It was the light that drew her to the police station more than the sound of bells. She had gotten lost, turned around, and exhaustion was beginning to work its way in to her bones. But this, this place promised some sort of safety. Her stomach rumbled, twisting in on itself as it craved some sort of foodstuffs but that was something she had learned to ignore. Hunger was nothing new to her. She could go days without eating if she had to.

What worried her was the lack of water. Her backpack was gone, her bottles having gone with it, and she still hadn't found an adequate replacement.

Slowing her stride she stopped in front of the door to the police station and sighed, resting her head against the green wood. She was content to stand there, feel the solidity of the door when the gurgling hiss of a gas mask caught her attention. It reminded her why she never took breaks. She had to keep moving, she knew that, but her leg was aching and she was grinding her teeth together in an attempt to ignore the pain. The problem wasn't even the injury per se, the problem was that once she stopped she knew she wouldn't start up again.

With a grunt, she pulled herself from the door and reached for the knob. What stopped her this time wasn't the ache of her bones, but the carvings on the wall. Her hand hovered awkwardly over the handle as she read the words, the letters broken and partially backwards. It looked like a child had written it.

"Find God in the simplest of beasts." She muttered the words to herself, tasting them on her tongue. It didn't make sense, then again, there were a few English phrases she still didn't understand. Maybe this was one of them.

Shaking her head, she twisted the knob and listened as the door creaked open.

The door shut behind her, leaving her in a dark room. The smog hadn't infested it and she felt some sort of relief in taking a breath of moderately fresh air. Her lungs were burning, unaccustomed to the heavy atmosphere.

She wasn't used to any of this, the lack of a sky, the high towering walls. It felt wrong. It made her anxious.

Eyes adjusting to the light, she stepped forward.

Beep.

Beatrice frowned.

Beep beep.

She looked at her collar then around in a sudden panic.

Beep beep beep beepbeepbeep.

"Shit shit shit motherfucking god dammit." She cursed blindly as she looked around, trying to figure out what had trigger the bomb collar to suddenly start beeping.

She knew what this was, it was about to go off. She had seen it before, and it wasn't pretty.

BeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBE-.

Something clicked in her panicked thoughts and, in a last ditch effort, she lunged at the table a few paces away and threw herself at the hissing radio. Instead of unplugging it, she ripped the cords out and threw it across the room.

The radio crashed against the far wall, breaking but not shattering.

The beeping stopped.

Her heart vibrated, leaving her limbs shaking. That was a feeling she hadn't experienced in a while. It was a cocktail of pure, raw fear and concentrated adrenaline that left her all sorts of twitchy.

Bracing her hands on the table, she shut her eyes, nausea rushing over her.

"Oh, did I forget to mention?" The voice came from the pip-boy in her pocket. The old man. He sounded too smug for her tastes. "Speakers and radios interfere with the bomb collar's frequency and can trigger the detonators ah," he chuckled, "prematurely. But I'm sure you've figured this out haven't you?"

She was waiting for her breathing to slow, anxiety burning in her muscles. In her mind, she was replaying the moment over again. She could still hear the rapid beeping. Reaching up, Beatrice attempted to adjust the collar once more but found she couldn't even wedge a finger under the edge if she tried.

It was latched on to her like a bear-trap.

"Yeah, thanks for the warning." Her response was less than a whisper, spoken more to herself than the old man. "'F you want me to help ya out, ya should make an effort to not get me killed at every fuckin' turn."

He didn't respond and she didn't expect him to.

The sound of silence was rolling over her. Beatrice focused on her heart-beat, her breathing, the heavy sound of…something else.

Her eyes popped wide open.

It was in that moment when she looked up she realized who –no, what was in the room with her. Hip leaning against the desk she stared at the open holding-cell in the corner. Well, not so much the cell, but the creature that was in it. Under the milky white light she could see the hunched creature breathe, dusky blue skin stretching across its impossibly muscular chest. Even sitting, he was as tall as she was, and Beatrice was not a short woman.

Nightkin.

She felt the blood rush from her face, fear filling her lungs once more. Creatures that came back to life and now Nightkin? How was Beatrice supposed to fight this thing? With things her size she was fine, those were things she could full body tackle and over power with raw strength. But this? No. It would snap her neck before she could even poke at it with her spear.

Her exposure with those creatures was limited at best, but she had sustained enough injuries from each run in to know that this was a creature to be feared. They were explosive, dangerous, and mental at the best of times.

But, he wasn't moving. His large arms with bulging muscles larger than her head were wrapped around his knees. At the distance she couldn't see much more, but he hadn't moved when she threw the broken radio his direction.

That could be either a very good sign, or a very bad one.

Keeping her spear at the ready, she moved across the room, rounding the corner until she was out of sight. One wall was lined with counters, a coffee pot and relatively clean mugs. That could come in handy if she could get a damned backpack. Another corner was filled with chairs and debris, but just above that, on the wall, was something of true interest. The red cross on the white box just about made up for everything she had been through.

Pulling it open, she felt a grin find its way on to her features. Maybe her last name was finally catching up. A package of bobby pins, not one but two stimpaks, and a whole bottle of dirty water waited for her. It was like her own little package of heaven.

The word that appeared in her thoughts, heaven, struck her as odd but she quickly ignored it. This was not a time for questioning her own shaky philosophy of the world. Taking one of the stimpaks in hand, she used her teeth to pull off the protective plastic covering and she injected herself. The relief wasn't instant, but she shivered none the less. It was like a fresh high, a glass of fresh water for her veins. Tossing the needle aside, she rubbed the injection point and let out a pleased hum, feeling the pain in her leg start to dissipate. Her arm, though, not so much

Odd, yes, but she could live with a hurt arm so long as she could run. She'd take a broken arm over a broken leg any day of the month.

Shoving the other needle in her pocket along with the package of hairpins she frowned at the lack of storage at her disposal. The jumpsuit only had two pockets. After a year or more of wearing nothing but cargo pants, she couldn't quite fathom how people could get along with only two pockets.

Grabbing the water, she refrained from looking too closely at it. Even she could become disgusted at the strange items so often found in bottles of water. Managing to squeeze it in to her other pocket, she frowned at the awkward bulge. It fit, but she wouldn't be able to carry any more.

She really needed a backpack.

Peering around the corner, she did a quick scan of the room in the hopes of finding something. The lockers looked promising, but they were closer to the mutated beast than she wanted to be.

"Dammit."

She slipped behind the wall once more and gave up on that idea. Risking her skin being pealed right off of her for a bag just wasn't something she was willing to do without a heavy dose of Psycho and Buffout.

Mmm. Psycho sounded good right then.

At the thought, she instantly reached for the package of gum she always kept in her right pocket only to realize it wasn't there. Gum was the only reason she had been able to get and stay clean, it was her new addiction and much less harmful than the cocktail of chems she was on.

Shaking her head like that would remove her thoughts she headed for the only door in her hide-away and shoved it open. Only, it didn't open. The knob hadn't turned.

Locked. Really?

Not in the mood to fight with picking a lock, she opted to take a running start at the door instead. Against her shoulder, the door broke open. Her shoulder ached, but that was a small price to pay for getting the door open. However, she hadn't expected to stumble back out in to the Villa.

"Oh that's bullshit."

Turning around she stomped back inside in absolute frustration. Beatrice slammed the door behind her. There was no going around it, then. She had seen another hall leading do another part of the police station that passed by the cell, and she supposed she really had to go past it.

He was going to skin her alive. He'd reach straight through those bars and take a bite right out of her. Well, there were worse ways to die.

She was having a hard time thinking of any, but she was sure they were there.

Taking in a breath, she rounded the corner and sprinted past the cage, taking the first turn she found and practically threw herself her down stairs. She took them two at a time, twisting around the corner to take a jump that led her the rest of the way down. Beatrice landed and used the flowing motion to push through the door that was labeled 'Authorized personnel only'.

She skidded to a stop as the door shut behind her and waited.

The creature hadn't broken out of its cage, it wasn't charging after her.

Shaking out her arms to remove the odd sensation that had been crawling up them, she placed one hand on the wall and turned the corner, heading down another smaller flight of stairs. The walls weren't chipping paint any more, they were metal, lit by small green lights on the ceiling. It looked like someone had built a bunker in anticipation for the war.

It felt like no one had opened that door in years. The air was stuffy and rancid, but it was still better than the Cloud that waited for her outside.

"Ah, I was wondering when you would get here."

Beatrice's hair prickled on her arms and she stared down the dark hallway that awaited her. She saw no one. The voice was soft, calm and controlling compared to the hint of insanity that she associated with the old man. The old man was always expecting things of her, pushing her forward, but there was a soft tone to these words that almost sounded like he had just been waiting patiently.

"I take it you found the markings I left for you on the walls?"

Beatrice stepped forward, holding the spear carefully. Her steps were too heavy, too loud in the claustrophobic hall. She thought back, mind flashing to the words she had jogged past, the messages that held no interest to her save for one.

"Find God in the simplest of creatures." She repeated the sentence almost silently, looking down at the floor as she recited the words.

"Yes, good."

She pushed her way through rooms, twisting through doors in the darkness until she reached the end. There was no one waiting for her like she expected. The room she had stumbled in to was empty.

She looked back up, staring at the radio on the desk. Her heart rate was already beginning to speed up. In her head, she could hear the beeping of her collar, the fear pooling in her stomach. Yet, she was acutely aware that the signal had not yet been disrupted.

"Do you see the holotape on the desk? Pick it up, head upstairs, and play it. We will talk more then. Lock the beast away."

The radio clicked off before she had a chance to ask why. Hands twitching, unsure, she reached out and picked up the small cartridge. The holotape wasn't anything special that she could see, but she shrugged none the less. She moved slower as she headed back upstairs, her limbs beginning to weigh heavy with fatigue.

If she had once been excited for this, that excitement and bloodlust was gone.

She was tired.

She was tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to rest.

Pulling her pip-boy from her pocket, she fitted the tape in to the slot and let the door shut behind her. Sucking up her waning bravery, she headed towards the cage.

The hulking creature had still not moved. Heavy chains as broad as her arm hung around its neck, a bear trap strapped to his forearm in a form of self-mutilation, rusty teeth digging in to the thick blue flesh for so long it seemed to have merged with it.

She looked at her pipboy and hit the play button.

"Dog," the voice from before ordered, authority clear and natural, "get back in the cage."

The Nightkin thrashed suddenly, holding his paw-like hands to his ears, calling out his reluctance until he stilled.

Beatrice had scrambled back, lifting her weapon defensively and barely keeping a grip on the piece of technology in her hand. Where he rose up, she hunched down, not in fear, but in preparation to defend herself. She was ready to pounce.

The creature stood, tall and broad. His back straightened and, for once, she got to see what was written on his chest. Carved in to his very flesh in capital letters was the word 'dog'. She was staring and couldn't seem to pull her eyes away until he spoke.

"Put your weapon down, there is no reason to act like an animal." The way he spoke the last word was so self-loathing she wasn't quite sure how to respond for a moment.

He was speaking. A Nightkin was speaking to her.

Slowly, she lowered the weapon, letting the tips of the knives touch the ground as her arm straightened, the piece of wood pressing flush against her muscle.

He stared at her, eyes sharp and distant. "You are not the one I was expecting."

"Seems I never am."

He did not seem too amused by her retort and vandal smile.

"I will not talk with the Old Man's followers. I will wait here until he comes to find me himself or dies." He had turned away from her, moving deeper in to the cell.

She should have known this wouldn't be so easy. No one ever readily agreed to drop everything they were doing and run off with her.

"Hey, wait, come on sweetie at least hear me out." Beatrice moved her hands with casual grace. "You sound like you have a vendetta against the Old Man-."

"To put it lightly." He grumbled the answer.

"I can tell you that I don't like him either. Guy is kind of an ass. So how 'bout we team up, appease him for a bit until he lets his guard down, then you can get whatever kind of revenge you want an' I can escape."

He turned to look at her with that last word. "Escape." The Nightkin repeated it slowly before making a snorting sound. "That's what they all want, at first. No, no you'll be just like the rest of them. You'll fall into the Madre's trap and forget about escaping."

"You know, I admit, I'm a pretty awful person." She took a step forward. "But I ain't the greedy sort. No reason to be."

"You're here, aren't you? Greed. Curiosity. It'll eat you." He turned to face her fully, stalking towards her. "But you need me. That's why you're here. If you want someone to follow you blindly, then call Dog out from the basement. I will not do so."

She almost screamed in frustration. Meeting his challenge, she too stepped towards the cage, drawing her shoulders back to bow herself up. "I don't want a blind follower, I want someone who can think for himself and help me get this over 'n done with."

There was silence and, for a long moment, they just stared at each other.

"How do I know you won't change your mind later?"

"I'll prove it to you. If I was gonna let out Dog, don't ya think I would have done so already?" She tilted her chin up, staring at him.

Then, slowly, one big meaty hand came up and from a pocket he produced a key. The cell door opened. Hunching over so he could fit through it, he stood up and his sheer size forced her to slide away.

"Then let us go."

They wandered the streets together, moving slowly. There was an unspoken understanding between them, some sort of odd respect shared betwixt the two that let them move without speaking. Beatrice was attempting to commit the streets and patterns to memory, but her head was beginning to fail her. Shaking her head slightly, she took in a deep breath of poisoned air and coughed. The force was enough to make her almost stumble, the sound rasping and unpleasant.

Absently, despite all of that, she flipped a gold coin around her fingers, watching it dance between the scarred knuckles.

"Hey God, what the hell are these used for anyway?"

He glanced at her, watching the coin for just a moment. "There are vending machines. Put enough in, you get what you want out."

This interested her. She lifted a brow. "What kind of stuff?"

"Any kind of thing you want from my understanding. Food. Drink. Drugs."

The last word hit her and she glanced at him. Did he know? She had gained the weight back she had lost from her drug years. Her cheeks were full again, eyes no longer sunken and skin no longer sallow. No, no he couldn't know. He didn't give her a look that told her he knew. He just looked…bored.

That was something she could deal with.

She pocketed the coin and felt the others jingle in her pocket. If she got enough, maybe she could get some snack cakes. Or gum.

Med-x.

She stopped herself there, sucking in a breath rather sharply. She ended the conversation, simply choosing not to respond. He understood, or felt no need to question it. She was loud around so many people, laughing because it filled the holes in her heart, but around God she let herself be swallowed by his stillness. It was strange, the way they fit together. He still scared her, but at least she felt something.

Something.

Though they had been walking in a moderately comfortable silence, as they turned a corner, God spoke.

"You are tired, human." If he meant it as a question, it hadn't come across that way.

"Beatrice," she corrected. "Beatrice Luck."

He made a grumbling sound deep within his throat. "You are tired, Beatrice."

"Been runnin' round here for nearly a fuckin' day. Or, I'd guess. Hard to tell time with this damned Cloud blotting out the sky, 'v course I'm tired." Though her words were aggressive at face value, he seemed to understand that he shouldn't be offended by them. That was one thing she liked about God.

"Then why have you not taken time to rest?" He asked, acting as though it were the most obvious thing.

She kept moving forward even as he stopped to look around. The feeling in her legs had disappeared and she was only vaguely aware that she was still walking. "'Cause I got shit to do." She was fairly sure he rolled his eyes though she couldn't see it.

"And what happens when you overestimate your abilities and find yourself pinned down without the strength to get out?"

"That's what you're here for." He didn't respond and when she glanced back, she found he was just staring at her. "Or, maybe not. Fine, fine, what would you have me do?"

"Sleep."

"I never would have guessed." It was her turn to stare at him.

He made that grumbling noise of his again and it still shot blind fear straight through her. The only other time she had heard that sound was right before she was rushed by one with a sledge hammer. She sighed and looked around. Then, turning, she headed for the nearest complex.

"Help me pull off these boards." Propping her spear on the clay wall, she grabbed a rotted board with her bare hands and broke it off with a grunt.

He moved forward, placed a hand on her shoulder, and pushed her away. His hands were larger, muscles more intense, and while she was quick with it he was much faster. "Must you pick a door that has been boarded up?" He popped the pieces of wood off without so much as breaking his calm speech pattern.

She opted to lean against the wall, feeling the jumpsuit chafe awkwardly on her back and thighs. Though she walked the line of hallucination inducing exhaustion, she kept her eyes open, vigilant in making sure nothing startled them. The last thing they needed was a fight.

"I figure it's less likely to have any of the haunts in there. What are those things by the way?"

"The workers who once lived here. They have…changed. I've heard them called 'Ghost People' now."

He grunted and pulled the final board off. The door opened and she peered inside. When nothing moved, she led the way in and up to the second floor. Though the bedroom had a wall of windows that should have worried anyone, they had been boarded up. If the Ghost People hadn't touched them by now, she doubted they would just because she was in there. Then again, she should really have learned to stop being so optimistic about her luck by now.

The bedroom was large enough to accommodate God without much problem. The floorboards were old and dirty, but it was nothing Beatrice hadn't seen before. Paper peeled off of the walls and she sat her spear down once more. This time, she didn't plan on picking it up again so soon.

Unzipping her jumpsuit, she shrugged her shoulders and arms out of it and stretched. Scratching her hairy pits for a moment, she looked at her arm. The wound was still there, the dark red spreading across her arm and turning more in to a deep purple where the wound was most bulbous.

The wound drew his attention, yet he opted to remain silent. His eyes scanned over her arms, over the scars that told her life story. Some had aged with time, turning white against her warm skin while others still looked fleshy- pink.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" She looked at God.

He motioned vaguely at her. "Your clothes."

"I'm gettin' comfortable. Fuckin' thing doesn't fit right." Taking the limp sleeves in her hands, she tied them around her hips and decided that was good enough.

She had no problem showing skin, letting the world see the road map of scars that ran along her torso and arms, the old wounds on her back and shoulders that came from everything from burns to Deathclaws to her own silly mistakes. She was proud of them. She was a survivor.

Plopping down on the massive bed, she heard the springs squeak. It wasn't the most comfortable bed, but it was a bed. Kicking her boots off, she sent them flying across the room where they hit the wall next to where God was sitting and knocked dust in to the air. God did not look amused by her antics and he made no effort to hide it.

"Are you always so grumpy?" Beatrice asked, pulling the contents of her pockets out.

"Are you always so loud?" God countered.

"Yeah, actually." She grinned at him, feeling her eyes shut for just a moment too long. Sighing, Beatrice stretched her aching arms and gathered the odd conglomeration of items to set them on the small table beside the bed.

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten killed yet."

"You 'n me both, buddy." She chuckled, the sound ending in a warm hum. "You gonna sleep?"

"No." He answered.

"Oh. Well, if you get bored, feel free to look around for a backpack or some food." Lifting a hand, she attempted to adjust her collar once more only to realize there was something on the edge. She scratched at it and looked at her fingers.

Dried blood.

She was bleeding. The realization made her feel sick. She needed to get this thing off. He had responded but she didn't catch his answer. Figuring he had offhandedly insulted her, she ignored it and spoke once more.

"Hey God, the Ol' Man said we all had collars." She tapped the cold metal on her neck as if to prove her point, "where's yours?"

God growled. The noise filled the room and he suddenly looked very, very irritated with her. She glanced to her spear and wondered if she could get to it before he decided to throttle her. Probably not.

Well fuck.

"The fool ate it."

She blinked, clearly not having expected that answer. Drawing her fuzzy legs up on to the bed, she crossed them and watched. "Que?"

"Dog. He ate it. He ate it and we were so close. So close to leaving it all behind."

Her mind was still trying to wrap around this concept. She had seen it only once, the way his demeanor changed. Dog, was that what he called his other half? Blue eyes fell on his chest once more. She wanted to know who had craved it in there, or if he had carved it himself, and if so, which side had done it. Did it matter, though? Dog, God, whomever he was, he was the same person.

She went to remind him that Dog didn't eat it, that he did, when she thought better of it. Whatever she believed didn't matter. What mattered was that he believed Dog was a separate creature from him living in the same body, what mattered was that he could break her arm between his thumb and fore finger if he was bored. This thought made her jaw clamp shut.

Her look of deep thought seemed to translate in to something sympathetic to him and he relaxed. She watched his chest cave in as he breathed out.

"It doesn't matter. Go to sleep, Beatrice."

Scooting back on the bare bed, she let herself lie down. Her hair sprawled around her and she loosely crossed her arms about her chest. The fact that the collar was impossibly uncomfortable didn't even strike her. Eyes shutting she felt herself drift almost instantly.

One thing stopped her.

"God?" she asked again.

He grunted in acknowledgement.

"Thank you." Not feeling the need to elaborate, she let the words hang in the air.

The response she got was silence. God could not remember the last time someone had thanked him. He waited until her breathing slowed, waited until her heart rate fell so low he almost thought it stopped, and he finally answered.

"You're welcome."