Chapter 59: A boy named Joe

Cass pulled her can away from the fire as the marshals and federales bickered with each other. Walking past Melody and that new guy Larry or whatever, she took a seat on a nearby boulder so she could eat and look out at the same time. Cracking open the tin, she waited for it to cool as another figure joined her. Cass looked down to see the barely familiar girl perch alongside her, with a box of dandy apples sitting on her lap. "…Arcade and the Boones never shut up about you," Rosa grinned.

"You have my sympathies," Cass replied as she took a sip from the juices.

"Why didn't you tell me who you were when we met at the Res?" Rosa asked.

"Same reason you didn't tell me before you were wasted. I didn't have the foggiest idea who you were supposed to be," Cass explained.

"Uncle Boone said you were pretty much the female version of who my old man was back in the day, before he took over the Mojave," Rosa explained.

"Let's get one thing straight," Cass interrupted. "Your dad didn't take over anything. He liberated it. Took New Vegas from anyone who didn't have its best interests at heart."

"Groupie," Rosa scoffed.

"Princess," Cass retorted. "Anyways, I hear he'd done pretty well for himself since then."

"I mean, besides the alcoholism and getting into any skirt he can bring inside the Lucky 38, I'd say he's done a fantastic job having other people run his country for him," Rosa explained.

Cass burst out laughing, and Rosa couldn't help but hold back a grin. Elsewhere, Jimmy was chatting up Kyra while Amy slurped on some noodles. "…I'll have to decline," Kyra answered, flatly.

"I'm just saying, you can pick your hours and your clients," Jimmy continued to try and sell. "You'll have work!"

"I'm not looking to be "owned" anymore, Mr. …Bishop, was it?" Kyra replied as she turned and walked away. Jimmy snorted as he sat beside Amy, pouting over potential lost revenue. "…I don't know what you were expecting," Amy stated after swallowing. "Just because she has the body for the skin trade doesn't mean she'll jump on the first client you point at her."

"I know how to do my job, Amy, thank you," Jimmy growled.

"Next time, try to tell her how much money she stands to make before you talk about your cut. Better yet, don't talk about your cut at all. Tell her how desirable she would be to the market. You don't want her dancing on that stage. Deep down, she wants to dance on that stage," Amy offered.

"…Alright, prove it," Jimmy bet. "I want to see you make a pitch on…"

"Kim, got it," Amy nodded as she got up and strolled over to the muscle-bound machine-gunner, leaving Jimmy gaping. "…Ms… Baxter, right?" Amy began. Kim belched in presumed affirmation. "Fantastic. Kim, I have an exciting opportunity I know you'll enjoy…"

Larain and Dalton stood to the side as they watched the rest of the group bicker around the campfire. Dalton couldn't keep his eyes off the cook, and Larain presumed it had more to do than with the blindfold covering his eyes. "…Is he legit?" Dalton asked.

"Joseph's cool," Larain said. "Man's probably the best cook out here, not that it's saying all that much, but…"

"That's not what I meant," Dalton interrupted. "He's… one of those… right?"

"…Mormon?" Larain asked. Dalton sneered as he stormed off. The Liberty Clanner sighed as he turned away, right as he bumped into Carla. "…Hey," Larain began.

"…Hey," Carla replied. The two then did their very best to avoid eye contact as they rubbed their arms and tried to find an out. "…That new girl is cute, right?" Carla began.

"No!" Larain shook his head. "No, I don't want to…"

"I didn't say you did! I just…" Carla shook her head. "I saw her before, when she was travelling with the Legion. I had other things on my mind, but now that things have calmed down, I realized that she's…" Carla seemed to get flustered.

"…Really? Oh," Larain offered, wondering why Carla was confiding this with him, of all people. "So, you're saying you're thinking about…"

"No! I mean… maybe if… it's just, uh… ah, just forget I said anything," Carla pouted.

"…I mean, if she's been traveling with the Legion for the past month or so, she's probably seen more than her fair share of… one-eyed snakes, if you get my drift," Larain grinned.

Carla turned to look at him with her single eye. "Shit, I didn't mean it like that!" Larain quickly tried to correct himself. Carla then flickered out her tongue before breaking out in a giggle. Larain began to relax at the display of good humor.

"Hey, Larain, quick question," Carla began.

"Yeah?" Larain answered.

"It's normal for a girl's period to be late a week or so after she hooks up with a guy, right?" Carla asked. She could only make it five seconds after watching all the blood drain from Larain's face before she broke out in a fit of laughter. "IT'S A JOKE, MAN, RELAX! A-HAHA!" she cried as Larain immediately made his retreat from the marshal.

"…So, what I guess I'm trying to say is that so long as I don't kiss her on the mouth, I think I'm good," Javier grinned. Gael and Toni snorted as Tobey stroked his chin. "She only just showed up and you're already thinking about trying to get in her pants. That's a little quick or desperate, don't you think?" the young marshal offered.

"Screw that, man. We've been out in the field for so long that we all got itches to scratch. And it ain't everyday we wind up in a party with such fine-looking honeys, isn't it? First, we got the Princess, then we got the new girl. Gael is probably likely to keep Amy for himself…"

"Like she even puts out," Gael muttered to himself.

"Cheapskate!" Amy called up from her pitch to Kim, who was currently mulling over her salary and comparing it to the purely hypothetical offer she was receiving.

"Then we have your fine ass sister," Javier continued.

"I will put a bullet in you," Tobey interrupted, trying to maintain a cheery persona.

"Then we got the… rather unique tastes being Ms. Cassidy and Baxter. I'm just saying we got options," Javier continued.

"What about me?" Melody asked.

"You're married, you don't count," Javier replied.

"And if I wasn't?" Melody pressed.

"Then I would have probably already asked how much you'd go for and we'd have already hooked up like four times by now, at least," Javier answered.

"…I feel so appreciated," Melody smiled, diplomatically.

"Anytime," Javier grinned as he took a sip of his canteen. Somehow his brain interpreted the fresh water inside to have come from a sewer and had been filtered through dead rat corpses and various fungi. He spewed his water as Joseph kept his poker face.

Meanwhile, Kyra had approached Cassidy and Rosa, asking if she could sit with the one person she was most relatively familiar with. Cass nodded and the three women sat together, eating the soups that Joseph had cooked for them. "So, how are you acclimating to the new group?" Cass asked.

"That blond guy just asked if I wanted to enter prostitution if I ever came by Vegas, and most of the guys have been visually undressing me for the last few hours," Kyra replied, bluntly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Rosa spoke.

"Don't be, I'm flattered," Kyra whispered. "Now that I'm a free woman, I can appreciate being hot again. If anyone wants to see me naked, they just need a cool bottle of Nuka-cola. I haven't had one in forever."

"…HEY, JOE!" Rosa called out as she lifted up her canteen.

"Not going to help you with that, Rosa," Joseph called back.

Cass and Rosa both laughed. "So, you aren't taking up Jimmy's offer?" Rosa asked with a smile.

"I… don't think so," Kyra replied, hesitating. "I mean, I'm all for getting paid to get laid, but I don't know where I want to go from here."

"So long as you aren't with the dog-riders, huh?" Cass asked.

"Absolutely," Kyra nodded. "I don't miss being the camp cook, I don't miss riding on the back of that animal, I really don't miss Hypatia, and I absolutely do NOT MISS BARABBAS!" she ended screaming. Cass and Rosa both silently decided not to address the single tear falling from Kyra's cheek.

"Hey, what the hell, you two already pissed the new girl off?" Larain said as he approached the three women.

"No, we're just having some fun," Kyra immediately replied as she wiped her cheek. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name."

"His name's Larain. He sucks," Rosa replied.

"Fuck you too, Rosa," Larain deadpanned, keeping his eyes on Kyra, and as promised to Uncle Dalton, his brain out of his pants. "So, are you done with the Legion or is the Legion done with you?" he asked.

"Yes," Kyra smiled. "You concerned?"

"Nah, I get you, really," Larain laughed. "I traded my machete long ago for a rifle and revolver."

Kyra eyed Larain up and down, feigning being impressed. "So, you've been a gunman for a while?"

"Ky, can I call you Ky, I'm not just a gunman. I'm a wastelander extraordinaire and a lover of the libertine lifestyle. I'm also quite the stud," he grinned as Rosa, Carla, and Amy all leveled their palms in a rocking "so-so" motion.

Kyra crossed her arms. "…Got a Nuka-cola on you?" she asked.

"Maybe," Larain answered, coyly. "What's in it for me?"

"Sex," Kyra replied, bluntly.

Larain dropped his pack to the ground, reached inside, pulled out a bottle of Nuka-cola, and snapped off the cap. Right as Kyra reached for it, Larain swiped it back and downed the whole thing himself, chugging almost the entire bottle as Cass, Rosa, and Kyra looked on in awe. As was about to clear the bottle, Larain broke it from his lips and handed the remaining bottle to Kyra. "…I'm through hopping into bed with strange women I just met and regretting ever after," he explained as Rosa blew a raspberry at him. "So how about we just settle for having you bunk up with Carla for a while until we reach where we're going?" he said.

Kyra swiped the remaining soda from his hand and swallowed the remaining few gulps. "…Carla's the one-eyed girl who's been staring at my ass since we started talking, right?" Kyra asked as Carla immediately went back to minding her own business.

"Yep," Larain and Rosa said, simultaneously.

"…Well, I guess it's time for me to go make a friend," Kyra stretched as she strolled over to Carla, who in turn shot a dirty, pleading look her best friend and ex-lover. "That's for the "joke," Larain mouthed.

"Good for her, upgrading and all," Rosa whispered.

"Well, aren't you just a petty little thing?" Larain muttered back.

"Only just realizing that now?" Rosa grinned. "Besides, that Kyra girl is just for fooling around with. Carla's really in love with me." Larain and Cass both broke out laughing. Rosa didn't.

Joseph tended to the dying embers of the fire and cleaned the remains of his cooking. He waited for the new figure to introduce himself, not wanting to push him. As the minutes dragged on, so did the silence. Finally, with his patience at its limit, Joseph turned his head towards the newcomer. "May I help you?"

"…You don't need me to tell you, isn't that right?" Dalton scoffed.

"I'm always ready to hold a conversation," Joseph smiled. "But I wouldn't want to push you."

"Push me?" Dalton almost laughed. "Is that your angle?"

"Angle?" Joseph cocked his head, confused.

"I know your kind, mutie," Dalton snorted as he began pacing around Joseph. "I've seen it before. The last days of the Legion, the REAL Legion, that glassy-eyed harlot who put a leash on Lanius. Is that your game?"

Joseph's smile began to recede. "…No, I can't say that it is."

Dalton stopped to face the preacher, as useless a gesture as it may have been. "You think you're cute with your little parlor tricks with the drinks and this "holier-than-thou" humble attitude, but I know your type well enough, "pastor."

"Enlighten me," Joseph replied, unsmiling.

"This little… act of yours," Dalton began to explain. "It might amuse the others, and they might be dumb enough to buy it, but I see you for what you are. Someone like you doesn't settle. You have the power to take anything you want but you don't."

"…Maybe life isn't always about getting what you want," Joseph replied as he resumed his cleanup.

Dalton let out an ugly laugh. "Spoken like someone who's been broken. That's not you, though, preacher. What is it that holds you back?"

"…I don't understand," Joseph shook his head.

"Is it the girl? The woman you call your wife? Or is it those… morals," he sneered, "that were imparted upon you years ago that you cling to?"

"I am grateful for all that I have been given," Joseph replied. "I want for nothing, and am proud to serve those in need."

"Lest they be grateful for what you have done for them so that they will depend on you," Dalton continued. "It's a longer path, preacher, but at the end of it, I only see the same destination."

Joseph grew silent as Dalton stroked his chin. "…When you speak, boy, I can hear Caesar in your voice."

Slamming a pot against the ground, Joseph immediately rose to his feet, face contorting in anger. Dalton let out a laugh. "And I finally get through that shell you've been so careful to maintain, ha-ha! Come on, admit it, you know you can build your own army of God overnight. Maybe, I don't know, start with some followers, twelve would be a nice round number," he giggled. "Tell them everything they need to know. Need to do, and watch your numbers swell like the Pacific tides. Hell, why not forgo all that shit and find a figurehead to stand behind, like the bitch Oracle? I'm sure you'd find a willing princess. And if not, well, with your abilities, it shouldn't be a problem," he laughed.

"This conversation is over," Joseph stated as he turned to walk away.

"Aww, did I upset you, preacher?" Dalton taunted. "Not like your kind to do anything about it! All you religious types like to pray and wait. Wait for what? A knife in the dark? A less horrible drought? Someone like me to "protect" the flock? Do you have any idea how often I dared a god like yours to strike me down? Well, I'm still standing, preacher. You, though, have the power to do something about it, but you won't. Can't. When the time for action comes, all you'll do is hide and pray for someone else to save you. Not like it did that idiot Graham any favors.

"DO NOT INSULT JOSHUA GRAHAM IN FRONT OF ME!" Joseph wheeled around towards Dalton, the bandages around his eyes beginning to stain with red.

Dalton, caught slightly off guard but delighted by the new response, pressed on. "Oh, you knew him too? I'd wager I knew him longer than you, boy. The real Joshua Graham. The man who did things that'll curdle your blood and send you crying back to the alter? Would you like to hear them, preacher?"

Joseph lunged at Dalton, grabbing him by the collar as they tumbled to the ground. Dalton, not expecting to fight a blind man but not averse to the notion, was prepared to draw a weapon on the idiot as soon as they hit the ground. That time would not come, as once Dalton's back hit the ground, he fell through the dust and sand, falling into a seemingly endless abyss. He could only look up and watch as Joseph stood over him, his image receding into the distance as Dalton fell.

Dalton somehow landed on his feet in the middle of a vast void of clean, white sand. Glancing around, he saw his breath condense in front of him as he called out. "Is this some kind of trick, parson? Something to scare the Jesus into my life?" he mocked. He felt a cane tap his shoulder. Turning around, Dalton was presented by a child who couldn't have been older than ten, wearing overalls and a dress shirt with no shoes. His face had freckles and two bright and sprightly green eyes. The boy began to speak.

"…Allow me to tell you a story. A story about a boy named Joe." As he spoke, a town rose up from the sands, or perhaps the sands fell away to reveal the town. It was a rustic-looking frontier village, with people tending their chores and a church bell sounding off in the distance.

"Joe grew up in the town of New Canaan. It was a quiet and peaceful life, where he lived with his parents, older sisters, and friends."

A bucket of water splashed onto a young woman. As she screamed, a group of young boys laughed as she turned to them, sopping wet. "JOE! YOU ARE IN SUCH BIG TROUBLE, MISTER, YOU HEAR ME!" The boy blew a raspberry at her while he and his friends scattered, Joe himself darting in between some houses. A sudden scream erupted and was quickly cut off, and a man covered in bandages dragged the boy by his overalls before the woman he wronged. "…What do we say to our sister, boy?" a familiar voice came from the figure. "…I'm sorry, Michelle," Joe pouted. The bandaged man looked at Michelle. "…I don't think he means it. Maybe I should oversee him until he does?"

"NO, MICHELLE, NO, I'M SORRY, PLEASE, I'll DO ANYTHING!" Joe immediately broke down in panic as he tried to break from the figure's grip.

Michelle fought back a smile as she took Joe from the bandaged man's grip. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Mr. Graham. Come along, you. The veggies aren't going to peel themselves," she ordered as she ushered her little brother inside.

"Well, what the proper little shit you were," Dalton heckled.

"The town dubbed me the local menace two years in a row. Would have been three if Tiffany Goodwin didn't steal my thunder," Little Joe relayed. "Those were good days. The best. And they could not last."

Immediately, the town was alight in flames. Dreadlocked savages stormed through the town, having blown the barricades to pieces with their smoke and bombs. Storm-drummers emptied entire magazines into homes while their packmates threw firebombs into storefronts and barns. People and animals bayed alike in a single cry of agony. The church was sealed by the invaders and burned as the congregation who expected safety perished in the fires.

All Joe had was a BB gun. He figured that if he could stall them enough, someone, anyone would come and help them. He had to try. He saw a warrior with a makeshift flaming sword kick a can of oil into the storefront where his family lived. Joe took aim and fired. He got the warrior's attention. His family's house would not be burned down. But Joe himself would be struck across the eyes with the flaming weapon.

A familiar sounding pistol sounded off as the world went dark, the warrior with the flaming sword falling to the ground, his weapon the only source of light as two bandaged hands grabbed the writhing Joseph and carried him away.

"Joe's parents died that day. His sister, Michelle, was taken by the White Legs and never seen again. His other sister, Hannah, only survived because she was away with a caravan at the time. And as for Joe himself…" Dalton's guide turned around to show him the wound he had sustained across his face. Joe stared at Dalton with his dead eyes as he pulled out a strand of gauze and tied it across his eyes.

Joe lay in a bed at a camp, the top half of his head heavily bandaged as he tried to make sense of the world around him. Hannah was his most frequent visitor, followed by a family friend named Daniel. Joe kept asking them about where his parents and Michelle were, but eventually, he understood their answer in silence. He was miserable and beside himself, and on this particular day he had to listen to two caravaneers outside arguing about something petty about Happy Trails or something.

Joe couldn't bring himself to care about the argument and just wanted to sleep in peace. He wanted more than anything for the two men outside to just shut up and keep quiet. As this thought crossed his mind, the arguing outside came to a complete stop. Confused, the two men seemed to try and mouth some words, but no sound came out. Panicking, the two went to Daniel and tried to beg for any kind of aid, but their silence continued until Little Joe fell asleep.

"As weeks turned into months, Joe would realize that he had a gift. Abilities. Powers," Dalton's guide continued to explain. "It wouldn't take long until he realized what he was capable of. And when he did, he would be livid." Joe sat on a rock, overlooking a valley of water, light, and life. A vision he would now never learn to appreciate. He stood atop the valley, holding his holy book in his hand, the last gift his father ever gave him. "…Are you listening?" the boy asked to no one in particular. "Do I have your attention, for once? Why, God? Why now?" he asked to no one. "If I could do these things when the White Legs attacked, no one would have had to die. Michelle would still be here. Bishop Rigdon would still be here. Your… people," he spat, "would still be here."

"I… I could have been your greatest servant. I could have led us to salvation, real salvation, but NO! You had to give me this gift after it was too late to save anyone! Lose my family, lose my sight, and for what?!" He called out, asking for an answer from someone, anyone. No one replied. "…Some God you turned out to be," Joe snarled, tossing his bible onto the ground. "Your word is just a bunch of pages I can't read anymore. So now? If you can't lead your people to safety, I will. And if you aren't going to help, I'm going to do it in SPITE of you!" He spat over the edge and walked away.

"In my estimation, I like to tell myself that those who follow the Shepherd have, in one way or another, come to have despised him at least once," Joe admitted.

"…I can't say I don't understand," Dalton responded in kind.

"…One of Joe's favorite passages was the temptations faced by Christ himself in the deserts. How the Son of God himself could stand resolute in the face of powerful desires, and how in all of us we could do the same. Joe would soon face his own trial. The White Legs were broken at Zion and all but destroyed, the majority of the host would head to the Great Salt Lake where another tribe would annihilate them. But that wasn't good enough for Joe. So, when he laid awake one night and heard the unmistakable language of those who wronged him deep in the wilderness, Joe grabbed his cane and set out after them."

The next scene showed a meager handful of White Legs, all battered or wounded sitting around a campfire. Time had not been kind to them, and their survival thus far away from the rest of their tribe was little short of a miracle. It was apparent that they were only looking for any food or shelter they could find, just to survive another day.

"These White Legs possessed no threat to the surviving New Canaanites. In his heart, Joe understood that. He understood that their judgment had already been passed, and that God himself was all but telling him to stay his hand. Deep down, Joe understood that this was his very own trial."

"He failed."

The White Legs were thrown into a maddened frenzy, grabbing anything that could resemble a weapon to eliminate the biggest threats to themselves; each other. One fell atop the fire and screamed while another caved in the head of the woman who had been his partner, while yet one more slit the throat of his brother as he agonized over the realization. In the end, only one White Leg survived, one for Joe to enact his revenge against.

"Cut off your leg," Joe ordered.

Dalton had to turn away, his stomach threatening to erupt. No stranger to violence himself, or torture, or even sadism, but the sight he saw before him violated even his basic sense of humanity. Joe continued to stare and ordered further mutilation, further self-inflicted torture so that eventually this… animal would understand what he had put Joseph through, and only through the revelation would he understand what God was. And that God hated him.

"JOSEPH!"

Graham stumbled through the brush, eyes widening in horror over what he was witnessing. With a shot of his pistol, he ended the White Leg's agony.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!" Joe screamed. "I KNOW YOU HATE THEM AS MUCH AS I DO!"

"God doesn't need another executioner!" Graham gritted as he put his pistol to the side.

"GOD DOESN'T CARE ABOUT US!" Joe screamed. "When we needed him most, He hid! He ran away when his own people cried out for Him! So if he's not going to protect His people, I WILL!" Joe cried as he began striking the body with his cane.

"God… isn't beholden to us," Joshua explained. "He's not something to grant our every wish and whim. Do you think you're the only one who suffered? That our suffering is special? Joseph, I am the last person to believe that I understand every way in which He moves, but He does look out for us, even now!"

"HOW?!" Joe shrieked.

"…When we took back Zion, he sent a messenger. Someone who fought alongside us as we drove the White Legs from the canyon and into the wastes. Could we have done it without him? Perhaps, but it wasn't until later that I understood why he was sent. He wasn't sent to help me destroy the White Legs. He was sent to stop me, to keep me from turning into something I tried to avoid. And I believe… that's what I'm here to do," he said as he rose his gun in the air. "You're dangerous, Joseph, and if left unchecked, a threat to all God's children, to mankind as a whole."

"Stay back!" Joseph immediately tried to attack Joshua, but was rebuffed by a resoluteness that he had never before experienced. Joseph heard Joshua approach, and again lashed out and tried to strike down his judgment. His anger gave way to fear, and soon he found himself trying to bat away the approaching Graham with his cane, only for it to be slapped out of his hands by the larger man. Joshua grabbed Joseph and pulled him close.

Joseph waited for the death sentence that never came. Soon, his rage abated, and he could finally make sense of what he had just done. He had condemned six tired and hungry people to die, to avenge people he could do nothing for, on behalf of his own rage and anger. Joseph had challenged God and swore to Him that he could do a better job than He ever could, and all he had to show for it were six dead bodies.

Joseph collapsed into Joshua, his dead eyes finding the last of his tears. He screamed, letting out every pent-up emotion he had repressed since the sacking. Joshua stayed with him the entire time. When Joseph was done, he asked why Joshua was following him. Joshua returned to Joe his father's holy book, which he had found in the dirt some miles away.

"…Touching," Dalton scoffed. "Guess Graham never really was one of us. So, what's the damn point?"

"The point, for your sake, is that your struggles aren't any more special than mine," Joe explained. "Or anyone else's, really. You can resign yourself as Dalton, of the Enclave and Legion, and that will be your decision to make. And I understand how easy it is to be a cold bastard, I do. But the most meaning Joseph ever had in life was to dedicate it to people who needed someone like me. And that's why Joseph does what he does and why. Understand?

"…So, what does this have to do with me?" Dalton asked. "Is this my "come to Jesus" moment?"

"No, I just wanted you to understand something very important about me. That being that I'm not Joseph."

Dalton blinked. "…What?"

"Yeah, you see… after I had those White Legs kill one another, Joseph, Big Joseph I like to call him, he sealed me away in the deepest darkest part of his mind," Joe smiled. "Which just so happens to be where you found yourself. Imagine that. I'm where he puts his fear, his anger, his rage at the state of the world, and his personal feelings about you and everyone else who agitates him. You should see the file I have on Rosa, I mean like wow!"

"…So, why am I here?" Dalton asked.

Little Joe looked at the older man. "…I wanted to do him a favor." The little boy then pulled out a Colt .45 and shot Dalton in the gut. The dreamlike haze around Dalton immediately dropped and he fell to his knees in pain. "You know, when you were with us, I took the liberty of looking through all the heinous stuff you've done, and out of everyone I've ever met, I can't think of anyone more deserving of what I'm about to do to you!" Angry Little Joe grinned as he kicked Dalton in the wound, before pressing the muzzle against Dalton's head. A hand grabbed Joe by the back of his overalls and threw him off of Dalton. "NOT EVEN THIS ONE?!" Angry Little Joe screamed.

"Not even him," Joseph shook his head. Little Joe curled his lip as he vanished into the darkness. Dalton, his wound having vanished, got back to his feet and grabbed Joseph by the collar. "What in the fuck was that about?!"

"That… was an accident," Joseph admitted. "You weren't supposed to go this deep. You weren't supposed to go here at all, I was just trying to punch you."

"…So, all that stuff he showed… it was all a lie?" Dalton asked.

"No," Joseph shook his head. "There's one thing I'll give him, and it's that Little Joe is honest to a fault. I tried, I really did to bring him over to the light, but that small part of me was able to manifest somewhere deep in my psyche. Little Joe is a part of me and likely always will be. Just like Dalton of the Enclave, Legion, and Legatum Saeva will always be part of you. In the end, I guess, we don't always have to be who we were. Oh, and you might want to loosen your jaw a little."

Dalton awoke as Joseph cracked the handle of his cane against his jaw. Collapsing on his butt, Dalton watched as Joseph stared at him as the rest of the camp screamed and tried to separate them. Melody and Rosa dragged Joseph away while Larain and Amy went to stand up Dalton.

"Jesus, Dalton, what the hell did you say to him?" Larain asked. Dalton just shoved Larain and Amy away as he stormed off, rubbing his jaw. It was just as he thought, beneath all that mysticism crap there wasn't anything special about Joseph at all. As he heard the Mexicans cheer and Jimmy castigate the preacher, he thought about the things Graham had said. Graham, who was the bridge between the lives of him and Joseph, the one commonality they shared. And how he seemed to believe that there wasn't anything that meaningfully separated the three of them. Dalton wasn't quite sure how to take that.

Melody sat by her husband. "Joseph, be honest, what happened back there.

Joseph looked away from his wife. "…I told him a story about a boy named Joe."