Chapter 94: Three Birds

As the flames erupted upon the horizon, two centurions stood some distance away amongst their cohorts. Rumors spread throughout the ranks faster than the wildfires from the main camp. Soon enough, the talk began to coalesce into a singular point; treachery. They pulled back, and their enemies took the opportunity to strike them.

"LEGIONARIES!" Centurion Franciscan bellowed over his cohort. "WE CANNOT AID OUR BROTHERS FROM THE MAIN CAMP! BUT WE CAN AVENGE THIS DISHONOR!"

"5TH COHORT!" Basilian screamed. "WE SHALL JOIN WITH THE 2nd AND ATTACK THE AEG ENCAMPMENT IMMEDIATELY!"

The legionaries let out a triumphant howl as the two cohorts split off to envelop the AEG's last encampment.

Larain watched the fires erupt from Scorpio's camp as he bit his lip. "…Dalton, you psycho son of a bitch," he muttered in disbelief and faint admiration. His only concern was whether or not he was able to guarantee Rosa's safety before popping off his party favors, but right now, he had bigger things to worry about.

"LISTEN UP, BOYS!" Rathmore screamed as his men set up their defensive positions. "WE GOT TWO GROUPS OF LEGION CONVERGING ON OUR POSITION! OUR JOB AS THE REAR GUARD IS TO BUY THE REST OF THE FORCE ENOUGH TIME TO FULLY WITHDRAW! WE ARE HOLDING THIS GROUND AND WE ARE HOLDING IT AS LONG AS POSSIBLE! IF ANYONE IS TOO SCARED TO FOLLOW THE JOB, NOW'S YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO TELL ME!"

His men grumbled and complained, as they often did, but not a single one turned away. The ghouls and mutants were often old and cynical, but they were devoted to the NCR and their brothers-in-arms, and would not tolerate putting them in harms way while they were still able to fight.

"Captain," Larain said as he approached the officer. "I've got a handful of gunners with me. We're ready to hit-and-run, just say the word."

"Any of your guys turns tail while they still have a loaded weapon, they'll find out there's scarier things out there than the Legion," Rathmore growled.

"Boys!" Carla exclaimed as she joined up. "Now's not the time to get romantic! Tobey and I both have some squads of Marshals, they'll assist with the Clanners and their cover fire!"

"Well, at least you guys know how to shoot," Rathmore chuckled as Larain glared at him. "Well, no use gabbing. We all have a date with destiny!"

Rosa slid under the swing as she knicked at the tendons around her. A hand grabbed her by the hair, her head twisting up at the hateful face of the decanus glaring at her. A bullet tore through his head, his eye popping out of his socket as Cade grabbed Rosa by the arm and forced her back to her feet, swinging his hatchet as the two of them charged through the melee. Already, Rosa's machete was caked in blood, and Cade had expended most of his ammo without enough reprieve to reload.

"VIVA LA REVELACION!" A howl from nearby let out, followed by an explosion that sent legionaries and their limbs flying over the heads of the two escapees.

"Friend of yours?" Rosa tried to scream over the chaos.

"These people deserve each other!" Cade almost laughed as he rapidly buried three bullets into the gut of an oncoming legionary wielding an axe.

"Nice call with Vulpes!" Rosa smiled as she removed a machete and some fingers from a hand. "Real inspired thinking!"

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy!" Cade grinned as his revolver clicked on empty, having to settle for pistol-whipping a nearby priest who had just downed a legionary.

Vulpes rushed into the tent, holding his knife at the ready as he looked around for some kind of weapon.

"STAND BACK!" a voice from outside the tent called out. "THIS ONE IS MINE!" An enraged Scorpio stormed into the tent, halberd at the ready as he approached Vulpes with killing intent.

"Scorpio, the gunner," Vulpes tried to get out. "He's lying, we never made any kind of dea-" he dodged as Scorpio lunged at him, swinging his weapon wide as he tried to bisect the seemingly treacherous advisor.

"I'M GOING TO ENJOY SPILLING YOUR ENTRAILS!" Scorpio howled as his mouth began to froth.

Vulpes pulled out a gladius he managed to obtain in the confusion of the fracas, steadying it before himself as he awaited the next move. Scorpio, in his manic state of thought, let out a smile as he bellowed, "ASSAULTRONS! INCINERATE THIS USURPER!"

Deactivating their cloaking, several assaultrons arose around Vulpes, readying their optic lasers.

"RMX Override Code 97-2 Epsilon!" Vulpes immediately announced. The machines stood down as Scorpio glared in hate at Inculta. "That's what I get for putting my faith in toys," Scorpio growled.

"You're a client to the RMX, Oklahomus. I AM the RMX!" Vulpes gritted as he charged Scorpio.

Rosa took another right down the path, ducking past a contubernium as they rounded past the corner of tents towards the center of the melee. The sounds of automatic rifles and clashing steel polluted the air as Cade took the lead, his memory drawing him to the rendezvous. "They're meeting us ahead," he said as he took the respite to reload his magnum.

"What about Dalton?" Rosa asked.

A series of tents a few hundred yards away erupted into a plume of flame. "That's really up to him at this point," Cade snarked.

As the two continued down the path, Cade came to a sudden stop, holding his arm out to block Rosa's momentum. "Damn," Cade snarled. "A whole century is in our way. We'll have to double back."

"Can't we cut through the tents?" Rosa asked.

"This is the path of least resistance. Or it was supposed to be. Maybe if we double-time it we can make it before-"

Push through.

Rosa cocked her head up. "…Joe?"

Cade turned to glare at her. "Pardon?"

I'm with you. Push through.

Rosa maneuvered around Cade. "We're going to make it," she announced as she readied her machete.

"What are you-" Cade hissed before one of the legionaries caught sight of the half-naked woman approaching them. Grimacing, Cade readied his carbine as he snaked around the corner to join his half-sister in what promised to be a glorious suicide. Dropping the machete to her side, Rosa immediately rushed forward. As the legionaries turned to meet her, their leering and derisive smiles began to fade, suddenly, ghostly manifestations began to surround the woman. From the mist, one could make out several figures wearing bulletproof vests and wielding automatic weaponry running alongside her, guns at the ready. But the biggest shock was the man on fire, standing in the midst of the oncoming rush as he was wreathed in flames that consumed but did not burn him. The sight of this man in particular filled the legionaries, in particular the senior ones, with an inexplicable dread.

"FLEE!" the voice roared, and sure enough the century broke apart, giving Rosa time enough to run through.

"YOU'RE ONE IN A MILLION, JOE!" Rosa laughed as she looked behind her. "YOU COMING OR WHAT?!"

Duncan stood in place, looking pale. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he charged after the girl on their mad dash to liberation, not bearing to look any of the figments in the eyes.

Dalton lit the next fuse as he darted from his hiding place. The legionaries were confused as to whether or not they should have been trying to fight the fires or trying to save their supplies. The old soldier watched them fret and panic about with a sense of satisfaction he was once familiar with long ago. Seeing the mighty walls of Phoenix collapse unto themselves was easily his greatest achievement as a freelance terrorist, before joining the Legion of course. The same Legion that he was now using his skills and expertise against. He began to ponder the conundrum. Or was it the same Legion? In some ways no, but in others… perhaps he changed? Dalton stroked his chin as he ducked through some unburning tents, keeping his detonator handy as he swung the bag of animal fat over his shoulder.

So far, he hadn't had to personally go loud, he thought as he kept his plasma pistol ready. Still, he thought as he heard the baying hounds making their way through the pathway, time was not exactly on his side. As he dumped more of the fat by the tents, a chopper began making its way overhead. Dalton looked above as two Steel Marauders were dropped into the combat zone to try and pacify the riot.

The old man spat as he fished out his lighter. As dangerous as the Ministerio and the Legion were, neither Rosa nor her knight in crusty leathers stood much chance against these newcomers. These ones needed some heavier artillery to mitigate and buy the other four some time to escape. Dalton looked at the sack hanging off his shoulder.

As the two Steel Marauders continued their patrol, an old man wearing Enclave officer fatigues immediately bolted in front of them. "THE ONLY THING HEAVY METAL IS GOOD FOR IS COOKING!" Dalton screamed as he threw the entire back onto the lead Marauder in one motion and threw his lit lighter at the soldier with the other. As the power-armored warrior erupted in flames, Dalton turned around and sped off with all the force his body could muster. He looked back to see the flaming one's partner trying to douse his friend with dirt as the burning one tried to roll onto the ground. He laughed at the sight, turning his head back just in time to see the rapidly oncoming Marauder standing his ground as Dalton approached, shotgun aimed straight at his gut.

Dalton felt both his feet leave the ground as his eyes turned up to the night sky. It was almost serene, the feeling of floating as one's body flew through the air with their entrails freed from their ribs. When his body returned to earth, it was only then that the pain caught up with him. He spat out some blood as he hacked and fumbled for his long-separated plasma pistol. He heard the thunderous strides approaching him as his soon-to-be executioner loomed over him, his gun at the ready.

Dalton couldn't help himself. After so long he got what was coming to him. All his years of being the worst animal he could possibly be, and at long last it looked like he was finally put down. He thought back at the life he lived and all the people he knew and mostly hurt. There was no use in regrets at the point, it wasn't like anyone would miss him. He started laughing at that notion. He figured it was true, things did only hurt when you laughed.

The sounds of shooting and screaming drew the attention of the Marauder standing above him. As he looked up, he immediately raised his shotgun and seemed to try and radio something from his helmet. As he got off a shot, the figure darted beside him and dug the tip of his flaming blade under the neck of the steel soldier, causing the power armor to go limp and collapse onto the ground in a heap. "REVELACION! THIS WAY!" Nemesio cried as he continued his dash.

"YAH-YAH, AHM KOMMEN!" the black lizard screamed as he flicked off the blood caking his claws. He began to stride past Dalton's body until the scent finally reached his nostril. He stopped and looked down at the dying old man as Dalton spat up some blood while his small giggles turned into uproarious laughter. "…Too… Too… fucken…LATE…Eh-heh…Heheheheh…A-HEHEHEHEHEH!" Dalton bawled in spiteful rapture as Sawney let out an outraged hiss before lifting up his foot and bringing it down on the old warrior's story.

The machine guns spat incessantly as grenades were thrown and rifles fired. Larain ran with his fire teams, watching as they unloaded their weapons onto the flanks before ordering them to fall back to reload. The marshals stood disciplined, aiming for visible leaders as Carla kept watch for any surprise developments. That left the brunt of the offensive to be borne against the 66th Assault Battalion. The ghouls and super mutants fought valiantly, refusing to leave their foxholes as they emptied round after round against the onslaught of legionaries. Rathmore had locked up a machete against the stock of his rifle, wrestling down the decanus in close-quarters-combat before knocking the man to the ground and plugging a knife into his chest.

These soldiers of the Legion seemed to be especially angry at having discovered that they were fighting ghouls. Apparently, Rathmore thought to himself as he plugged some shots into a recently overrun dugout firing line, these idiots had gotten the impression that the AEG was half made up of women. The realization that most of them had been evacuated and that everyone left was made up of rot seemed to do everything but shatter their morale.

A super mutant, his back covered by three legionaries skewering him with their machetes, fell to the ground as an ammunition box cooked off and killed a machine-gun crew. Rathmore looked around him and saw more and more of his men falling to rifle fire and machetes, cut down as they refused to go to their long-delayed mortal coil alone. Then he saw it. A ghoul trooper, a corporal that he'd personally commended for several actions many tours ago, was clamping his jaws around the neck of a shocked legionary. Rathmore's first instinct was to pull out his service weapon and put the trooper out of his misery, but then he looked around. His men were either discarding their weapons or using them as clubs against the oncoming legionaries. Disciplined fire support gave way to a feeding frenzy, his once proud and loyal troopers disregarding lost limbs as they hurled themselves on top of an increasingly frantic Legion assault. It was the precise thing he feared, a Mass Feral Event. This had turned into a meatgrinder, the very thing he swore to his men that he'd never subject them to. Only the super mutants retained what little senses they could, swatting at and batting away any legionary that tried to break through what little lines remained.

The howling drone pierced the night sky as Rathmore looked up to see several rocket-powered trailers careening across the night sky. Each and all came to a crashing stop near the battlefield, most around the flanks with a few crashing into the combatants themselves. The doors burst open and several Steel Marauders poured out, opening fire unto the ghouls and super mutants alike.

"RATHMORE, YOU READ ME?" a voice came onto the radio he connected to his uniform's breast pocket. "THE SITUATION IS UNTENABLE, WE MUST RETREAT!" Carla screamed as her men joined the Liberty Clanners in their retreat. "PULL AWAY WHAT FORCES YOU CAN!"

"…See ya round, kid," Rathmore spoke into the radio before dropping it to the ground and smashing it to pieces. With his unit about to be entirely destroyed, Rathmore felt that he was at the lowest he'd ever been. If there was ever any time for him to go feral, it was now. Just turn into an idiot and let the Legion put him out of his misery. He slung his rifle off his shoulder, checking what ammo he had left. No, he could do better than some mad beast. He could show these skirt-wearing day-playing re-enactors what real soldiery was about. It would be his last gift to these actual sad excuses to humanity. Still, he had to keep his head about him for the lesson to stick. And he knew just how to do it.

"We're foot- slog- slog- slog- slogging over Africa

Foot- foot- foot- foot- slogging over Africa

Boots- boots- boots- boots- moving up and down again-

There's no discharge in the war…"

The two hounds bayed as they burst through any crowd or man desperate enough to stop them. The two "legionaries" riding behind the chariot kept their eyes peeled above the fire and the melee as they headed to the agreed-upon fork in the paths.

"…There!" May Lin screamed as they saw the woman approaching them. "Don't slow down!" Rosa cried out as she prepared to make the intercept. May Lin reached her hand out as Rosa clasped onto hers, pulling the woman up onto the chariot as Cheslie snapped the reins to turn.

"Are you alright?" May Lin asked. Rosa responded by hugging the other woman. The friendly reunion was cut short by another who leapt onto the chariot. "DRIVE!" Cade snarled as he readied his carbine to cover the rear.

"What about Dalton?" Rosa asked.

"He ain't coming," Cade hissed.

"Guys, you know where he is!" Rosa turned to look pleadingly at the girls. May Lin bit her lip as Cheslie barreled her way towards the exit point. "C'mon, we can't just leave him behind!" Rosa pleaded as she felt tears welling up.

"SAVE IT!" Cade snapped. "HE KNEW THE RISKS!"

"I CAN'T LEAVE HIM BEHIND, IT'S MY FAULT HE WOUND UP HERE!" Rosa shrieked.

"YOU DON'T OWE HIM A DAMN THING! HE CAME WITH YOU BECAUSE HE WANTED TO!" Cade snarled.

Rosa wanted to argue, but the sight of the Midwestern attack craft above them firing upon the camp dampened her resolve. As her logic began to beat her emotions, she realized that if Dalton wanted to survive, he would have stayed with the girls rather than go and light even more fires than were necessary. She came into this camp expecting it to be a suicide mission, and yet Dalton understood that risk even more than she did.

"…Damn it," Rosa sobbed. May Lin tried to comfort the girl by reaching into a sack she had brought along and fished out Rosa's leather jacket, along with the rest of her clothing. Cheslie, meanwhile, reached the kennel yard.

"You, Dunk," she said as she passed him what looked like a detonator. "When you see the box marked with an "R," wait three seconds and then press the button. That's what Dalton told me to tell you," She exclaimed as they bore towards a hide-bound wall. "BRACE YOURSELVES!" Cheslie told everyone.

As the chariot burst through the walls, Cade looked back and saw the box marked by an R, just as Cheslie said. "…3…2…," Cade muttered to himself before pressing down on the detonator. Every plasma grenade Dalton had carried on his person suddenly erupted, sealing the breech behind them with green fire and buying them enough time to put all the distance in the world between them and the Legion.

"…Thank you, Dalton," Rosa sniffed as she buried her face into May Lin's shoulder. "…Indeed," May Lin agreed as she held the girl.

Vulpes continued to parry and dodge the enraged Scorpio as he continued to press his assault onto the "traitor." Vulpes, while capable in the arts of combat, was hardly a duelist. Despite his abilities far outclassing that of what passed for exceptional in most of humanity, there was something about Scorpio's fighting style that made it hard for even Vulpes to keep up with. There was a killer instinct about him, an innate sense for violence and combat that Vulpes, for all his detachment to such frivolities, could not grasp on such a level that he desperately needed to compete. Scorpio, for all his flaws, was a perfect warrior.

Vulpes brushed aside yet another blow from the halberd as Scorpio charged him. He would stick this pretender's head on a spike and showcase to all the world what happened when Scorpio Oklahomus was humiliated within his own camp. He would skewer this one, and skewer every priest that walked in with him, and he would celebrate with a grand feast where the main dish would be the skewered lizard above a bonfire. Then he would finish off the AEG, and succeed where that idiot Lanius failed and skewer that Governor in addition to his mutant son. Then he'd skewer that Governor's daughter and the bitch he gave Barabbas, over and over again, along with any other slut in the camp worth skewering as well, until he squeezed every last drop of pleasure he would get out of all of them and have them torched. By then Barabbas's dear sweet sister would be of age, then he could finally get his ultimate revenge over that rancid bloodline.

He felt a thud at the end of his halberd. Looking up, he saw the point up to the blade and beak buried into the chest of Vulpes. The man dropped his gladius and knife in shock as a smile crept onto Scorpio's face. "…And so the legend of the "great" Vulpes Inculta comes to a second end. At least this way, you can die with some semblance of honor," Scorpio taunted. "…Well? How about it? Any last words of wisdom before I send you to Tartarus. I'm sure you're long overdue," he chuckled. He pulled Vulpes closer to him so he could better see the light leave his eyes. "…Well, Fox? SPEAK!"

Vulpes looked to Scorpio, looked around him to the docile forms of the machines awaiting their next orders, and then to the crown that Scorpio believed entitled him to become a king. A crown that was given to him by his masters. A crown that Vulpes had helped build. A crown that Vulpes specifically designed with his parameters in mind.

"…RMX Anti-Cognative Displacer Coronet, activate Emergency Protocol 23 Cube," Vulpes said.

The crown Scorpio wore then proceeded to immediately discharge itself of all its energy. Scorpio felt the voltage powering around the crown before surging directly into his head. As he screamed, he immediately tried to remove the crown, only for Vulpes to grab his hands and hold the crown unto his head for the duration of each agonizing second. Upon the complete discharge of the device, Vulpes slowly released his hands as he watched the stunned Scorpio collapse onto the ground, eyes staring up vacantly as the hair and skin around the crown smoked and singed.

Vulpes pulled the weapon from his chest, looking down at his adversary. It was really in his best interests to convince the others that he tried to keep Scorpio alive, that this was all a misunderstanding punctuated by the sudden appearance of an assassin who tried to take Scorpio's life, were it not for the timely intervention of Vulpes himself. And there truly wasn't anything more he could have done to prevent such actions, Vulpes thought as he drove the halberd right through Scorpio's heart, regardless of how satisfying seeing this degenerate brought to heel would have personally given him. As Vulpes dragged his broken but healing body towards the now empty throne, he sat upon it as his mind raced with how he would deal with everything that had now fallen into his lap.

Legatus Tyrus entered the tent, head bowed, as he was flanked by two Steel Marauders. "My Consul, the priests have been destroyed, though we have not been able to locate their leader or the lizard. The gunman and the Mojave princess have both been absconded by two others, on your chariot apparently, and we are dispatching cavalry to cease them. It has not been a banner day, my lord, but at least we can say we are victori-" he finally glanced up to see his commander's body pierced to the ground and Vulpes Inculta, confused and battered, sitting on the throne, surrounded by the machines Scorpio had purchased to protect him.

"YOU TRAITOR!" Tyrus screamed as he drew his machete. "Marauders, I demand you execute this vile dog on Scorpio's behalf!"

The Steel Marauders stared at the Legate, and then to the dead body of Scorpio, and then to the still living body of Vulpes Inculta, who for all intents and purposes had bested a man in combat to achieve leadership over an organization whose primary merit was survival of the fittest. By Scorpio's own logic, had any crime really been committed?

"…What shall we do with this one, Caesar Inculta?" a Steel Marauder asked as Tyrus turned to him in disbelief. Vulpes blinked. Caesar Inculta. Something about that… just filled him with dread.

"TRY-TRY-TRY-TRY- TO THINK OF SOMETHING DIFFERENT

OH-MY-GOD- KEEP- ME FROM GOING LUNATIC!" Rathmore howled as he swung his railroad spike at another legionary. As the battle had wound to a close, the Legion and their Midwestern allies had mostly pacified the mutant unit that had so thoroughly mangled so many of their units. All save one lone soldier who had been reciting verses from a certain Kipling poem ad nauseam for what seemed like an eternity. All around his feet, a small pile of legionaries and a few unlucky Marauders lay at his feet as he looked upon his adversaries. Everywhere his eyes fell, legionaries and Marauders alike would flinch or take a step back.

"BOOTS- BOOTS- BOOTS- BOOTS- MOVING UP AND DOWN AGAIN!

AND THERE'S NO DISCHARGE IN THE WA-AK-ACK-A-HACK!" he began to cough. The blood spilled out from his mouth as his cancer continued to break its suspension. The two centurion commanders, Basilian and Franciscan, took the opportunity to rush him, gladius's at the ready. Rathmore caught them and brought up his bayonet and spike, fending them off as he was knocked down, his poetry giving way to his typical verbiage of insults, curses, and accusations of maternal promiscuity.

Elsewhere, Carla turned as the Marshals and Clanners retreated to see Larain bringing up the rear, shaking his head. "…He's gone," the Sovereign shook his head. "They all are."

"…There's nothing more we could have done," Carla rested a hand on his shoulder.

"…I hope they're all somewhere better than this sorry place," Larain admitted.

The man stormed through the swinging doors as he tried to dry himself from the rain. Standing before him were several figures crowded around the bar. A man in a bowler hat scrubbed his glass while a man in a tattered coat sat transfixed looking at his drink, and another yet kept staring at the mirror behind the bar. A beautiful red-headed woman sat at a booth, focused on a radio that was talking about a hijacked chariot making an escape from camp, before switching to another news report about two psychopaths hijacking an attack helicopter. The man staring at the mirror turned to see who had arrived, his face scrunching as he attempted to recognize the newcomer. "…You look familiar," the young man said.

"…Falco?" Rathmore asked, and suddenly he was stunned by the lack of his usual customary rasp. He brought his hand to his face and could feel something he had almost forgotten about; his nose. He rushed up to the mirror and stared into it, looking back at the face of the man he used to be. "…What… that's… I'm…"

"Welcome to the last stop," the Drifter held out his drink. "I see you've already met Falco. The man behind the counter is Tom Kekos, and the lady in the corner is named America Serrano, but prefers Amy," he said as he spared her a glance. "I'm no one of particular importance. Feel free to pull up a chair and get comfortable, we've nothing to do here but wait."

"…What… what about my men?" Rathmore asked.

"… There are probably thousands of places like this, I think, maybe even literally countless," the Drifter smiled. "A pit stop between here and whatever lays before us. Terminals of judgment, I think. A place to enjoy one another's company before whatever eternity has in store for us arrives. You can leave whenever you want, but there's no need to hurry," the Drifter explained.

"…Right, then," Rathmore nodded as he went to take a seat by Amy, who did not object to sharing some company with the newcomer.

It wasn't that long afterward that the muffled sounds of laughter gradually started to become louder. The new hillbilly-like individual kicked the doors open, still laughing uproariously as he walked into the shelter, taking a seat at the bar as he continued his hysterics.

"…What's so funny?" Mr. Kekos asked.

The newcomer wiped a tear from his eye. "…Oh, you wouldn't get it."

"Dalton?"

As he recognized the voice, Dalton snapped to the face of the man sitting next to him. "Sir!"

"Dalton, what happened? Where's my son?" the Drifter asked, urgently.

"…He's Ok," Dalton replied. "He's fine. Hell of a kid you got, my friend."

The Drifter let out a long exhale, the relief lifting the weight from his shoulders as the third man entered the café.

"VULPES, YOU TRECHEROUS SWINE!" Scorpio screamed as he stormed into the rest station. "ALL TRUE SONS OF THE LEGION, JOIN YOUR ARMS TO MINE AND AVENGE THIS INSULT IN THE NAME OF-"

A wooden stool was promptly thrown at his head, striking him. Falco immediately swarmed over his nephew, beating him with kicks and insults. The Drifter and Dalton looked to one another. "Strange," the Drifter began. "He was so relaxed when he first showed up here. What's his story?"

"That," Dalton explained as he pointed to the enraged centurion. "is one of the finest legionaries you could have ever asked to serve with. And that," he pointed to the man currently on the ground, begging for understanding, "is the nephew that killed him."

"Huh," the Drifter nodded. "…Want to help stomp him out?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Dalton smiled.

"Would this party be Legion-invite only?" Rathmore asked from his table.

"Leave politics to the world of the living, that's what I say," Mr. Kekos interjected.

The four men joined together, ignoring all prior affiliations and history, to enact the truest extent of justice that they could muster for themselves, while Amy sat and cheered them on as Mr. Kekos continued scrubbing the glasses, the faintest smile barely hiding on his lips. When all proper discipline was enacted, the four men threw Scorpio out into the void.

"COWARDS!" Scorpio shrieked as he picked his head off the "ground" and turned to see that the Café of Broken Dreams had vanished into the mist and sands.

"…My sincerest condolences," a new voice spoke up. Scorpio turned to look upon a man wearing a trench coat and a fedora. "I'm afraid you are only allowed to enter the Café once. It is the last place of respite travelers such as yourself are offered."

"Where am I?" Scorpio growled.

"The same place everyone ends up, regardless of how far they run or how much they sacrifice to avoid it. I must say, though, you are someone I've been waiting to meet for quite some time," the Mysterious Stranger said.

"Have you, now?" Scorpio hissed as he picked himself off the ground.

"Not on my behalf," the Mysterious Stranger shook his head. "But there are quite a few who have been waiting for you. I'll keep you no longer," he exclaimed as he walked away into the swirling mist. Scorpio turned around to see the eyes of thousands upon him. Tribals he brutalized, slaves he extinguished, soldiers he sacrificed for his own glory. His Final Judgment.