Chapter 58: Murphy's Law
Rathmore sat in the dank muck as he fished out a cigar. The rest of his squad were similarly either smoking or complaining, as they were wont to do. The engineers, Mosely and O'Shale, were about halfway through the sewer grate that impeded their progress. Normally, such obstacles would necessitate the usage of explosives, but this deep underground, Rathmore didn't want to push his chances. He was going to wait until he was aboveground until he got killed, if he had any say in the matter.
"Hey, Cap, where's your rain-slicker?" one of the corporals asked him.
"Probably still with the chick I spent the night with back at the Res," Rathmore answered.
There were some murmurs of laughter down the line. "Oh right. What was her name, again? Mandy? Betty? Chuck?"
"…It was Kyra, if you had to ask," Rathmore humored them. He could feel the eyes all upon him. "…Yes, she was a smooth-skin," he sighed. "She had beautiful eyes, wonderful hair, and a rack to die for. Happy?"
"…Did you bang?"
"…Yes," Rathmore answered with transparent contempt. "We absolutely banged."
He sighed as the men hooted and hollered. A few expressed their disgust that Rathmore was so desperate as to find solace in smooth-skins, as such activities within the ghoul community were considered tantamount to cultural treason. Why would one subject themselves to humans and all their diseases and bodily functions and aging and mortality when a ghoul would stay in the prime of their lives forever?
The heavy grate crashed into the water. Rathmore put out his cigar as he grabbed his rifle. "I want a full squad of engineers covered as we push forward. I doubt the Cabal was forward-thinking enough to actually plant traps down here, but if just one of them was smart enough, it wouldn't take too much to seal these caves. Everyone else, hold in reserve. When we breach the junction, locate this Vulpes fucker and put a bullet in him. We take him out and the Cabal falls apart."
"Sir, is that what you think or is that what you know?" one of his sergeants heckled.
"…These guys have spent more time shooting at each other than they have at the Marshals. If they're working together, it has to be because of a single unified lynchpin convincing them that they hate us more than each other. So, snatch the pin and it'll be a clear shot to Dallas. Woohoo," Rathmore explained in a deadpan fashion. All the hours he spent traipsing through the radiated mire was something he resented. He would have given anything to be on the surface.
"THEY'RE COMING BACK!" Wallace screamed as his men reformed their firing lines, their entrenchments providing them the most cover in the desert wastes as the howling rose in pitch. The CO could only watch in dread as the familiar shapes made their return to the battered lines. Yao Guai, bighorner, brahmin, wolves and radstag. Hides covered the vicious tribesmen as they threw themselves once more into the line guarding the flank of the AEG. The 32nd Guards and 14th Scouts braced themselves once more, War Chief Tandi screaming out orders for her men to counterattack.
Braxus watched as his first flank ran into the crossfire without concern or fear. Worthy deaths, even if it largely consisted of tribal chaff. Young warriors, eager yet unskilled. A holdover he had learned long ago from his days in the Legion. But here he would succeed where that idiot Caesar had failed.
He looked around him, in the reserve of the tribe. His warriors were imbibing the sacred concoction, a tradition passed down their people for years. Boosting adrenaline and aggression, numbing pain from all but the most mortal wounds. And thanks to their friends in the north, ingredients were never in short supply.
A massive warrior wearing green skin approached the chief. Braxus looked up at his younger brother, Mongrel. Possibly the most accomplished warrior amongst the Pelt-Brutes, second only to Chief Braxus, he wore his trophies with pride. His pelt was that of a green giant he had personally bested, and his prized war club was fitted with the top of a skull of a deathclaw.
"Brother, the berserkers grow restless. May we devour their flesh and savor their meat?" Braxus asked his brother.
Mongrel smashed his warclub into the ground, letting out a howling snarl as the other berserkers responded in kind. Braxus watched as the main force of the AEG was repulsed once again by the defenders in the walls. To think those behind the containers and steel considered themselves warriors. Any welchling could hide behind cover and point a gun over the top and consider themselves fighters. The Pelt-Brutes, however, were willing to die for their tribe, for their meat and steel.
He watched as his novice warriors closed in and began fighting with the soldiers out of their pits. As he observed, he saw another group of warriors engage with his tribes. Not "soldiers" like the rest of this Aiegh, but warriors. Of particular note was one warrior who fought with two tomahawks, cutting through three of the Pelt-Brutes as the enemy tribe smashed against Braxus's first wave.
"Brother, go down there and eat your fill, but know this!" Braxus growled as he grabbed his larger, younger brother by the neck. "That enemy leader down there, her heart is mine to devour!"
Kenzie snuck beneath the improvised battlements as he tried to rally the defenders on the wall. Occasionally finding himself stepping over a body, he would cast a glance every now and then over the ramparts to see those Cali soldiers and the marshals trying to poke at whatever they had taken to be a weak point along the walls.
"AMOS!" he called out, and one of the gunners left their position and lurched towards him. "Boss?" he responded.
"I want you to check in on Mickey and Gavin and how their teams are doing. Then check up on Hooper and Tran. I'm going to talk to Inculta." The younger gunner nodded as the clan boss navigated his way down from the ramparts, narrowly missing having a corpse falling in front of him and tripping him, their hollow skull and dead eyes nearly rattling McGrath. Those jackasses with the red berets were making this siege especially grueling, and the Marshals had cost him a few old friends and rivals.
Through the improvised courtyard, the juncture that was the namesake of the place was littered with scavenged supplies and the bodies of wounded and dying Liberty Clanners. He looked to the office that overlooked the roundhouse. Standing guard in and around it were the Ministerio priests that Vulpes had insisted be held in reserve. If they breach the walls, it will all come down to the priests, Kenzie remembered what Vulpes had told him. Scarcely hiding his derision, Kenzie pushed past the priests standing guard and climbed the stairway to the office in the center of the tower.
Vulpes was standing in a room near a radio transceiver while Nemesio looked over him. The former legionary was looking at a watch with a smile on his face. "…Two hours and fifteen minutes, Nemesio," he said to his companion
"Two hours and fifteen minutes for what?" Kenzie announced his presence by bluntly asking his "commanding officer" the nature of his plan.
Vulpes looked at him. "Mr. McGrath, I am delighted to inform you that Mojave aerial assets are on their way here now and will arrive momentarily," he smiled.
"And how is that something worth smiling about?" Kenzie yelled.
"Because it has given me an estimate as to the capabilities of the Mojave Air Marshals. Between the time will take for the craft to arrive, strike, and return, I estimate that at most it will take them half a day to rotate between strikes."
"Well, that's fantastic to hear. But we still have a minor problem," Kenzie replied.
Vulpes and Nemesio looked at him, expectantly for what they considered an answer.
"…WE CAN'T SHOOT DOWN THEIR AIRCRAFT, YOU FUCKS!" Kenzie screamed at their seeming obliviousness.
"…Ah," Vulpes responded, casually. "I can understand why you would consider that an issue. Not to worry, Nemesio and I are working on a plan that will mitigate their aerial advantages."
"What plan?" Kenzie growled.
"You'll see," Vulpes smiled.
Kenzie pointed toward the two. "…We're all united against California and the Mojave, are we not?"
"Have you any reason to doubt us?" Vulpes asked.
"If you and the "holy man" turn on us, I will dedicate the rest of my life to making you two pay, Inculta. And if I don't make it, one of mine definitely will," McGrath stated as he turned and left the room.
"Padre, we have a visual on approaching aircraft," the radio spoke up. Vulpes rushed to the stairs with his binoculars. As he reached the top of the tower, he looked in the direction the watch had indicated. As Vulpes observed, the oncoming attack force consisted of four fighters. He ducked back inside, laughing as the aircraft prepared to strafe the walls, a wide smile on his face.
"Inculta?" Nemesio asked as he saw the look on his face.
"Emma, you wonderful rancid bitch," Vulpes laughed to himself. "The Mojave could only send four fighters to support the AEG. You realize what this means?"
Nemesio thought for a few heartbeats. "…Inculta, there's something you haven't told us."
"The Mojave has been all but taken off the board. The bulk of their air force has either been removed or is otherwise preoccupied with existential threats. And considering who is in charge of that little operation, I'd say that the Mojave has been thoroughly neutralized in any offensive capacity. That means that both the NCR and Mojave nation have been crippled and the AEG is all alone. I've already won."
Rathmore sloshed through the irradiated muck as his squad covered him. His engineers and their guards had been sent ahead a few minutes ago and had been regularly checking in until recently. The lack of screaming and explosives indicated that they should still be OK. So the silent treatment, as loathe as he was to admit it, worried him.
"Sgt. Holden, keep back. I'm going in to check," Rathmore ordered as he pulled out a flashlight and a pistol. Crossing his instruments, he advanced into the miasmic haze, his body feeling nauseatingly refreshed. Rathmore trudged on, the wastewater up to his knees rippling past as he wondered to himself what he was wading through. Likely two or three centuries of stagnant toilet water or residue from ancient construction that was kissed by radiation by the one or two bombs that decided the facility was a threat.
That half-ass job failed to make the area uninhabitable, as in the years that followed, it had become apparent that the early tribes had taken to using the juncture above as shelter. This act of preservation would later doom them with the coming of the early Legion, as it would then be converted into a facility that would manufacture the primary strength behind that horde; manpower. Rathmore put aside his disgust at the history of debasement rested above him. At least the Liberty Clans maintained a basic decorum of dignity.
As he approached a chunk of debris floating in the water, he realized it was wearing the uniform of an NCR trooper. One of his. Leaning down, he picked up the head of the now desiccated ghoul, his hollowed-out eyes and expression of shock or horror etched into his face for eternity. Rathmore wasn't a ghoul who scared easily. He wanted the rest of the squad to rush to his position and abandon the mission. His curiosity got the better of him. He had to find out what happened, and if he was lucky, end it here and now.
The water before him began to bubble. Training his weapon in front of him, Rathmore took some cautious steps back as he debated with himself as to whether or not he should drop his flashlight to grab his walkie-talkie. The creature answered for him by leaping out of the muck. It looked like someone dumped three hundred pounds of irradiated shit inside a radiation suit and molded it into some vague parody of the human form.
It tanked through the rounds Rathmore sent into it, the wounds joining the cauterized cut into where its abdomen was supposed to be. It tackled Rathmore into the water, dunking his head beneath the stank creek as it howled in rage. Rathmore felt a pain he hadn't felt nor thought about for over two hundred years. As he burned, he screamed.
Tandi had cut down another Pelt-Brute as her men fired off some shots into the horde. It was just her luck that the Pelt-Brutes were true primitives, favoring weapons like knives and clubs to even bows and arrows, though revolvers and lever-action rifles were not uncommon. Likely holdovers from their time as one of the last tribes to have joined Caesar's Legion, and possibly the first to desert following the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Tandi could understand, as her tribe kept their culture, even as they traded their spears for service rifles. Still, for a bunch of wasteland cavemen, there was an awful lot of them, and they weren't giving up.
A new series of howls rose up among the lines. Through the chaotic fog of battle, Tandi could see some new shapes join the melee. As one of the larger ones approached, the figure took a club that was mounted with what looked like a deathclaw skull and battered it against one of the retreating Pelt-Brutes. Similar actions were replicated by these new warriors against others who were either running or too slow to get out of the way. Barely gathering herself, she noticed an airborne figure just above her coming down right towards her. She barely leaped out of the way as two claws swiped at the ground she had stood upon, kicking up dirt. The figure wore a Yao Guai pelt on his back, the head covering his. The figure stood up from its hunch, lurching towards the war chief.
Braxus gazed upon the warrior that had caught his eye. Just as he thought, a female. Caesar spun in his grave. He should have been infuriated that she had sent so many of his tribe to the Bloody Plains, but the skill she had demonstrated and the determination that she carried within herself was considerable. He would take it upon himself to put a baby in her.
Tandi watched as the Pelt-Brute ran his tongue over his lips and teeth. Raising her tomahawks, she beckoned the beast to try and approach her. Two of her own warriors emerged from the chaos and tried to attack the Pelt-Brute. In a swift and singular motion, the brute with his two deathclaw gauntlets cut down both of them. Though Tandi hid her feelings, in truth the sight brought back her memories as a young girl on a hunt with her father. Their hunting party had stumbled upon a pack of deathclaws and had isolated one prowling by itself. Unfortunately for them, that solitary deathclaw would turn out to be the primary mate of the pack alpha, who would take her death personally. The sight of the alpha cutting down two of her father's companions was forever ingrained in her mind, and the sight of what happened before her brought back those memories. But Tandi was not a scared young girl. Tandi was a warrior.
Wallace strolled along the chaotic line, keeping his pistol at his side while Lt. Mullens and two of her more trusted troopers guarded his body. The Dodger girls, Jackie and Gil, were a pair of young and talented troopers Mullens had personally selected. Captain Wallace never went faster than a quick walk while in the midst of combat. While a normal soldier would consider such notions insane, Wallace would argue that, as an officer, it was his duty to display the utmost contempt for the enemy. His sidearm was rarely fired in anger, and his guard handled most of direct combat issues.
Slowly but surely, the foxholes that had been compromised were either retaken or filled with dead bodies, mostly of the Pelt-Brutes. He hid how much the sight of his own dead and wounded bothered him, seeing as the 14th Scouts needed all the support and help he could give them. No, he would do what he did best; hold the damn line.
The screaming above him took his attention for a few moments. Wallace watched as the squad of planes soared overhead. The mighty Mojave Air Marshals had finally arrived, hours late and short a few planes but here, nonetheless. The planes rose in the air and began to circle the battlefield, no doubt to assess how best they could aid the situation with the limited ordinance they no doubt carried.
A howl rose up as extra firepower joined the cacophonic chorus of the fight. Captain Wallace looked down the range to see more than a few red berets had entered this part of the battlefield, their leader beckoning his men on as they came to assist in the fight.
"…THAT IDIOT!" Captain Wallace screamed in disbelief and anger.
"Sir?" Mullens asked as she plugged a Pelt-Brute with a burst of her weapon, the carcass falling into an empty foxhole.
"MILLIGAN WAS SUPPOSED TO BE COMMANDING THE BREACH! NOW GOROBETS AND BOONE WON'T HAVE ANY SUPPORT!" he screamed as he emptied his pistol into the recently deceased body Mullens had brought down. Fuming as he reloaded, he watched as the planes doubled back and unloaded a volley of rockets from above, raining down on the defenders manning the western ramparts and driving away any they didn't kill. Now was the perfect and possibly only chance for them to breach, but by themselves, the 5th Heavy Armor and Marshals couldn't guarantee victory. And if Rathmore came up in the middle of an unsecured position, he and his corpses were as good as dead.
"…aaaAAARGH!" Captain Wallace snarled in anger. "MULLENS! GET ON THE HORN WITH THE REST OF THE COMPANY! ANY MEMBER OF THE 32nd IN RESERVE OR NOT ENGAGED IN COMBAT IS TO FOLLOW UP ON MY POSITION! WE ARE CHARGING THAT BREACH, NOW!"
Rathmore choked and tried to struggle as the monster kept trying to drown him. As he gasped and felt the irradiated water seep into his mouth, he remembered the Philippines. How he kept pushing his squad to chase out Chinese sympathizers from the jungles, even as the traps and snipers kept picking them off. Just so long as they pushed forward, so long as the objectives were met, Rathmore would be happy. At least that's how it was until he took a round in his back. The next thing he knew he was being medevacked out of the jungle, his squad waving him sarcastically off as his corporal motioned pulling the pin on a grenade. A medical discharge later, he found himself on the streets of Los Angeles, sleeping under bus benches and too ashamed to return to his family. And then the nukes went off and he died for the first time.
He could hear the muffled screams above him and felt the impacts forcing the creature off him. Gasping an intoxicating breath of sewer air above him, Rathmore forced himself back to his feet, pulling out his knife after having lost his sidearm. As he got clear, the first thing that he noticed was that all the bullet wounds seemed to seal, even after it lost streams of… whatever goop was floating under the suit. That drew his eyes to the other target, the long and burned scar across the side of that thing. Griping his knife, Rathmore charged the creature and stuck his blade into the previous wound, digging into the beast as it let out an ethereal and mangled howl. Snapping off his handle, Rathmore stumbled back as two of his men dragged him back while the others unloaded onto the monster, forcing it to retreat.
"Captain, you OK?" his sergeant asked.
"…I feel like I'm going to puke," Rathmore wheezed out. The beast disappeared into the darkness. The 66th advanced, guns at the ready. "You think that was something the Cabal planted here, somehow?" one of the soldiers asked.
"…I doubt it," Rathmore hacked out. "Probably just some sicko's science project that wandered off and got lost down here." On the surface of Luna, Dr. Borous got inexplicably angry and personally offended, though he could not understand why. "…The others are waiting for us above, let's quick stalling and do our damn jobs," the ghoul captain wheezed out, though his heart was audibly not into his usual rallying cry.
As he watched and listened to the fleeing beast, he looked down once more at the body of his trooper. While ghouls excelled at handling radiation like nothing else in the wasteland, the body looked like it had been completely drained of what passed for living tissue. That was when a horrifying thought crossed Rathmore's mind. It sounds crazy, but it almost looks… almost looks like it killed a ghoul with radiation.
Kenzie McGrath watched in horror as the western walls began to collapse. His men were already pulling back, dragging many of their wounded with them as the gates and dislodged train cars began to crumble. He looked to the control tower where Vulpes and Nemesio were hiding out the whole time. Finally, after so many hours of fighting, the doors had opened and a number of armed Ministerio members filed out. After the twentieth one, however, the reinforcements stopped. Kenzie had had enough, and he stormed up to the final priest and confronted him. "WHERE THE HELL ARE THE REST OF YOUR MEN?!"
"The Bishop and Inculta have other plans for the rest. Us? We are prepared to die," the priest smiled as he pulled open his robe so show his suicide vest.
Die, Kenzie thought to himself. Inculta promised that we would resist. Why would he send out a handful of forces to commit suicide unless…
Kenzie immediately drew his weapons and stormed into the control tower. Catching two of the priests off guard, he shot one in the head and the other non-fatally. "WHERE'S INCULTA?!" he demanded.
"…*hurk* in the tunnels," the dying priest smiled before expiring. Looking at the doorway to the lower levels, Kenzie immediately charged down the stairway, unaware in his haste and anger that the two priests standing guard had prepared a parting bouquet for anyone who caught onto Inculta's treachery.
The explosion rocked Kenzie off his feet as he stumbled down the stairway, landing right as the bottom as Nemesio and Vulpes watched the last of their gunners disappear into the maintenance tunnel. Nemesio alit his sword as he approached the downed Liberty Boss, only to be waved off by Vulpes.
"You've done enough, Nemesio. Join your men, I shall follow shortly," Vulpes told his co-conspirator as he approached the wounded Clan Boss. "…You don't look so well, McGrath."
"Fu-huck you, you… pisashit," Kenzie winced as he clutched his wound. "You betrayed us… we were on your side…"
"I brought you all together to resist the Allied Expeditionary Group. I helped you all resist until it was no longer needed. And that time is now. The Mojave has fallen under the protection of my employers. And soon enough, the Bear will be neutered. Your services, such as they were, are no longer required."
"…you… used us…" Kenzie muttered.
Vulpes stared at him. "…Are you actually surprised?"
Kenzie spat out some blood as he found himself close to laughing. "…I heard a rumor that… you died…"
"…Dangerous assumptions," Vulpes muttered as he left for the door.
"…Nemesio said he buried your body," Kenzie called out. Vulpes let out a vicious curse. "That gossip-queen of a priest! What does he know of immortality?" he turned to Kenzie. "…My name is Vulpes Inculta. It was given to me along with a purpose and mission. I do not have to justify my existence to the likes of you… wasteland vermin! I am Vulpes Inculta! I am the nightmare of the wastes! I am-"
Kenzie got off his shot, striking Inculta in the shoulder. Inculta barely flinched, even as a little blood trickled down his shoulder while a significant amount of a blue liquid pumped out to intermingle with the wound and seal it, a standard-issue installment to all of his make and model. Vulpes felt his face flush as his cover was blown. "…If you hate truly had California, you'll take this sight to your grave, McGrath," Vulpes growled as he exited through the tunnel, sealing the door behind him.
Gorobets watched as the 5th Heavy Armor led in the spearhead, breaching through the gaps in the walls as they were flanked by the Marshals and supported by elements of the 32nd and other disparate units. As thrilled as he should have been by breaking the siege, a part of him was fuming at Milligan's insubordination. He was supposed to lead the breach, but his attention was taken by the fight on the flank. He went against the plan because he didn't trust Wallace and Tandi to do their duty. The Colonel watched as the Mojave flyboys buzzed over the Pelt-Brutes, strafing into their lines and causing what looked to him like a rout. He was going to have a long and serious conversation with Milligan before this day was over.
The first of the NCR's Paladins burst through the ruined walls, automatic weapons firing upon the ramparts and into the ruined buildings. The wounded who had not been taken into safety either reached for any nearby weapons or tried to use an unbloodied bandage to surrender. The cohesion between the Liberty Clans had shattered. Some tried to mount a final and futile valiant defense while others tried to escape from the walls, some injuring themselves as they jumped from the improvised battlements while others made their own exits in their own ways. Not helping in the chaos were the Ministerio soldiers, who in their zeal disregarded the notion that the Liberty Clans were supposed to be allies as they fired upon the advancing troopers and marshals. Bombs went off, "friendly" fire was exchanged, and one of the priests went so far as to stick a k-bar into the neck of one of the power-armored soldiers before his body was gibed into oblivion. It was only after the last of the priest had fallen that the marshals secured some semblance of order, stopping the massacre of surrendering gunners as the other Californian troops arrived inside to secure order.
Captain Wallace strolled amongst the sorry sight as he watched his men secure the injured and surrendered. The Liberty Clans had been scattered to the winds and the Pelt-Brutes had been routed. Aside from the lack of verifying this Vulpes guy or any significant sightings of Ministerio priests, today had been a hard-fought, costly, but significant victory. And it only cost the AEG roughly one hundred casualties out of a previous standing force of six hundred or so Californians and eighty Judicial Marshals. Wallace knew attrition was inevitable, but today for a force like them, it had been a disaster.
"…Lt. Mullens, have you found any of Captain Rathmore's breaching detachment," he asked.
"Negative, sir," the Lieutenant shook her head.
Captain Wallace scoffed at the news, pretending that this uncharacteristic procrastination of his detestable rival did not bother him. Looking over the shattered and dilapidated buildings, he saw what appeared to be a facility maintenance building. "Sgt. Dodger, find the sewage tunnel and scream at those fucking zombies to get their asses up here, they're late," Wallace ordered as he fished out a stick of gum.
"Sir," Sgt. Dodger saluted as her sister Gil checked the sights on her rifle. As Wallace and Mullens began to discuss the upcoming debrief, the young sergeant approached the door as a faint banging sound could be heard on the other end. Motioning for her sister to join her, Sgt. Dodger pulled out her sidearm as she pulled open the door. A humanoid figure wearing a sickly green hazmat suit burst from the doorway, knocking aside the trooper as a wave of nausea washed over her. The creature looked around for anything it could drain, settling on one of the entities in front of it, entering a flopping charge as it dragged its body towards Lt. Mullens.
The Lieutenant was quick to raise her rifle and plug it with shots, the beast barely registering the damage as it quickly approached the trooper. Mullens felt a pair of hands grab her and throw her out of the way, only managing to look up right as it tackled her Captain. As the creature's hands rose to wrap around Wallace's neck, the Captain pulled out his sidearm and fired into the face of the creature.
As Wallace squeezed off the last round he could manage, the opaque mask was breeched. Ethan Wallace looked inside at the blue light, at humanity's abuse of the atom and arrogance over how they interpreted the universe should have served it. He looked into the light that damned humanity, and he screamed.
Two squads of ghoul troopers stormed out of the doorway, bayonets at the ready as they swarmed over the creature and pried it from the captain. In one of the grisliest scenes she had ever seen, even on this day, she watched as the ghoul troopers beat and skewered the creature until its very half-life appeared extinguished. Gingerly picking up the spent body, they dragged the now depleted suit back into the tunnels it had emerged from, right as Captain Rathmore dragged his exhausted body to the doorway. Unable to muster up enough energy to spit at the corpse, Rathmore looked out to see Lt. Mullens hovering over her man as he gasped and hacked on the ground. The ghoul captain immediately rushed forward, shoving Mullens aside as he looked at the state of her commander. "…Oh, Christ," Rathmore breathed.
The Marshal climbed down the stairs, revolver drawn as she checked her corners. When she had entered, there were two dead priests and evidence of an explosion on the stairway. Likely the start of the infighting between the Ministerio and Liberty Clans. If only they had started before they breached the wall, then a lot of time and blood could have been saved. As such, she had ten more letters to write for the Marshals when she got back home.
As she reached the bottom, she saw a Liberty Clanner laying on the ground, hacking up what little blood he had to have left as the pressurized door sat closed. The Marshal looked at the Clan Boss and recognized him. "…Kenzie Murphy McGrath," she said. "I always wanted to catch you."
"…ack… it is… everything you ever… dreamed of?" McGrath asked.
"…No," she shook her head. "Where's Vulpes?"
McGrath motioned his head to the door. "I think they welded it shut by now… Vulpes is long gone… just him and the rest of the Ministerio… they deserve each other ack-ahack," he wheezed out.
"Wait here, I'll get medical," the Marshal offered as she went to the stairway.
"I shot him," Kenzie interrupted. "Vulpes, if that's what he… it calls himself," he laughed as he pointed to the blood and odd coolant on the ground.
"…That came from Vulpes?" the Marshal asked.
"…Tell me, Commissioner, you ever… been to Phoenix?" McGrath asked. He reached for his gun. The Commissioner put one in his head. The light left Kenzie Murphy McGrath's eyes as his body went limp for eternity. The Commissioner approached the Liberty Boss and closed his eyes before activating her radio. "…All troops, this is Commissioner Natalie Boone. We have secured the control tower, I repeat, we have the control tower. Circle Junction is now under AEG control." She shut it off as she stood at the site of victory, in all its elation and glory. Which made it funny, in a way, because from where she was standing, McGrath looked so much happier.