Chapter 1

Runnin' Low

Cap, hands cupped, took to collecting water from the spring and pouring it over his sunburnt back. Its cool sting was not unwelcome, it meant he was alive, it meant his body had not yet surrendered itself to the wasteland. It pooled momentarily in his deep scars before dripping onto his chaffed ankles. The blood from his ankles mixed with rust, lifted from the thick iron chains around them, forming a puddle of brackish red slurry which stained the sand around it.

The sun hung high in the sky, its rays bathing Cap and the three men he was chained to. Their four shadows danced across the clear water, many times larger than themselves. Their chains clanked as the men danced about the forming pool. Cap wasn't dancing however, he observed the pool with the calculated expression of an experienced wastelander. He knew where there was clean water there would inevitably be trouble. The wasteland was like a vast ocean already, a yellow and brown ocean slowly dragging men into it. This pool would be just another way down for a wayward soul.

The spring had jutted from the mountainside following a large blast from the chain gang's dynamite. They were clearing rock to make way for a new railway eastbound towards NCR supply camps. They'd been blasting and picking away at the base of two mountains where they intersected hoping to create a pass clear through them. The work had been going for two months and neither this chain gang or any of the thirty nine others like them had made meaningful progress forward along the mountainside. Half had been sent to maintain the existing railway connecting the Mojave wasteland to the Boneyard where the NCR held dominion. The men were tired, mangled by the elements and all of a violent nature so when they learned of a fresh spring being discovered they all made their way toward it.

Cap's gang had alerted their attending guard, Mama, of the spring's discovery and he'd left to spread the word. leaving the chain gang to enjoy the spring in private for a few minutes before the others arrived.

It had been two years since Cap last laid eyes on clear water. The spring appeared miraculous to him. This ancient water was hidden from radiation for over two hundred years beneath the earth only to be uncovered at his time of need. HIs home in Oregon had clean water, his tribe had settled by a large underground basin. It was there that the NCR had found them and given them their ultimatum. The Hoofkin would sooner die than surrender to the invaders and so all but 10 of them died in the ensuing battle. Cap was the sole warrior spared, to lend credit to the NCR's tolerant claims regarding tribals. The women and children the NCR took prisoner were forcibly made citizens. Cap was imprisoned in the SoCal NCR Penal Complex. His blood gave the NCR water once before and now it has again. He was resolved to take it for the prisoners if only to keep it from the invaders.

The crowd began to collect around the spring and gang leaders began shouting claims to the water. There were 8 chain gangs all gathered and around them was a circle of 7 guards who'd been convinced to keep watch over the spring while Mama fetched warden Sutherland. In the meantime the guards had allowed the gang bosses to argue about the spring for their amusement.

Eddie, a broad shouldered man with a cinder block jaw and a commanding voice was the first to yell loud enough to be heard over the rabble. "Me and my boys have put in the most work anywhere up or down this goddamn mountain! It's ours!". A quartet of other chain gang bosses seconded his statement with whoops of anger. Their claim had silenced the crowd who waited for another Gang boss to stake their claim against Eddie.

Philip Lem, a scrawny coward with a proud posture, spoke next. "It'll go to the guards anyway. If we give it over willingly, maybe we can trade it for something. New cots, more water rations or some smokes."

Cap raised his hands skyward and called for attention so he might address the bosses."I am El Capitane, I found this spring. You know I have treated you all fairly in the past. I have the only claim to this spring." He paused before continuing. I say We've all worked hard! We all deserve it! I say it belongs to all of us inmates! Fuck the NCR! This is our water!".

It was at this point the guards intervened and shut down the discussion by force. 20 minutes later the Warden arrived with 20 armed guards and was briefed on the situation.

He was a heavy set man, a rare sight in the wasteland. He'd been fed on the rations of every dead inmate, officially they were still alive so the NCR provided rations to feed them, which Sutherland ate. His beer gut hung out in front of him, poking through the tan shirt he covered it with. It's pale colour reflecting the sun into the eyes of the prisoners.

He addressed the crowd from atop a boulder. I understand you boys have some suggestions as to what should be done with this spring of yours. Eddie says it should be his, Lemmy says he'll swap it with me and you?" The warden turned to face Cap. "El capitan you suggest you degenerates should keep it for yourselves. You know I was a captain once, in the new California Republic armed forces. I commanded soldiers, what do you command? You command shit." The warden spat a mouthful of tobacco into the desert sand. "But yours is the only argument that's worth a dam. You can have the water, after my men fill their cantines. Fair?"

Cap glared at the warden, suspecting his trap. "Fine," he replied.

The guards filled their cantines and then took up a position around the spring. A tight ring formed protecting each guard as they bent to collect their water.

"Men, relieve yourselves." the warden commanded. At his order the guards, one by one began to urinate into the spring while the others held the prisoners at bay. "Any inmate who strikes a guard will be killed, you understand me!" the warden bellowed. The prisoners watched as the water was sullied before returning to their posts to finish their work shifts.

On their way to the shift switch off, Mark took a cigarette from its pack and lit it. "Damn, running low on smokes again." He said.

Smokes were a measure of men in the prison. It acted as currency between them, it was the metric by which prisoners were valued for exchange between gang bosses. Every prisoner needed cigarettes, they kept a man sane in the wasteland. On the outside, women, gambling, booze and a host of other delights would give a man the spirit to keep on living. In prison the only luxury the inmates had was that of the simple cigarette. When a prisoner ran low it meant not only that he was poor in the prison economy but that he was closer than others to finally giving in to the desert. Walking into a gecko den or putting dynamite in his mouth. When an inmate ran dry of cigarettes he'd become desperate, doing anything and everything for one. Eventually that desperation kills most men.

To stave off insanity a man needs certain basic pleasures. There are few which remain uncorrupted in prison. Good food, cleanish water and sex are all pipe dreams in prison, the first basic necessities to go. The most basic of all human pleasures is sleep, a time to recuperate and ease one's mind. There is no good sleep in prison. Even if you're pretty sure the guys in your cell aren't going to kill you or rape you then you still can't get a decent snooze on account of the deeply unsettling sound of half the prisoners masturbating at any given time in the night. With those simple joys gone a man can only really keep himself together in one of three ways. Chems, which are expensive and in short supply at even the best of times. Smoking which wastes valuable smokes. Finally drinking, which hadn't been possible since the only bootlegger in the prison lost his improvised still to a cave in. He'd hid it in a cave near the work sites and the explosions caused the cave to collapse. The prison had been dry for a month and most of the men were worse off for it. Cap had only been able to stave off withdrawals with mentats which helped him focus his mind on things besides alcohol.

After exchanging posts with the night shift chain gangs. The men made their way toward the new California Republic correctional facility. Before the bombs dropped it was a minimum security women's prison. A modest facility with wire fences instead of solid walls and only four main structures inside it. . The NCR refurbished it and made it into a work camp to assist in their taming of the Mojave.

Cap and his fellow inmates were members of a work release program, in exchange for hard labour the NCR would reduce their respective sentences by a full five years. Who'd been brought here to serve NCR interests. The camp had been slowly deteriorating as more and more guards were called away to fight Caesar's legion to the east. The ever mounting number of prisoners didn't help matters and the poor living conditions had put the place on the brink of destruction.

Cap and his gang arrived in the prison, doffed their work clothes and dressed in their uniforms before going out into the camp Courtyard to pass the time.

They sat at a table in the shade provided by the Warden's high tower. The four of them observed the yard with disinterest except cap who watched diligently for signs of another inmate by the name of Samuel Cooke. Each night Cooke would give a sermon on the evils of the NCR and how the people need to rise up against them. On any other night cap would have sooner torn his ears off then listen to a soap box speech. After his encounter with the Warden however, he was finally ready to buy what Cooke had been selling.

A small man with a wiry frame soon came into Cap's view. He was dressed in the same navy blue uniform as everyone else but he had torn it up at the cuffs, some small rebellion which the guards were willing to overlook. In fact the guards preferred not to acknowledge Cooke, his loyalists were many and their tempers short. Cooke was permitted to speak and to act out so long as his public addresses never became violent.

Samuel Cooke began an impassioned oration directed at every prisoner who might listen.

"Brothers of bondage hear me now. We are in the midst of our darkest hours. Again we are scorned by our Republican overlords. The warden sits comfortably in an air conditioned office while we were made to bake in the sun. When one of us discovers water, the giver of life the warden takes it from us. The wasteland brothers, it is a rising up to swallow the world. I for one will not be taken whilst serving a master as foul as the NCR. It is their greed that has brought them to the Mojave and it is their greed that will doom all those who live here. When the world around offers a path to a better tomorrow we can entrust ourselves to it, when the world around us is dark as it is now, we must look inward for salvation. We must stand and fight, free ourselves of our chains and escape this place before it is the death of us all."

Cap rose from his seat and approached Cooke. "My men and I are behind you. We are ready for war with the republic!".

Cooke looked down at Cap and then returned to his speech. "See now brothers, another man loyal to freedom. Our fighting force grows by two." Cooke continued while one of his men took cap aside, asking that he meet with Cooke in their cell block that evening.

When Cap returned to his table his men were in a frenzy.

Mark, an NCR renegade, had been brought in after a failed mutiny. He'd served 2 years of a 20 year sentence and had only recently arrived at the prison. "Are you nuts, mama's gonna have our ass for a stunt like that. You may as well have asked for a double shift tomorrow!".

The other two had been with Cap since they'd all arrived at the prison a year ago. They went quiet as soon as Mark had spoken. Cap shared a nod with one of them. A great Khan named Jude. Jude, Cap and the third gang member named Fang who belonged to the jackals tribe before he was captured.

The three of them retired to cell block A to await Cooke. The cell block was the second largest building in the compound. The individual cells were small, fitted with thin iron bars. Each contained between 4 and 8 cots where the imprisoners slept. The first batch of prisoners brought to the prison were housed in cell blocks A and B which are effectively identical. Cell block C is made up of freestanding cages which each contain thin cardboard beds numbering between four and ten to a cage. New arrivals are housed in c block until an opening in one of the main cell blocks becomes available.

While the three men were awaiting their rendezvous, mama approached carrying a large burlap sack. Mama, otherwise known as Frank North was the prisoners favourite among the guards. He didn't take bribes, he treated inmates fairly ensuring they received their rations of food and water. This caring demeanour earned him his nickname but his cruel side would rear its ugly head whenever an inmate stepped out of line. He was the biggest guard by a foot and a half, making him the largest man in the entire facility. He wore the standard guard armour which consisted of blue uniforms like those of the prisoners over which was worn a rubber vest inside of which were several iron plates. The armour provided modest protection but fell short of proper NCR battle dress.

"Don't think for a second I missed that little stunt you pulled. I was planning on taking you fellas up to join the maintenance teams, work you for a couple shifts or until you drop dead. Then a better idea came along. Meet your new playmate," mama tossed the burlap sack to the floor and a frail man's body came spilling out of it. "This is Bone-Muncher, he's a fiend who's been detoxing for a week while he got dragged across this god forsaken desert. Now, he is officially your problem, keep him in line or I'll have all your asses.". As if on cue the fiend began sputtering a mindless drivel which no one present could decipher. His body began to shake and he vomited across the floor towards Jude's feet. Jude jolted back and went to dive on the fiend but Fang held him back.

"Have fun and see you all in the morning!" Mama said before leaving the tribals to tend to their new cellmate.

The fiend pissed and shit all over himself for about an hour while Cap and his friends watched. Once the shaking stopped and he was truly freed of all excess bodily fluids, Cap addressed him.

"I am El Capitan, this is my cell and you've been assigned to my chain gang. You officially belong to me now, do you understand"?

The fiend was curled up in a foetal position, its hands and face smeared with foulness or all description. It lifted its head from its resting place and spoke in a choked and ragged voice.

"I'll tear your nuts off with my teeth tribe fucker! I'll bust your legs open and drink the marrow while you watch!".

Cap gestured to Jude who proceeded to kick the fiend hard in the ribs with his steel toed work boot. There was an audible crunch followed by a low howl of anguish from the fiend.

"Mama said you're called bone Muncher right, I assume because you eat bones or bone marrow anyway. I'm gonna call you munch. You're a tribal so I can forgive your little transgression, it's harsh out there and adjusting in here isn't much easier. I am willing to offer you the opportunity to be my friend instead of my property, if you agree I'll get you some chems. Whatever kind or kinds you're hooked on. Sounds good"? Cap said in a calm but stern voice.

The fiend percked up at the mention of chems and crawled, as quickly as it could with a broken rib and atrophied legs, to caps feet. The fiend began sputtering again but this time some of what he said could be made out.

"Shit man if it'll get me chems I'll do anything you name it!" Was the only fully intelligible phrase.

Cap looked down smugly, proud of his victory over this lesser tribal. "Okay, there are two conditions to joining up with me. You have to kill someone for me and you gotta get your ass stomped to prove you're serious. Now Jude already cracked your rib which normally wouldn't be near enough but considering the shape you're in already we'll call it even since those chems oughta keep you loyal, right?".

Bone-Muncher began nodding frantically. -Muncher blurted out "Mentats man, my brain's on fire and I need 'em' '.

"A Mentat man, are you Munch? Not many of those around here. Lucky for you I keep a personal supply on hand along with a couple stimpaks to get you fixed up".

Jude began administering a stimpak to Bone-Muncher. The device was a long syringe with a large circular handle on its plunger. The syringe contained a deep red liquid which when administered began repairing Muncher's body almost immediately. His frail limbs were revitalised and made usable once more, his displaced rib mended itself and many of the smaller damages of the fiend lifestyle were reversed by the chem. Bone-Muncher raised himself off the floor and accepted a handful of pink tablets from Cap. Upon ingesting the tablets, Muncher's eyes lit up and he began twisting his body out of euphoria Before shouting, "who's gotta die"!?

Jude and Fang shushed him before Cap answered his question. "A man named Mark. We'll introduce you soon and you'll have an opportunity to handle him. We have an important meeting first. Until our friend Sam comes to join us you're going to wash up we're all going to introduce ourselves. You will soon be a member of our tribe, we may only be four but we will be four times as likely to survive."

Jude handed Muncher a bucket of irradiated water to clean himself with. Muncher began doing so before responding to cap.

"Our raiding parties are always about 4 or so people, let us cover a lot of ground and four Fiends can take just about anything in the Mojave. Four's a solid number". His formerly ragged voice and jagged vernacular had disappeared after he'd taken his mentats.

The chem increases the user's intelligence, short term memory, reaction speed and overall personability. Of all the chem's Fiends were known to get hooked on it was the only one which made them pleasant to be around.

Cap began the introductions "you know my name but not my story. I came from Oregon up north, my tribe was bested by the NCR in an open battle. I was the only warrior spared, I was given 10 years to be rehabilitated in their prisons. In my home it was tribes who ruled the wastes, non powerful enough to dominate their neighbours. It was a tenuous but useful peace. My tribe, the Hoofkin, traded in horses which we bred. We sold them to settlers, other tribes and any travellers we encountered. Most of our history was nomadic but in my time we settled in the southern reaches of Oregon where we encountered the largest tribe in the wasteland, the NCR. They insisted they were not a tribe and were insulted when we treated them as tribals. I've since learned they are no tribals, just as they claimed, they are the children of tribals. Too long separated from their tribal roots. They have forgotten their origins and the purpose of a tribe. A tribe exists to survive just as a person exists to survive. I watched from the inside as the NCR devoured itself. Petty politics and corruption rule across California and now they are bringing those twin evils here to the Mojave. With Jude and Fang I hope to unite the tribes of New Vegas against the NCR".

With most of the muck cleaned off his body, Muncher donned a spare prison uniform Fang had swiped from Mark's foot locker. He was a young man though it was hard to tell with all the damage chems had done to his body. His skin was flaky and wrinkled. His eyes sunken and aged. Yet beneath it all burned the bright youth of an 18 year old man-boy. Munch sat on Mark's and rested his chin against his fist before replying to cap.

"I'd like to help you then, we Fiends have been skirmishing with the NCR since they got here. The legion has been paying us pretty well to harass them but the Legion is no different. We're serving one master against another. If the tribes united then the Fiends could hold their territory and finally be free of the NCR and the Legion". He said with a wistful chemical glow behind his eyes.

He stared at Cap for a moment before continuing. "You know my name as well and guessed how I earned it. I belong to the Fiends, our tribe raid and pillage the various invaders of the Mojave. We've hunkered down In vault 3, those of us whose faculties remain live there. Those whose addiction has made them dangerous even to their fellow Fiends are made to live in the ruins west of Vegas. Our tribe leaders are many but all answer to Motor-Runner our leader. He, like me, has a love for mentats which make him the wisest among his peers. I am one of his many sons born to a prodigal fiend concubine who raised me alongside her raiding party. I've lived most of my life in vault 3 and I've spent my entire life in the Mojave. This is my home and if you believe there is a way to keep the fucking NCR out of it then I'll do anything in my power to assist". He finished his piece, out of breath and reeling from his chems. Once he regained his composure Jude Addressed him.

"Greetings goat demon, I am Jude of the great khan's. The mightiest of all tribes west of the Rockies. Our tribe settled in the Mojave many years ago but we were pushed to the desert's edge by Mr. House and the three traitor tribes that now control his casinos. We settled at bitter springs where we began raiding NCR caravans as they began pouring into the Mojave. They retaliated, in force. Our sick, elderly and young were funnelled out through a pass headed north of the springs but the NCR dogs massacred them to the last. Our remaining troops fled west to Red Rock Canyon where we have replenished our forces and now once again stand poised to take the Mojave."

"From what I heard the khan's are a fraction of their former numbers now. Am I Fucking stupid?" Bone Muncher asked.

Jude grinned a wide and sinister grin before responding. "We allow rumours of weakness to infect the wells of our enemies. If they believe we are few then they'll be caught by surprise when our thousand man army crashes forth from the canyon. I was taken prisoner while fleeing bitter springs but I have no doubt about the renewed strength of my tribe!" He finished with passion.

Fang then quietly began mumbling about his own tribe. "I am of the jackal tribe!" He said in a sarcastic tone. "We came from the west, chased here by the NCR just like khans. We've been robbing passersby along the highways east of Vegas since settling. The legion slaughtered a pack of us at Cottonwood cove so we scattered to regroup once the Legion stopped pushing westward. I was taken in an ambush along with a pair of my tribesmen, while we moved west toward mountains that split the mojave, they, unlike me, died there. I've got 4 years so once I finish this work release program I'll be a free man once again. El Capitan might be able to get me out sooner so I've stuck myself to his side. The Mojave wants to kill us all, only a small number of people get that and cap's one of them".

"So you two got sent straight here after being captured?" Muncher asked.

"Sent a little ways west to serve about a few years worth of our sentences then spat back into the Mojave on this work release nonsense. "Jude answered for both of them.

The men swapped stories about NCR encounters until Samuel Cooke, Philip lem and a pair of Cooke's loyalists arrived. The incomers seated themselves on two of the four cots that occupied the room. Cap and his gang sat likewise across from them.

"So?" Samuel Cooke began, "you're ready to join the cause"?

Cap swung his bare feet under the cot where he sat, appearing utterly carefree in his contemplation before answering. "I believe we can be of use to one another. You and I share a hate for the NCR and a desire to escape this place. Rumours have it you're hatching a scheme. If there's some truth to them then I see no reason not to join you."

Samuel stared cap down, stern in demeanour and slow in cadence he responded. "We're just about ready to put a plan into place. Only were lacking loyal troops. If I clue in all my followers then it'll slip to the guards, no doubt. We need a loyal and quiet set of allies. I believe you may very well be that. I heard about your speech at the spring this morning. Do you really see any real kinship between all of us here? We share an enemy and a goal, nothing more."

Cap was quick to reply "I believe we can become a tribe, unified at first by our shared enemy. I believe a temporary alliance could grow into a tribe that would be feared across the Mojave. Every man here knows what it means to survive, what it means to kill. Every one of them understands the wasteland for what it really is. I believe that I can learn to see the NCR for what it is. A starved bear, waiting to be hunted. That dream lives with me and I will do anything to make it a reality. What do you need to happen for this plan of yours to come to fruition".

Lem spoke up "dynamite." He said flatly.

The inmates of the NCRCF had been outfitted with dynamite to blast rock, making way for new rail lines. Their access to it had been virtually unsupervised since it arrived two months ago following the warden's complaint that work on the rails was slow going.

"Dynamite? There's tons of dynamite around here" Jude said, incredulous.

"The dynamite is stored in the barracks, the work shift switch off point and at the rail expansion sites. We need it here though. Specifically we need to get it to lem. He's gonna sneak it into the guards rooms after I get him assigned to cleaning duty. One bundle of dynamite should blow plenty of them to hell. The rest of it we're gonna stash here along with any makeshift weapons we can put together in the next couple days. Once we weaken the guard's numbers with the dynamite we blow through the call block doors and take the guards in the yard. We free cell block B and C, arm them, take the barracks and get out of here." Samuel explained.

" Everyone gets searched on the way back from work, especially anyone who works near the barracks. The guards are all paranoid we're gonna rip them off. How are you gonna get the bombs into the barracks? Or even into the cell block for that matter." Jude asked, his incredulity growing into anger.

"Exactly, lem's gonna get searched on the way out of the barracks, not on the way in. The guards are only worried about us taking something, they don't care if we give them something. Sneaking 6 sticks in give or take should do the job without alerting the guards. As for getting them back from the work sites to the cells, that's a you problem. If all four of you smuggle one stick a piece every shift like we've been doing, then we'll have plenty come showtime." Samuel said with barely contained excitement.

Cap accepted Cooke's plan and the men shook hands in agreement before Cooke and his party departed. Cap sent Muncher, Jude and Fang out after them. Before leaving, Fang collected a Don Juan shiv from under his cot and handed it to Bone-Muncher.

A Don Juan is a bed spring uncoiled and sharpened to a fine point. The stabbing end is a full 2 inches long and the rest of the small spring acts as a handle once wrapped in duct tape

The three tribals made their way into the yard with only half an hour till lockdown. Mark was sitting in the shaded spot where they'd left him and he was surrounded by a gaggle of former NCR citizens like himself, all swapping stories about their lives back in california. Seeing the tribals approach the inmates around Mark vacated the area but not before jude instructed them to keep the guards away from this corner of the yard. The inmates proceeded to harass nearby guards until they were forcefully escorted to their cells.

Mark rose slowly from his seat and backed toward the wall behind it. The three tribals encircled him and approached slowly.

He started speaking with panic under his voice. "Fellas, who's your friend? Looks like some piece of shit fiend. You know he probably eats people. He'll probably eat you too. Seriously guys, what's going on here?"

"You spoke against the tribe mark. This fiend is your replacement." Jude answered.

"Fuck your tribe, fuck your fiend and god fucking bless the NCR!" Mark howled before lunging toward jude.

Jude tripped him and grabbed the side of Mark's head then proceeded to slam it into the wall. Mark slid to the ground, barely conscious. His outburst would have the guards coming any minute so the men worked fast. Jude and Fang dragged Mark onto the table he'd been sitting on and held him down while Bone Muncher stabbed him repeatedly with the don Juan. Once Mark stopped resisting Jude and Fang took off, leaving Muncher to suffer whatever punishment they would have faced. This was the end of his initiation and bone Muncher officially became a member of their tribe.

He was found by the guards, in the midst of sodomising Mark's corpse and swallowing the marrow from his left femur which Muncher had removed from his leg after snapping it in half.

As was standard punishment for killing a fellow inmate, Muncher was beaten near death by the guards. After all, if he were executed or sent back to California for sentencing then the operation would be down two working men instead of one. They'd lost too many inmates to suicide, murder and the desert already.

Chapter 2

If this Jailhouse is a rockin'

Cap went to collect munch from the doctor the following morning.

Hannigan was an inmate but he was the closest thing the jail had to a doctor. He'd spend some six months as a medic for the NCR military before his quartermaster caught him selling supplies to locals. The former doctor of the jail had been called to the frontlines to serve as an active medic and in his absence the warden had appointed Hannigan to take his place. In exchange for his expertise Hannigan was excused from all manual labour.

The improvised clinic was small, an unused cell in the administration building where medical supplies were stored. 6 cots had been dragged into the room for patients requiring prolonged recovery. The walls were covered in shelves and crates which contained what remained of the prison's medical supplies. A veritable treasure trove of chems just begging to be swiped. A pair of guards searched anyone going in or out to prevent theft, of course these stalwart overseers could be convinced to leave their post for a price, allowing Hannigan unfettered access to the hoard.

The clinic was stuffed to bursting when Cap arrived. All six cots were occupied and three improvised cots had been placed on the floor to accommodate the extra patients. Most of the ailing men had gotten infections from the dirty water of the spring the guards had defiled. Others had been injured in work accidents and two had been injured in altercations with guards, one of whom was Muncher.

Muncher was in a bad way when Cap laid eyes on him. His legs were mangled and his chest cavity was almost caved in. Not even his own mother could recognize his face for all the bruising and dried blood. His wounds had been stitched or bandaged for the most part and his left arm was in a brace. Beyond that he'd not been tended to, a living message from the guards to the inmates.

All 5 and a half feet of Hannigan was bent over Muncher as he finished changing Muncher's bandages. Hannigan was a glum man, his face in a perpetual down cast since arriving in the Mojave. He wore a mop of reddish brown hair which rolled over the sides of his face, framing it like a pre war portrait. He was handsome and dainty in frame, a less than desirable pair of qualities when surrounded by desperate outlaws who'd been without women for years. Hannigan had been traded around by different gang bosses, sharing a cell or a cot with more than his fair share of inmates. Most recently he'd been sold to Eddie for a few packs of cigarettes. He smuggled some of the prison's meagre supply of medicine into Eddie's hands. From there they were traded throughout the yard. In exchange for that and other services Hannigan was offered protection from his fellow inmates, anyone who troubled him would answer to Scrambler, Eddie's right hand man and the most dangerous man in the prison.

"Morning doc," Cap began. "How's my boy looking?"

"Your boy?", Hannigan stammered. "Shit, I thought this guy wasn't connected yet. Guards said he shouldn't get any stims so I haven't given him any."

Cap pursed his lips and feigned pensivity for a moment before continuing. "We better rectify that then eh?"

Hannigan did as he was bid and in seconds Muncher's mangled form was reconstituted and he clambered out of bed, he was muttering incoherently until Cap handed him a pair of mentat tablets which he scarfed down.

" Left me all night with half my body broken you son of a bitch, I oughta gouge your eyes out for watching me squirm like that!" Bone-Muncher rasped."

"Try it, fiend. I got Scrambler and half the guys in this place to protect me. Try anything and they'll stomp you out just like you did Marky boy."

Before Muncher could lunge for Hannigan's throat, Cap pulled him back and sent him to meet Jude and Fang out in the yard.

"Well Hannigan, thanks for the help. If you wanna do me a favour get word to your guardian angel. Some shit is going down in the next couple days and he's gotta be ready." cap said.

"I'll let Ed know but he's gonna want specifics. He likes specifics." Hannigan replied.

"He'll know it when he hears it, don't worry about specifics. Before I get going, do you really think Eddie would step in for you? I know he says so but come on, you're his pretty boy, nothing more." Cap asked.

"I've been living in the wasteland for nearly 30 years now. I've learned that survival trumps pride, every time. I'll do what I've gotta do to live. It was imprisonment or deportation after I crossed the NCR. They were about ready to throw me to the legion but I talked them into sending me here. Now I'm in a place with nice big walls, power and water. So I'm surviving. I got traded around like a used sex-bot at a swap meet but I survived. Now that it's Eddie who's got me though I'm a safe man. He doesn't like people fucking with his shit first off and second I make him happy. People don't willingly give up little pleasures in the wasteland, least of all companionship. He'd kill every guy in this place if it meant I stuck around. I'm sure of that." Hannigan replied.

With that Cap took his leave, realising for the first time that he'd underestimated the NCR traitor. Hannigan was a survivor like himself, where Cap fought to survive, Hannigan leveraged his skills to get other people to keep him alive. Like a tapeworm or flea he survived by parasitically bonding to a host. The NCR, the warden and now Eddie. Most NCR citizens were weak, wanting only the comfort and security of a large civilization. To be taken care of by their government masters and to never be burdened with responsibility for their own survival. Hannigan didn't expect comfort, he doesn't even want it. Like a true wastelander he only wants to survive.

Cap and his men gathered at the gate of the prison where they were chained together. They set off toward the shift exchange and on to their work site beyond it. The spring was half drained after the night crews had drank from it. Water continued to trickle in from the mountain but the basin refilled slowly now. The water was clearer than it had been the day previous but some lingering tinge of befoulment remained.

Mama traipsed behind the men and carried with him a large satchel containing dynamite. He tossed the bag next to the spring and seated himself on a rock.

"Hop to fellas, you've got a long day ahead of you." Mama said.

The men collected the satchel and set to work.

It was dangerous business the blasting process. First a section of rock is softened with pickaxes, then a hole is bored into it. Finally the dynamite is placed in the hole and lit. Four men making four holes at a time could clear large sections in huge blasts but the process took excruciating amounts of time. Large rocks too dense to be picked at directly had to be chiselled out and removed by hand or else risk them becoming dangerous projectiles once a blast went off.

The men had with them a bottle of dirty water each which would be replaced twice throughout the day, a tin or rations to split amongst themselves and flip lighters issued to them by the guards. Each had carved a personal note onto their respective lighters except Bone-Muncher who had inherited mark's.

"Remember Tandi?" Muncher read aloud off the scuffed tin casing of his lighter. "Who's Tandi?" he asked.

"The second president of the new California Republic. Best damn president we ever had to boot. Better than Kimball anyway." Mama answered.

"I'm hungry boys, I'm gonna leave you to it. Be back in a couple hours with s'more dynamite." Mama said before rising and departing from the site.

The prisoners were often left to their own devices at work. If they didn't continue working unsupervised the guards would beat them for it. If they tried to escape they'd be wandering blindly into the desert and inevitably meet their end at the hands of the local wildlife. Being chained together meant they could move quickly and anyone they came across would recognize them for convicts and warn the NCR. If they tried to blow the chains off they'd only dismember themselves. All this the guards were keenly aware of. They enjoyed leaving the inmates alone just to taunt them with how close yet distant their freedom was. Mama usually hung around the men most of the day, leaving them for an hour or so at a time while he ate. These acted as breaks where the men could work at a more relaxed pace and plot amongst themselves.

Once mama vacated the area the men set to concealing some dynamite on their person. Using a roll of duct tape, bought from a maintenance worker for a pair of cigarettes, the men strapped a stick of dynamite to each of their bodies. Jude Fang and cap stuck them to the back of their legs while Muncher taped his to his inner thigh explaining "If they pat it down they'll just think it's me".

With their contraband satisfactorily hidden they returned to work.

They set a large bundle of dynamite underneath a large rock. Using the last of the dynamite which they didn't have strapped to their bodies. When mama returned they'd appear to have been productive.

The sheer rock face was imposing and strong. Having stood for thousands of not millions of years being worn down by the wind and the rain until the bombs came. Since the explosions it had gone undamaged, buried deep inside the mountains. Now again it was exposed to the elements and the most dangerous element of all, man. The bundle was lit and the rock's fate determined. Another pre-war survivor brought low by post war brutality. no different to the rivers of California or the mutant forests of Oregon, they all three had fallen prey to the great game of survival.

The explosion was deafening, reverberating off the mountainside and travelling down along all the various work sites therein. The rock was blown into rubble and the mountainside was softened.

"Never gets old when something blows up!" Cap said, exuberantly.

This phrase had become a mantra among the inmates, repeated after every blast and at random intervals throughout the day. A means of staving off insanity at the tedium of their work. Despite the gruelling conditions and long hours there were always explosions which could never become boring. No one knew who started the phrase but it became common vernacular among all the inmates, a shared experience of joy in the simple act of destruction. This small bond kept the men from turning on one another in full, creating a fragile camaraderie amongst all the men. One which was not a brotherhood bond but rather a leper colony therapy circle. Sharing their discomforts and their joys made the men feel human, almost free at times. If ever they were near giving in the wasteland they could recall themselves to their humanity with that simple phrase.

The wasteland forces men to make choices. Often these decisions are between evils and the lesser among is the only correct choice. One such decision was as to whether or not to wear clothes while working in the wasteland. Pants are a must as they offer protection from sharp rocks, scorpions and other hazards. The over and under shirts of their uniforms was another matter however. If you wore both you were protected from sunburns but the clothes trap in heat and soak in sweat making them uncomfortable throughout the day. If you wear only the undershirt then your arms will be burnt but your body will be slightly cooler. If the back is left bare then a burn is all but guaranteed, however the cool desert breeze offers an incentive to go without either shirt.

Fang wore both an over and undershirt. What meagre protection it offered was welcome to him, it was a far cry from the dog hide robes he'd worn on the outside but they still imbued with some sense of dignity in his appearance. He wore a necklace of dog teeth around his neck, had a tooth jutted through both earlobes as well as a pair of canines poked through the end of his nose. His tribe the jackals raised dogs en masse and used them as food, clothing and ornamentation. They held a spiritual connection with canines, having an implicit respect for all of them. This did not stop them eating dog meat and wearing dog hide as they believed dogs, as spiritually significant as they were, must still serve the tribe's needs. With no brahmin or other ranch animal the only livestock the tribe could produce were dogs. Their pack beliefs meant they were Ill equipped to survive alone, rarely travelling the waste in groups of fewer than four or five. Feeding on human flesh before turning to eating dogs the jackals have maintained their cannibal tendencies through generations. The youngest jackals are often stark raving mad, behaving like dogs and savagely biting their fellow tribe members.

Jude had always gone without either shirt. His skin had been made to leather over many years of living outdoors in the hot sun. His bare skin was covered in tattoos. His low and mid back was dominated by the visage of a demon gripping the handlebars of a pre-war motorbike. On his upper back were a pair of tattooed wings like those of an eagle. All over his arms and chest were mock scars out of which demons crawled and leered. The tattoos had faded with time and exposure but some remnant of their once deep coloration remained. His hair was a spiked black mohawk which had collapsed into a ragged mess of strands in the heat. Sickened by sweat his head shone in the sunlight like a beacon.

As if summoned by Jude's glowing dome a chain gang approached the tribals likewise unaccompanied. They were led by the ex-sheriff Meyers. He was an older man, greying at the temples and growing less personable by the day. He'd been jailed for taking the law into his own hands once too often but rarely gripped about his sentencing. He was a model prisoner, helping the guards to maintain any level of order amongst the inmates, breaking up fights and arbitrating disagreements as needed. He didn't have a regular chain gang, instead he was given any screw ups or trouble makers so he could straighten them out. Two of the men with him had been so for some time, Joe Cobb, A former gangster from out west and boxcars, a hell raiser from shady sands. The newest addition to Meyers's gang was Oliver Swanick, a recent arrival to the prison.

Swanick was a cockroach of a man, in appearance, disposition and survival instinct. He'd seen more trouble than most wastelanders could dream of. He'd come from the east, joining up with various tribals, raiders and caravans as he went. Sometimes he'd join willingly and other times he was a prisoner. Leveraging his mediocre technical skills no one had ever found reason enough to dispose of him properly. Normally brutal raiders would keep him around for months so he could open any computers they encountered. Eventually every group he travelled with would be obliterated by another local group or by the ever encroaching Caesar's legion. He'd outrun the legion on several occasions, fleeing while the enemy butchered and crucified his former travelling companions. He recognised the miracle that was his survival and it gave him an annoying smugness. A sense of invulnerability more often than not kills a man but Swanick had somehow kept free of the ground. He was only captured by the NCR when he tried to cross Hoover dam while fleeing the legion. The crimes he committed while serving with tribals and raiders caught up with him though and the NCR put him away before he could cause them any trouble. Seeing him was always unpleasant, he was greasy, covered in a mix of sweat, dirt and nasty water he used to cool himself. The smell that wafted off him was painful to endure. Under Meyers he'd more or less learned to shut up, a welcome improvement for which Meyers was regularly thanked. Cap like most anyone else disliked Swanick but like Hannigan he respected Swanick's survival instinct. Here was a man that survived a lawless raider filled wasteland east of the dam and yet he was no worse for wear. Like the cockroaches after the bombs fell he'd only been made stronger by his struggles.

"Hello." Meyers said flatly to Cap and his gang. "Being good I trust"?

"Hard at work," Jude answered, "which makes one of us. Hard to make trouble with all this shit to do".

"Yet you made time for little old mark?" Meyers inquired as he approached the work site with his men in toe.

"That skin tag needed peeling!" Bone-Muncher shouted in reply.

"Heat must finally be getting to me, here I am in agreement with a fiend." Meyers said, Laughing. "It was a clean bit of work you boys did, fast and effective. I was hoping you might be willing to do something similar for me"?

"Looking for the easy way out, old man?!" Bone Muncher exclaimed.

Meyers gloured and replied "don't get smart with me fiend, I'm getting on sure but I could still whip your sorry hide across this desert, like a deathclaw raking a mole rat over a bone field".

"You got something to say about the Fiends fucker!" Bone Muncher exclaimed.

"You're a bunch of no good drug addict psychopaths. Everywhere you go the waste is a little worse for it. You're raiders, nothing more. A parasite on the back of the NCR and the Mojave." Meyers answered with a calm voice that struggled to conceal his malice.

Cap stepped in before the confrontation could escalate. "Meyers, the Fiends are a tribe like any other. You gotta respect that they aren't all violent psychopaths, I mean Muncher here but that doesn't mean they all are."

"Tribe? What god damn tribe. The Fiends don't have any tribal code. No laws, no rules to follow. They're wasteland wanderers one and all just looking for their next score. Don't sound like a very developed culture, to me. Anyway, do you tribals want the job or not?" Meyers's voice strained on the word tribals while he glared at Muncher. "I need Cooke dead. He's been rabble rousing every night for a week and it's getting the boys riled. If he ain't dead by the end of week I don't know what'll happen."

Cap considered the proposition for a moment. "Saturday work?" He asked.

"If you can't do it any sooner? Then yes." Meyers answered. "I don't want the fiend going near him though. Cooke ain't done nothing wrong, this is just a prophylactic measure. I want him done clean, fast and with no fuss. You understand?" Meyers asked.

"Sure, you got it, we'll keep munch off him. I wanna be paid in dynamite though, and I want payment up front. 12 sticks by Friday, you hear?" Cap said with an opportunistic grin.

Meyers raised his hand in acknowledgement and took his leave.

Again left to their own devices the tribals returned to their work, slowly moving rubble by hand out of the path for the rail line. As they worked, Jude stole curious glances at Muncher until the fiend noticed.

"Fuck you want Jude?" Muncher asked.

"Meyers said you weren't no tribals, Fiends I mean. I'm not saying he's right but I don't know anything about the Fiends as a tribe, I always thought they were just raiders like any other. Working together out of convenience, not some broader cultural connection. A bunch of opportunists and addicts who happened to share a shit hole." Jude inquired.

Muncher dropped a piece of rubble at his feet and stared skyward, pondering the question momentarily. "We're different to some tribes, similar to others. The Fiends have a code just like any other fucking tribe. We believe that the wasteland is a harsh and brutal place, a common truth to most. We believe that to survive that brutality a person has to do whatever necessary to keep going, another commonly held truth. To get through our days we use chems, it eases the horrors of the wasteland like nothing else can. It's a cultural practice as well. A friend's Chem of choice says a lot about who they are. Fiends have a strong sense of identity. Our names are chosen or earned. our way of life is decided on our own terms. To express our individual identities we cling to our Chem cultures and use them as a means of distinguishing ourselves. Fiends will take just about any Chem but a fiend's true addictions inform their personhood. Buff-junkies are different from psycho-freaks for example. Every fiend is different in that and other ways. It all comes down to the individual with Fiends, not one of us claims to be part of a greater plan or purpose. We aren't saving humanity or purifying the wasteland, we're just living, any way we know how. We aren't sure when we started eating people but it was early in our days as a tribe, since then every fiend has developed their own ideas about why we eat people. Some think it's a way of stating our superiority over the fallen and others think it's just a sad necessity of the wasteland. All that out together makes one tribe made up of individuals. Our ways are different to many and often make enemies of our neighbours but such is the law of the land." Muncher finished before returning to his work.

Jude continued his inquiry, "so how does someone become a fiend, how did you become a full blown fiend? We khan's have a strict rite of passage that separates our youth from our warriors."

"Anyone can be a fiend all you gotta do is wander into fiend territory and start killing people who aren't Fiends, eventually the tribe will welcome anyone who kills people who aren't Fiends. Myself, I inherited the tribe from my parents. Like I said I'm the son of the tribe leader Motor-Runner. A fiend youth becomes a grown fiend after they take their first chems. Most fiend children die of neglect or by the tribe's hand in the first years of life. My mother saw a grander future for me so she protected me. She had us join up with the tribe's various leaders so I could see what a fiend leader was, to witness the ideal of our culture. When I was seven my mother gave me mentats to make me smart. My brain hadn't been bombarded by chem's yet except those I received in her womb. My fresh young mind was uncorrupted and developing. By giving me mentats at an early age it made me smarter than I otherwise would have been, allowed me to learn faster and develop quickly. I began taking other chems around age ten and from there fully embraced my fiend culture. I earned my name after killing and consuming an NCR boy who'd wandered too far from his caravan. He was a few years older than me and had at least 20 pounds on me. I had buffout and a knife. I split his legs and drank the marrow while he screamed for his parents. When they and their caravan arrived my tribe attacked them and feasted on their corpses. I held onto the Boy's bones for many years but they were taken when I was captured. Its not an official rite of passage necessarily but it's widely accepted that a fiend only earns the title after consuming their own prey." Muncher answered now abandoning his work entirely and turning to face his inquirer.

"Wait your mama wanted you to be some uber-fiend so she gave you mentats? I've never tried them myself. Are they really that strong? I always thought they were at best a party drug, at worst a function booster, like fixer." Jude asked.

"Mentats give a clear headed feeling. It focuses the user, dramatically improving brain function. Your vision clears and becomes sharp like looking through binoculars. It connects you with your innermost humanity and gives an introspective kind of high which can lead to a heightened emotional understanding. Of course after it wears off there's a crash like with any Chem. It feels like being lobotomised instantaneously. You remember your intelligence but it's so far away that you can barely make sense of your own memories." Muncher answered with a look of equal parts nostalgia and pain.

"And this drug was meant to make you a super fiend. Why'd your mom think that?" Jude continued.

When I left the vault for the first time it was with my mother. We joined the roving band of a man named cook-cook. He enjoyed burning people alive and they tasted pretty good once he was done with them. He was a mentats user like myself. He'd gotten some funny ideas over the years which his band had to live by. He believed that nothing in the wasteland has a soul, that no creature is capable of being good, pure or truly living. With the exception of brahmin, he believed brahmin, with their two heads and soft minds were the only creatures capable of housing souls. He worshipped them, wouldn't eat them even if he was starving. He travelled with a herd of them and his favourite was a brahmin named Queenie. He rode her like a horse and made her watch when he became intimate with his prey. Mentats interact with the pleasure centres of the brain and can infect a person's perception with an overactive libido. Developing strange sexual appetites is a common side effect as a result. Like you saw I was getting it on with Mark after I killed him, it's how I cement a kill. Ensure that the spirit is dead inside the corpse so it can't get to heaven before I eat it. My mother wanted me to be strong and wise like Cook-Cook and my father so she gave me all the mentats she could find. She went without her jet for weeks at a time, trading any she found for mentats. I would be a fiend prince, she told me. Wisest king of the Fiends one day. I would succeed my father and become master of the Fiends then she and I would have unfettered access to all the chem's we'd ever want. I thought it was bullshit for years but after she died it seemed like I owed it to her. I gave up all chems except mentats so they wouldn't infect my judgement or put me on the wrong path toward rulership. I plan to get a hold of a good supply of party time mentats and then start recruiting up and down the Vegas ruins. Form my own warband. Fixer, mentats and rebound can act as a strong pacification cocktail. Making the usually psychopathic, savage Fiends that litter western vegas temporarily controllable. With my enhanced intellect and charismatic nature I'll have them siege driver Nephi's compound. Take from him his supply of those drugs and repeat the process, eliminating violet, cook-cook and motor-runner to take my rightful place on the throne. Each kill will refill our stock allowing me to maintain my army long enough to seize power. Then by right of conquest the Fiends will become loyal to me. I'll have an unlimited supply of any Chem I want and these years of restraint will have been worth it!" Muncher finished, out of breath with excitement. He then added. Does that satisfy your curiosity about the Fiends, at least for the moment."

"Last question, then I'll give it a rest. Violet, Nephi and motor runner. Who're they? You gave us the skinny on cook-cook but what about these other ones?" Jude asked.

"Driver Nephi is a buffout, he believes he is the strongest living thing in the wasteland. He demonstrates that quality by swatting the heads of his enemies off the top floor of his ruinous home with a pre-war golf club. He has scouts go and see how far he sent them and then marks that number down on his skin with a knife, if it beats his former record. He's had that club since he was a kid, it's always been at the centre of his personhood. He said it was like wielding the anger of the world, the same vicious anger that brought the bombs, that club is the last remaining vestige of that ancient wrath as far as he knows. He started dosing some serious psycho recently and that's just made him even more of a killing machine. He regularly scuffles with NCR troopers by himself and comes out alive. Caves their heads in and pisses down their throats to mark his kills. He doesn't let anyone eat his kills, he says he's already fed the driver. Violet is another fiend leader, in spirit anyway. She doesn't hang around with any Fiends. Originally her name was violent, but enough Fiends slurred the n out of her name that it eventually became violet. She got obsessive about dogs and started living with a pack of them way back when, less time around people made her mind slip. She's taken so much psycho she acts kind of like a dog. You can hear her howling at the moon sometimes. She trained attack dogs for the tribe, and does a damn fine job too. There's always some Fiends hanging around near her place. They give her tribute by throwing chems and supplies over the walls of her little fort. In return her dogs patrol the area and help raid caravans. I hung around her pack for a few months, the safest months I ever had outside the vault. The dogs were nice enough too, unless you gave them psycho. Motor runner though, he's the king of kings as far as Fiends go. Smartest among us all, even without mentats he's smarter than me. He has a way with words, calms the psychotics among us long enough to put us to work. It was his idea to take vault 3 as our new home. After doing something like that, Fiends had no choice but to respect him. He's got all the chems he could want as tribe leader, specifically he has access to rare chems the rest of us only dream of . Turbo, hydra, rocket and stuff like that. He's the only fiend I know who regularly takes fixer. Most Fiends avoid it like that plague because to us it feels like shutting off part of ourselves. It's a drug that fights desires, it makes you unable to really want anything. You'll stop craving chems but you won't crave food, water or even oxygen. It takes a level of mental fortitude beyond most Fiends to put up with fixer for long, only taking it in dire circumstances. Motor-runner though, he takes it all the time to keep his head clear so he can control the Fiends. His most powerful tool is restraint, by not going overboard on all the chems he has access to he keeps his spot on top of the skull hill. His dogs, Donnie and Marie are trained to sniff out fancy chems so none of the Fiends in the vault can steal from him. I love those dogs, grew up with them and all. Motor-runner though I have no love for. He's my father but if I am to achieve my destiny, he has to die." Bone-Muncher finished, exhausted.

"Heavy shit, I could never dream of turning on papa khan, or any khan for that matter. We rough each other up sure but khan's don't draw khan blood. It's a sacred and ancient law!" Jude exclaimed.

The tribals continued their work in silence. Until mama returned with a fresh sack of dynamite. The men worked two ten hour shifts that day and by the end their bones were creaking and their backs were near giving out. They passed their stolen dynamite on to an inmate named Carter, a skilled trader who could get things to people, discreetly. Carter delivered it to Cooke and the cycle continued for three more days. With the dynamite collected by Meyers and his gang added to the stockpile Cooke and his gang had near enough to 50 sticks stashed all over cell block A in any clever hiding place Philip lem could think of. Broken sections of wall, alcoves in the cement ceiling. Inside mattresses. By all accounts the cell block was rigged to blow.

Saturday morning arrived, Cooke's plans were to be set in motion by that afternoon and by midnight, freedom for every inmate.

In the past days Cooke had riled the inmates into a near frenzy, his sermons becoming more violent and impassioned each night.

Meyers approached Cap in the yard to inquire about their arrangement. He had with him swanick and Joe Cobb. Cobb was a stout man with a resting expression of annoyance. His frame was wide at the hips and his legs were well developed from years of running around the wasteland. His hands, unlike most of the inmates, were relatively clean and unmarked by their work. He stood behind Meyers like a rabid dog waiting to pounce.

"Tribal! We had an agreement, Cooke was supposed to be dead by today. He's still breathing and from what the guards tell me he's been giving sermons at the maintenance site. That rail connects the Mojave to the boneyard, it's the most important supply line in this desert. Now he's got the men shirking their duties en masse. Without that line we all starve, you, me and the NCR. He's got the fellas whipped into such a frenzy I don't know what kinda hell they're likely to raise. This is your fuck up and I am telling you now, if you don't get off your ass and march your wasteland wanderin, inbred, no good tribal ass over to Cooke's cell and kill him yourself then I'll tan your hide something sorry here and now." Meyers finished in a huff, he stood in a solid stance, as ready for one outcome as he was another.

Cap stood to face Meyers. He was a few inches shorter than Meyers, his frame dense but small. His tan skin rippled over lean muscle, grown over years of harsh living. Malnourishment kept any inmate from developing an imposing physique but Cap had a stronger build than most. His sharp brown eyes cut clear through the wasteland, seeing through mirage and man alike. Long black hair ran down the sides of his face like tar on some ancient warrior come to life. He wore a chinstrap beard, thick and unkempt, it was fraught with dust, muck and unspeakable residues of every description, a natural deterrent to some desert insects and overly affectionate inmates. His posture was relaxed, he stood close to Meyers, close enough to feel the older man's breath hot against his chest.

"Fuck the NCR, let them starve, or worse. If you're looking for a scrap I'll lay you out, I'll keep you off the slab though. Listening to your old bones creak amuses me. I like watching a man like you try and act respectable in a place like this. A lawman behind bars. I'm shocked you haven't been ripped three ways from Sunday by now. I give you this last chance to walk away, refuse and suffer the consequences." Cap said, with a low and taunting tone.

Meyers slammed his forehead into Cap's nose causing the smaller man to reel. Blood splitter in large gushes from Cap's now shattered face. Before Cap could recover Meyers belted him in the face, then slammed a clenched fist into his gut. Cap staggered back trying desperately to regain composure but Meyers refused to let up, continuing his assault with a flurry of blows.

Cap crouched to avoid a nasty shot to the head, clasped a fistful of dirt and quickly threw it into Meyers's face blinding him. Cap quickly pivoted around Meyers and snatched a clump of his grey hair. Cap began pounding Meyers's face into the metal headboard of a nearby cot. After three face first confrontations with the metal frame Meyers went limp, his breathing was faint but present. Cap stood over him, his shirt soaked in blood down to the abdomen, his hands bloodied and his entire body shaking from the adrenaline. Meyers had proved a more challenging opponent then he'd anticipated but, nothing and no one could ever overcome El Capitan if he was to survive.

The fight had expanded into an open brawl among the inmates and the guards of cell block A. Prisoners fought prisoners and guards alike. Blood spilled, bones broke and through it all Cap kept to the sidelines, allowing his tribe mates to indulge in the festivities while he recovered himself.

Fang wove his way through the crowd almost to the front doors before finding himself in melee with a pair of guards. He bit an ear off one of them while the other tried to hold him back. Jude and bone Muncher wrestled a guard to the floor, stomping on his defenceless form with a gaggle of onlookers cheering in praise.

The fighting was quelled minutes later when a shotgun blast rang out through the building. The warden had arrived with 10 guards armed with guns. The prisoners were escorted to their cells and the injured guards were taken to Hannigan. Meyers was taken with the guards in return for his long standing loyalty to them. Fang was kept outside cap's cell. He was cuffed and sat down in a central location between several cells in full view of the inmates.

"When the doc's finished with them I'll send him here to look over y'all. Till then we're gonna call this little scuffle a result of the heat. Everyone was hot under the collar. A fight broke out, my guards suppressed you as best they could until reinforcements arrived. To end the fighting, unfortunately one of you had to die. A loss for the wasteland and the world I'm sure. Fang, an ear is not easily replaced, I am curious though as to how easy it'll be to replace you. I've owned dogs before, I usually get over the last one by the time the new one comes along. In your case, I don't think I'll lose a wink of sleep over putting you down."

The warden levelled his shotgun at Fang's head and fired. The pellets from the shell shredded his face, blowing the upper portion of his skull Clean away and splattered what brains he had over the prison wall. The warden departed, leaving his armed guards to watch the inmates. Fang's body was left on the floor, a reminder to the prisoners of what their disobedience could cost.

Cap sat silently, anger plastered over his face. He, Muncher and Jude had been placed in separate cells for the time being. Cap was alone with the exception of Oliver swanick. The guards who'd put them together likely hoped he'd finally be the one to out swanick down, out of anger for fangs death. Cap had not looked upon the body since Fang's execution. He'd spend first minutes then an hour in silent consideration. Staring across the block to the cell of Samuel Cooke. Noticing for the first time that evening that Philip lem was not in it.

Swanick slowly approached Cap.

"You put old man Meyers in his place, take no shit my fiend." Swanick said, raising his hand for a high five. Cap left him hanging. Swanick continued speaking, "I'm guessing Cooke's gang is gonna make a break for escape tonight. I want in, tell me what I gotta do and it's done." Swanick said with a giddy expression on his face. A gaze of realisation hit swanick's face before he added "I offer a conference to you, tribe master. Allow me to serve your tribe."

This formal phrasing amused cap and lured forth his prideful instincts. He relished the opportunity to act in his role as tribe master of the New Hoofkin. The chance to be distracted from the evening's events was a welcome opportunity as well.

"I don't know you Swanick, but I see a survivor in you. You wear the spirit of the cockroach well. Tell me of your origin, amuse me while I await what is coming and I will permit you to aid in our escape."

Swanick grinned, breathed deeply and regaled Cap with his story of survival. "I started out east on a ranch with my folks. Small town living had its perks, farmers daughters, a bunch of morons ready to die for you and all the food you can eat. Arizona was my home for most of my life. Our ranch was on the eastern border, near enough to New mexico. We had tribals around, traded with them. We also had raiders, tribals who wouldn't trade. For them we kept guns on hand, what little firepower we could muster."

Cap interrupted the story.

"Never liked guns, impersonal. Faulty, prone to falling apart. Explosives suit me better, sharp things too, blunt instruments are my favourite though. A sharpened stick never jams, never runs out of ammo and doesn't catch the moonlight. Same is true for a baseball bat plus it leaves the option of sparing the victim, letting them gather supplies so you can take it from them over and over again. If I ever needed long range firepower a bomb would do it. Huck a grenade hard and fast enough, whoever's on the receiving end doesn't have time to run." he finished.

Swanick nodded and continued. "Yeah well guns were all we really knew how to use. Up close the raiders had the advantage. We'd kick up enough of a fuss to make them think twice about raiding our little town. Instead they'd go a mile down the road where the ranchers didn't have so many guns and raid them instead. It worked for a few years but I saw the writing on the wall. I snagged my honey, Suzy-may and took off in the night, headed west for Vegas. If my town wasn't taken by raiders then the legion got to them. We travelled for about a month, no problem. Then we ran into a raider gang, they said we could go past if we gave up all the supplies we had on us or I could go if I gave them Suzy. So I travelled on alone. Made it to two-sun. Joined up with a gang and made a living robbing caravans, other gangs and anyone else we found. We got into a shootout with some legion scouts and lost badly. I say we but as soon as I clapped eyes on the bull I ran for the hills. The gang was laid out for the buzzards by morning and I travelled alone again. Made an arrangement selling for a chemist, psycho and jet mostly. Easy to make and quick to sell. One of my customers got rowdy when I wouldn't front him the caps for his next hit, I sent him away but I saw what was coming. That night he robbed the chemist and left him for dead. I was already gone. Once my name started circulating around two-sun I knew it was time to leave. People knew I had caps from selling chems and I was intent on keeping them so I left. When I was a half mile out I looked back on the city. Fires had started all across it and I knew the legion had found it. That was the first of many lucky escapes I had from the legion. The next one came when I was captured by a gang out in the desert. I knew enough about chem production that they kept me alive, in case they ever found the gear to make their own chems. I escaped their camp a month after they took me and a day before the legion found them. Rinse and repeat all across Arizona till I crossed the Colorado River. I made it to Hoover dam but the NCR was waiting for me. They let me through but soon enough I was up to my old ways again. Set up shop in Nipton south of here. Partnered with another chemist and started selling. Sold to the NCR plenty but eventually the brass got tired of scooping their recruits off the floor and came knocking. I was out the window when they raised my place and killed my chemist. I booked it through the streets, aiming for the mountains. I got as far as the town hall before they caught me. They couldn't shoot me in broad daylight with witnesses around so I was arrested instead. All my caps became donations to the NCR." swanick finished

"Do you credit your wit or blind luck with your survival thus far?" Cap asked.

"I'm the luckiest man in the wasteland, no doubt about that. I get knocked around but life always comes up Swanick!" Swanick answered.

The men traded tales of their homes and the people they'd encountered along the way. Passing the hours until midnight. It was then that an ear splitting explosion was heard from the administration building across the yard. Half the guards posted to cell block A went to investigate. 5 sequential explosions rang out from the administration building and amid the confusion one went off inside the cell block. Cooke's cell door flew from its hinges and crushed a guard under it. In seconds sticks of dynamite flew in all directions blowing apart cell doors and walls alike. The 5 guards in the building were blown to pieces before they could fire a single shot. Cooke and his men gathered the prisoners of the cell block and began distributing weapons among them. Dynamite, shivs and lead pipes aplenty.

The newly armed inmates marched from their cells and into the yard. A small detachment of them went to free the prisoners of block B while another tended to block C. The remainder marched on the administration building. The warden and 20 men had holed up inside. They had Hannigan with them, dressing their wounded. Among those 20 men were 10 shotguns, 5 pistols and 5 rifles. Add to them the 4 guards posted in the watchtowers, each armed with a rifle and the inmates were woefully outgunned. Eddie from cell block B took command of his block and C-block. He had the inmates charge the 4 guard towers in human waves. Overwhelming the lone rifleman in each. Cell block A charged the administration building. Buckshot and pistol fore spewed from the windows on the ground floor while rifle fire rained from the second. The men wore ballistic vests borrowed from incapacitated guards and carried the wooden benches and tables that littered the yard, over their heads as protection. The rotted and dried out wood planks did little to impede rifle fire but offered a modicum of defence against small arms fire. Allowing the men to get close to the building, close enough that the riflemen could no longer fire on them. Once in position they began lobing dynamite in through the windows. Minutes passed and with them came many explosions.

The warden shouted a plea for surrender from the top of his tower and the remaining guards inside were disarmed. Cooke sent his men to collect weapons from the guards and the barracks. Cap, his men and several comrades from block A took the remaining guards prisoner and transported them to the cages of what was formerly C block. Eddie had taken command of most of the inmates, he stood atop cell block B proclaiming his authority, below him a blood soaked scrambler and several of Eddie's goons.

Scrambler was a lanky man, pale skinned and one eyed. His hair was a tall spiked mohawk. He was covered from head to toe in the blood of the guards.

Eddie commanded Cooke to take a party to retrieve the night shift prisoners and dispatch any remaining guards. Cooke agreed and took his men to do just that.

In the meantime Eddie began divying the guards among the most prominent leaders among the prisoners. There were ten guards and the warden, all of whom were unarmed, badly beaten and now hostages.

"To myself, 5 hostages. Only fair that I keep the most since I've got the most guys. Cap, Chavez and Cobb can each take 2. Do with them as you like but keep them alive, we need to bargain with the NCR. Their lives buy us time and supplies. Anyone who takes issue, talk to Scrambler". Eddie shouted.

Chavez was from southern California. He'd been a rustler and thief all his life. On his face he wore a thin moustache and on his head kept a shaggy mop of black hair.

"I want three. You owe me Eddie!" Chavez yelled.

"Cobb gets three, Chavez takes one." Eddie barked at Scrambler.

Chavez begrudgingly accepted the answer and took one of the guards. Cap took mama and another guard. Cobb took two others and Eddie took the rest, including the warden.

Cobb's men began beating on their hostages, venting the frustrations they'd accumulated over the months. They put out cigarettes on their hostages and cut off several of their fingers. Cobb looked over the display with pride.

Mama, huge man that he was, looked to his captors for mercy. He was on eye level with Cap, even on his knees.

"Cap, I was good to you and your boys. Never gave you any trouble you didn't earn. Kept you fed, watered. I just want to see my kids back in shady sands. Promise me I'll make it through this." mama begged.

Cap took great pleasure in being begged. He even pretended to consider mama's plea.

"You've treated me fairly, yeah. What about Bone-Muncher? Tossed him on the ground like a sack of shit when you first brought him in. You let the guards beat on him after he killed mark. It's not up to me whether you make it through this. I'm giving that decision over to Muncher." Cap said.

Muncher grinned before he and Jude took mama to their old cell. Screams and pleas could be heard all through the courtyard, mama's voice being as distinct as any among the guards.

Several of the hostages wept and begged hearing what was being done to mama. Praying to every god they could think of that they might be spared that most horrid of fates.

Cooke's band returned with the night shift prisoners and the weapons of the on duty guards they'd encountered.

The prison and its environs now belonged to the prisoners. The men celebrated with smokes, booze and food from the Warden's private stores.

During the festivities Bone-Muncher walked mama around naked at the end of a rope. Muncher had used the blood of the dead guards as lipstick which he'd glazed over the man's lips and around his bleeding asshole. His body was bruised all over and his cock had been smashed into a state that it could hardly be recognized as a reproductive organ. The huge man wept as the prisoners jeered at him. They tossed bits of food and viscera at him as he passed. They spat on him, beat on him and several cut him shallowly with their shanks.

Eddie shouted from his place in front of the administration building. "We're celebrating a victory tonight boys. I figure we only really need 5 hostages. I'll give up two of mine, each of the other bosses who want to give up one of theirs for entertainment are welcome to.

Chavez refused to give his hostage up. Cobb gave up two of his and Cap agreed to give up mama. Four of the guards were passed among the prisoners, they were beaten and stabbed to death. Then their bodies were passed around to be dismembered for amusement.

Mama's execution was made a spectacle. He was held down over one of the tables in the yard and tied down, in full view of the crowd of prisoners. Then Cap shoved a stick of dynamite up mama's ass. The man's rectum bled profusely, and he cried. Muncher pushed it deeper and wriggled it around causing mama to scream in pain. Then Cap lit the fuse and the prisoners backed away from the display as mama cried out.

Seconds later Mama's body exploded and chunks of viscera flew across the yard. The prisoners cheered and applauded, chanting "El Capitan, El Capitan"!

Eddie, not to be upstaged, silenced the crowd with a shout and had the warden dragged to the centre of the yard. He'd been stripped and beaten. His greasy, bloated body sat in the hot sand with all the beauty of a sunbaked turd.

Scrambler drew a long knife from his belt and approached the warden while two of Eddie's men held the Warden's arms. The warden screamed but his words fell on deaf ears, they'd listened to him long enough

Scrambler, wordlessly began cutting away a slab of fat off the Warden's guy. Blood poured but the warden survived, being given a stimpak to keep him from passing out. The slab of meat was tossed on the fire to cook and then Scrambler shoved his knife into the Warden's head through his ear. He then began twisting and gyrating the blade, scrambling the Warden's brain inside his skull.

The Warden's head was severed and passed around the camp. Some prisoners fucked it while others pissed in its gaping mouth. By the end its jaw had been torn off and its eyes had been gouged and the sockets had been filled with the spunk of at least 20 men.

Chapter 3

Won't Be Turnin' my back on you

By morning all the hostages had been killed in the prisoners' bloodlust. The men slept in the guards beds or on top of their bodies. As the sun rose the leaders of the prisoners gathered to discuss the future of the prison and its inhabitants.

Cooke, Cobb, Chavez, Cap and Eddie sat in a tight circle in the warden's office.

"So we've taken the prison. It'll be a couple days until the NCR gets word of this and comes for us. We need to be ready for them. We need to get organised, right now we're just a bunch of punks with our dicks in the wind. Ideas"? Eddie began.

"I ran my gang back in the hub. I had forty, fifty guys working for me. I got the most experience running a gang so I should take charge of the prison, I'll get us through this." Cobb put forth.

"If I don't get some authority here I'm walking!" Chavez shouted.

"Then walk Chavez," cap said before continuing. "You're right Eddie, we need to be organised. Tribes survive in the wasteland through bonds of trust and blood. Here we have only trust and spilt blood but it'll do. I say you announce that any prisoners who want to stay in the prison and use it as a fort have to join your tribe, or gang or whatever you'd want to call it. You have the most loyal men so you should lead us. Cooke, Cobb and I have experience in leadership so we can lead scouting parties. Take territory up and down I 15. Secure a hunting ground. Any caravans that pass through are ours". He finished.

"Me and my men won't be staying. We don't have the weapons or the manpower to fight the NCR head on. I'm going to search this forsaken desert to find something to defeat the NCR with. You're welcome to your war with the NCR but I warn you now. You'll lose." Cooke said before rising and leaving the room.

Eddie pondered briefly. "Okay, so we become a gang. How do we keep a gang of criminals together without having any caps to offer them?" Eddie asked cap.

"We bring them together in our shared past. We shared in the riot. Formerly we were members of small powder gangs, now we can become members of one great powder gang. All working to keep the gang strong." Cap answered.

"Powder gangers eh. Okay then. Well we lost Cooke which means we're down a leader. Cobb you'll take a large force north, claim the road for us and start taking caravans. Cap you'll take a smaller party south to Nipton. The mayor's shifty from what I hear so he might be willing to negotiate something with us." Eddie commanded.

"And me?" Chavez asked.

"You'll take some of the guys and set up camps around the prison. Spotter camps to watch for incoming caravans and NCR troops. The first line of defence. Now get out of here and let the grown ups talk." Eddie barked.

Chavez grumbled and departed.

"This is the start of something beautiful gentleman, we need to get started ASAP" Eddie said.

Eddie addressed the prisoners from the Warden's tower, shouting down from on high. Cap and Cobb took up positions outside the administration building.

"My fellow powder gangers, we took this place for ourselves. Now it's time to protect it. We are now one Gang, not many gangs. Together we're strong enough to fight the NCR. Anyone who can't go along with me and my plan for the gang can leave the prison. Those who enjoy the high walls and the relative safety they provide are welcome to stay. My men control the guns and the dynamite which will be the tool which conquers this desert. Now among those who will stay with the gang I need volunteers to go north with Joe Cobb to secure territory where we can raid caravans with impunity. I need volunteers also to go with El Capitan south to make dealings in Nipton. The rest will be tasked with establishing a perimeter around the prison and taking stock of our supplies." Eddie cried.

Immediately a huge crowd formed around Cap who chose twenty among the volunteers to go with him. The rest divided themselves between Cobb's gang and the main force. A fair few powder gangers left the prison, feeling they'd survive better alone than with the gang.

Battered and broken, old man Meyers had decided to ally himself with Eddie who pardoned him for colluding with the guards.

As Cap gathered his troops he took notice that Scrambler was speaking with Jude across the yard. As Cap's party departed he questioned Jude.

"What did Scrambler want?" Cap asked.

"Said Eddie wanted me to watch your back since he needs tough lieutenants in times like these. Doesn't want anything to happen to you." Jude replied.

Cap accepted the explanation and his group marched southward to Nipton. They were loaded down with armour and weapons stolen from the barracks. They wore only their undershirts and jeans so as not to be immediately recognized as convicts along the road. The men also carried a small collection of caps which had been taken from the dead guards.

The journey took days. They stopped frequently to hide from the sun in what little shade presented itself to them. Eventually they arrived in the small town of Nipton.

A well kept place, farmers, shopkeepers and workers of all kinds roamed the street. The largest building in the town was the ancient town hall. A large wooden structure larger than most of the town put together. It was there that the mayor worked.

Before the men could make their way to the town hall they encountered a woman who propositioned one of them. Upon discovering she was but one of many prostitutes working in the town brothel the inmates took a detour. Spending what caps they had on women and booze.

Once Cap had his fill of both he went alone to arrange an agreement with the mayor.

The town's only two growth businesses were the brothel and a small casino. Both of which the mayor partially owned. The NCR frequented both during the day but were not permitted by their commanders to be in town during the night. In exchange for protecting the town, the brothel and the casino during the night the mayor would keep the powder gangers a secret for as long as he could. He would house them in the town hall during the day. Allowing the powder gangers to travel and trade freely in town during the night. He even agreed to give the inmates a discount in his brothel.

Once the arrangements were made Cap collected his men and hid them away in the town hall until nightfall. Then they all went to celebrate with the mayor's discount.

Cap left Swanick in charge of the men while he, Jude and Bone-Muncher made their way north to report back to Eddie. They left the following morning.

Halfway to the town of Primm the men made camp. Jude asked Cap if he'd like to take some time to hunt the geckos that populated the nearby hills. Cap agreed and the two men set off, Jude armed with a shotgun and Cap carrying a set knives.

Once they were a half mile from camp Jude stopped to ask Cap a question. They stood atop a hill and spoke.

"What's your plan in all this? You let Eddie take command even though plenty of gangers would have rallied behind you?" Jude asked.

"Eddie is a capable leader. I am entrusting the powder gangers to him. I intend to form the new Hoofkin, you me and bone Muncher will be its first members. It will expand and ally with all the local tribes including the powder gangers. Right now I am creating a future ally." Cap answered.

Jude bobbed his head and pursed his lips, processing the statement.

"I want to go back to my old tribe. I'm a khan, always will be. I can convince them to help the powder gangers, maybe make them another ally to the new Hoofkin." Jude said.

Cap crouched and looked over the horizon.

"I'd be sad to lose you but you make a good point. Your place is with your people and I can respect that. I suspect Bone-Muncher will do the same in time. No matter, I will recruit more men and soon we will all be heroes to our respective tribes. Brothers in Arms once more.

"Thanks for understanding." Jude said. He lifted his shotgun and fired it into Cap's back.

The pellets shredded caps skin and dug into his muscle, throwing him to the ground. Blood splattering around him. He rolled over and looked at his friend.

"Why?" He asked.

"Eddie doesn't want you opposing him down the line. He needs a tough lieutenant who also knows their place. He said I could have your place and the gang would help the Khans if I put you down. Our numbers were cut to almost nothing after butter springs. We need help and if it means I have to kill you then so be it. The tribe survives." Jude explained.

He racked another shell and prepared to finish Cap but before he could, Bone Muncher lept from behind him clubbing Jude over the head with a lead pipe.

Jude stumbled and fell lifting his shotgun to face Muncher.

"Run tribe master," Muncher yelled. "The hoofkin must survive."

Muncher ran toward Jude with his club raised but Jude had already collected himself. He fired his weapon, staggering Muncher with the blast. A second shot put Muncher on his back.

Jude rose and raised the weapon to fire the killing shot but Cap rushed him. Wrestling it away from him and into the sand. The two men brawled.

khans are tough, it's who they are. Jude took Cap's beating without flinching and threw several well placed punches while Cap bore down on him.

A blast rang out through the hills. Judes head exploded from the right side toward his left. His head had been blown to pieces by Bone Muncher who'd risen and taken up Jude's weapon.

Muncher and Cap both collapsed, dressing their wounds with cloth torn off Jude's body. Their wounds were not fatal but plenty painful.

"Why save me?" Cap asked.

"We're Hoofkin you and I. Together we will conquer the Fiends and expand our tribe. Your vision and mine can be one and the same. I recognize you as a survivor and I think together we can tame the Mojave."

Cap laughed and threw his head back. His dream had come true, the hoofkin lived again. He was an honest to god tribe member, the first of many.

The tribals rose and began walking South to seek medical aid in Nipton. Then they would travel east to seek their fortune and to expand their tribe.

The wasteland had not claimed either man. The harsh desert had only tempered them, made them stronger.

Cap had a vision for his future, for the first time he truly believed it could be realised. He swore two things to himself. First that he would eradicate the Khans and send them to meet Jude in hell. Second, he would never betray Bone-Muncher or any member of his tribe even if it meant his death. No matter what, the tribe would survive.