- XV -

(October 2277)

Part 3

The roving lights bathed them in hues of scarlet as they stormed through the raucous metal halls. Security obstruction fell to their shots, one after another, given no mercy in the face of Ivy's grim determination and the barrel of her combat shotgun. Unlike the last time they cleaved a bloody swathe through the Vault, Butch proved himself essential by providing fire support from her four o' clock. He aimed the pistol at the exposed neck of one unfamiliar officer who had made the bewildering decision of sprinting straight toward them, baton poised to strike. Butch fired thrice, watching the man's throat cave to the barrage of bullets and feeling nothing as he crumpled to the floor.

Ivy took the reprieve to reload her firearm as she surveyed the pile of bodies littering the corridor. "You seem a lot more resilient about shooting people down now, Butch. From what I remember, you objected to this very thing when I was leaving the Vault."

"Well, when some fucker comes chargin' right at ya when you're pointing a gun at him, least you can do is give him what he's askin' for," he remarked dryly over the continuous alarms. His eyes studied her deft movements, the way she handled her equipment with efficiency. But once he took in the wavy hair she kept tucking behind her ears, he reached up to unhook his helmet. "Ivy. Here, put this thing on. That leather armor looks good, but you're leavin' your head unprotected."

She glanced up from her task, the stoniness in her gaze softening at the gesture. "Thanks, but I'm fine. Keep it."

He frowned and secured it back in place, losing the opportunity to argue when she slung her pack over her shoulders and marched ahead.

"The classroom and clinic, right?" she asked without slowing down.

"Yeah," he replied as he hurried after her. "But this ain't gonna be no picnic. It's you, me, and like seven rebels against close to fifty percent of the fuckin' security force at once."

"We'll take care of them," Ivy declared with so much conviction that he almost believed her. "It's Stevie I'm concerned about."

An irrational bout of annoyance hit him in response to that statement, but he pushed it back along with the reminder that he'd been the one to sever their bond during her escape. He pressed on behind her, preparing himself for the next set of obstacles even as his mind wandered to a plethora of regretful what ifs. If he'd said and done things differently during that last desperate confrontation in August, would she have returned with him in mind instead of Stevie? If he had killed Stevie himself during her absence, would she have returned at all? And since she came back, anyway, did that mean breaking off their "relationship" had been a pointless and tragic decision?

Butch released an audible growl when they reached the stairs and heard a series of screams in the distance. Not the time. Ain't never the time. C'mon, what's done is done so get it together and focus.

Ivy stopped halfway up the steps and held out an arm to keep him back. "Wait here."

"Say what? The hell am I supposed to do here? Work on my needlepoint or somethin'?" he snapped. "And no way I'm lettin' you go up there yourself."

"I'm trying to avoid as many casualties as possible. This next move is already risky enough—"

The radio on his Pip-Boy interrupted them as Amata's frantic voice came on. "Butch! Some people have been injured so we've retreated to the clinic, but our barricade isn't going to last much longer. Security's relentless in their raid, and they're breaking it down. If you hear this, just save yourself! Don't head this way!"

Ivy seized his wrist before he could react. "Amata," she barked.

"Oh my God, Ivy?!"

"Get everyone away from the door. And I mean away. There's going to be a series of explosions in T-minus thirty seconds."

"What?!"

Ivy reached for one of several small round objects on her belt that Butch hadn't noticed before. "I've got a dozen frag grenades that'll blast security right off your asses."

"Oh shi—"

As the frequency cut off, Butch yanked his wrist out of Ivy's grasp and wrapped his fingers around her forearm. "You even know what you're doin' with those things?"

She swatted his hand away, pinning him with a meaningful glare. "Stay."

And with that order, she disappeared around the corner to climb the second set of stairs. He, of course, refused to do as told. But as soon as he trudged four steps after her, he had enough time to watch her yank the pin off the first grenade and throw it before he took that as the cue to get behind cover. Flattening himself back against the wall, he felt the explosion rock the metal surfaces of the Vault, the deafening noise assaulting his eardrums. Two more consecutive blasts followed, accompanied by panicked yells and scattered gunfire. His heart pounded with anxiety when he heard nothing further from Ivy, and he chanced a look toward the top of the stairs.

She had perched herself low on the first three steps, the next grenade clutched in her hand as she listened and waited. When a new set of alarmed shouts approached, she jumped up, chucked the explosive, and crouched back down. Butch staggered to the side from the force of the closer impact, witnessing the fiery cloud that burst through the corridor. He regained his footing and squatted down behind his cover to watch as Ivy continued the pattern for the next few minutes until she ran out of grenades. Once the air cleared and no one else came running, she drew her shotgun and rose to cautiously stalk forward.

Butch scrambled up and darted after her, tripping over his own feet in his haste. When he finally made it to the top, he halted and sucked in a breath at the gory mess distributed all over the hallway in front of the clinic. Bits and pieces of what used to be human beings clung to the floor and walls, some spatters even reaching the ceiling. Identifiable body parts and uniform remnants comprised the bulk of the gruesome pile, which Ivy waded through with disturbing nonchalance. The strong smell of blood and other acrid bodily fluids assailed Butch's nose, and he worked to keep his breathing shallow as he picked his way around the dismembered corpses.

"Amata?" Ivy called through the closed clinic entrance. "You can come out. It's safe."

A commotion erupted on the other side as the sounds of heavy items and furniture scraped across the floor in the presumable removal of the barricade. Moments later, the battered door shuddered open to reveal a haggard Amata, whose face went from elated to horrified when she caught sight of the grisly state of the hall. Susie came up behind her and promptly turned back around to throw up.

"Ivy," Amata greeted in a shaky voice, putting much obvious effort in holding eye contact with her. "I'm so glad you came back. I'd hug you, but you have a bit of… um, security personnel on you."

Ivy impatiently flicked away the chunk of flesh on her shoulder and stated, "Butch gave me the rundown on our way up here, so I understand the urgency of your distress signal. But I'll need to go off something more specific than, 'Stop the goddamn Overseer and hunt down Stevie's crazy ass.'"

Butch shrugged when both girls sent him sharp glances. "What? Pretty accurate summary of all this shit happening if you ask me."

"Well, yeah, we've got a catastrophe on our hands," Amata confirmed and beckoned them inside. "Come with me, I need to show you something."

Susie wiped her mouth and moved out of their path, glowering at Ivy. Butch lifted his visor as he trailed along and saw Freddie helping to fasten a sling for Christine Kendall's arm on one of the operating tables. Their faces conveyed exhaustion, but they both perked up when they spotted Ivy striding past. A blood-soaked Andy welcomed her back from one corner, where someone had chained him up. Officer Gomez seemed the likely culprit, for he grumbled and shook his head at the Mister Handy while dragging the mutilated and very dead form of Beatrice Armstrong to the opposite corner. Once he noticed Ivy, however, his features lit with renewed hope.

They proceeded to the office, where Old Lady Palmer appeared from the open pharmacy. Sight landing on Ivy, she scurried over and wrapped her in a grandmotherly hug, evidently not sharing Amata's revulsion for the guts and grime on Ivy's armor.

"It's so good to see you, dear," she said, drawing back to give the young woman a tired and sad smile. "I was worried about what had become of you out in the Wastes."

Ivy patted her on the arm and assured her of her wellbeing while Butch followed Amata to Dr. Ashburn's old desk, where a projector had been set up. He glimpsed the screen on the wall as it flickered on from standby mode and revealed a series of moving images in sectional squares, which he identified as various locations throughout the Vault. Once Ivy convinced Mrs. Palmer to go make herself useful in the next room, she came to stand beside Butch, her forehead creasing as she studied the display.

"Officer Gomez was able to reroute a lot of the security cameras all over the Vault so we can see their rolling footage here," Amata explained. She searched through the videos and then zoomed in on one camera, which showed a multitude of security officers crowded around a sealed door, more daunting than the group attempting to invade the clinic. "So that's where the rest of the force was headed. I should've known. The filtration room."

"We were just on that level," Butch exclaimed as he cringed at the thought of taking on those numbers. "The generator room is like right next door. What're they clustered around there for?"

"Stevie," Ivy thundered, brandishing her shotgun. "That must be where the controls are for the water chip. I'd go in now by myself, but I don't have any more grenades."

"I'd rather you not repeat that method, anyway," Amata told her with clear disapproval. "And I'm guessing Stevie's trying to hack the terminal to flush the water chip, so we have a time limit. Better for you to just bypass security and get inside that room as soon as possible."

Butch scowled at her. "And how're we supposed to do that, genius?"

Amata grimaced as she contemplated it. "Good question. I'd say try sneaking in through the generator room, but that connecting door is always inaccessible—"

"If I may intrude," someone else spoke from the doorway.

Staring over his shoulder, Butch recognized the tall form of Stanley, who stood hunched over with his jumpsuit in tatters and several cuts adorning his weathered skin. Susie was at his side, using her entire frame to support and hold him up as they slowly advanced into the office.

"Easy, Grandpa," she muttered. "You were crazy to try and stave off security by yourself down there."

She deposited him in a nearby chair while the others looked on, and Butch approached him to kneel down and examine his wounds.

"Goddamn, old timer. What'd security attack ya for?" he inquired, recalling how the officers had always treated Stanley with respect when he'd provided Butch's community service at the detention center.

Stanley took a minute to catch his breath. "The new guys are really gung-ho. Didn't even hesitate to rough me up when I wouldn't get out of the way fast enough." Shaking his head, he turned toward Amata. "I'm not sure why everyone's gone nuts, but I overheard enough just now and think I can help. Pull up the larger resolution of the camera in the Overseer's office."

Amata did so, and they all peered at the live footage of Allen Mack's movements. He was hovering in front of his own monitor, posture tense as he watched the situation in the lower level.

"Most of the ventilation shafts throughout the Vault are connected, but only one has a direct path to the filtration room." Stanley pointed to the shutter cover above the Overseer's central desk. "That one."

Butch registered the implied course of action and groaned as he rose to his feet. "Aw, Christ, vents again? Vents are the reason all my problems started—"

"Maybe it would be better if I went alone," Ivy suggested, marching up to the hidden wall safe she'd failed to open on her way out in August.

He sighed in irritation. "No way, I'm comin' with ya. But this is gonna suck."

Her lockpicking skills must have improved because this time she broke into the safe with ease, producing some paper, a plastic bag of bottle caps, and a holodisk that she pressed to her lips before tucking into her pocket.

"Looks like we're going to end up killing two birds with one stone," Amata murmured as her expression went grim. "We still have to deal with the Overseer, too."

Susie took an immediate step forward, anger marring her features. "Hey, what the hell do you mean by that?" she demanded. "I thought we agreed that I'd go in and talk to my dad."

"That was before he sent armed personnel to attack and imprison us," Amata snapped. "There's no reasoning with him, Susie. He's never going to allow the Vault open, and if Stevie doesn't manage to destroy it, he's just going to order our arrests again."

"Well, what are our options, then?"

Ivy returned to Butch's side and offered a blunt answer. "Either he steps down from his position for the sake of the Vault, or I kill him."

If possible, Susie seemed on the verge of combusting. "What did you just say, you bitch? Aren't you supposed to be a medical professional or some shit? And here you are, blowing people up and spouting off moronic things like killing my dad! The fuck do you have against my family, anyway? I almost wish all those things you claimed Stevie did to you were true because you're a fucking cunt who deserves—"

The heavy hand that struck her across the face cut her off. She stumbled back and held a palm to her cheek, eyes wide with disbelief as Ivy lowered her arm and glowered at her.

"Remind me later, and I'll use my medical knowledge to prescribe you a painkiller for that bruise," Ivy spat.

A few beats of stunned silence rolled over the office. Butch detected the threat in her stance, but saw the way she reigned in her ire to that mere warning. Stanley gaped back and forth between them from his seat, though he made no effort to defend his granddaughter.

Amata raked her fingers through her hair in apparent exasperation and strode around the desk to stand front and center, giving Ivy an admonishing stare. "All right, cool it. Even though Susie's got a big mouth, she's not the enemy. Stevie killed my father, but you don't see me taking it out on her."

Ivy pierced her with a frosty look before turning and stalking toward the door. "I'm going to take care of this. Anyone who wants to come, let's go."

Butch went after her without hesitating, though he faltered when Amata stayed in place. "What, you're not comin'?"

"I have to be here ready to defend us in case part of the remaining security force branches off and comes for us again," she declared.

He rolled his eyes and stomped away. "Getting us to do your dirty work. I see how it is."

Her protest fell on deaf ears as he hurried out of the clinic. When he caught up to Ivy back out in the corridor, he pulled his visor down and peered at her, noting the intense vibe that now defined her conduct. He could only imagine what she'd experienced in the Wasteland to result in this coldness and aggression, which made her into something she wasn't. But from a personal standpoint, he was right there with her in mentality. Life had screwed them over far too many times, driving them to the brink of their limits in perpetual misfortune and torment.

It was their turn.

They stepped over the mess and gore and took the familiar route to the admin level. The alarms had finally short-circuited and ceased, though the red lights continued to flash over the metal walls. Ivy led the way through the systems room, not bothering with any sort of discussion on strategy as she delved ahead. Butch kept pace with her, inwardly questioning the necessity of his presence if she intended to just shoot the top two men on her hit list and be done with it.

They emerged into the corridor leading to the security station and Overseer's office. As they passed by the window to the station, he suddenly remembered something. Tugging on one handle of her pack to slow her down, he gestured behind him at the questioning quirk of her eyebrow.

"Brotch's been jailed in there," he told her, stepping back to head that way. "We gotta free him first."

She glanced down the hall with evident impatience, but didn't object as he entered the station. Scanning the area, he settled on the terminal to the left of the holding cell, figuring that was the best bet to opening it.

"Any idea what the password is?" Ivy asked when he booted up the machine and found it locked.

Butch swore at the limited number of guess attempts on the monitor. "Fuck. Only someone from security would know—" He paused when his arms smacked the sides of his hips, feeling something crinkle in the left pocket of his trousers. Digging inside, he produced a piece of paper with a single word printed on it. "Oh, no way…"

But when he typed it into the keyboard, they heard the cell door unlock with a click.

"Nice. Way to go, Gomez," he muttered, doubly glad for the loaned uniform.

Ivy swiftly pushed the door open, and Edwin Brotch appeared a few moments later, looking thinner and disheveled, but not too mistreated. His shocked gaze shifted from Butch to Ivy.

"Man, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," he remarked. "Has the Vault been annihilated yet?"

"Nope, but it's getting close," Butch replied. "I'd get to the clinic where everyone else is. Ivy and me, we got business with the Overseer and the security chief."

"Right. Great to see you back, Ivy. Be safe. Both of you." Edwin clapped each of them on the shoulder to show his gratitude before jogging out.

Ivy turned to Butch and jerked her head toward the exit before going on the move. He followed close behind, feeling his gut twist with apprehension again as he drew his pistol and readied himself for the upcoming confrontation. A quiet eeriness had taken over the environment, with only the sounds of their hasty footsteps breaking the stillness of the hall. This differed from the last time they'd gone through here together, not only in the circumstances but in the people they had become.

They reached the door to the Overseer's office, and Ivy tried the switch to find it unlocked. She exchanged a quick glance with Butch before barging right in, the barrel of her shotgun roving left and right before settling on the man standing in front of the vast window overlooking the atrium.

"Well, look at who came crawling back home," Allen Mack rumbled, sneering at Ivy. "And you brought your single-celled boy toy along for the ride."

Butch didn't know what "single-celled" was supposed to mean, but he was pretty sure it was an insult.

"I'm giving you an option to stand down and relinquish control of the Vault," Ivy declared, features impassive as she advanced on him. "You're not even the one I came back to deal with, so this is your chance to walk away."

For some inexplicable reason, Mr. Mack threw his head back and guffawed obnoxiously.

Butch scowled, finding the audacity infuriating. "Yeah, real funny, considering your son is a few minutes away from fucking all of us over," he snarled, raising his pistol to remind the older man of the unfavorable odds against him.

That cut the laughter short. "Security is handling the situation. But my boy wouldn't really flush out the water chip. Just like he didn't do all that shit you two kept blaming him for," Mr. Mack growled. "So why don't you lower that gun there, missy? Spineless trash like you wouldn't have the guts to shoot me."

A muscle worked in Ivy's jaw as Butch snorted.

Boy, are you in for a surprise if you live to see the clinic hallway…

"The only reason I haven't already blown your head off is that there's a girl in the clinic right now who would be devastated if her father perished for no reason," Ivy stated.

Although she kept her barrel pointed at the Overseer, Butch caught onto her sincere and unexpected reluctance in taking his life.

Mr. Mack rewarded that clemency with a scoff. "False bravado. It doesn't suit you. Now if you're finished wasting my time, I have a Vault to run." He reached back and grabbed the rifle strapped to his shoulder. "But since I've called your bluff and expect you to continue making a nuisance of yourselves, I'll simply have to off you. Starting with DeLoria."

Three things happened at once. The moment Butch aimed the pistol, Mr. Mack swung the rifle toward him, a satanic glint in his eye. But before either man could fire at each other, Ivy leaped in front of Butch and blasted the Overseer herself. The crack of the shell reverberated throughout the office as the Mack patriarch slammed into the floor with a gush of blood, a massive chunk of his forehead missing. Butch realized something else had occurred because Ivy went careening backwards into him, and he dropped the pistol to catch her as she grunted from an impact that he didn't believe came from shotgun recoil.

"Ugh… this armor doesn't hold up that well against 5.56mm rounds," she said in a tight voice, clutching onto his shoulders to steady herself.

"What the hell! Why'd you jump in and use yourself as a shield like that?!" Butch demanded, taking her by the arms and shaking her when he saw she hadn't been wounded.

Ivy batted him away and rubbed her abdomen, where the round had bounced off. "Because that armor you're wearing holds up even less than mine. Quit freaking out. I've been shot at more times in the past two months than the entire security force combined."

He seethed on the spot as she strode over to place her shotgun on the desk and examined the shutter cover high on the wall. Did she just… not care about injury or death anymore? He would have thought she'd relapsed back into her suicidal black hole, but the way she exhibited a clear focus and purpose dismissed that notion. On one hand, he was impressed with how far she'd come from a helpless victim in the Vault to a devil-may-care wanderer of the Wasteland, but on the other, he couldn't help his concern for her.

Butch glanced at Allen Mack's freshly killed corpse, feeling an overwhelming sense of justice at the sight. "Well, too bad you couldn't go with what Susie wanted for her dad, huh?"

"I didn't want another father to die, but he gave me a reason by forcing my hand," Ivy returned in a curt tone.

"Yeah, I wasn't blamin' ya or anything. 'Sides, you gotta admit, most of us have daddy issues."

Himself, Ivy, Amata, and now the Mack kids. The fathers may have been dead, but the issues lingered, never dissipating, never leaving.

Ivy's attention remained on the next task. "True enough."

He dawdled as his vexation ebbed, the silver studs on her lower lip sidetracking him. "By the way, what's with those lip piercings?"

She sent him a terse glance. "They're called snakebites. Here, come give me a boost so I can pry the cover off the vent."

"Snakebites, huh?" he inquired, walking over to do as requested. "Miss me that much, Poindexter?"

The mild jibe was meant to ease the tense mood, but she only frowned when he hoisted her up by the waist.

"You have no idea," she murmured.

Butch grew somber at the admission and quieted down, redirecting his concentration to the startling effort it took to hold her up. He wasn't sure if it was the armor or her pack, but she was twice as heavy as he remembered. She didn't seem to have increased in size, but he kept his mouth shut and bore with it, knowing better than to ever mention a woman's weight. Within a few minutes, she yanked the shutter cover off and nearly toppled backwards before Butch tightened his grasp and lowered her back down. Discarding the cover, she pointed to one of the smaller desks to the side, and he got the hint to help her slide it over. After setting it in place and retrieving their weapons, they clambered into the vent with Ivy in the lead.

"Can't say I've missed crawlin' around one of these things," Butch commented wryly.

"This part is somewhat anticlimactic," Ivy remarked, pulling herself forward with her elbows as fast as possible.

He let out a humorless chuckle and followed the glow of her Pip-Boy flashlight. "Yeah, but once we get to the other end—and this goes for any end of any vent shaft—it's all trouble from there."

They progressed as such for a considerable distance, though the singular path eliminated all chances of losing direction. Eventually, the shaft widened enough for them to rise into crouching positions. A cool draft blew their way as they neared the end, and fluorescent light poured in from the filtration room. The hum of machinery and distant banging disguised the noises of their footsteps when they reached the shuttered hatch that dropped down to their destination. Ivy switched off her flashlight and kneeled over the opening, sweeping a wary gaze around as far as she could.

"I can't see him," she whispered.

Butch edged closer, peering down and spotting no one at terminal of the control console. "He's gotta be in there somewhere. I'll go in first as bait."

Ivy seized his sleeve when he prepared to do just that. "What? No. I'll do it."

"Ivy," he hissed, hands coming up to shift her away from the hatch. "This ain't up for debate. I don't care how much combat experience you have over me. I can't keep watchin' ya throw yourself headfirst into the line of fire." His grip loosened, fingertips lingering over the rough leather of her attire before letting go. "Just… try to see it from my perspective."

She sighed deeply in the dimness and reached out to cup his cheek. "I am, which is why I'm trying to protect you." Dropping her hand, she scooted back. "All right. Go in quietly and be alert."

He refrained from dwelling on the meaning of her statement, realizing that even if he died today, it might have been a clue that things between them hadn't been completely destroyed. Tucking the pistol into his waistband again, he lifted the hatch and took a few breaths as he positioned himself to jump down. Whatever happened from this point on, at least he knew that at one point in his life, he'd done something worthwhile.

Now or never. The Butch-man's goin' out with a bang either way.

In one swift motion, he leaped down and landed on his feet, drawing the pistol at once. At first, the space seemed empty of other people. The banging of security continued outside, but the entrance had been soldered shut and barred with dilapidated parts of machinery. He swiveled around in a full circle and failed to notice the barrel of another pistol until he found it pointing at his torso.

His stomach plummeted at the identity of the wielder. "Wally?"

The former Tunnel Snake regarded him with a troubled expression from atop one of the fixtures at the rear end of the room. "You shouldn't have come here, Butch."

"No, it's fitting that he has," another familiar voice declared from his left.

Butch kept his gun aimed at Wally, but rotated his head to see Stevie sauntering out of the console alcove, appearing as sadistic as ever, but now with an additional gleam of insanity in his dark eyes. He wore a set of metal armor that Butch doubted was Vault-issued, complete with a sturdy helmet. In his arms, he carried an assault rifle similar to his father's. Its barrel trailed over the floor as he approached, gait cocky and unhurried.

"Wally had warned me that someone might try to come in through the vents. Didn't think it would be you, though," Stevie commented with a smirk.

"The fuck do you think you're doin' planning on flushing out the water chip?" Butch barked, cutting to the chase. He hoped Ivy could hear all this and stayed where she was. "You're gonna screw with the lives of hundreds of people that have nothin' to do with your goddamn grudges."

Stevie shrugged, sending a lazy glance at the door when a particularly loud pounding erupted. "And I'm supposed to care why? This Vault was on the road to imminent doom, anyway. I wasn't going to sit by while my father closes it off for good."

"Amata's faction was tryin' to open it. Why didn't you just vouch for her?"

"Well, let's see… probably because almost a hundred percent of the 'rebels' happened to be responsible for ruining my good name and getting me sentenced to imprisonment," Stevie snarled. "So I came up with a better idea: purge this place. Besides, I have unfinished business walking around in the Wasteland, and unlike you, I wasn't willing to let her go."

Butch swung an accusing glare at Wally. "You fuckin' support this?"

"It seemed to be a good move," Wally replied, the wavering note in his voice a sign that he wasn't here of his own accord. At least, not anymore.

Stevie took another step forward, but stopped when Butch shifted to point the pistol at him. "Well, now that you've heard my nefarious plans and delayed me by a minute, I guess it's about time you die. Wally, shoot him."

Butch stiffened. Stevie was so heavily armored against his pistol that he wasn't sure if he should chance a bullet ricocheting back at him. But if he stalled, he faced the possibility of another stab in the back.

However, no sound came from Wally's direction. Stevie's countenance twisted with malice as he glared at his brother.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Shoot him so I can finish working on the terminal hack."

"But…" came Wally's hesitant protest.

Butch lifted his pistol higher, aiming for Stevie's exposed face. If he could just get him there…

CLANG.

He missed and hit the helmet. Motherfuck—I even lined my sights and squeezed the trigger!

At Stevie's outraged roar, Butch dove for cover behind the large central filter. A barrage of rounds fired his way and came closer as Stevie dashed around after him, firing the assault rifle wildly. Hoping Wally continued to distract himself with his internal struggle, Butch scrambled up and sprinted behind another electronic structure, dodging bullets as he ran. He predicted that his clip would run out before Stevie's did, and he didn't have a spare on him. He palmed his baton, though he'd have to get close to his target to have any shot at taking him on with melee.

His heart climbed to his throat as he listened for the running steps, planning to clothesline Stevie once he charged through. But when the telltale blast of a shotgun shell ripped through the air, he swore and poked his head out from his cover.

Ivy had managed to shoot the rifle from Stevie's hands, and she unloaded on him round after round, marching forward ferociously. Bits and pieces of metal armor flew in different directions as Stevie took each hit head on, staggering backwards and given no time to recover under the force of her firepower. Butch got the distinct notion that he was once again superfluous in all this, but he inched out of his hiding place just in case Wally became a threat.

The younger Mack, however, appeared paralyzed with shock as he watched his brother stumble from a heavy blast to the stomach, which blew a hole through the thickest part of the armor. Upon closer inspection, Butch saw Ivy's limbs shaking as she gazed at Stevie with a combination of hatred and fear. She paused in her shooting to reload the shotgun, seemingly tuning out everything else as the spirit of retribution possessed her.

Stevie gawked at her in disbelief, either from the fact that she'd launched nearly a dozen shells into him or that she had returned. He coughed and fell forward onto his hands and knees, the helmet weighing down his neck before he lifted his head and found himself at the end of her barrel once more. Butch witnessed the silent exchange between them, recalling how Ivy had described their initial relationship before it warped into something perverse and sinister.

Finally, Stevie rose to the highest point on his knees, winded and gasping for air. "Never even gave me a chance, Ivy. On anything. Remember how we used to be? We could've had more than this. Marriage, a family…"

Something glistened on her face, and it took Butch a moment to realize a tear had streaked down over her cheek.

"The drugs you made me take," she said in a thick voice. "They're the reason I miscarried. Because you wouldn't listen."

Stevie's expression tightened and closed off, something inside dying at the revelation. Butch felt the breath leave his lungs as well, and he lowered his gun as he stared at Ivy's devastated frame, the true colors of her locked and tattered heart showing through the cold façade.

"It was a boy," she continued, pulling herself together enough to take a deep breath. "And may you both rest in peace."

The final blast hit Stevie in the chest and knocked him backwards into the metal column of the filter. His body lay prone, unmoving. Ivy swayed unsteadily from sheer exhaustion and dropped the shotgun, bringing up a trembling hand to wipe at her face. The relief radiated from her features when she turned to Butch, who stood behind her. She nodded to him and exhaled, as if indicating the end of the nightmare. Security continued their assault on the door while Wally uttered an oath and slid down from his post, throwing down the pistol and bracing himself on the wall.

Ivy took a step toward Butch, weary but no longer so haunted, and he was about to reach for her when something drew his attention.

It wasn't over. Far from it.

The downed man rose again, having been spared from permanent demise by the thick bulletproof vest that peeked through the remnants of his armor and jumpsuit. In the span of three slow seconds, his visage took on sheer madness, all sanity gone as he drew a pistol that had been hidden beneath the armor. Before anyone could react, he aimed and pulled the trigger.

Butch should have tried harder to get Ivy to accept and wear his helmet. The instinct had insisted, foreshadowed this moment. He knew… he knew… he KNEW he should have forced her to take it.

Her eyes widened when the bullet struck her in the back of the head. Droplets of blood flew out in a macabre halo, searing the image into Butch's memory forever. She didn't scream, didn't cry out. Only a small gasp, a few short breaths, and in the next instant her eyelids sealed the hazel irises shut as she succumbed to the dark and collapsed in his arms.

x-x-x-x-x

A/N: Wait, come back! Don't rage quit just yet. One more chapter to go, and it'll wrap everything up. I've planned for this and will post the final update soon. Thanks for reading!