CHAPTER 29
Disclocated

Grey jerked awake from a restless sleep. She could still feel the ragged edges of a dream, but the details were blurry, slipping away with every passing second. By the time she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the dream was gone. Her hangover, however, was only just beginning.

She buried her face in her hands, temples throbbing and throat so dry it stung. Dogmeat prodded her knee with his nose, giving a small whine. When she didn't respond, he retreated to the door and pawed at the splintered wood. The sound was like an icepick to the brain and it took everything in her not to scream.

After either five minutes or five hours, Grey found the strength to get out of bed and change out of yesterday's whiskey-soaked rags. In her jeans pocket she found Hancock's note, the address scrawled in pencil lead. Her stomach dropped, an oily memory of last night's chat with the mayor seeping back in. Of all the places for Brandis's contact to be…

Grey's memories of last night felt much like her dreams: fragmented and blurred. She remembered most of Magnolia's first set, remembered the countless bottles of whiskey and the stale malt aftertaste, Hancock making jibes at the Paladin, MacCready ending a bar fight rather spectacularly. But that's where things began to unravel. She recalled Mags perched on a chair arm, the scent of Jet on Hancock's lapel, her hips pressed up against something solid. Someone? She felt along those frayed edges of memory, finding nothing.

It was a disquieting feeling, not being able to remember. She hated it. Hated that lack of mastery over herself. Hated the notion that for one instance in her life, there was someone out there who possibly knew more about her actions than she did. Hell, she didn't even know how she got from the Third Rail to the Hotel Rexford, let alone safely into bed.

She continued to curse herself as she walked down the hotel stairs, duffle bag digging into her shoulder and Dogmeat hot on her heels. Her body screamed with every step, even gravity itself feeling like a burden on her bones. She wasn't sure if that was the hangover or potential rad poising from the whiskey, but she did know she wanted it gone.

She approached the hotel bar where Fred Allen appeared to also be sleeping off a hangover or a high. The chem dealer barely had his eyes open before she dropped a handful of caps in his lap and demanded a shot of Med-X. He hazily smiled at her and handed over a syringe.

"If you need help finding a vein—" The words died in his throat as Grey slid the needle into the crook of her arm and pressed the stopper. "Never mind then," he murmured, laying his head back down.

Grey threw her head back and rolled her shoulders as she waited for the painkiller to kick in. She could feel the heat of it in her arm, the upward spread, warmth blossoming in her chest and turning her muscles to momentary goo. By the time she left the hotel lobby, her face had finally stopped pounding, letting a bit of her brain trickle back online.

Scollay Square was an interesting sight in the morning. A scattered few denizens shuffled around, but most drifters were hidden away like vampires fearing the light. A ghoul brewed instant coffee over an open flame, the scent barely masking the reek of vomit and piss wafting up from every sewer grate.

Grey wandered until she found the Paladin in Kill or Be Killed, tinkering with his rifle at KL-E-O's workbench.

"Morning," she greeted, eliciting no response.

She'd hoped a night of drinks and music would have been enough to dispel the Paladin's disapproving mood, but apparently not. It shouldn't have surprised her though. From the moment they entered Goodneighbor, Danse made it abundantly clear this wasn't his kind of town. It was, in many ways, the antithesis of military life: unstructured, unpredictable, unclean. Which also may have been why Grey liked it. Goodneighbor was a place that bucked the trend, that proved not everything needed order to function or, at the very least, survive.

She couldn't help but wonder about the Paladin's life before the Brotherhood. Was he born to the organization or had he also been an outsider at one point? A Wastelander even. She struggled to imagine that. Whether on a farmstead or in a large settlement like Diamond City, Danse in her mind didn't seem to fit. He was too methodical, too meticulous, too selfless. People like that rarely survived in this post-apocalyptic world. Hell, people like that had barely survived in hers.

She turned to KL-E-O, watching as the Assaultron shopkeep expertly arranged a series of scoped rifles on the back wall.

"You buying anything?" KL-E-O asked, her tone dripping with annoyance.

"Depends," Grey said. "Strip any gear off a raider recently?"

"You're joking." It took a moment for the robot to process that Grey in fact wasn't. "I'll see what I have in the back."

As KL-E-O rummaged, Grey headed to the workbench and peered over the Paladin's shoulder. He stiffened with her approach and she instinctively stepped back. Tension slithered across his shoulders and up his neck. A wave of uneasiness overcame Grey, but the feeling wasn't hers. She eyed the Paladin with suspicion. Why would he…

"Why are you wasting caps on subpar gear, Knight?" His voice broke her from her thoughts.

"I wouldn't call it a waste."

Danse turned and raised an eyebrow.

Grey smirked. "Lets say that, where we're headed, we're going to need it."

—

An hour later, they turned onto Lagrange Street.

Shoddily constructed catwalks arched overhead, flaming barrels marking a haphazard path to the old theatre. Dried blood was splattered against a nearby wall. A trader's corpse laid stripped and rotting below it, partially hidden in a pile of debris.

"Charming," Grey muttered as she tentatively stepped forward, pipe pistol pointed downward and the safety clicked off. She scanned the catwalks but they were strangely empty for midday. She'd passed by this street several times before, had memories of the many raiders patrolling from above and warning passersby to steer clear. The catwalks were too low and narrow to conceal an ambush, so wherever the raiders were, they weren't playing guard anymore.

Danse came alongside her, his hands coiled around a battered double-barrel shotgun. He moved stiffly in the rough leather gear, dented shin guards and bracers haphazardly strapped to his limbs. A fresh sheen of grime coated his skin, seeming to cast his hazel eyes black. He looked the part of raider; now the test would be if he could act like one.

They hadn't spoken since leaving Goodneighbor. Even as KL-E-O had outfitted them in her best raider rags, their conversation had been strictly professional: destination, defences, target, and exit plan. Grey told him what she knew of the place, but that was limited to rumours from Diamond City security and warnings from Piper on one of their many forays through the Theatre District. Some called it a bar, others called it a club. But what everyone agreed on was that it was a notorious raider hangout, a place frequented by all gangs—even rivals—as long as they played by the rules.

Grey paused in front of the Combat Zone, her eyes scanning the many warnings and regulations painted onto signposts and walls. There was a surprising number of rules for a raider dive.

She shifted uneasily, the straps from her harness digging into her ribs and pinching her breasts. If she wasn't so hopped up on adrenaline, she knew she'd be freezing. How the raiders dressed the way they did in mid-December and didn't die of hypothermia was beyond her.

Dogmeat gave a short whine, drawing her attention. She dropped to one knee and ran her fingers through his fur.

"I'm going to need you to stand watch out here, boy. Can you do that for me?"

The Shepherd snorted an acknowledgement, earning himself another head rub.

Grey licked her lips as she stood, tasting the drips of oil she'd used to blacken her eyes and grease her hair. She doubted anyone would recognize her—when she took out Jared's gang in Concorde and Lexington, she'd left no survivors—but she wasn't going to leave anything to chance. Not when she was this close to a lead.

They pushed open the lobby doors to find two raiders bound and gagged in the old box-office, "Rule Breakers" largely painted on the wall behind them. In the distance, Grey could hear muffled cheers and a static voice booming over the PA system.

She and Danse locked eyes.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Ready."

The door swung open to a spectacle of wooden platforms and beams spiralling upward and across the auditorium. Dozens of raiders crawled over and perched on every ledge and seat in the house. Harsh blue spotlights illuminated the old stage at the front, a massive cage smack-dab in the middle. Every set of eyes was fixed on the bodies brawling within. The crowd cheered and raged with each hit, beer sloshing and glass breaking. The announcer followed every blow and dodge expertly, gripping the audience and stoking their fervour.

Danse and Grey walked down the aisle tentatively, scanning the raiders for any signs of recognition or alarm. They may as well have been invisible, every eye glued to the escalating cage fight. The redheaded fighter had been cornered, her opponent circling in. He arched back with his crowbar, going for the kill, but the redhead rushed him as he wound back, knocking him off balance and slamming her bat into his face before he could recover. Grey could hear the crack from thirty rows back, the raiders erupting into frenzied cheers.

"And that concludes this round," the announcer sang. "Cait is the undisputed winner!"

The redhead held her bat over her head like a victory belt, drawing equal parts cheers and boos.

"And who's this?" the announcer continued, the ghoul next to the stage catching Grey's eye. "Wait who—"

The auditorium came alive, chairs tipping and rifles cocking. Over a dozen barrels were pointed at their heads by the time Grey raised her pistol.

"Shit," she mouthed under her breath, pressing her shoulder against Danse's as they spun, taking in the full breadth of how fucked they really were. Raiders bore down on them from every angle and height.

"Put it down," one of them barked, his words echoed by several others.

Grey dropped her gun and held up her hands. Danse followed suit a second later. She could feel the apprehension slithering through him, heard his teeth clench and grind.

"What do you say?" the announcer coaxed over the loudspeaker. "Shall we put them in the cage?"

Gruff hands grabbed them both from behind, the barrel of a shotgun pressed between their shoulder blades. One of the raiders leaned in and grabbed Grey's hair, attempting to lick her cheek. He reeked of piss and sour milk. She reared back and head-butted him square in the nose. He collapsed to the floor, shrieking. The raider with the shotgun to Grey's back cackled and gave her another shove forward.

"Looks like we have a spirited one here," the announcer remarked. "Shall we put her in first?"

More cheers erupted and suddenly Danse was torn from Grey's side. She tried to look around but another hand grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, forcing her to face the announcer. He was plump ghoul in a patched suit, blonde hair slicked back and styled like it was 2077. He had the smile of a used-car salesman, all false promises and sleaze.

"So what do you think of my humble, little establishment?" he crooned at her, hand over the mic.

"This place is a dump," she sneered.

"You hear that?" he taunted the crowd. "She thinks she's too good for us." A cacophony of boos replied. "How about you jump into that cage then, hotshot, and show us what you're made of? My little bird in there might not even kill you if I ask her nicely."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," the redhead goaded.

"Never mind her," whispered the announcer. "She'll do as she's told. So how about it? Crowd will love you for it. And by that I mean maybe allow you and your pal to live."

Grey frowned. "This how you treat all new customers?"

"Don't recall you paying yet, new blood. So let's call this your welcome party, hmm?"

Hands pulled back on Grey's shoulders, marching her onto the stage and toward the cage. The gates were hauled open and Grey was thrown forward. She tumbled inside, bare skin scraping against the rotten wood floor. Splinters dug into her palms, the sting dulled by the lingering Med-X in her system.

The match buzzer sounded as Grey pushed herself to her knees. A bat collided with her shoulder a second later, the force spinning her back onto her hip and shooting pain down her arm. She hastily stumbled to her feet and faced the redhead. She grinned at Grey, dried blood cracking around her swollen jaw.

She then began to circle. Grey widened her stance and shifted her weight from foot to foot. She'd seen how the redhead moved at the end of her last fight, knew she was fast. She was also a few inches shorter than Grey, thinner too, which would only increase her speed advantage. Grey knew she could potentially take the redhead down if she got in close enough, but she first had to contend with the bat. And that was the problem.

Grey scanned the area, looking for something—anything—she could use. The redhead lunged. Grey jolted backward, the bat slamming into the stage floor mere millimetres from her feet. Wood splinters sprayed outward and the raiders cheered. That's when Grey spied the last fighter's corpse on the opposite side of the cage.

Grey sprinted forward as the redhead pulled her bat from the broken floorboards. She dove after Grey, swinging wildly. Grey dropped to her knees, narrowly avoiding the blow, and slammed into the corpse. He lay face down, blood-slick crowbar poking out from beneath his chest. She grabbed the clawed shaft and wrenched it sideways. Her shoulder popped and sagged as the bar tore free. Grey swung the crowbar across her face, the bat instantly colliding with metal. Grey's wrist buckled against the force and she nearly lost her grip. Blood slithered down her arms.

The redhead bore down on her, gaunt cheeks flushed and teeth gritted. "Ready to lose, new blood?"

Grey glared and released her left hand, feigning right as the redhead toppled forward. Grey tightened her right-hand grip on the crowbar, twisting it hard and wrapping the bar around the bat before tearing it from the redhead's grasp. Both the bat and bar flew across the cage, far out of reach.

"Bitch!" the redhead spat, lunging at Grey with closed fists.

Grey crossed her arms, deflecting the first blow and allowing the redhead's momentum to thrust her back onto the balls of her feet. Grey drove her shoulder forward on the second punch, pushing past the sting of the rib strike and wrapping her fingers through the redhead's vest. Jerking her off balance, Grey then hooked her leg around the woman's knee. Bone crunched as Grey turned her shoulder inward, hurling the redhead to the floor. Grey was on her in a second, pinning the redhead's injured leg beneath her and slamming her forearm across her chest.

The redhead coughed and spat, air knocked from her lungs.

"Had enough?" Grey panted.

The raiders heckled and roared, the announcer feigning shock. "Has this new blood bested our fair Cait?" More cheers arose from the stands.

The redhead's eyes clouded, body going slack under Grey's weight.

"Quit standing there and finish it already," she growled. "The hell you waitin' for?"

Grey furrowed her brow. "What's the matter with you?"

"Everything's the matter with me," she seethed before looking away. "Just forget it."

Grey released her hold and stepped back cautiously, allowing the redhead to stumble to her feet. She limped awkwardly, leg turned outward at the knee. Grey offered a hand but she batted it away.

"Alright, fight's over," the announcer said from the cage door, microphone turned off. "You two can come out now."

"After you, hero," the redhead spat.

Grey strode past her, ignoring the searing pain radiating across her shoulder and the awkward feel of a hanging, dislocated arm.

The ghoul chuckled with her approach. "Nice work, new blood. Now get over here. You too, bird," he hollered at the redhead.

"I told you to quit callin' me that," she grumbled, shuffling up next to Grey.

They followed the ghoul backstage to a rundown office. He perched himself behind a rusted desk, looking as pleased as a pig in shit. Grey leaned against the far wall, cradling her limp arm.

"So, new blood, what'd you think of that?"

Grey frowned. "You tell me. Did we put on a good show?"

"Yeah, Tommy," the redheaded mocked. "Did we do it for you? I know you get off on it."

The ghoul shrugged. "I would have preferred you putting up more of a fight, Cait. You're strung out and getting sloppy. You need to curb the chems, darling."

"I'm not your darlin'," Cait snapped.

"Don't mind her," Tommy said to Grey. "She hates losing. But you—you weren't half bad in there." Her flashed her a sleazy smile. "You want to make this a regular thing?"

Grey would rather pound sand, but she was also supposed to be playing the part of raider. Someone who's capacity for long-term thinking was perhaps thirty-seconds at most and whose drive for caps often overrode both common sense and self-preservation.

"Sure, we can make it regular," Grey said. "If you pay me."

Tommy grinned. "I knew I'd like you." Her threw a small purse of caps at her. "And there's more where that came from. If you keep fighting. And living, of course."

Grey pawed the bag, estimating the contents to be about a hundred caps. "This the standard pay?"

"Let's call it a first time trial run commission and leave it at that. You'll get more the more you fight." He leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head. "If you need a place to stay, you're welcome to crash with the other fighters backstage. But something tells me you won't be calling this place home."

"Wow, I wonder why," Grey feigned. "It's not like you didn't roll out the welcome mat when I arrived."

Cait smirked. "Hear that, Tommy? Not everyone finds your 'humble establishment' the dog's bollocks."

"Lost some of the charm, has it, little bird?" he said. "I'm sure I could think of other places to send you to get that smile torn off your face."

Cait rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"Anyway," Tommy continued, "you've both earned a drink. So why don't you two head over to the bar and Stanley will pour you a glass of something special."

"You're forgetting something," Grey said.

Tommy arched his brow.

"My partner?"

He laughed, waving his hand. "He's fine. Let him go the moment we threw you in the cage. And after he coughed up the entry fee."

Grey pushed off the wall, shaking her head. "Of course you did."

"See you later, toots," he smiled.

Grey gave him the finger and walked out the door.

She hadn't gotten far before Cait laid a hand on her good shoulder. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, but it still had Grey flinching.

"Don't mind Tommy," she said. "He can be a right arse, but he wasn't out to kill ya." She looked over Grey's shoulder at a nearby group of raiders and motioned for Grey to follow her further backstage. "He's got to keep up appearances with the locals. You know how it is."

Grey watched as Cait limped towards a chair in a backroom.

"Need help with that knee?"

Cait raised her brow. "Need help with that shoulder?"

"Fuck yes," Grey grimaced.

The redhead laughed at that. "All right, just give me a moment." She pulled a battered first aid box out from under the chair. She barely had it on her lap and opened before she braced her leg on the wall and thrust her kneecap back into place with the heel of her hand. The wet scrapping sound had shivers running down Grey's spine.

Cait injected a discoloured Stimpak into her upper thigh, quickly chasing it with two doses of Med-X. She leaned back for only a moment, eyes closed, before jumping back to her feet and dropping the first aid kit on the chair.

"Med-X or leather strap?" she asked, motioning to Grey's shoulder.

Grey smirked. "Can't remember the last time someone asked me that. Pretty sure it was in a very different context though."

Cait grinned. "My kind of woman."

Grey detached the guard from her bum arm and placed it between her teeth. Cait came alongside and gingerly took hold of Grey's wrist with one hand. With the other she felt along Grey's shoulder blade, finding the joint and protrusion. "Deep breath. On three, two—"

She wrenched Grey's arm up and back, a slick pop sounding as it slipped back into its socket.

Black dots swam across Grey's vision and she screamed into the leather.

Cait retrieved another Stimpak and injected it in the crook of Grey's neck, above the collarbone.

The armguard slithered from Grey's teeth as she collapsed back against the wall. It took her a few minutes to get the pain under control and her breathing regulated.

"How often do you do this?" Grey asked.

"What, patch up my opponent?"

Grey shook her head. "Fight in the cage."

"Few times a week," Cait replied, packing up the first aid kit and chucking it back under the chair. "Why?"

"Just curious," Grey said. "Hard way to make caps."

"Trust me, hotshot, there's tougher gigs out there. At least this one I'm good at, and if anyone gives me shit, well—" She shrugged. "Sometimes I just hit 'em a bit harder."

Grey laughed. "You mean you hit harder than that? Pretty sure you put a few holes in the stage floor."

"So you noticed, huh?" Cait joked. But suddenly the smile fell from her face and unease crept in. "About earlier," she said sheepishly. "I'm sorry for askin' what I did of ya. It was a… moment of weakness. Bad loser and all that."

Grey nodded. "Consider it forgotten." She wouldn't forget though, not really. That kind of darkness, it always stuck out to Grey. Especially after things with Walsh and James. That level of desperation? It was hard to ignore, and rarely did it go away.

"Right then," Cait said, brushing off her hands. "Let's go get that drink, because I don't know about you, but I'm fucking parched."

Somewhere in the back of Grey's mind, she knew another drink was the absolute last thing she needed. But something about Cait had Grey hard pressed to decline the invitation.

"Lead the way, little bird," Grey teased.

She expected the redhead to tell her off, but instead she got a shrug.

"This way then, hero."