Cross had never seen such a barren shithole in his entire life; it seemed like the perfect spot for his old ass to one day settle down in.
The bounty hunter raised his hand in passing to a farming settler, who, in kind, simply stared as though he had just popped out of a grave and started walking, bones rattling and eye sockets empty.
"Mornin'," Cross grumbled. He again looked up at the wide-open sky. "Er, 'noon."
There was no friendly gesture in return, and so he continued ambling down to the only two buildings that seemed to have any sort of life to them. The entire 'town' was about as charming as an old woman's bed- creaky, and void of activity.
"Mehhhhh!"
Cross jumped back from the sudden, hellish bleating at his side. His hand automatically went for his gun, the drive to deal death a deeply ingrained instinct, but it only met with an empty holster.
(Bastards had gutted him clean)
A giant…wait, he'd seen these things before; what were they again? Bighorner…yeah, that's what they were. He winced at the internal sear in his brain at the forced memory, and then grimaced as the bighorner wafted a damp breath at his face.
"Jesus," he coughed, waving his hand in front of his lack of literal nostrils. "Fuckin' hell. Ya tryin' to drop me dead? Cause it might work this time."
It bleated again, shaking its coarse, dusty coat before stomping away. The ghoul shook his head and pressed a thumb to one side of his nose, snorting out a boogered speck of dirt.
"Well, howdy there, pardner!"
Cross spun around, his fingers twitching out of habit again from having a rolling robot get the jump on him from behind. He blinked up from under the brim of his hat and took a step back to take in a flickering screen of a smiling cartoon cowboy.
The robot waved an arm at him. "Phee-ewe! Almost thought we lost ya for a minute there. Glad to know that ain't the case."
Cross growled, "What the ever-lovin' fuck are you?"
"Easy friend!" The securitron rolled away a bit to grant him some more personal space. "I'm the one who dug you out of that there hole up yonder…was a true shame what happened, but-"
Cross lifted his hat a smidge to point to the hideous, fresh scar on his face, his rasp low and short of patience. "Who fuckin' did this to me?"
"Sorry to say, but I wasn't able to get a good look at 'em."
Cross spat to the side, itching at his ass with a few fingers and roving his hardened scowl to the saloon. He side-eyed the robot as he strolled on past, not looking to waste any more time he was apparently lucky to still have.
"You take care now, pardner!" it called after him.
The ghoul climbed the steps of the rickety front porch and invited himself inside the only bar for miles around, instantly at the mercy of a rattling fan that blew a lick of cool air on his leathered face. He couldn't imagine what the fuck he was doing out here to begin with…goddamn sun was drying his nuts into raisins, and he'd only been outside for a solid five minutes. A dog yapped upon his entrance, making him pause in the open doorway with a narrow of his eyes. A woman, a very damn fine good-looking woman, heeled the mutt, and he felt his irritation slide right off his shoulders.
Least there was some piece of him that remembered something, and it appeared appreciating a woman was just that.
"Howdy," she said, eyeing him up and down. "Good to see you back on your feet. We heard about what happened."
Cross closed the door behind him and took a quick scope of the rest of the saloon. Deader than a doornail. He sighed and stretched his back in place, popping off a few vertebrae. If he were completely honest with himself, he wasn't too keen on hitting the road to take matters into his own hands just yet, and a cool glass of liquor on his sandy tongue sounded more than tempting.
"Care for a drink?" he asked her instead, shooting his shot with a fully loaded gun under his belt as he eyed her up and down much the same…and maybe a little more.
There was a slight smirk on her lips as she cocked one hip to the side with a hand at her waist. "I'm not cheap."
His brain fumbled for a second. He didn't have jackshit on him.
"Got any work?" he rasped with a grin.
"No." His grin faded, and she continued, "But you can check out the schoolhouse. There's a safe in there even Easy Pete couldn't get to with his dynamite."
"A safe, huh?" He scratched at his forehead under the brim of his hat.
It wasn't much, but at that moment, it was the best he got.
Squish!
"Damn fuckin' bastards," he growled to himself as he raised a boot high and brought it back down with a flat stomp.
Squish!
The giant mantis nymphs splooshed guts and gore galore wherever he stepped as he looted the abandoned schoolhouse, down on his luck and down on a gun. A mantis had nipped him in the left ass cheek, fouling his already tempered mood. The safe, on the other hand, was easier done than said, and he marveled at the preset skill he already had…even if he didn't remember. The ghoul pocketed a stash of caps, some ammo, odds and ends, and a dusty bottle of wine. He blew on it, trying to make out the faded print on the peeling label, before shrugging and carefully stowing it away. It would have to do.
He moseyed back to the saloon when he paused in step just passing the general store. A creeping itch was beginning to flare from that mantis bite…a gun wouldn't be too bad of a thing to have. The store was dark and dusty, and the only light able to filter through the stained windows tinted everything under a shady mustard. He stepped up to the counter, his boots creaking with every step.
"You must be the one Doc was patching up," a voice called from the side, and he turned to find the storekeeper stocking a few shelves. "What do you need?"
Cross turned forward, his mouth in a slight downturn of a frown as he browsed the stock on the wall. "Damn near everythin'."
He piled the caps, useless crap, and a few better-faring magazines he had hauled from the schoolhouse all together, and then scooted it forward.
Cross scratched the edge of his sharp jawline. "I know it ain't much, but it's what I got."
The smoothskin waved him off and began sifting through the lot. "We're a small town, so we take what we can get."
That sentiment suited Cross just fine as he stepped outside and felt a roll of a hot breeze parch his brow, a single shotgun propped over one shoulder. The wine bottle still nestled in his duster pocket reminded him of other important business to tend to, and so he returned to the saloon, intent on having a more 'in-depth' conversation with the little lady, but what he found was an ol' fashioned Mexican standoff, instead.
"Look, if you're not going to buy something, then get out," a woman he hadn't met yet was parked behind the bar, expressively pissed to high hell.
A smoothskin chump was threatening her with a spear tip of a finger in her face. "You brought this on yourself." He then turned for the door, looking up in the shadow of Cross' brim with a sneer. "What the hell are you looking at, rotbag?"
The reaction was instant.
Cross' hands nabbed at the collar of the much shorter smoothskin and lifted him clean off his feet, slamming him into the wall. He leaned in close, twisting the cloth tight around his neck as a makeshift noose.
"Hell did you just call me?" Cross growled, his breath suffocating and voice low.
The smoothskin choked and barely managed out, "No-nothing!"
Cross dropped him, and the smoothskin fell to his knees with a deep inhale of air, wiping some spittle from the corner of his lips. He scrambled for the door, a nasty gleam in his eye despite the trembling of his hand on the doorknob.
"I'll remember you, too."
He then scampered off into the wilds, and Cross just shook his head as he looked around for that little lady and her hound. She wasn't in, but the barkeep got his attention with a whistle.
"Hey there, Cowboy," she beckoned as he approached the counter. "Don't mind Cobb- he's all bluster, most of the time."
The bounty hunter grunted, "He won't be when I put a bullet in him."
"Big words coming from someone in the ground not too long ago himself," she added with a wry smile.
He chuckled a bit darkly, "Fair."
"Now, you needing something? A drink, maybe?"
He rapped his knuckles on the countertop, the wine bottle in his pocket weighing on his mind. He looked to the door, waiting for that woman to come striding back through.
A settler a few seats down raised his voice at the barkeep. "Just give them Ringo and be done with it, Trudy. We don't need that sort of trouble in our town."
Trudy addressed the man. "That ain't our way, and you know it. If you're not going to help, then shut your damn mouth, Travis."
Cross rifled through his pockets, wishing he had kept a couple caps to wet his whistle while he waited. He met Trudy's eyes and rasped, "Got any work round here?"
Trudy pulled a bottle of tequila from the top shelf, pouring him a shot at which he raised a brow muscle at.
"And there'll be some caps in it," she said.
He took the glass and tilted it back, his dark grey tongue snaking out to catch a few drops that had escaped from the side of his mouth. "What's the job?"
Cross was soon climbing the hillside, unlocking the door to the gas station where a certain trader had been squirreled away under the town's protection. He was met with the end of a gun, but he stepped inside nonetheless.
"You shoot me," Cross warned, eyeing the slight shake the kid had to his trigger finger. "You damn well better not miss, 'cause I don't."
"Sorry," Ringo apologized, lowering his weapon.
"Heard you're a wanted man," Cross drawled as he shoved his hands in his duster pockets. "If you got the caps, I got the gun to put an end to all that."
Ringo warily eyed him. "A mercenary, huh? I don't know. I think they might be a bit much for you to handle on your own."
Cross scratched at his bald head under the band of his hat. "Ya can take it, or leave it."
Ringo looked the big ghoul over and finally nodded. "Alright. I'll take it…seeing as how I'd be a dead man, anyway."
When Cross had parked his ass on a barstool back inside the Prospector, he was approached by the woman he still vied to share that bottle with.
"The whole town has heard about you taking on those Powder Gangers for Ringo," she said as she sat beside him, her dog laying at her feet. "You're going to need some help. I'm with you."
Cross picked up his refilled shot glass the bartender had poured him—on the house. "Don't bother," he simply told her before he gave her a single glance of his milky hazel eyes. "I ain't lookin' to clean up more than I have to."
He threw the alcohol back, and she snorted.
"Doc throws you out of that bed and now you're suddenly on the front lines?"
Cross shrugged, setting his glass down. "If there's caps in it, then I guess I am."
"That's a pretty stupid way to look at it."
He winked at her, catching the hint of a blush blooming up her neck. "Ya just can't look too hard."
"Well, fine then," she said as she stood, the panting mutt following suit. "If it looks like you're needing any help, I'm going to be right there. Oh…and thanks. The town appreciates it."
Cross didn't say anything but gave her a lazy two-finger salute and watched her hips sway as she went to leave. Finally, he got up and stood on the porch, looking out at the wild wasteland sprawling for miles around with the sun slowly making its trek across the other end of the sky.
The Powder Gangers made good on their word, encroaching in a band of five. The sole ghoul, who was leaning against the side of the saloon with his cowboy hat tipped down and arms relaxed across his chest, flexed his hands.
"Trudy!" the shithead from earlier barked. "You know why we're here! Give us Ringo, or we burn this town to the ground!"
Cross felt the others' stares from behind the windows as he pushed away and stood straight, tilting his hat back to give them a proper view of his face.
"Now, give me a second," he rasped, reaching for the shotgun strapped to his back. "And let me see if I can't remember how to do all this."
"To hell with you, zombie," the ringleader spat.
The ghoul chuckled, and broke out in a wild grin. "You first."
Cross' body took over where his mind was still rather fuzzy, and he perfectly took aim to blow a shot where the man's skull just was. It splattered brain and bone everywhere, including the faces of those around him, and Cross redirected his muzzle to the next one closest and fired away. The remaining three scattered, too shell-shocked to react quickly enough before he planted hard lead in their backs, his instincts taking full control and putting an end to the situation faster than he could blink.
Cross looked around at the sprawled-out corpses left to rot under the Mojave sun, his smoking barrel over one shoulder and hat tipped back with a frown.
"That it?" he rasped to no one in particular.
Well, that was easy.
The door to the saloon opened as the little lady and a few others crowded around.
"You weren't kidding when you didn't need my help," she noted, more than impressed. "That was really something. You're pretty damn good at this."
"Yeah," Cross rasped in a low voice, his frown never leaving his face as he looked around at the carnage he had single-handedly laid down. "…guess I am."
The caravan trader paid him his dues, and he settled himself back at the bar, trying to shrug the ominous feeling brewing in his gut about the entire ordeal as he finally approached the woman with the wine in one hand.
He waggled the bottle. "Care to join? There's enough in here for two."
She crossed her arms and snorted. "I just realized, but I don't even know your name."
He wolfishly grinned. "It ain't too interestin'…but yours, now, that's somethin' I'd like to hear."
"Sunny Smiles." And then she gave him one. "You know, I've never been with a ghoul before."
He shifted his weight. "Can't knock it till ya try it."
She gave another smile, and he felt his dick throb. "Guess I can't."
The bottle was soon empty, with her bedframe smacking the wall.
He held her by the waist, slamming her to the point of desperation as she could only hold on to the wild ride his cock was giving her, the moans that left her mouth sure to be loud enough for the entire town to hear. He blew his load deep down inside, growling a bit as he felt the stars shine behind his eyes. It was much the same as the handling of a gun- his hands knew where to slide, where to hold, where to grip and fire away to get the best of results. He didn't have a single fucking clue what he was really doing, but his dick sure remembered…and his tongue did, too. He pulled out and went down south, feeling her thighs clench around his broad shoulders as he sucked and licked her clit all the way home.
"…you're pretty damn good at this," she breathily repeated from earlier as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull up his pants. She watched him begin to lace up his boots. "You don't have to leave so soon. It's dark out, and there's more trouble than good at this time."
Cross plopped his hat on his head and strapped the Pip-Boy to his wrist. Now that he was of clearer mind, he let out a sigh of satisfaction and looked to the smoothskin whose brains he had just thoroughly fucked out.
"Know anythin' 'bout the man who shot me?" he rasped, his eyes eerily glowing under the shroud of his hat.
Sunny rolled over, her cunt beginning to trickle with his mess. "Only heard it was a guy wearing a checkered suit, and that he had some Great Khans with him…you going after them?"
Cross didn't answer but went for the door, throwing her a wink over his shoulder before he stepped outside into the night of the wasteland.
The ghoul climbed up the small hill to the graveyard overlooking the town, and he stood over the shallow grave from which he had been reborn from. A dazzling display of bright lights far out in the distance called to him with some melodic tune he couldn't place a finger to, but he knew, deep down, that there was something there for him. Cross looked up to the night sky, the beautiful rolling of the galaxy like scattered petals over a velvet tapestry of a dark, depthless blue.
He started forward and disappeared into the wasteland, never to set foot in Goodsprings again.