usual tightening in my stomach... I felt excitement. Fifty feet off the ground, and damn did I feel alive, even if I was panting once my fingernails scrabbled at the top, red in the face.

Ashecroft grinned at me. "Just kiddin'. More like a fourth."

I looked up and gritted my teeth. Like hell that'd stop me.

We kept moving at a hard pace until dusk, only stopping to let the occassional dog or family of molerats waddle by. But soon, a great mesh-wire finger jabbed out of the horizon, and Ashecroft stopped.

"There," she said, as we took cover behind a boulder. "Top o' th' ridge. Broadcast tower."

I squinted at it, and on a whim, turned on my Pip-Boy's radio- keeping the volume barely audible- and began to tune it. Odd, really, how down in the Vault I had thought it was the most useful gadget ever. Nowadays, I only seemed to notice it one every few days.

Ashecroft watched, her expression growing grimmer by the second. "Anything?"

I shook my head. "Nothing's broadcasting around here for miles and miles. That I can find, anyway." I turned off the radio. "What were you expecting, exactly?"

She didn't say anything at first, just checking the cartridges of her revolving rifle, brow furrowed. "There were a few squatters 'n that building, right below the tower. Not raiders, but not settlers. Us Regulators let them stay as long as they broadcast our frequencies. Either they've gone bad, or they're dead."

Or both. I didn't bring that up. "Okay. Once it's nightfall, we scout it out. Could be the tower's malfunctioned, or they're in the middle of changing up frequencies, or something."

"Could be." Not likely is what really meant.

We hung low around that boulder, taking a few meager sips from the canteen and checking and re-checking our ammo as the sun dipped further and further. The first stars began to shine shyly in the east.

I drummed my fingers against the stock of my rifle.

Ashecroft cleaned the lens of her rifle's scope. She had bound her spurs in cloth, to muffle the jingling.

I don't know what it was, but... the urge came over me. "Ashecroft?"

She turned a blue eye my way. "Hm?"

"Why'd you take me in?"

She chuckled. "What kind 'a question is that?"

I cleared my throat, unsure of how to continue. "I mean... I stumbled into your ranch, skin and bones, half-dead. I could've been a raider, or a cannibal, or Talon Company-" she laughed a little at that, but I kept going- "or anyone. A complete psychopath. But you... took care of me. I could've stabbed you in the back-"

"You wouldn't have done that." Her voice was oddly soft.

"I know, I wouldn't have, but I'm just saying-" I gestured vaguely at the rock and sand surrounding us. "You took in a total stranger. Could've let me die, could've turned the other way, let your Brahmin eat me, but... you didn't."

Ashecroft took a deep breath, laying her rifle across her lap. "Graves," she began.

"You gave me a name, too," I added. "You've known just a month, and we're on an honest-to-God mission together. Was it... did your dad teach you to be-"

"Graves. Listen. It's not just about survival, y'know? If I can't offer a helping hand to someone- well, I'm not really livin'. Y'know what I mean?"

I frowned. I wasn't used to wasteland philosophy. "... Somewhat."

"I mean, sure, I've had to put down some folk I'd just poured a drink for, but that's part of bein' a Regulator. Justice ain't about you. It's about everyone." She smiled, a sort of inward smile, not meant for me. "Regulator motto, right there. One of 'em, anyway. They could never decide."

"Far enough," I said, suddenly feeling... content. I put a hand on Ashecroft's shoulder. "Thank you. I mean it."

"Give it no mind, pardner."

"Alright." I looked back out over the wasteland, distant howls filling the night's silence, the sand now a shade of dark blue. "But... look, about your dad-"

"That story'll have to wait," she said, rising quickly. "Stars are out. Time to move."

If Jericho taught me one thing, it was how to scout. Ashecroft and I approached the tower from the west, moving from rock to rock, scanning the higher boulders for snipers, sprinting across any open ground. Finally, there was a small clearing where the tower and the management building were located. There wasn't much to it- a chain-link fence surrounded the area, webbed over with barbed wire. Sandbags were piled around the perimeter, makeshift machine guns nests. But it was all empty.

1911 in hand, I looked at Ashecroft expectantly. "Now?" I mouthed. She shook her head. So we waited.

Ten minutes passed, and God damn, I was aching to shoot something. Why did Ashecroft want to wait? What the hell was keeping us from kicking down that door?

I bent my head toward her ear. "Now?" I whispered, a little more intently. She bit her lip, and nodded.

We broke out of cover, but instead of sprinting, we crept our way to the maintenance building, Ashecroft in the lead as I walked backwards, covering our rear. We each took one side of the door, straining our ears for anything- a cough, a snore, anything.

In the half-moon's light, I saw three of Ashecroft's fingers outlined against the starry sky. I nodded, wishing I had a grenade.

One. Two.

Three.

I torqued the handle and threw my shoulder into the door with a grunt- only to meet resistance, as I knocked back someone just about to open the door. Ashecroft was in just a second behind me, and we quickly scanned the room.

Five men. One was on a cot, bleeding. But three were already on their feet, and the one I had knocked down was standing up. Shit.

I lunged forward, pistol whipping the fallen man in the face, feeling his nose give under the 1911's butt as I kicked in his knee. He grunted in pain and tried to tackle me, but another whip to the eye made his gasp and fall to his remaining knee. A wrestled him into a headlock and pressed my pistol to his head. "Nobody fucking move!"

Silence. Ashecroft had her rifle trained on one of the other three- but we were still outgunned, three to one. One of the others was using his body to cover the wounded man on the cot, his hand on the gun at his hip. The tension was so tight, I could just feel it- about to snap, all hell to break loose. I wanted it. Lusted for it.

Then...

"Jesus... that you, Ashecroft?" The one with the submachine lowered it, looking relieved. "Thought it was-"

"Someone else?" she asked quietly. "What's all this, Schauffen?"

No one moved. The only light in the room came from a dusty naked bulb, hanging from a wire in the ceiling, swinging back and forth, throwing hellish shadows on the walls. All eyes were on the middle-aged, balding fellow. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. "Just... helping some travelers, Ashecroft. Just like you told me to."

Ashecroft took a step forward, still sighted in on the raider. "There's a marked difference between traveler and raider, Schauff. And a marked price."

Schauffen's eyes flashed with alarm. "Wait- no! You don't understand! They forced me-!"

BANG

A shot fired- but from where? The man on the cot had grabbed his pistol. But that was all it took- one of the raiders grabbed Schauffen, using him as a human shield. Ashecroft put a round through the throat one of the standing raiders as I unloaded my magazine into Schauffen, the bullets passing through his soft flesh into the man hiding behind him. Two bullets buried itself into the chest of my struggling hostage, who had tried to draw his knife as I fired, and I pushed the dead weight forward onto the cot with the other man. He cried out as his wounds were crushed, but I ended that with a bullet through his head.

And that was it. My nerves were on fire, the adrenaline pumping, and I felt... I felt...

I looked at Schauffen's body. Seven gaping holes in his torso. Wide dead eyes, still pleading.

Nothing.

I felt nothing.

Christ, what had I become?

"Graves."

I couldn't face Ashecroft right now. Not like this, covered in blood. I wasn't Graves. I wasn't the scared boy from Vault 101. I was... something else. Something that had been born out of the wastes. A beast.

"Graves. Hey. Talk to me."

I shook my head, clearing my mind of all sorts of horrid images. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine." No, I wasn't. My muscles were rigid, numbed. My breath hitched.

"Give me the gun, Graves," she said gently. "Come on."

"No. No, no, no," I muttered, holstering my pistol. "I told you. I'm... okay."

She reached out and touched my neck. I almost recoiled, but then I realized... I couldn't feel her fingers. "You're not. One of 'em nicked you. Think they got a big bleeder."

Oh. Great.

One length of itchy brown bandage tight around my neck and one pile of looted corpses outside later, we were sitting under that same naked bulb, the smell of blood and sweat and gunpowder still hanging in the musty air.

Ashecroft took a long drink from her canteen and held it out to me. I shook my head. She took another drink, twirling her revolver absently. "Y'did good, Graves," she said. "You proved yerself." The words floated there like smoke in the awkward silence.

A few minutes passed. "Ashecroft... how well did you know that guy? Schau-whatever?"

She looked thoughtfully back at the door, where we had stacked the bodies up for the vultures and dogs. "I... didn't really know 'im, Graves. My pa stationed 'im here. But he was always nice to me."

"I didn't mean to kill him."

She didn't say anything. She just curled up by the radio controls.

"He was going to die, anyway," I said. "That's what you Regulators do. One strike, you're out."

Ashecroft stiffened in her bedroll.

"Maybe not you, but someone with a badge would've put him in the ground eventually." I laughed, a mirthless laugh. "I mean, shit, that might be me rotting out there one day, if things go badly between us."

She might've turned around, to look at me, to say something. But I had already slammed the door of the maintenance shack, a white-knuckled grip on my rifle, standing guard next to the other lifeless corpses.

Fuck. Of all the sins I'd done out there... I had never been so disgusted with myself.

Been a while.