Number Nine

by Hija de la Tempestad

Vulpes Inculta is tasked with contacting Courier Six who, besides not being what the Legion might need in the upcoming battle for the Dam, is more interested in adding him to her ragtag group than playing politics. Vulpes thinks he has played this same old game countless times... until he finds that he might be enjoying what she offers. That's when shit starts hitting the fan.

44. True Colors

"Number Nine"

---

Ch. 44: True Colors.

---

"You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged.
Oh I realize,
It's hard to take courage.
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small.

But I see your true colors
Shining through.
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you."

- Cyndi Lauper, "True Colors"

---

There had been times when she had been able to regain consciousness amidst one of the VR sessions, effectively overwriting the randomly generated virtual scenario with reality.

"Caaaaaptain…"

All of those instances had been defined by a common factor.

"Stop hiding from me… you know I can always find you, even if you want to make things difficult."

Number One and his obsession with her.

"You know… you're the only one who has managed to survive me this far. I think I'm starting to grow fond of you, Captain."

Somehow, pairing them up across the virtual sessions, Battle Royale or not, had become an everyday happenstance. It was as if the Research Team wanted to test how far their cat-and-mouse game would get them, like lab rats in a polyurethane labyrinth.

"In fact, you are the closest thing I have here as an equal… intellectually speaking, that is. My men, the other gifted ones… they are all plain stupid. Inferior."

Number One had been fond of games. Mind games, to be precise.

"They fancy themselves superheroes or some such shit taken from comics. Only because they know a few cheap tricks many cannot even develop into a weapon. Unlike me."

Sometimes, he would play the boogeyman part, while others… he would speak of power, of revenge. As if it were a secret only them both knew about.

"How I wish I could strip them of their unearned gifts and give them all to you… That way, you would stand a chance against me face to face."

As if they were accomplices of a shared goal. A plan they had ideated out of mutual accord.

"Or maybe I would not fight you at all. Maybe I would keep you around, close to me. As close as your mind would allow me to be."

Sometimes, even despite the bleak reality surrounding them, their unnatural situation, and the strange antagonism they spurred, him playing the villain, her suffering him in silence like any good heroine of her own fantasy, his words had hit a little too close to home.

Too true to be denied.

"You know… I've been visiting their dreams. From them. From the Vault-Tec assholes that observe us through that one-way mirror, one level above this chamber. All very plain, nothing of interest to find there… but they get easily frightened when their dreaming loops get interrupted, and they resort to sleeping pills when they cannot stand three nights in a row without getting a wink."

They had shared a strange synchrony; many of their apparently unilateral conversations were replies to her muted thoughts, even if she knew for a fact that he was unable to get that deeper into her mind.

"I was testing it with the rest of you before putting it into practice with the adults. You being the only one whose mind I never got a glimpse of."

His frustration with her continuous silence had grown on par with his obsession with breaking her mental barrier and submitting her to his capricious nature.

"Why won't you let me in, Captain? Aren't you tired of the silence? Of that inner world where you only get to be all by yourself?"

He had killed many of the other kids by conjuring up stuff that the Programming Team didn't have the imagination, nor the means, to add to the VR sessions.

Stuff she knew he was capable of conjuring into their minds like a dark sorcerer. As if he owned their collective conscience. Like a gluttonous queen in a beehive, starving her minions to grow fatter and fatter.

From plain weapons materializing out of the blue in his hands to impossible, terrific scenarios.

"Aren't you tired of living like this?"

For he, in the virtual world, was the only one allowed to hit the God Command by merely thinking about it.

"What if I told you… that I can make you permanently happy if you allow me to govern your thoughts?"

The only one capable of awakening her mind mid-session, frying the rest of the pods, creating a short circuit that came true in the real world, killing anybody else but her.

"The Vault, the lab, the VR sessions… everything can disappear if you so desire. Just by letting me in."

Confounding her very memories and the notions of privacy she held so precious. Making her fall asleep as her pod was opened, making a fascinating case study for the vultures that kept pairing them up, wondering when he would grow tired of her.

"… Or we can keep playing this game, if that is what you want. After all, I cannot help it if you wish to cower before me while I look frightening."

And so, in the instances when she had been able to break free not only from the VR, but from his illusions, he had attacked her in the real world, peeling the pod's case open, raising her mid-air amidst wires with the sole will of his mind.

Like a bird taking flight.

He would be subdued with potent doses of tranquilizers before he could harm her, screaming in her head to snap out of it, to end it all, attempting to convince her to set him free.

To lend him her consciousness.

"Captain!"

She had resisted his intrusion then.

"Do NOT ignore me!"

Just as she would resist any other intrusion…

---

… Like now.

Her instincts acted before her mind woke up completely, finding herself straddling a figure she had pinned to the ground. Her switchblade mere inches from its gullet.

"Sullivan! What do you think you are doing?!"

However, the same she held a figure prisoner beneath her, another significantly larger one was holding her by her shoulders.

Her sight got clearer, and then, the unsightly, perturbed Cheshire smile of the slimy redhead was the first thing her conscience registered.

Zo… Vulpes, who had been resting in the same sleeping bag as hers, holding her waist from behind, was the one holding her again, his fingers digging into her bony shoulders, trying to get her off the other man.

She cocked her head, squinting her dark eyes, speaking with a voice that sounded too dark and husky to be hers.

"Can't you see?" – her tongue asked for her – "Your agent and I are playing a game! One that consists of catching the other low-guarded and vulnerable to see if our senses are as sharp as this." – pressing the slim blade into the grinning man's throat, she added – "Isn't that right, Frumentarius?"

The man let out a demented cackle.

"Oh, yes, indeed!" – he exclaimed animatedly, as if having a blade threatening his jugular were the most amusing thing in the world – "All fun and games, Commander. Just to test the Tabellaria's abilities."

One of the pale hands on her shoulders trailed down her right arm light as a feather, almost like a caress, to close its fingers around her smaller wrist, gently coaxing it to let go of the switchblade.

She resisted minimally before giving in, letting him borrow the switchblade as he folded it again and hid it far away from her sight.

Then, his chin came to rest on her shoulder. Soft, snowy curls tickled her cheek before the Fox spoke again.

"Who gave you permission to test Mercuria's abilities, Cicero?" – and then, his hand was the one grabbing the other man's throat, more a threat than real choking intention – "Have you lost your mind after all these months watching the supply cave alone, perhaps?"

"Lost his mind?" – the man echoed – "This servant?" – he let out a wheezing laugh before sitting up minimally, defying the strength of the hand chocking him – "Well now, perhaps the Commander should ask that very question to himself when he sleeps so, so snugly and so soundly next to a woman who hides a blade in her sleeping bag." – he added in a whisper, only loud enough for them two to hear. His small, malicious eyes gleamed – "Any sane man would deem such a thing nothing but… madness."

The slap that followed such a daring declaration echoed throughout the cave, along with the madman's wheezing snicker.

And yet, to Six, the nosebleed and the angry red that preceded an ugly swelling on that stupid face felt… terribly unsatisfactory.

"Consider that a warning." – the Fox spoke, eyeing the giggling madman with cold eyes – "Next time you feel like talking back to me, do yourself a service and bite your tongue… unless you harbor a wish for it to be removed." – nearing his face to the little man, still holding him by the throat, he added – "You know I have a habit of making good on my word, do you?"

Smiling insanely, the interpellated snorted humorously. His teeth pearled with the crimson of his nosebleed.

"Oh, this servant knows well… all too well, Commander." – he wheezed merrily, as if the threat were but an inside joke between them – "And this servant hopes the Commander keeps his word as well as his promises. Always."

The Master Frumentarius released him, almost as if he had burned him.

And then, Six recalled something.

"Where's Rex?" – she asked, her disquiet eyes combing the cavern as she got up – "Rexie?" – she called.

As soon as distant barking ensued, the blonde-redhead son of a bitch, still lying on the ground, started cackling like an old witch.

The sound came from afar, as if from the outside.

The cold realization made her stomach sink like a pile of rocks. Had Rex been next to her, the slimy little man would have never gotten so close.

Eyes wide open, she turned her head to Vulpes, who in kind seemed to anticipate her next move, launching towards her when she violently turned heel and sprinted to the cave's entrance.

"Sullivan, no!" – he yelled, a microsecond too slow when she ducked his desperate grasp and ran up the rocky ramp with all her might – "SULLIVAN!"

The sunlight from the outside nearly blinded her, bringing a brief nausea when she saw her dog, her motherfucking sweet dog, within the grasp of the titanic yellow mutant, who was sitting on the ground eyeing the canine as if it had found a new toy.

"REXIE!" – she screamed, earning pointed ears and eager barking once the animal recognized her voice.

She dodged the impact the humongous fist made upon the earth by inches.

Entering V.A.T.S., she also dodged the gigantic hand's sweeping movement, stamping onto a rocky wall from a salient.

"Give me my dog back!" - she yelled, which caused the giant to pause briefly before cutting her evasion maneuvers by the left with a muscled stretched leg.

And then, when she tried to go for the right, a giant palm fell flat onto the ground, making her lose balance and fall on her butt.

The behemoth's vast, elongated shadow covered the sun as the mutant craned its neck to face her.

"DOGGY NOT YOURS!" – it boomed, making the earth tremble around her – "DOGGY MEL'S NOW!"

Gaping like an idiot, unaware that behemoths, given their advanced facial muscle atrophy, were capable of speaking, Six first eyed the angry mutant towering over her, then her whining dog trapped in its hand.

"That dog is mine!" – she replied, knowing she would have to yell for the behemoth to understand what she was saying – "Give it back to me!"

"NO!" - her angry interlocutor, Mel, passionately declared, making her cover her ears with both hands - "DOGGY MEL'S!"

Something short-circuited inside her brain as she got angry as well, seeing how scared Rex was, whining and trembling in the right palm of such a humongous doofus who didn't know how to take care of a dog in the first place.

She didn't fucking care it was a behemoth. She wanted her dog back!

"NO!" – Six screeched at the top of her lungs, getting up quickly and rubbing her sore butt with both of her hands – "That dog is mine, you dog-robber!" – she talked back irately, pointing the mutant with an accusing index – "Gimme my dog back NOW!"

Bending lower to face her, the behemoth's fetid breath nearly made her gag.

"NUH-UH, DOGGY MEL'S!" – it insisted.

"No, doggy mine, you liar!"

"MEL NOT LIE!"

"You stole my dog, you thief!"

"MEL NO THIEF!"

"Yes, you are!"

"DOGGY ALONE, MEL ADOPTED DOGGY!"

Trying to reign over her anger, knowing she likely was dealing with an infantile mind, she eyed Rex, still whining, head lying between front legs inside the small cavity the big fingers had made around him.

"You're scaring the doggy!" – she reasoned, pointing her index toward Rex – "You're making the doggy cry!"

Making a gasp that almost sounded like a deafening growl, the supermutant opened its hand to take a proper look at the animal.

"DOGGY… CRY?" – it asked, incredulous.

As if to confirm Six's words, Rex let out a loud, mournful howl.

"See?" – she said, half hopeful she would get her pet back – "Doggy is sad because he wants to be with me!"

Pivoting bloodshot eyes between the scared animal and her, the behemoth seemed to ponder what to do.

Six squealed in absolute fright when she was grabbed like a doll and put on the same hand as Rex.

Sensing her fear, the canine came over to her and started giving comforting, humid kisses galore.

"NOW, DOGGY HAPPY." – Mel concluded – "PROBLEM SOLVED."

Hugging the dog to will herself to stop trembling like a leaf, Six needed a whole minute to find her voice.

"But… what about me?!"

"MEL ADOPTED YOU TOO!" – the supermutant replied proudly.

"What?! But I don't wanna be adopted!"

"LITTLE HUMAN GIRL ALONE, MEL ADOPTED LITTLE HUMAN GIRL." – was all the reasoning she got.

"You cannot go around adopting living things just because they are alone!"

"YES, MEL CAN DO."

"But…"

She didn't get to finish that sentence when a third voice interrupted their chat.

"SULLIVAN!"

Six's blood froze in her veins when she saw her legionary, still dressed in the Vault suit he had slept in, sprinting full speed toward them with a crazed mien distorting his features.

She wasn't aware she could scream so loud when a veined, humongous yellow fist fell upon his running silhouette in full force.

---

"Sullivan, no!" – as soon as those words had abandoned Vulpes' lips, Gabban had launched after him while he chased the problematic girl – "SULLIVAN!"

The fear and desperation in his voice had been absolutely terrifying to listen to.

So, in kind, Gabban hadn't stopped until he had tackled the moron down, barely a couple of feet away from the cave's entrance.

He had needed extra help from Olivian and Ignatius to keep him pinned, since the bastard roared and trashed about like a rabid dog.

"What do you think you're doing?!" – Gabban bellowed amidst the commotion, still struggling to keep the Fox immobile – "Are you mad?!"

"Let me go!" – the interpellated yelled angrily, clawing the earth below him in a rage, throwing one of the worst fits Gabban had seen in all their years in the Legion – "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Vulpes never lost his shit this way. Never. He'd rather go into the desert naked and die roasted than show weakness.

And THIS was weakness. Weakness shown in a particularly pathetic fashion.

"T-the hell she's doing?" – Ignatius asked, still struggling to keep their superior under their combined forces – "Is she… talking with that thing?!"

While they couldn't hear what the girl was replying to the monster, the colossus' voice, in contrast, reverberated across the mountain range.

"NUH-UH, DOGGY MEL'S!"

It said with a thunderous voice that could have sent a saner person into a paralyzed, stuttering mess.

But the Courier wasn't sane. That much, Gabban already knew.

"DOGGY ALONE, MEL ADOPTED DOGGY!"

And she, apparently, was insane enough to confront a mutant abomination regarding her pet's theft, the primary spark that had ignited this conflagration of madness the first hour in the morning.

Gabban's stomach rumbled inopportunely to remind him that he hadn't eaten breakfast yet. Urgh.

However, the moment the titanic abomination grabbed the girl as if she were a doll, Olivian yelped, Gabban gasped before being violently thrown aside, and Vulpes managed to break free from them to roll onto the dust and resume his mad dash, all uncoordinated limbs in that ridiculous blue and yellow suit as he called the girl's name, ignoring his brother's screams altogether.

"Fox! FOX!" – oh god… oh shit… the stupid motherfucker was going to die today… all just because he couldn't see past the scrawny ass of some problematic girl – "NO! GET YOUR IDIOT ASS BACK HERE, DAMNIT!"

That's it. Gabban was officially tachycardic as he kept throwing insults at the winds.

"Y-you… t-thrice-damned… sonuvabitchy… freaky… insufferable… s-suicidal horndog…" - he grumbled, his voice coming in labored breaths while hyperventilating like crap as he was forcibly seated against the rocky entrance of the cave. All of this while being fanned by Ignatius' hand, who likely didn't know what to do with him – "I h-hate you… I f-fucking hate you so, so f-freaking damn much…"

"He… he bit me…" – Olivian muttered by his side in utter shock, rubbing the abused forearm which, besides looking reddened and swollen, sported the unmistakable mark of the Fox's pointy set of teeth – "I can't believe it… He bit me…"

"You're damn lucky he didn't tear a portion of your arm off in the process." – Erasmus' voice interceded while he carelessly sat next to them, a steaming bowl full of boiled meat and potatoes sitting on his lap as he treated the horrible situation like a form of watching entertainment – "I've seen Vulpes do quite the particularly gruesome stuff to some rando's face with his teeth alone. Not pretty."

As the aforementioned Master Frumentarius closed the distance between himself, the girl, the dog, and the monster, the latter's humongous fist fell upon him like a ton of bricks.

Gabban and the stupid girl shrieked like rats until, to everyone's relief, they saw how Vulpes dodged the lethal blow by rolling aside on the dust, getting grimier than a fleathy, mangy coyote in the process.

Then, to everyone's dismay – and the amusement of some - he started to yell at the monstrosity with a presumptuous, pontifical index finger raised as if giving one of his little discourses to a retarded, spoiled five-year-old ten times his size.

If Gabban thought he couldn't take more of this madness, Cicero's kettle snicker perforated his eardrums by his left as the little man sat with them, too, with yet another bowl of breakfast on his lap.

"It seems like the Commander is warming up just fine." – he opined cheerfully, careful of chewing the food with the good side of his swollen jaw.

"Hell yeah." – Erasmus concurred with a full mouth as if they were discussing the weather – "This is more like the Vulpes we know."

"Who knows who?"

Turning around to the source of the new voice, Gabban facepalmed himself hard when the bodybuilder-like, naked silhouettes of Aurelius of Phoenix and his Jackal whore greeted their eyes.

"Aaah!" – Olivian shrieked, covering his eyes hastily – "Why did I have to see that?! Just WHY?!"

"Well, hello there, Centurion." – Erasmus commented, casting an appreciative look on the man's lower, most prominent half-mast anatomy – "Fancy meeting you so early in the morning in such a… suggestive mood."

Unimpressed, the burly man cocked a brow while his whore giggled. Tits and all out on display for everyone to see, as if being surrounded by men didn't concern her in the slightest.

And she probably got the right idea, given all the recent hickeys and bite marks she sported on her neck, breasts, and belly. The Centurion had marked her as his thoroughly.

"I wasn't aware faggots got far within Frumentarii ranks." – Aurelius replied in a bored tone, crossing his arms.

"I won't tell on you if you won't tell on me." – the interpellated replied with a playful wink, earning Aurelius' immediate frown – "Ah, you see… I can smell the beer, tequila, and cheap tobacco from here." – and so, when the man tried to refute, Erasmus' eyes shone with mirth – "Aw, c'mon, Centurion. Can't you take some amicable banter?"

"From a Frumentarius?" – the man replied incredulously – "Hell no. I've gotten enough warnings from your beloved leader to last me for a fucking lifetime."

"You mean that leader over there?" – Gabban's strangling instincts increased at their stupid cousin's casual address toward the dangerous scene playing between Vulpes, the girl, and the humongous mutant, who still were arguing over who the hell knows what – "Yep, that sounds exactly like him. Except for the 'beloved' part, I think."

"What…" – the burly man trailed off, nearing the cave's entrance, his half-awake dick but inches far from Olivian's face, who shrieked and turned around in shame, rubbing his eyes red – "… the fuck's going on there?" – then, taking a good look at the present Frumentarii, with one amidst an anxiety crisis and another two eating breakfast as they watched the odd show their leader was putting on, he finally inquired – "What in the bloody Tartarus has happened here? What did I miss?"

"The Tabellaria's nice metal dog got kidnapped by the super-supermutant, so she went to rescue it." – the Miles who spoke in the third person joined the already-packed conversation from behind munching on his breakfast along with his redhead buddy, a ghoul, and a Jackal woman in black lipstick who apparently couldn't keep her mittens to herself – "Then, the Tabellaria got kidnapped too, so the Commander went after her." – a trail of meat grease trailed down his lips as he kept chewing and talking – "Chases-Bugs finds it reasonable. A legionary has to protect his property."

"Hohoho, by the looks of it, that Courier loquita (1) would be in serious trouble if they manage to get outta that shit alive." – the Jackal leader opined merrily, clearly not giving a crap about who lived and who died there as long as it wasn't her – "El güerito amargado no se ve muy feliz." (2)

Looking at the distant bizarre scene, then turning around again to examine Gabban's altered state, the Centurion pinched his chin pensively.

"We're going to have a problem if that bastard dies." – he said, already measuring the mutant with a clinical eye, evidently weighing if any battle strategy would even make a dent in such a hulking mass – "Hell, I don't think that thing would even react to .308 caliber bullets."

"Pffft, if I were you, Centurion, I wouldn't concern myself with a situation you have zero control over." – Erasmus snorted, evidently entertained and unconcerned, much to Gabban's dismal – "Instead, I would start telling the men – and women, of course - to prepare for any bizarre situation that would come up – and it will come up - any time soon."

"More bizarre than… that?" – Aurelius asked as if he hadn't heard it right, pointing his index finger toward the still-ongoing distant yelling contest held between the Master Frumentarius and the mutant – "You got to be kidding."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew who he is." – Erasmus replied, meeting a dark look that challenged to prove him wrong – "Ever heard of the P.I.G.S., Centurion?"

That, apparently, made Aurelius react when he snapped his head toward his interlocutor.

"What?!" – he exclaimed, making a double check, eyeing Erasmus from head to toe – "You mean the P.I.G.S. as in the actual P.I.G.S.?!"

"Yup."

"Then that means that pompous asshole is…"

Gabban didn't understand a single thing they were saying.

"The only and one Decanus Suicidal." – Erasmus declared proudly – "This guy here?" – he added, patting Cicero's shoulders amicably – "Veteranus Legionario Insane." – at that, the little man let out a loud, deranged chortle – "The guy we're going to rescue from Black Mountain? Primus Legionario (A) Gross. Oh, you'll get that one when you meet him." – he snickered - "And me? Since I'm the prettiest of them all, Primus Legionario Princess, at your service."

Yep, Gabban definitely didn't understand shit at all, less even the awed, almost admired look his idiotic cousin garnered from a no-nonsense man like Aurelius of Phoenix.

---

"SULLIVAN!"

To say that Vulpes was pissed off would be an understatement.

He was positively Livid, with the capital 'L'.

Just what in the Nine Circles of Hell was she thinking?! To risk her life and put him in the difficult position of showing his utter desperation in front of the men by chasing after her!

All because of a dog! A disobedient dog that had gotten outside the cave when its job was to stay close to her! A dog that wasn't in danger in the first place!

A dog that got way more consideration, care, and cuddles than Vulpes would ever dream of getting!

Why couldn't he have a single peaceful day in which all his plans didn't go down the drain for a change?! Why couldn't he trust a single moron around NOT to mess up his precarious balance with Sullivan?!

And most importantly: why did he have to spend the night listening to how Aurelius and his goons, by basically behaving like retarded cavemen, were having the time of their lives while he was walking on eggshells around a girl he didn't want to scare off?!

This was their fault! First Lucius at The Fort, then these imbeciles who didn't know how to hold a post, less even how to keep their dicks in their pants! This was their fault for not respecting his leadership and making him look weak and untrustworthy in her eyes!

Instead of asking him what could be done about the dog, Sullivan had taken matters into her own hands.

Because… she didn't trust him. She had wanted to help him, yes… but perhaps out of a misguided sense of pity. Because she thought of him as a victim, because she saw him as weak. Thus why she had thought about escaping even before they had crossed the river the first time.

These thoughts had kept looping in his mind as he had been tackled onto the ground, anger clouding his judgment and his most primary self-preservation instincts once that towering monstrosity had gotten ahold of the Courier.

So, like a corralled fox would have done, he had bared his teeth and escaped his captors' tight grasp.

Tunnel vision combined with adrenaline had given him Deathclaw-like speed when he had sprinted toward the colossus with no defined goal or strategy other than getting Sullivan back.

And so, a giant fist had fallen upon him.

Dodging the attack by a matter of inches by rolling aside, he had felt every nick and jab from the ground's pebbles along his spine, nearly going blind from all the dust that brutish thing had raised.

"WHITE LITTLE ANIMAL BAD!" – the deafening roar of the mutant had also nearly deafened him – "BAD, BAD, BAD WHITE LITTLE ANIMALS GET SQUASHED!"

'White little animal'?! Him?!

"YOU!" – angered not only for having to endure discrimination from a bloody mutant of all things, but also for being confused for a mindless beast, Vulpes had gotten to his two feet with an accusatory index finger raised, yelling like a madman – "RELEASE THE GIRL AND THE DOG! NOW!"

Momentarily taken aback that an 'animal' was yelling at it, the behemoth recovered in a matter of seconds by yelling back.

"DOGGY AND LITTLE GIRL ARE MEL'S PETS NOW! MEL NOT GIVING THEM TO BAD WHITE LITTLE THING LIKE YOU!"

The thundering voice, coupled with the acrid smell of its breath, made Vulpes queasy, but his anger won over discomfort and common sense.

"I'm not a THING!" – he exclaimed, immensely affronted even despite knowing he was dealing with a creature whose mental age couldn't be older than an entitled, whimsical five-year-old – "I'm a MAN, a HUMAN! And THAT GIRL is MINE!" – he added, pointing at the aforementioned girl, who was glowing pink and eyeing him as if he had gone insane all of a sudden when she, not five minutes ago, had tried the same tactics with the monster – "Give her back to me NOW!"

"HUMANS WEAK." – the behemoth replied dismissively, eyeing him with disgust – "HUMANS MEAN AND COWARD. MEL NOT GIVING YOU THE LITTLE GIRL BACK."

"That girl is a human too!"

"LITTLE GIRL CUTE. LITTLE WHITE MAN UGLY."

"YOU ARE UGLY!" – Vulpes retorted back childishly, pride wounded.

"MEL NO UGLY!" – the mutant replied indignantly as if it couldn't believe what he was saying.

That gave Vulpes an idea, already knowing how to mess with his interlocutor's mind before redirecting the conversation the way he wanted.

"YES, YOU ARE!" – he exclaimed triumphantly.

"MEL PRETTY!"

"NO, MEL IS UGLY AND NASTY!"

"LITTLE WHITE MAN NASTY!"

"NO, YOU ARE NASTY!"

"NUH-UH!"

"UH-HUH!"

"MEL GOOD AND NICE!" – the behemoth insisted – "MEL A PROPER LADY!"

"Oh? And why then have you first stolen a dog, then kidnapped a girl?! That's not very ladylike, don't you think?!"

But then, all of a sudden, the behemoth lowered its face barely inches from Vulpes', who held his breath and covered his ears when the monster roared.

"BAD METAL HUMANS KILLED MEL'S PETS. NOW, MEL TAKE HUMANS' PETS."

Oh, shit. Now everything made sense.

"The Centaurs at Jack Rabbit Springs?" – the Master Frumentarius asked, incredulous – "Those things were your pets?"

He had known that regular supermutants used Centaurs as a sort of guardian dogs, but he wasn't aware that they thought about them as actual pets.

For that would imply emotional attachment beyond their own species. Something Vulpes had never thought second-generation supermutants onwards were actually capable of.

After all, supermutants were usually incredibly racist to any other lifeform that wasn't them by default, but maybe that was due to the discrimination they themselves had to face against humans in the first place.

"MEAN METAL HUMANS KILLED CUTE CENTAURS!" – the behemoth wailed, turning an accusing giant index finger toward the cave's entrance, where a retinue of Legion men and Jackal women were observing the scene while having breakfast. As if this was a sort of entertainment, urgh – "MEL ANGRY, BUT MEL NO KILLING ANYMORE. MEL TAKE NEW PETS AND GO."

Oh no, you don't!

"You cannot have a girl as a pet!" – he argued before the behemoth made good on its word and left – "Humans aren't pets!"

"LITTLE GIRL WAS NASTY WHITE LITTLE MAN'S PET." – the mutant reasoned – "NOW, LITTLE GIRL IS MEL'S PET."

"She's not my pet!"

That seemingly caught the mutant off guard.

"LITTLE GIRL… NO PET?" – it inquired.

"Of course not! Humans cannot be pets!"

"WHY?"

"Because!"

"BECAUSE…?"

"Just because!"

"NO GOOD REASON."

Oh, for the love of all the Gods he didn't believe in…

"Because…" – alright, inhale, exhale – "… Humans aren't property."

From her high position sitting on the supermutant's palm, Vulpes felt the Courier's dark gaze cutting through his skin like pricking, sharp needles.

Even though he was aware that she knew he was lying for a good reason… there was something peculiar about being this openly dishonest, no matter the current circumstance and the receptacle being a brutish, retarded mutant.

It felt as if he were lying to her, right in her face, and both were aware of what such a lie entailed.

For them and for that vague, ephemeral relationship neither of them had openly addressed yet.

Women usually were the first to bring up the question when a situationship wasn't clear between themselves and a man. Often due to them being the ones who had the more to lose.

And if they didn't… it simply meant they weren't that interested in the first place.

Or it could also mean they knew they were dealing with a liar, so there was no point in pursuing anything with an untrustworthy, weak man.

A man they wouldn't be able to rely on should the need arise. A man incapable of providing.

A man whose word meant shit.

"NASTY WHITE LITTLE MAN LIES. HE SAID CUTE LITTLE GIRL WAS HIS."

When did this obtuse, beastly mutant lump in front of him become so perceptive and difficult to manipulate, anyway?

"I didn't lie." – Vulpes replied half-heartedly while pinching the bridge of his nose, his incoming headache getting worse by the minute – "I did say she's mine, but that doesn't mean she… belongs to me." – oh, boy, he hoped neither of the idiots watching this pathetic demonstration from the cave's entrance could make out what he was saying, for he wouldn't hear the end of it if this filtered through the wrong channels – "She's not my pet."

However, Sullivan was able to hear him clearly, and her attention was wholly set on him as she squeezed the dog expectantly.

"IF CUTE LITTLE GIRL NO PET, THEN WHAT?"

He… was going to die and resurrect and die again out of embarrassment the moment this stupid situation would be over without being turned into an omelet under the paw of this inquisitive colossus.

"She…" – he faltered, swallowing saliva for dear fucking life – "She's… part of my family."

Hadn't he felt like digging himself a hole in the ground in which to lie for a century or two, he might have actually felt proud of the overwhelmingly soft, melting look the problematic girl - his problematic girl - was giving him.

Which was a miscalculation on Vulpes' part, for all of a sudden, before he could react, the behemoth's hand reached and grabbed him by his midsection.

"What do you think you are doing?!" – he exclaimed, already berating himself for letting his guard down while giving the mutant a nasty, indignant look.

"FAMILY IMPORTANT. ALL TOGETHER." – the behemoth expressed with a solemnity uncanny for its species – "MEL A NICE LADY, SO MEL ADOPTS NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN TOO."

Eyeing Sullivan as if he couldn't believe it, the Master Frumentarius received a sheepish smile while the girl mouthed, 'She solves everything via adoption'.

"NOW THAT MEL GOT HER PETS, MEL TAKES THEM BACK TO THE NICE WARM SPRINGS." – the supermutant declared, already getting up from its sitting position – "IF BAD HUMANS FOLLOW, MEL SQUASH!"

Vulpes wasn't looking forward to becoming some supermutant's pet. Not one bit. The challenge of escaping its clutches might take days if they got lucky and didn't die from radiation poisoning first.

Neither Vulpes, nor Sullivan had days to wait for an opportunity. Caesar awaited results.

And their orders were clear.

Think! Think! Think! – he berated himself, watching impotently as the colossus opened the barred cage hanging on its back like some backpack to put Sullivan and the dog inside.

He was next.

"WAIT!" – he hadn't been aware he was literally tachycardic, for his voice came out high-pitched and reedy while sweat came down his nose in rivers of droplets – "What if… what if we can get you new pets?"

The mutant paused.

"MEL HAS NEW PETS NOW." – it declared matter-of-factly as if he were saying something utterly stupid.

"But… BUT!" – he exclaimed, raising an index finger in front of the mutant – "You said you had Centaur pets before, correct?"

"CUTE CENTAURS DEAD!" – the behemoth wailed, as if he had made it recall something horrible.

"I know, I know, but…" – remember, inhale, exhale – "What if you could have new Centaur pets, hmmm?"

"NEW… CUTE CENTAURS?"

Okay, it seems like he had managed to recapture the monster's attention. Now, to what he prided himself on being: the smoothest silver-tongued bastard in all of Vegas.

"Yes." – Vulpes replied with his silkiest, most mellifluous voice, letting the honeyed, syrupy notes fall impeccably as he drew out the syllables – "Lots of wriggling, rosy lone Centaurs lying in wait at Black Mountain, up Northeast." – from the corner of his eye, he spied how deliciously flustered his problematic Courier was turning by just listening to him talking in such an affected manner, biting her bottom lip that way. Oh, yes, squirm, mailwoman, squirm – "I wonder… if there's out there a kind soul to save them, mutated darlings, from boredom and… abandonment."

The supermutant gasped. Surely, he had it now eating out of the palm of his hand.

He didn't err.

"CUTE LONE CENTAURS NEED SOME LOVE. MEL RESCUE THEM!" – the giant declared while raising Vulpes to its face, having him endure the stench of its rancid breath once more – "WHERE CUTE CENTAURS?"

Vulpes put on his most charming smile… even if, right now, he wanted to puke pretty badly.

"This way." – he replied, pointing to the Northwest since the mutant probably couldn't tell North from East – "Just follow the mountain range until you reach a derelict satellite array." – and then, having the best idea ever, he added a touch melodramatically – "However…"

"HMMM?"

"Oh, I don't know if I should…"

"WHAT? NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN SPEAKS. NOW."

Licking his inner fox's whiskers, he dropped the bomb.

"You see, sweet Mel." – he said, earning a grunt of approval from the behemoth – "These poor Centaurs might be in dire peril due to the… ah… voracious Deathclaws that have occupied the service railyard near Primm Pass." – now, the glowing eyes of the mutant were showing a look of pure horror that made Vulpes inwardly gloat. Ah, the thrill of manipulating the situation to his advantage… he was feeling better already – "If only those wretched creatures weren't that strong and fast…"

"MEL STRONGER! MEL FASTER!" – the behemoth exclaimed, forcibly sitting Vulpes on its left shoulder – "NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN TELLS MEL WHERE BAD DEATHCLAWS ARE! MEL SAVE CUTE CENTAURS!"

Oh, yes… this situation was quickly evolving into a way, WAY better deal than what they had gotten thus far since the NCR had made their move on the chessboard.

"Over there, sweet Mel." – he said, a fanged, vicious grin already spreading all over his face as he spoke, pointing with his index finger in the intended direction – "Make haste! For Deathclaws can smell a prey for miles… and they rarely give up the chase." - he would know. Deathclaws in Utah had been the main predator he had had to evade during his Frumentarius' training. And those beasts could track you for days, for they needed little rest, and they had quite the extraordinary ability to locate scent trails, even if covered by smoke. The four days he spent perched up a pre-War telephone pole with a hungry alpha male waiting for his eventual fall could attest to that. If there hadn't been for the giant Yao Guai that had appeared on the fourth night to distract the accursed Deathclaw, Vulpes would have turned into a laughable pile of peeled bones long ago – "Let's go, o' brave Mel!"

"MEL SMASH! HAHA!"

But alive still he was, and very much alert when the behemoth turned around under his command and started to head forward, not noticing how the pale fly in its shoulder began giving mute signaled orders to the ones observing from the cave's mouth.

"See, Centurion?" – one of the aforementioned flies exclaimed merrily as he got up from its seated position – "I told you that, if there's a guy capable of talking a supermutant into compliance, that's our Decanus Suicidal." – he snickered, already wondering what sweet nothings the son of a bitch had come up with to turn such a beast into free transport. Vulpes never failed to entertain when his junction box short-circuited – "Now, before packing up and going along with the 'follow me' script, pay up."

---

Six was scared.

Scared as she had rarely been in all these years, surviving one oddity after the next.

Not because she was inside of what she positively believed to be a cage that the behemoth, Mel, had probably torn off from some pre-War jail that she was now trying to lockpick without much success.

Not because she was aboard one of the most dangerous mutants the American Wasteland had to offer, which was stomping onto angry Deathclaws as if they were nothing but cockroaches, one by one.

Not even because there was a Legion-Jackal squad running after them and Gabban, from his Power Armor at the front of said squad, was glaring daggers at her.

No. She wouldn't have come this far if bizarre stuff like that were to make a dent in her psyche.

And yet… what she feared the most was calmly perched onto the behemoth's left shoulder, eyeing the carnage with such a tranquil gaze as he listened to music with the headphones that she knew, for damn sure, that there would be hell to pay once all this situation would get resolved.

She was going to get scolded. And deservingly so.

She had done something so incredibly insane and stupid that she had ended up becoming a bloody damsel in distress right in front of a fucking Legion squad.

A Legion squad that would sing praises to their Commander's virile audacity, for sure… but would look at her and see not just a Profligate chick, but also a troublemaking one that could get them killed due to her stupidity.

Barely worth all the effort their Commander was putting into saving her sorry ass, for sure.

She might even as well have lost credibility in front of Gabban, who perhaps wouldn't trust the safety of his brother to a girl who couldn't even take care of her damn self.

In all truth, since they had rescued the Centurion and his men from Cottonwood Cove, she had been more of a nuisance than a helpful hand.

She had thought she could deal with a bunch of legionaries… and now, her shortcomings were coming back to bite her in the ass.

That Frumentarius, the blonde-redhead jackass. He had succeeded where the mouthy Centurion had failed miserably: making her feel self-conscious and vulnerable.

The guy was positively a lunatic, that was for sure. His eccentric façade, histrionic mannerisms, and cryptic speech seemed to coat a cunning, perceptive personality that enjoyed testing limits.

Even if he seemed to exhibit some degree of respect toward his Commander, he didn't necessarily abide by his rules.

In fact, Six had noticed that neither he nor Erasmus treated the Fox with the same vehemence as the rest of the Frumentarii. As if they were somehow exempt from playing the charade.

In a hierarchy as rigid as the Legion's, Six doubted there was a place for wildcards such as them.

Albeit flexible as much as his job required, her legionary was intrinsically as rigid as the society he belonged to. He wasn't keen on insubordination and kept the rest of his men in line.

However, when it comes to those two…

Aha! – she chirped inwardly once she heard the familiar click from the cage's lock, rotating the screwdriver with extreme care, given the constant rattle of their transport.

Rex barked excitedly once she managed to pry open the door and stuck her nose out.

But balance atop a supermutant behemoth was quite… precarious, to say the least.

The moment she climbed up, it soon became apparent that maintaining herself atop the cage would require her to grab the bars for dear life if she didn't want to fall to the ground unceremoniously.

And so, mustering all of her courage to steel herself while maintaining a precarious balance atop the cage with one hand and her feet, she used the other hand to clumsily pat the thigh of the pale bird sitting atop the mutant's shoulder.

He tensed immediately, but turned around to see her and her puppy eyes as she extended her hand again, silently asking for help.

For a moment, as his frown creased, she thought he would turn around and ignore her… until his arm also stretched and grabbed her by the elbow.

She marveled at how strong and dexterous he could be when he hoisted her up single-handedly and maneuvered her weight to end up sitting between his legs, both of his arms coming to encircle her like ivy.

"Thank you." – she said sincerely.

He merely responded with a grunt.

Had he been a cat, we would have curled his back and bristled.

He had also intertwined his long legs with hers and was using the top of her head to rest his chin, effectively caging her in his embrace.

Frankly, it felt a little suffocating.

"H-Hey, could you please let me breathe a l…" – she started to say, only to get an index finger upon her lips.

"Hush." – he said, his curt, yet soft voice reverberating throughout his throat, which made her nape vibrate a little – "I don't want to hear a whisper until this inconvenience has been sorted out." – biting down her lips, should her impulsivity would piss him off more, she flinched minimally when a headphone came by her left to sit on her ear – "Now, even though you should reflect upon your mistakes, I'm afraid your… hyperactive nature would make a poor companion for focus; so, I will abide for a little distraction as long as you don't utter a word. Once all of this is over, we will have a serious talk, you and I, afterwards."

Repressing the long sigh she yearned to utter, she surrendered all hope for mobility to his devices and, instead, opened her ears to what he would care to offer.

And she should have suspected his scolding had but just started when the song he was listening to declared on repeat:

I'm madly in anger with you.
I'm madly in anger with you.
I'm madly in anger with you.
I'm madly in anger with you.

---

It had been an… interesting morning so far.

Not that jogging intermittently while keeping a security distance with the mutant monstrosity for three hours straight while he munched bighorner jerky for breakfast was something Aurelius of Phoenix would catalog as 'enticing'.

However, he had had his fair share of enticement last night, something he had needed badly given that he hadn't gotten laid properly for a whole year since his ill-fated crusade West of the Colorado had started, so he wasn't complaining.

Not really.

If he had to admit something, that was that traveling with the Frumentarii was anything but boring.

At first, he had been fuming with shame at having to thank the rats that he and his men hadn't turned out into NCR game at this point… but now that he had gotten a taste of what it was like working outside the strict Legion script, he found himself quite enjoying the perks of being an ambassador with the Jackals.

Not only had he gotten damn good service out of the woman leader, but he had smoked and drunk alcohol to his heart's content with nobody around him, legionary or not, giving a flying fuck about it.

His orders had been to 'play nice and cater to the Jackal leader's needs'. Nothing else, no specifications whatsoever regarding consumption of forbidden substances.

And if Inculta hadn't specified, that meant Aurelius had gotten to do whatever the hell he wanted as long as it made the Jackal woman happy.

Albeit disorganized and rebellious, the Jackals weren't much different from other Western Profligate cultures when it came to partying.

They were simple creatures: they liked to drink, smoke, fool around with some musical instruments to live up the place and fuck senseless all night.

It was indeed very fortunate that he himself was a simple man who didn't mind enjoying all of the above in the company of a sturdy cunt who could take way, way more than a single round of his pent-up passions.

All of this with the blessings of a Legio Primus whose word was as good as the very Caesar's.

Even though they had broken so many Legion regulations since the Cottonwood fiasco that he was positive they all would be decorating crosses should any of this reach Lanius' ears, the Centurion didn't feel particularly worried about it.

He was already fucked up, but so was Inculta.

Either they earned back Caesar's favor by reclaiming a piece of the Western Colorado so their troops could keep coming and going to The Fort… or they died trying.

They were chasing after a humongous mutant in Power Armor while keeping the Jackals in line, ensuring they followed the formation? Frankly, it wasn't the most bizarre occurrence that had happened to them as of late.

I mean, they were now on the NCR's most-wanted list, more than two-thirds of their current troops were either ghouls or raiders, and they were engaging in forbidden military technology that Caesar, apparently, had decided to un-ban just because a Profligate girl had suggested so.

Said Profligate girl had one of the craziest, most dangerous motherfuckers the Legion had ever seen hanging off her tits while slowly but surely getting the rest of the legionaries wrapped around her pinky with her pre-War military mumbo jumbo.

Nobody had the slightest idea of what they were doing anymore. And Aurelius was fine with that.

"Centurion Aurelius, sir! The behemoth has stopped at Black Mountain's entrance!"

After all, not every day a man of his stature finds out that he's following the orders of a fucking legend.

Grabbing the binoculars that he was offered, Aurelius assessed the giant from afar, watching how it got ahold of the human couple perched on its shoulder to put them on solid ground gently. The girl still in Inculta's arms, not allowing her feet to touch the ground.

The Centurion made a halt gesture as he kept watching from afar.

Inculta and his girl exchanged a few words with the giant before it went straight toward a point the pale young man signaled ahead. The dog still in its power.

"Orders, sir?" – Severus, Aurelius' Decanus, inquired.

"Hold your positions." – the Centurion replied, not wanting to miss even a detail.

Inculta and the girl changed positions after a while. Her face ended up buried in his shoulder, and his severe gesture placated a little.

Then, not even twenty minutes later, the behemoth returned, its bulbous arms filled to the brim with squirming Centaurs.

"What the…" – Aurelius whispered, amazed when he saw how the monster opened one of the cages hanging off its back, grabbed the dog, and put it in the girl's arms, prompting both humans to lose balance, ending up a pile on the dusty ground with the canine on top – "He… he did it. He fucking got the bloody dog back…"

"And that, Centurion…" – Aurelius heard from behind as the lanky, effeminate Frumentarius from this morning crept his way beside him – "… is just an example of what was like being a Miles fresh from the training grounds five years ago. Never a dull moment campaigning around Arizona with that guy for a boss." – he punctuated for effect, almost proudly, as he pointed towards Inculta – "Oh, our Centurion, Flavius Dominicus of Scottsdale, wanted him dead so badly you have no idea how many suicide missions he forced us into." – he snorted – "We did not fail a single one, though, which added to the overall hatred and nicknaming stuff."

"The daily load of bullcrap on a Blackfoot's centuria." – Aurelius replied disdainfully – "Forget about getting a fucking promotion if you aren't tribe or blood-related to them. They only care for their own. I would know; my Centurion was the same." – shaking his head, recalling old times, he snickered – "Caius Adelphus, of Scottsdale too. Son of a bitch died impaled on a lucky spear from the Chuckwalla tribe. The Burned Man took good care of razing their camp to the ground the next day, though. Those were the times… the damn good old times."

His reverie was abruptly interrupted by the kettle laugh of the other one, the blonde-redhead lunatic that was also part of Inculta's former ill-famed contubernium.

To think he had been traveling alongside these insane bastards all along… If Aurelius did, in fact, survive this whole ordeal, damned if he didn't deserve a well-earned promotion.

"Ah, yes, this servant recalls the good old times too…" – the little man whispered – "When the Legion was still Legion, and we didn't appoint butchers as leaders, but men able to survive despite the odds, such as our beloved Commander." – nearing the Centurion's ear with unnatural speed, he added – "Men who, despite losing a battle or two, still managed to limp their way up the Grand Canyon back into shape."

"Dangerous words for a mere Frumentarius." – Aurelius whispered back, not taking his eyes from the young couple, who were currently being assaulted by the love of an enthusiastic, energetic cyberdog – "Do you even know who you're comparing your Commander with?"

"Oh, this servant would be lying if he said he didn't remember the face of the man who ordered to carry out a Dimidio on his own tribe, Centurion." – the eccentric man replied – "The same he would be lying if he said he didn't regret the day said man was covered in pitch and set on fire alive… without mine being the hand that wielded the torch." – wheezing humorlessly, he added darkly – "However, if the Burned Bastard was good at something, that was improvisation. If a strategy didn't work out, he was quick on his feet, whipping up half a dozen more on the go."

"Just as he did at the Dam, then Boulder City, five years ago? Bad strategy leads to bad, deathly outcomes." – Aurelius mocked despite the shiver running up and down his spine, recalling the deafening silence that had followed such an extreme decision among the ranks.

That day, the Legion experienced a rift so great that many Retenti, supporters of the Burned Man, decided to retire from military service or redirect their efforts toward the Texas Campaign, giving their backs to that Old-World wall that had cost them so much, no matter how disgraceful such a move had been perceived.

For none of them had desired to keep serving the obsession of a Master so fickle that he was capable of cutting the head of his army without heeding the domino effect it could unleash.

Since then, the Legion had been experiencing a slow but steady decline. The Imperator, the likes of a mad voodoo sorcerer, had attached the head of a beast to the still-spasming body of the Legion, giving its hands and feet a phantom impulse to keep going on.

Many already knew that an army of men wouldn't last a decade under Lanius' monstrous claws, much less a nation of Cives (B), without so much as knowing beyond how to wield pitchforks and woodcutting hatchets.

Thus, no matter the taboo, many wished in secret for the return of the Malpais Legatus to lead them once the Son of Mars would be no more.

For there were loose, audacious tongues that dared to whisper…

"Oh, but you already know it, even if you don't dare say it out loud, Centurion." – the little man said in an almost hypnotic cadence – "That the Burned Man…"

… Lives. – Aurelius' subconscious finished for him.

"Cicero." – the effeminate Frumentarius butted in again with a hint of warning in his voice – "That's enough."

The interpellated giggled merrily like the cat that got the cream.

"Never mind old glories that the Legion cannot attain anymore." – Cicero said intently, ignoring his comrade – "For what counts is the side you'll be on once Caesar forces our collective hands, Centurion."

"Sides?" – Aurelius asked.

And then, turning around with half a mind to punish the daring Frumentarius for his insolence, he froze at the deranged smile he found on the other's visage.

That wasn't normal. Period.

"Either you'll be with the Monster of the East… or the Desert Fox. Neither can offer a safe life free of bloodshed, but maybe you'll be able to survive long enough to reach old age… if you play your cards right, Centurion."

Okay, scratch that. No matter how infamous they were, these guys were godsdamned demented if they thought they could play politics against…

And yet, here they were.

That gave Aurelius pause, turning around again to watch through his binoculars.

And there he was, rolling in the dust, going along with the dog's enthusiasm and the girl's squealing.

The only madman able to breach through Hoover Dam and come to the rescue of a disgraced Centurion and his insignificant squad of lowly legionaries and ghouls.

"We're moving or what, papacito?" – the insolent Jackal woman raised her voice with a mellow intonation that won Aurelius over almost immediately – "I'm bored of running around all day." – before he could even react, she planted a little kiss on his chin, giving a pass with her tongue through its cleft – "I want a little fun."

He really, really should discipline her. But later, when all this business in Black Mountain will be over.

"Legionaries!" – he exclaimed – "Moving! Manipulus Formatio (C), now!"

At that, to the Jackal stragglers that didn't shift into their assigned roles, their leader yelled:

"¡Muévanse, perros!" (3)

Definitely, an interesting morning so far.

---

An indeterminate time in silence, immobilized, accompanied by a playlist of songs carefully designed to make her feel guilty later, and Six was already wishing she could jump off the behemoth's shoulder and run in Vegas' general direction.

Cheeks puffed, and a pout bigger than life had made their way into her face, chastised as she was like a misbehaved dog and trapped in a cage full of limbs that wouldn't let her drop to the ground the same they wouldn't allow her to make a single move.

Her disquiet legs tingled in need of relief while her upper limbs persistently adopted pincer-like positions, unable as they were to make further movement.

This was Torture, with a capital T. Whoever thought being held for so long was anything remotely akin to romantic, she would passionately argue otherwise.

Besides, any attempt at dialogue with her captor had yielded no results other than his grip on her becoming slightly more suffocating every time she tried to bend the rules of their unilateral deal.

Because she hadn't agreed to be detained like this, thank you very much. She preferred dialogue over this… whatever the hell this childish punishment was.

She got it, alright: she had done something incredibly stupid, gotten everyone else involved, and now she had to pay for her mess.

But not… like this! She'd rather get scolded right away than forced on stand-by while dreading what could be coming next, damnit!

When did she agree to date a sadist? Just when? A happy-trigger, bomb-ridger, Machiavellian terrorist, sure, why the hell not when she wasn't any better… but not a sadist one at that!

"Black Mountain on sight, Mel, dearest." – she nearly jumped upon hearing him speak again after so many hours in silence suffocating her, his silky voice making her blush uglily from head to shoulders – "Can you please leave us here so we wait while you grab your new pets? Hmmm?"

"LEAVE HUMANS HERE." – the mutant echoed – "WHY?"

"Because Centaurs may adore your lovely visage, o' fairest Mel." – Six couldn't even tell if he was being sarcastic or not, merrily feeding adjectives to the behemoth as if reciting poetry. She couldn't help but feel a silly pang of jealousy, as the closest he had come to praising her physical attributes had been calling her snidely 'cute' – "Alas, however, they tend not to be so gracious towards humans."

"HUMANS SCARE CUTE CENTAURS." – the giant concurred, nodding as it grabbed them from its shoulder like dolls and put him onto solid ground with her still in his arms – "HUMANS WAIT WHILE MEL GET CUTE CENTAURS." – nearing a ginormous index finger to the Fox's face, it added – "NO CHEATING!"

"Cross my heart." – he ensured the mutant while Rex wailed from the cage he was still trapped in.

"What about my dog?" – Six dared to speak up, earning a warning glare from Zo… Vulpes that immediately filled her with shame.

"MEL KEEP DOGGY UNTIL PICKING CENTAURS." – the mutant declared – "IF NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN SAYS TRUTH, MEL RETURN DOGGY TO CUTE LITTLE GIRL."

She didn't even dare ask what would happen if he was lying.

However, he sure thought he was in the right, for he didn't move from the very same spot where Mel had left them, still carrying her, bridal style.

How he didn't get tired of dealing with her weight was quite the mystery.

However, despite being able to stretch her arms and dangle her legs from time to time, the more minutes they spent in silence, the more unbearable the situation became in her looping mind.

"Can I stand on my own now?" – she barely whispered – "Please?"

However, he wasn't having any of it, because all she got was yet another angry glare.

She waited. Nothing.

"Talk to me?"

He didn't even deign to spare her a look now.

Her lower lip quivered.

"… Please?"

Nothing. He was still watching an indeterminate point ahead as if she weren't even there.

Her eyes burned, and her sight got glassy.

"I'm sorry…" – she mumbled as fat, humiliating tears began descending her hot cheeks – "I won't do it again… I'm sorry. Please…" – the moment his eyes landed on her again, she knew she had become a sobbing, snotting mess; seeking badly for reassurance but failing to make the first move should it anger him more – "Please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Somehow, he seemed alarmed, but her brain didn't register it as her pleas grew repetitive and exponentially meek and pathetic.

"I swear, I swear, I swear!" – she wailed, not knowing anymore why she was asking for forgiveness, nor where all the dread she was experiencing was coming from, the words spilling from her mouth like they had done countless times years ago – "Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry… I won't do it again! I'll behave! I'll be good! I still can be useful! I…!"

He cut her babbling by shifting their positions until she ended up straddle-hugging him, legs tightly wrapped around him like a monkey. Like this, she bawled her eyes on his right shoulder as he kept patting her back.

Bottling up being scared, stressed, and feeling helpless beyond belief for so many days since she had crossed the Colorado the first time had really done a number on her.

She hadn't known she'd wanted to cry so much that she ended up with a headache and swollen eyes by the time her fit subsided.

They didn't even get a second to get their bearings when the behemoth, Mel, descended the zigzagging trail to Black Mountain's entrance, arms heavy with precious cargo.

"Well?" – she heard Vulpes asking tiredly.

"NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN DID NOT LIE!" – the colossus exclaimed with delight – "MEL FOUND MANY LOST AND LONELY CUTE CENTAURS!"

"Oh, so I'm still 'nasty' in your book." – he replied dryly, no longer in the mood to humor the mutant's vanity, it seemed – "Quaint."

"NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN SAID MANY NASTY THINGS AT FIRST." – his interlocutor replied – "BUT NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN NO LIAR LIKE OTHER HUMANS, SO MEL FORGIVES YOU. NASTY LITTLE WHITE MAN HELPED MEL FIND CUTE CENTAURS."

"Happy to oblige." – he deadpanned – "Now, the dog, if you please."

Taking a bulbous hand to the backpack-cage, Mel unlocked the barred door and extracted the animal, which flinched at the immediate proximity of the wriggling mutant sextupeds.

"HUMANS TAKE GOOD CARE OF DOGGY." – Mel warned before handing over the canine – "NO LEAVING DOGGY ALONE AGAIN!"

"Please." – the Fox scoffed – "That animal gets more care than I do."

That made Six freeze. Why would he say something so silly?

She didn't get much time to process anything when Rex's weight was dropped unceremoniously onto them.

After an inelegant "Oof!", she and her legionary ended up sandwiched between the hard ground and Rex's enthusiastic lapping. This gave her the perfect excuse to blow up some pent-up anxiety by messing up with the dog while he remained flat, face up, without doing anything.

She hadn't come even close to satisfied when the main cause of her stress (or part of it anyway) reappeared out of nowhere, blocking the sun as she was utterly scrutinized from above a lonely Power Armor visor.

"Having fun?" – Gabban's acerbic accent slapped her across the face, arms akimbo, as he gave her the once-over – "Hope so, since the rest of us mortals don't have the luxury anyway."

Unable to form a proper reply, Six's eyes switched nervously between the Frumentarius and his Commander, who had gotten up from the ground to sit and was shielding his eyes with his left hand.

"Goggles." – he demanded, extending his right one.

Inside the servos, Gabban's irritated tsking echoed.

"Are we not going to address what has happened?" – he inquired harshly – "Or is this just another day humoring dangerous proclivities while utterly ignoring the loads of pure shit we will have to face from Caesar should either of you end up dead?"

He wasn't wrong on that one.

However, it seemed the whole ordeal had left the Fox mentally exhausted, for he replied:

"The mutant is gone, same as the Deathclaws and a good chunk of the Centaur population here. Also, we have gotten the dog back. End of story." – he said – "Now, my eyes itch, and I'm having problems pinpointing distant objects, so…" – he emphasized, shaking his still-extended hand – "Goggles, if you please."

Huffing in disbelief, Gabban searched his backpack and, when he approached his brother with the intended item, Vulpes grabbed his armored hand.

"Not a word in front of Aurelius or his men." – he warned in a whisper – "Remember that we are being watched." – after that, he let go of his hand as more sets of Power Armor steps neared them.

And then, before the mouthy Centurion could even open his big mouth, Erasmus stepped on by addressing her directly.

"Dunno about you, but I'm sick of wearing this thing for so long." – he said, activating the opening mechanism of his own servos and stepping out of it – "Have it all. You're a better pilot anyway."

Six gave him a thankful look that was warmly met, much to her surprise.

Then, the creepy blonde-redhead did the same with his Commander, ceding his Armor as well.

After that, nobody said a damn thing. Not even the Jackals, who were still a raucous bunch, made a sound as they ascended the trail up mountain, following the hand signals the Fox did to the best of their abilities.

It didn't take long for the irradiated fauna inhabiting the place to start showing up.

And there weren't even Centaurs anymore, but wild stuff like two-headed radioactive molerats, acid-spitting conjoined Cazadores, or bulbous radscorpions without legs slithering on the ground like snakes.

All of them covered in patches with a mossy sort of texture.

"Where is this shit all coming from?!" – she heard the Centurion ask after electrocuting one of the flying abominations – "Is this normal?!"

"It isn't." – Vulpes replied before Six could even answer – "As far as my men's reports could tell, the only mutants living here were Nightkin, Centaurs, and second-generation supermutants." – rolling the dead mutant with a foot, he added – "Someone… or something is turning regular animals into this." – seeing Bug Boy extending a hand toward the corpse, he warned – "I wouldn't touch anything with my bare hands if I were you, legionary. These animals look… infected."

At that, one of the radscorpion-thingy's pincers came back to life and sought purchase on the nearest living being there.

With Six being that very living being.

It nearly sent her rolling downhill when the pincer, instead of attempting to grasp her, whipped her right onto her midsection.

She saw the moon and the stars, hissed like a rattlesnake, and hit a rocky wall instead of turning into a giant metallic tumbleweed when a sudden green glow crossed her field of view at full speed, meeting the bulbous, deformed radscorpion's meat in a clash that rendered the creature's already-unstable genetic pool into a puddle of glowing goo.

Energy weapons.

And guys in Power Armor wielding them. Brotherhood guys.

Despite being fewer in number, they quickly surrounded the Legion party (inconveniently dressed in tactical uniforms stolen from the NCR rather than those ragged red uniforms that made them sweat and smell like shit), and their leader hadn't even finished the taunting line he likely gave to any Republican before turning them into glowing crap when Six, already recovered from her little trip to kissing rocky salients and all, cut him midway.

"Wait, wait, wait." – she said, knowing every microsecond counted as she checked her Name Database full speed, having recognized the voice immediately – "Hardin?" – she ventured, unsure if she should address him as 'Head Paladin' or just 'Paladin'. She was just plain bad with Brotherhood ranks and their appropriate designations – "Edgar Hardin?"

Raising a hand to signal his men to wait - the legionaries and Jackals in kind waited for either the Centurion or the Primus to give the attack signal -, Hardin turned around to face her, the dark lens of his helmet reflecting Six's own servos.

"I'm only going to ask this once, so you'd better give me a straight answer, NCR: who the hell are you?" – he asked gravelly.

She couldn't help but snort.

"NCR, my ass." – she replied confidently, taking her hands to her helmet slowly until she dislodged it from the servos' body – "More like dressed as NCR because, you know, finders keepers." – once the helmet was out of the way, she gave the man a toothy, shit-eating grin – "Know me now?"

Without signaling his men to lower their weapons, the Head Paladin went for his own helmet and took it out.

"Long time no see, Courier Six." – he saluted with a curt nod – "Fancy meeting you here, so removed from Vegas."

Okay, good, relaxed posture and friendly tone… or as friendly as a gruffy war veteran can get, anyway.

"I don't think I'll be setting foot near the city any time soon." – she shrugged – "Which, considering the options out here, I believe I'll be trudging between one Cazador nest and the next."

"Got something to do with those Armors and equipment, perhaps?" – the man replied almost humorously. Almost.

"Well, they label you a Legion bitch when you steal their equipment, tools, and personal property." – she shrugged again – "And I'm not doing anything to discourage that notion, to be perfectly honest."

Fortunately, that last tidbit had made some of the legionaries snicker while Hardin had raised an unimpressed brow.

"They Legion?" – he asked, pointing the disparate bunch with his eyes.

"Every single one of them." – she replied nonchalantly, much to some of the aforementioned's shock.

Nevertheless, Hardin seemed mildly interested.

"Legion… in Power Armor?" - he snorted, giving the Centurion a sidelong glance – "And… protonic weapons."

The burly man held his glowing knife-spear tightly, raising his chin in defiance.

"Earned with the sweat of my brow." – he replied arrogantly, as if daring the Head Paladin to take it from him – "Thus, mine."

Hardin took a long suspicious look at the weapon, the gears inside his head evidently at work.

"You got that equipment from the NCR, you say." – he said after a tense minute in silence – "Any ideas how that tech fell into their hands?"

"I might have an idea." – Six replied, relieved that he wouldn't point out the ghouls or the raider-looking women in the first place. Any out-of-place choice of words, and there would be needless carnage between two groups that had no particular reason to fight - "But I would like to make info trade if you're that curious."

The Head Paladin's dull brown eyes squinted, eyebrows arching.

"You think you are in a negotiating position?" – he questioned, completely disregarding the legionaries, who held their weapons tighter – "Where's Veronica?"

Six swallowed as calmly as her renewed anxiety allowed her to.

"In Vegas, I assume."

"You assume?"

"I wouldn't put much stock on Vero remaining idle as soon as I decided to make a trip East of the Colorado. She still has faith in you guys."

"She should have adhered to the protocol by providing the Chapter with what was asked of her instead of wanting to change Elder McNamara's mind."

"Oh, really? Well, tell that to your Chapter's air filtration system, then."

"Touché." – the man conceded – "Nevertheless, I cannot disregard the efforts you've gone through to help our Chapter. Even if I still don't understand why you bothered in the first place."

"I've received three shots in the head. Don't try to read further into an ailing mailwoman's intentions." – seeing the man's frown, she quickly added – "You don't know what humor is, do you?" – signaling the legionaries with her head, she quipped - "Well, neither these guys do, so…"

Hardin tilted his head, as if considering her.

"There's still something I don't understand."

"Ask away."

"Weren't you and Veronica friends of sorts?" – he questioned again – "Why didn't she accompany you, or any other of your cohorts for all intents and purposes, this time?"

"Lord Caesar doesn't like crowds." – it rankled her, having to call the megalomaniac like that in order to avoid a later scolding coming from her handsome, sententious legionary.

"So, it's 'Lord Caesar' now."

"Yep."

"That explains the NCR's sudden animosity." – the man snickered, finally signaling his men to lower their weapons – "We aren't interested in Legion business as long as they don't interfere with ours."

"Which takes us back to the original trade info deal: we are missing one of our actives, and he happened to climb this mountain a week ago." – Six explained – "Seen him or his corpse around?"

"Corpses, beyond the infected abominations we've shot, I can't say we've seen many… However, there's someone stationed at the broadcast building at the top." – the Head paladin said – "A madman who has had his good deal of fun mining the perimeter so neither us nor the big problem Southwest can breach through his defenses unscathed." – sighing, he added – "We tried establishing a connection via radio, but the guy won't answer beyond a handful of knocking we later discovered to be Morse code. He has quite the foul mouth."

"That sounds like Marcius." - Erasmus opined, snorting at Harding's indignant look – "He never disappoints about being a handful when he gets corralled."

"Well, he has a missile launcher and quite the ammo stock." – Hardin confessed in a frustrated tone – "We cannot get past the ramshackle barricades the mutants likely constructed throughout their stay."

"So, you want us to clear the way Southwest for you." – Vulpes interjected for the first time; his tone clipped and impatient – "We'll do this: we grab our agent, and you allow us to use the radio without any tracking devices attached to it. Once we are done, you can install yourselves here for all I care."

"You the Commander in charge?" – Hardin asked, turning around to face the dark Power Armor.

"Yes."

"How about a counteroffer?: you help us with your man, then with the big problem Southwest, we let you use the radio and escort you to the surroundings of the 188 Trading Post." – squinting his eyes, he reasoned – "If you are dressed as Republicans, that means you, right now, likely have an APB hanging over your heads. If the NCR discovers you, you'll have a hard time escaping the Ranger safehouses distributed up North."

"Why, much appreciated, Sir Paladin, but I am acutely aware of what lies Northwest where your 'big problem' likely is: a bomb crater, filled to the brim with radiation and, in all likely, the reason why local fauna has gotten so contaminated." – the Commander Frumentarius replied sardonically - "Thank you, but no, thank you."

However, that didn't seem to discourage Hardin.

"I'll ask again: do you really think you are in a negotiating position?" – he inquired arrogantly, which Six knew wasn't a tactic that would work with her prideful legionary – "We might be shorter in numbers, but what we lack in manpower, you lack in armament." – gripping his Multiplas rifle tighter, he added – "Couple of shots from each of us, and you all will turn into green goo décor."

"The more projectiles thrown in a single shot, the less accurancy." – Vulpes replied with equal arrogance – "Plus, there is the massive draining on the microfusion cell antechamber and the overheating on the gun's nozzle." – tapping his own .308 rifle lightly, he said – "We might not have any use of much of the pre-War tech, but we know how to counter it. That being said, Sir Paladin, if you wish to take issue with the Legion, we are but happy to oblige."

Sweating cold at the rapid escalation, grappling to keep her voice steady, Six intervened once again.

"How about we reach a compromise?" – she asked, ignoring the cold glare coming from her legionary – "We all agree our agent has to get out of here, right?"

Squinting eyes again, Harding turned to her.

"Go ahead, Courier."

"We convince him to relinquish the broadcast building, which you can take after we contact our HQ. No triangulation or recording allowed in exchange for info on the NCR." – she said – "Then, if you still want to extend our association, you sweeten the pot a little bit other than 'we guide you outta the Triangle of Doom' (+). We like your deal, we can take a look at the crater… from above." – seeing that both parts were actually listening to what she was saying, she pressed – "We don't like what we see there, we can attempt to destroy it with grenades and long-range attacks, but we won't compromise for anything more complex if we deem it too dangerous." – extending her armored hand toward the Head Paladin, she added – "We have a deal or not, Hardin?"

The man studied first her hand, then the look Vulpes was giving to them both.

He then must have found something in the younger man's eyes that made the Head Paladin accept her handshake.

"It's a truce, then." – the man acquiesced, directing a sharp look to the Commander Frumentarius – "For now."

---

Bringing one hell of a trembling hand to his mouth, Manny Vargas forced the cig's butt to his lips.

He was sitting on one of the sofas at the Dino Dee-lite front desk, the only building that had more or less survived the attack besides the gift shop.

Many of his neighbors were also sitting around, sharing a communal dinner, having brought what chairs, kitchen utensils, and food they could salvage.

But he couldn't muster the will to stomach anything right now.

Not since…

After an unsteady inhalation that tasted of shit but helped calm his nerves, he released a large puff of smoke as he replayed the scene for the umpteenth time in his head.

Tense posture, slightly slumped shoulders he could recognize everywhere, red beret, aviator sunglasses… and a calloused finger coiled around the trigger of a professional, expensive as fuck camo rifle that had pointed its nozzle right to his face.

He hadn't dared move a muscle when the mechanism had clicked, and an explosion of heat and blood had sprayed him from head to toe.

Then, the thud of a body hitting the ground behind him.

And so, covered in blood and brains, Manny had not reacted until Boone had walked past him to loot the Legion corpse behind.

Not a single word had escaped either of the men's lips.

But later on, in front of the cracked mirror of his ruined apartment after having washed off all the blood and grime, he had noticed the fine red line swelling his right cheek lightly.

That burning line hadn't been none the Reds' handiwork.

Even now, patched up with one of those pre-War adhesive dressings, he could still feel the heat beneath.

The bullet had merely caressed his cheek… but had it been turned a few inches to the right, and it would have snapped his spine like a twig.

It didn't help that the author of such a finely-tuned shot entered through the door, and a heavy silence befell all of Novac's inhabitants instantaneously.

Even if his cigarette fell unceremoniously to the floor, Manny was damn sure he was the only one following Boone's muscled silhouette with his eyes, for the rest of his neighbors were eyeing the floor's tiles as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

As if they didn't dare meet his gaze.

Nonetheless, he ignored them altogether and approached one of the NCR guys who had come with him.

"Perimeter clean." – he told the other man succinctly – "Eight Reds. Counted 'em."

"Hard to believe a single contubernium is enough to take a whole town down." – the man, a Sergeant if Manny had heard it correctly, replied tiredly, absentmindedly munching his share like an old bighorn – "Glad to finally have gotten them caught in here. Nothing good has come out of Nelson in the last month, or so the Ranger said."

Boone creaked his neck.

"It's not over yet." – he replied darkly, earning an alarmed look from the Sergeant before planting a folded note on the counter, where Jeannie May Crawford had once aligned a collection of dino toys to charm the occasional passerby – "One of them was carrying orders from Nelson, given by the initial squad that set to Novac. They took a detour around Techatticup Mine's vicinity first."

"What?!" – the Sergeant exclaimed, snatching the folded note from the counter, reading it full speed – "Oh, bloody fuck…" – he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion – "Not two more contubernia…"

"And to Bitter Springs." – Boone added somberly – "A refugee encampment."

Weighing his options, the Sergeant's eyes switched between the paper and Boone's impenetrable face several times before opening his mouth again.

"Look…" – he hesitated, evidently not comfortable with what he was going to say – "I gather the situation demands some attention and you're eager to take down some more Reds, Sergeant…" – inhaling, as if it pained him to do so, he added – "But the men can barely stand. We have been running after the Reds' trail nonstop for nearly… What? Five, six days? Though no casualties have been sustained today, we have two wounded, and Meyers has a tough infection to deal with. We need to stop here." – even Manny could see Boone's scowl behind the sunglasses, for the man harrumphed before continuing – "And, to be honest? Novac needs our protection now, unlike Bitter Springs, who already has NCR forces to back them up."

Boone scoffed. And it sounded more of a bark than any other thing.

"If calling six tents, one being the medical and the other the supply ones, is what you define as 'forces', then yeah, Astor. Bitter Springs has around, with any luck, ten armed men in charge of ill refugees that quintuple them in number." – he hissed – "Been there already. No barricades, no watching posts, no snipers, no Rangers, no turrets, no fucking nothing. Only a bunch of rookies with a gutless, incompetent, small-time officer in charge. Easy pickings for the Legion."

"And what would you want me to do, Sergeant?" – Astor snapped – "Abandon my men here so the rest can follow you into a death trap? A suicide mission?!" – he added, gesticulating violently with his hands – "Sorry, but these boys have earned a fucking reprieve after blowing up Cottonwood Cove, cleaning up Nelson, and defending Novac in a row." – planting his hands on the counter, he inhaled a couple times to calm himself before continuing – "Listen, I really appreciate what you did at Searchlight. I really do, but… I've seen enough of my men dying out there. The few that remain, they have earned going back home in one piece."

"The hell you're talking about, Astor?" – Boone replied irately – "There's no reprieve, and there's no fucking going home for none of us." – nearing his face to Astor's to an uncomfortable, intimidating distance, he added – "Been on the radio a week ago, when I cleared the Legion raid camp, with Moore. With fucking Colonel Moore. And guess what she said? She said that whole trucks of Heavy Troopers were crossing the Nevada border, Kimball's direct orders." – he crossed his arms when the other man said nothing, clenching teeth at the news – "The Second Battle is close, and I don't mean to leave a single Red West of the Colorado alive before it happens." – pointing an accusatory finger at him, he sentenced – "With or without you."

Turning around, he went for the door before Astor's voice stopped him.

"You are just one man, Sergeant! Lone wolves don't make a difference facing a large Legion force single-handedly; they commit suicide!" – he exclaimed – "But here, in this town? There's a difference to be made yet!"

Gnashing teeth, Boone didn't turn around but fished something from his vest's pockets. A paper he unfolded and nailed right into the wall with a combat knife for all to see, making several townsfolk flinch.

"If it were me, this whole town could rot in Hell." – was his reply, colder than anything Manny had heard from Boone before the man slammed the door violently once he got out of the building.

Absorbed by what he had witnessed, Manny snapped out of his trance and got up, stepping onto his still-burning cigarette when he went for the paper and the knife his former friend had left behind.

We, the representatives of the Consul Officiorum, have this day bargained and purchased from Jeannie May Crawford of the township of Novac the exclusive rights to ownership and sale of the slave Carla Boone for the sum of one thousand bottle caps, and those of her unborn child for the sum of five hundred bottle caps, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged. We warrant the slave and her young to be sound, healthy, and slaves for life. We covenant with the said, Jeannie May Crawford, that we have full power to bargain and sell said slave and her offspring. Payment of an additional five hundred bottle caps will be due pending successful maturation of the fetus, the claim to which shall be guaranteed by possession of this document. M. Scribonius Libo Drusus et al.

Administrators of M. Licinius Crassus, Consul Officiorum ab Famulatus

And then, once his incredulous eyes finished reading such a monstrosity, Manny's entire world fell down.

---

SPANISH:

(1) - crazy (feminine form of 'loquito', which is a cute, diminutive way to call someone crazy).
(2) - "The bitter blondie guy doesn't look very happy."
(3) - "Move, you dogs!"

---

LATIN:

(A) - Prime Legionary. Principe Maniple in a Legio, second line of medium infantry.
(B) - Civilians/citizens.
(C) - Maniple (lit. 'a handful [of soldiers]') was a tactical unit of the Roman Republican armies. The manipular legion was organized into four lines, starting at the front: the velites; the hastati; the principes; and the triarii. These were divided by experience, with the younger soldiers at the front lines and the older soldiers near the back.

---

(+) - Six is referring here to the unholy triad composed by Quarry Junction, the Hidden Valley, and Black Mountain.

---

A/N: ... A million apologies for the loooooong radio silence, my job is killing me at this point. Me, my Circadian Rhythms, and my inspiration. I'm so tired all the time that I simply cannot bring myself to write most days.

Would you believe that a good 60% of this chapter was written months ago? Then, the Christmas Campaign started, and a log of backlog work started to pile up without mercy. It still sort of goes on to this day, and I cannot wait to drop this job and start studying again now that I can concentrate properly due to well-adjusted meds.

There's a good chunk of scenes for future chapters either already written or, at the very least, outlined. In fact, there was a scene between Veronica and Elder McNamara that I decided to leave for the next chapter once certain conditions meet. I cannot put a date for the next release since my life is pretty hectic and my health is not at its best right now.

Other than that, I want to thank the new followers/readers and also the old ones for their patience. Especially to Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R, who has always been there to give me a piece of their mind and has contributed so much to this story.

Until next time (hope it'll be sooner than this long mental block)!