NeoNazo356: A concern that has been brought up by a few of the readers is that this story is 10 chapters in (9 if you don't count the Monty Oum notice), but the Justice League has yet to appear in any real capacity outside of being referenced and used as a dartboard.

Spaceman: In order to make a good story, the writer needs a good establishment the same way a good building needs a strong foundation to build on. As the story becomes more solid, more characters can be added and the number of interactions can increase. Hunter will mostly operate separate from the Justice League as while they exist in the same universe, their worlds of operation are very different.

NeoNazo356: For those of you thinking that the Nanosuit-wearing Virgil is going to become part of the Team and make their missions really easy to accomplish, yeah... that's not going to happen. Virgil will not be joining the Team, for reasons other than the fact he has no love for superheroes.

Spaceman: Justice has different meanings for different people. For some it means criminals being tried under the governing laws, so victims may get some form of retribution and closure. For some it means removing the worst of criminals that escape the laws to continue there atrocities or simply revenge for the dead. For some it's a form of oppression separating them from what they believe they deserve. The Justice League's "Answer" to Justice is not the same as Vergil's own, which doesn't allow them to easily mesh together.

NeoNazo356: Also, when it comes to Covert Ops, the Team are a bunch of fucking idiots! Five minutes into every, single, mission, and they blow their cover. Santa Prisca, Superboy makes an Earthquake like a total douche, and Kid Flash slip-n-slides right into the middle of a gunfight. Circus tour across Europe, the Team is about to get the jump on Parasite and Superboy charges in screaming like a deranged lunatic on roid-rage; which given the context isn't that far from the truth.

Spaceman: The Team is suppose to be covert, but it was put together from sidekicks who wanted recognition. The entire reason the (Young Justice) Team was created was because a small group of sidekicks believed they weren't getting respect and recognition and went off on there own to Cadmus. In there subconscious minds, they don't want to be covert, they want to be accepted as famous heroes like those they idolized and supported.

NeoNazo356: So once again, for those of you expecting a story where a Nanosuit-wearing OC decides to join the Team and hold their hand through every mission where they TRY to be covert, that won't happen. Will he work with them on occasion? Maybe, but he won't become a member of their little superhero social club, nor will he follow the League's orders.

Spaceman: If a side story was written from the perspective of the Team, then our main character would be reoccurring Guest. He would work with them, but that he won't go out of his way to become part of their missions. He has his own mission and his own methods. He also knows the meaning of Covert.

NeoNazo356: So for those of you douchebag Flamers (those who can't do, bitch) who don't like the direction I'm gong with in this story, well, as the Hero Amelia once said. "I can't hear you over all of the fucks I don't give~"

*BLOODY ERRANDS*

Bludhaven
August 16, 8:35 EST

"Hey homie, how comes you ain't at church?" Tina asked plopping down on the couch beside Virgil, who at the moment was channel surfing in Moxxi's living room. Sundays were always the slowest at Moxxi's Red Light, or so he heard. In fact things were at their slowest almost everywhere in Lower Bludhaven. They say there's no rest for the wicked, but it doesn't stop them from doing so on the sabbath. Apparently.

"Let's just say that before I started crashing at your place, I kinda lost faith in religion," the brunette answered with a sigh, quashing all the gore-filled triple-X-rated flashbacks from his memory before he could start reliving them. After asking "why?" and receiving no answer, it gets a little hard to continue believing that there's a higher power protecting you, when your ass was left to hang in the wind and become the chew toy for modern-day Nazis and bulletproof zombies.

"I do believe I know where you are coming from," Tina answered in her British upper-crust tone.

"Really?" the brunette asked with a raised eyebrow.

*Snooore*

"Yeah, I figured that much," Virgil sighed running his fingers through his hair. After living under the same roof as her for a few days, he learned that "Tiny" Tina had the strange habit of falling asleep at odd moments, bordering on narcolepsy. "Yeeesh, three hundred channels and there's still nothing on," Virgil sighed after giving up on the TV. After the nightmare he'd lived through, watching TV simply didn't have the same novelty it used to, while on the inverse even the most mundane meals were five-star to his palette. Everyone changes slightly after living through their own crucible, and Virgil was surprised he could function anywhere even close to "normal", which like "beauty", was subjective and therefore context-sensitive. "Now let's see here…"

Mulling over the notepad at his side, he skimmed over the few items he'd put down after work on Thursday. By some miracle, he was able to find a roof over his head and put food in his stomach on the first night in Bludhaven; besides that, all he had were the clothes on his back, and a stolen multimillion-dollar suit. He may not've been a criminal, not at least anyway if he could help it, but even he knew he couldn't get that kind of hardware fenced without having the FBI, CIA, and every other acronym known to man up his ass. With the meager funds he'd been able to collect by Friday, he was finally able to "buy some damn clothes" like he'd repeatedly been told. Aside from socks and underwear, everything else was resale, and after digging through the bargain bins he'd found enough cheap deals to keep himself clothed five times over. While not enough to have an outfit for every day of the week, it was a start. There were a couple cool-looking items in his closet now, but for the mos tpart they weren't all that fashionable. Not that he really cared for trends or appealing to the visual palette of others, anyway.

Clothes V
Dental V
Knife V
Gun
New Place
Emergency Fund
Get Laid

He had all the essentials, from clothes on his back, something to clean the crud out of his teeth, and a sharpened blade to keep the roughians away, he was still lacking in a couple areas, which lacked check-marks.

While not of legal age to own a firearm in the state of New Jersey, it didn't change the fact that everyone else his age seemed to have one; or maybe it was just the people he beat up when they thought he'd make for an easy target. While he could've just as easily taken a firearm from them after rifling through their wallets and dumping their bodies in the nearest dumpster, none of them ever felt quite right in his hand; that didn't mean he wouldn't help himself to their bullets though, the shoebox filled with unused cartridges testament to that. Most people his age wouldn't think anything of not having a firearm, but then again most people didn't live through a post-apocalyptic nightmare so fuck those guys. The entire time he was there, the only thing that could bring him some semblance of peace as he slept was the weight of a firearm in his hand, and even though he was infinitely safer here than back then, that feeling of unease he got at the feeling of being unarmed wouldn't go away. While he did own a knife, it just wasn't the same as having a firearm nearby. The first night he'd been so tired inside and out, he'd fallen asleep as soon as his head hit that pillow, but after getting the best sleep he'd had in a month, every time after there was always something off. While he did work for his friendly neighborhood arms dealer, and by extension was sub-contracted to the Russian Mafia, Marcus himself was a penny pincher that left no room for employee discounts, thus he had to scrounge the money for something full-price. Once he finally settled on something, he could sell the excess bullets for a little extra scratch.

Next on the agenda was pulling enough money together for a down payment on a new place. He appreciated Moxxi taking him in, he truly did, but he didn't feel right about freeloading off of her like he had been. Every night he stayed he was taking away from a paying tenant, and every meal was money that could be spent somewhere else. While the thought of simply staying there crossed his mind, for a number of reasons he had to pursue living arrangement elsewhere. First and foremost were the people. He didn't dislike them, far from it, they were a breath of fresh air, but he had no idea if he was still being pursued or not by the people who owned the Nanosuit. If any of them got caught in the crossfire because of him, he could never forgive himself. Take the people out of the equation, and the next reason was that quite frankly, for a person in his situation, Moxxi's Red Light was simply a poor tactical position. If he suddenly had to run, there were two floors between him and the streets at any given time, and even if he could get out onto the beat, he had little to no control over the immediate terrain. The ideal place would be somewhere off the beaten path, making it easy to see potential ambushers coming his way, with plenty of escape routes available to him if he did suddenly have to bolt. The sooner he found a place meeting at least some of those requirements, the better, and while he could always work around a potential lack of climate control, if he didn't have his own indoor plumbing, that was simply another way he could be caught with his pants down. Pun not intended, though the half-eaten corpses in the Red Zone he'd often found sitting on the crapper told another story. He ran this by Moxxi and Marcus both, keeping the parts about potentially being under a government-paid radar to himself, and since the both of them said a man by the name of Oleg might be able to help him, he figured he should see what he could afford after getting a little money together.

After that, gathering enough money to constitute a nest egg for a rainy day. He didn't have a line of credit yet, but popular media always pointed out that the government could use such things to track your movements, even anticipate what moves you would make by analyzing your spending habits. In cases like that, used and unmarked bills were the only way to stay hidden, so it was actually quite fortuitous he landed in Bludhaven of all places, because most of the people in the Lower sector dealt in cash or hard goods only. Credit could be falsified, and checks could bounce. For the same reason, he abstained from acquiring a cellular phone, because like with credit cards, they could track that shit too. The Nanosuit had to constitute a significant investment on H&R's part between development and resources, so he had no idea when they'd come back for it, and he doubted he could simply hand it back to them and expect to get off Scott free, since in all likelihood he'd "seen too much".

Last item on the list was of the least importance, and he could afford to put it off since he was no longer in a position where he could get killed at any given moment. Soliciting sex from a prostitute was a no-go for a number of reasons. One was the STDs, and he had enough issues without having to add genital warts to the count. Second was due to a moral stance, which he thankfully still had, from the lessons drilled into his head by those two lesbians about not devaluing women. Third was that if he got arrested and put in a cell, any shady agency who wanted to get rid of him covertly could arrange for him to "slip in the shower" or make it look like suicide by stringing him up by his shoelaces. With how radically different her daughters looked, as well as what Tina flippantly said since he'd met her, it was easy to assume that Moxxi slept around, but he didn't know her nearly long enough that he could blatantly ask for sex, and the possibility existed that her loins and bodily fluids were a toxic playground. There was no casual way to bring that up in normal conversation without causing offense or making things just plain weird. Balalaika was also a no-go for obvious reasons, 'nuf said. The only other girls he knew that were close to his age group were Shaula, Athena, and Rina, but he only knew them for half a week at most. Maybe if he got to know them better and they warmed up to the idea of physical intimacy, maybe, but until that happened he'd have to keep his cool, maybe take a cold shower every once in a while.

"Certainly no way in hell I can go back to public schooling," the brunette sighed to himself tossing the list onto the table. To enroll in any public school, you would first need ID, and the moment he flashes his -hypothetical- New York state Learner's Permit around -since he'd lost it a while back-, he might as well paint a freakin' bulls-eye on his forehead while screaming- "Come get me you Nazi bastards!" –at the top of his lungs like a complete jackass. On top of the fact that most public schools were piss poor tactical positions with little to no cover to begin with, there was no way he could keep himself armed without raising a lot of eyebrows. For all intents and purposes, Virgil Valentine died back at Manhattan after Mercer's second terrorist attack, and the person here now was nothing more than a lingering ghost. "Not even seventeen yet and I'm already living on the lamb. Christ, that's sad."

"What's sad?" Athena asked walking into the living room.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Virgil said waving it off as unimportant. "Where's your sister?"

"Out already. Now that she's graduated, Shaula's working full-time," Athena answered.

"Ah, that's right, I almost forgot school ended a little while back," Virgil replied. Over the past couple of days, Virgil had learned bit by bit about the people whose roof he was living under. Shaula was Moxxi's third child after Scooter and Ellie, both of whom had already left the nest, but since none of them had the same father, well… let's just say Moxxi's reputation made it hard for Shaula to fit in at her school. She hadn't made any lifelong connections while attending, but it didn't seem to bother the girl in the slightest. The time that would've been spent hanging with friends, Shaula instead used to traverse the rooftops in Bludhaven's lower sector, working as a courier for messages and packages that were of an eyes-only nature. Apparently there was a whole guild of people in the city who delivered packages by-hand, but she never brought any of them around. "What about you? What've you been up to?"

"Same old, same old I guess," Athena answered. The pretty blond had graduated high school well before Shaula had due to academic advancement, so she was in a way able to escape the hellish landscape that was high school relatively quickly. However, that didn't change the fact that Moxxi's propensity for numerous sexual escapades had isolated Athena from her peers, so she too lacked the lifelong connections most had at that age. Not yet old enough to attend college, but smart enough to get a free ride anywhere she wanted when she felt like it, Athena would spend her days fixing appliances or doing custom work for some of the people who brought their gear to her through the Red Light just downstairs. He'd seen her room once when Moxxi had called everyone to dinner and the blond had failed to show, and suffice it to say the Nanosuit laying on a table in the middle of the room was actually not the most mind-boggling thing around. When he stepped through the door he thought he'd stepped into the headquarters of a spy agency or something, because one of the walls was lined with computer monitors hooked up to all kinds of overly-complicated hardware you probably couldn't buy in stores, showing schematics and formulas for subjects he couldn't even pronounce, and the tables were lined with gadgets and gizmos he'd sooner associate with 007 than real life. Seriously, he was pretty sure he saw a half-assembled spy-drone sitting next to a nearly-complete raygun or something. However smart she was, was leagues above Virgil, maybe in the same league as the people who designed the Nanosuit itself. To cover all his bases he asked if she provisionally supported the Nanosuit's creation, to which she answered in negative.

"Anything good on?" Rina asked taking a seat next to Virgil. She was a freshman at the same school that Shaula and Athena had gone to, but despite her mother's reputation, she didn't let people's preconceptions get to her. In fact by the sounds of it, she'd actually made friends despite that major social handicap, though it could've had just as much to do with how the Red Light barely checked for ID as it did the girl's social skills. She was also a bit of a free spirit, and most insults sent her way slid off like water from a duck's back, but apparently the last guy who insulted the Moxxi family nearly got his face clawed off. She got suspended for a while after that, but since the guy hadn't wound up dead she was allowed to go back. Apparently pre-grad deaths were pretty common in Bludhaven's public schooling system. Probably why there were private schools in the upper sector.

"Lame. Lamer. Lamerer. Lamerest. Llamapalooza," Tina droned as Virgil swapped channels, her last statement a response to The Llama Channel, whatever the fuck that was. "Tiny" Tina Nobel was not one of Moxxi's kids, and the fact she was cycled through foster care after losing her parents in her youth was what allowed him and the little psychotic blond to bond so readily. Of course, whatever happened to her parents and thereafter must've destabilized her far worse than it had for him, because apparently the last place she lived in spontaneously exploded under "mysterious circumstances", and after months on the lamb Moxxi had decided to take the young girl in. Apparently she was a veritable savant when it came to explosive ordinance, despite being barely past thirteen, supposedly one of the best demolition practitioners in the entire state. For those that had their ear to the ground, anyway. To anyone else, she was a deranged thirteen-year-old with a penchant for morbid retellings of famous nursery rhymes and making people think she had multiple personality disorder. The crayon-drawn doodle he saw telling the story of a guy named Fleshstick tied to a chair and being electrocuted to death as the highlight reel of a tea party, cemented the sentiment that she was a special kind of crazy.

Not that he could judge. Nor did he care to.

"Take over for me, I'm gonna go downstairs, see if Moxxi needs help with anything," Virgil said getting up from his spot on the couch, ruffling Tina's hair as he did so like a big brother would. The Red Light's matriarch was the only person in this building he knew next to nothing about. She owned a bar and had had numerous sexual escapades, that much was obvious if you could see the signs; be they her provocative manner of dress, her abuse of the English language via innuendo and double entendre, or openly flirting with some of her customers. And her sexual advances weren't limited to just the men either, though thankfully even she had her standards. Aside from a small hinting that she used to be a fighter of some sort, he had nothing else to go on. "Hey Moxxi, need a hand down here?"

"Thanks for the offer 'sug, but I've got things under control down here," Moxxi replied as she cleaned the counters from the previous night's drunken escapades. To Virgil's amusement, she even worked around one of the drunken patrons who was still sleeping off last night's sauce. "Though come to think of it, I could use your help in town, actually."

A moment later, a yellow [!] appeared above the bar owner's head, though she showed no sign of knowing it was there. Virgil blinked a couple times before rubbing his eyes, and was about to speak up about it before he thought better of it. "Uh… Sure… What do you need?" he asked choosing to ignore it for the time being. Strangely enough, the moment he accepted, the yellow [!] disappeared.

"I need you to head into town and remind a customer of mine that their bar tab is almost due," Moxxi said scribbling something down on a piece of paper before handing it over to him. On the note was an address for a place called- Dr. Zed's Meds -, a simple map scrawled onto the lower half. "Just follow the smell of rotting corpses once you're close enough and you'll have no time finding the place," she added before putting her finger to her chin, seemingly mulling something over before asking- "You're not squeamish are you?"

"To dead bodies? I don't think so," Virgil answered. The fetid stench of rotting corpses was one thing, but when those very same corpses got back up again and you had to put them down a second time, well… Kinda hard to be squeamish after living with that on your homestead for a month or so.

"I'll make it worth your time of course. A little money towards that six-shooter you've been aiming for."

"Wait, how'd you know about that?"

"Tina found your list while she was dusting the rooms upstairs. Had a little French maid outfit and everything. If you're into that sorta thing."

*Gack* Virgil couldn't help but retch at what the older woman was insinuating. Don't get me wrong, French maid outfits were hot, but when you put one on a thirteen year-old barely into puberty…

"Alright then, I'll see you later 'sug," Moxxi replied with a smile, before pulling a frosty root beer from behind the counter and sliding it over to him. "For your trouble, half now, half later."

"Thanks, Mox," the brunette answered, currently repressing the French maid outfit thing from his memory.

What was he thinking about again?

Probably that errand Moxxi just sent him on.

*BLOODY ERRANDS*

Like Marcus' place half a week before, it was easy to find Dr. Zed's Meds once he got the lay of the land. Asking the occasional passerby for direction after stepping into the new part of town, most passerby looked at him like he were crazy, tracing a crucifix across their chests before walking off. If that wasn't enough of a sign, the enormous ravens holding carrion in their beaks from their perches and looking at him like a piece of raw meat would definitely be just that. The place itself had a red neon signs reading Dr. Zed's Meds, and similar to the circular icon on Marcus' sign, to the left of that was a circular emblem featuring a man with thick eyebrows, an operating mask, and slicked back hair graying at the sides. The top read DR. ZED'S MEDS ETC., while he had to tilt his head to the side to read the upside-down "I CAN FIX THAT!" on the underside.

Stepping in, the scent of blood was the first thing to hit him, the next was how the place looked. It was dimly lit, reminding him of an underfunded clinic, and given all the blood spatters all over the place, he highly doubted he'd go there for medical aid even on his worst day. The back of the place looked like a morgue of all things, a bit of frost creeping out of an open drawer where a pair of feet with a yellow toe-tag was visible. Off in the rear-right corner was a medical gurney with the wheel-brakes on, a blood-caked man held down by thick leather straps, screaming some nonsense about "eating babies" at the top of his lungs.

"Son, this might sting a little," the presiding doctor said as he jammed a needle into the man's chest with a good overhead stab that sprayed blood into the air like Old Faithful. The man looked pretty much exactly like the circular emblem on his building's sign, was wearing what appealed to be teal-colored surgeon's scrubs, and over that a white apron with blood splattered across it in numerous places. The latex gloves on his hands did not look clean, the red cross band around his left bicep looked like it'd seen better days, and the label on his breast that read- My Name Is DR. ZED –confirmed this was the man he was looking for.

"Um… Should I come back at another time?" 'Déjà vu, anyone?'

"No. In fact you're right on time."

'Is this going to happen every time I walk into a place of business in this town?' Virgil wondered, thinking back to his first meeting with Marcus. "So *siiigh* what do you need me to do?"

"I need you to help apply anesthesia to the patient before surgery. You're going to be my operating assistant."

"Wasn't that what you were doing just then?" he said motioning to the moaning body on the gurney.

"Oh no, that was just me drawing a little blood."

"Right…" Virgil answered as he looked to the tray of surgical tools off to the side, and then to the patient who was still groaning. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he suddenly decked the guy across the face with a right hook, given he didn't see any anesthesia on the tray.

"Close enough," the man said with a shrug and not an ounce of shame as his patient was sent to la-la-land. "So, what can I do ya for?"

"Moxxi sent me over to let you know your bar tab's almost due," Virgil answered.

"Ah yes, it's about that time of the month again," the man hummed as he went over to one of the drawers. Pulling it open revealing another chilled corpse, there was a six-pack of beers of all things situated over the cadaver's groin.

'This guy is a licensed medical practitioner… right?' Virgil asked himself as the man cracked the bottle open and took a chug. Before surgery of all things. "Well… I'm just going to go…" he said tiptoeing towards the door.

"Hold up son, I'd like you to do something for me while you're out," Dr. Zed said before walking off to a messy office desk in the rear-left corner of the clinic. Opening one of the drawers, he pulled a tan-colored folder free before scribbling what appeared to be directions and an address on the back. "A patient of mine had some bloodwork done and I'd like you to deliver the results for me. I'd do it myself, but, I've got more pressing concerns at the moment," he said motioning to the guy on the gurney, who at the moment seemed to be returning to wakefulness.

Apparently his jaw was made of something a tad tougher than glass.

"Um…" Virgil said looking from the envelope being extended towards him, to the space above the man's head where a yellow [!] was floating without an ounce of notice, before meeting the man's eyes. "I guess I can do that?" he answered more as a question then a statement, the yellow [!] above the man's head disappearing as soon as the envelope changed hands.

"Great," the man said with a nod, and what he assumed was a smile behind his surgical mask. "Here, have a lollipop," he said pulling one of the aforementioned pieces of candy out of nowhere. Grape-flavored, and unlike everything else in the clinic, it was not spattered with blood or other bodily fluids of ambiguous origin and ownership.

"Thanks…" Virgil answered, taking the piece of candy handed to him before walking out the door. Get Head Examined Virgil then added to his To Do List as soon as he left Dr. Zed's Meds. What happened back at the Red Light he assumed was an isolated incident, like maybe he was still half-asleep, or it was the alcohol that practically permeated the air… But this happening with two people asking him for favors in a row…? "Might as well get this out of the way," Virgil said looking over the directions scrawled onto the envelope he was tasked to deliver. "Hm… Might have to take the bus for this one."

Against his better judgment, he unwrapped the piece of candy before popping it into his mouth. Grape was his favorite after all. Had absolutely nothing to do with the black family he stated with for a while. That would be racist.

You know who else was a racist?

Hitler.

Let it never be said that this story never taught you anything.

*BLOODY ERRANDS*

This is where the cars live! Git you one!
SCOOTER'S
Full-Service Garage

"Huh… Looks like a car rental place… run by rednecks…" Virgil summarized as he looked up at the sign after getting off the cross-town bus. There was a silhouette much like you'd find on a mudflap sitting next to the S in SCOOTER'S, a large squealing tire just after it, and to the sides of the final line were a pair of car-shaped decals. He was still in Bludhaven's lower quarter, albeit he was closest to Bludhaven's gleaming upper side than he'd ever been since he got here. The place itself looked a little run-down, and the cars themselves weren't exactly mint-condition, but they looked like they could run if you wanted something for dirt cheap.

"Scooter?" the brunette asked, reading the name scrawled onto the envelope he'd been given. "Scooter, you here?" he asked walking into the open garage, hoping to find the person he was sent to deliver the toxicology report, or whatever it was, to Scooter.

"Who's there?" a voice thick with a hick country accent said from beneath one of the cars. Stepping back as a wheeled creeper shot out from under a car, Virgil had to actually muster the effort not to retch as a scent unlike anything he'd ever smelled assaulted his nostrils; and since he lived in a quarantine zone, that was saying something. The guy looked like your generic redneck in his mid-twenties, a green cap on his head with a silhouette much like you'd find on a mudflap over the brim, his face covered in spots of grease and oil. He was wearing a green coverall that by the smell of it hadn't been cleaned in months, leather work gloves and boots, a belt of tools around his waist. "You'll never take me alive, you robotic sumbitch!" he suddenly shouted, flailing the ratchet in his hand like a deranged lunatic.

"Whoa, easy! Easy!" Virgil yelled as he went for the knife he'd been given by Balalaika, but stayed his hand so things wouldn't escalate any further. Apparently since said knife hadn't wound up in his back, or an eye, or his throat, it was a sign the Russian mob boss had taken a shining to him. He was still debating whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but money was money, and if she ever so happened to use her "authority" over him to have him perform certain "services" for her… 'Focus! Get your head out of the gutter!' he told himself. "Put down the ratchet and take a chill pill!"

"Eh?" the man blinked, apparently only now realizing he was swinging a potential murder weapon around his head like a deranged lunatic. "Sorry 'bout that, name's Scooter. CATCH-A-RIDE!" he suddenly hollered quite loudly. For a guy who had memorized the sound of numerous varieties of explosive ordinance by heart, that was saying something.

"Right… well, Dr. Zed sent me up here with your bloodwork," Virgil said pulling the tan-colored envelope from his jacket pocket before handing it over. Scooter snatched it from the brunette's hand, and simply being near those meat-hunks made Virgil want to wash his hands. And his arms. And just about everything else. As the potential redneck looked the documents over, eyes seamlessly dancing over what was held within, impressing Virgil with how easily he could comprehend the medical data held within-

"Positive! Whoo-ee! That means I win!"

And like that, the brunette's once-raised expectations of this man sunk like a lead balloon. When it came to blood tests, Positive was usually a bad thing. Oh well. He wouldn't rain on the guy's parade. As long as he didn't touch him. He wasn't a germaphobe per-se, but after living in a literal quarantine zone for a month, he could recognize potentially-hazardous materials a mile away. Like a sixth sense.

"Well, since things are all wrapped up here, I'll just be-"

"Hold up! I need you to do something for me!"

'That damn exclamation point again?!' Virgil sword as the aforementioned [!] appeared above the filthy redneck's head. "So… What do you need me to do?"

"I need y'all to drive this car up to Ellie's Place out in the Dust and get it fixed up," he said jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to an orange '69 Dodge Charger that looked like it'd been plucked straight out of Dukes of Hazzard, down to the Confederate Flag on the roof and the 01 on the sides. Of course it looked like shit, so… Kinda ruined it. "And, ya know, make sure she's alright and all," he said tossing a set of keys to Virgil.

The dirty redneck looked like he wanted to say more, but one rogue exclamation point per person was his limit.

"Uh… Now would probably be a good time to mention I don't have my learner's permit," Virgil said trying to worm his way out of it.

"That's no problem," he said digging into his back pocket. "Here. Take mine," he said tossing said wallet to Virgil, who caught it while trying to avoid touching it with more than two fingers.

"Ugh… Fine…" Virgil sighed, the rogue exclamation point above the man's head disappearing once he accepted the task at hand. Hopping into the automobile (calling it a "car" would be a little too… complimentary), it felt like forever since he'd been in a motor vehicle that wasn't on fire and wasn't being used as cover from modern-day Nazis or flesh-eating zombies, but after a few practiced motions he got the automobile started up. "Where exactly is Ellie's Place?" Virgil asked. Assuming this Scooter was Moxxi's oldest child, it stood to reason that the same Ellie he was being sent out to find was her second-oldest.

"Let me get you a map," Scooter said making his way back to the rental place. "Remember! Flirt with my sis. Shallow grave," he said over his shoulder before entering his shop.

"Christ, what have I gotten myself into?" Virgil moaned as his head fell forward. The twelve notes from Dixie would've been kinda funny, had they not sounded like shit out of what was probably a busted-up horn.

*BLOODY ERRANDS*

Making his way out of Bludhaven's city limits, he bore witness to how quickly the cityscape gave way to "The Dust" as he drove north away from the coastline. It was a large desert-like area outside of Bludhaven, part of the "Borderlands" he'd been told about, the place having essentially experienced its own Dust Bowl sometime in the past and never really recovered from the desertification. The only safe ways out of Bludhaven were through the air out of the singular airfield at Bludhaven's northwestern side, the sea, or the freeways to the immediately-adjacent towns along the coastline. Every other once-road cut through the Borderlands, a lawless region like something out of a Mad Max movie, and most people tended to shy away from it for good reason.

One such reason would be the Marauders and Nomads, gangs that managed to shell out a living in the desert-like region by occasionally ambushing whoever was crazy enough to try and cut through the Borderlands. While much safer to drive to Gotham to the north or Metropolis to the south and then move inland, at times the only way to meet quotas was to cut through the Borderlands and move inland that way. The only reason the Marauders and Nomads were still a problem was because this region of the Borderlands was very much like a Mad Max movie, and so to preserve life and limb it was simply cheaper to put up warning signs directing people away from the other inland routes. The other reason were the so-called "Skags" that made the place their home, a rumored breed of dog-things that were mutated by industrial runoff, with tongues like Gene Simmons and the ability to spew acid. Of course there was also the chance they were simply a fucked-up myth like the mutant jackal-ope or the carnivorous el-chupacabra, given Virgil hadn't seen a single one.

Eventually making his way to Ellie's Place, having had to listen to the country channel for half an hour because the dial was busted and the damn thing wouldn't turn off, the first thing he noticed about the place was that it was a dump. Not that it was crummy, but that it was a literal dump, piles of scrap metal casting long shadows across the dusty land as he made his way to the front gate of a walled-off area. Pulling through the gate, he noticed a large two-car garage equipped with the kind of rigs that allowed a person to step beneath them without having to lie on their back, and attached to the side was a lived-in trailer with an industrial-grade air conditioner that looked like it was patched together with duct tape.

"I shoulda killed your fat ass when I had the chance!" was the first thing Virgil heard as he parked the automobile a couple yards away from Ellie's Garage. Looking out the window, he noticed a very large open-sided trash compactor with an overhead-mounted crusher, and within its confines was one of the Marauders tied to the interior of a very Mad Max-esque car.

"Sorry, what was that? You gotta speak up!" a thick country accent belonging to a heavy-set woman standing a ways away from the device spoke up. This was followed by the sound of flesh and metal being crushed in an instant by the large compactor, and the sound of viscera spewing into the air like something out of Sea World. The only reason he assumed something like this was tolerated was because there was no real police presence out here, kinda like the Old West, where everyone had to look out for themselves. Police can't un-rob or un-rape you after-the-fact. "Heh, that was awesome," she said with a chuckle before finally noticing Virgil's presence. "Oh howdy, I didn't see ya there."

"Um… Ellie, right?"

"Reckon I ah am," the woman now-identified as Ellie replied. She was a very... large woman, several hundred pounds at least, and while he could see the underlying muscle as she moved, it was… eclipsed, much like the Sun is by the Moon, by her rather weighty girth. She lacked a double-chin, but wasn't short on neck fat, a black heart-shaped tattoo above the left can which was easily larger than her head (the her cans, not the tattoo), her eyes brown matching her short-cut hair, a few sun-kissed freckles running across her nose. Her attire consisted of very large gray overalls with reinforced suspenders over an orange sleeveless shirt, brown leather gloves on her hands, red-and-yellow sneakers, and a very large tool belt around her waist. "What can I do ya for?"

"Remember! Flirt with my sis. Shallow grave." Scooter's words echoed in his head.

'As if! I am not a chubby chaser!' Virgil thought within the safe confines of his own psyche before answering. "Uh, your brother Scooter sent me up here to check on you, as well as fix the car I drove up here in. I assume I'll have a car to drive back to town in?"

"Yeah sure, let me just get cleaned up," she replied. Given there was a bit of blood on her face and clothes, that was to be- "There. All done." –expected… All she did was wipe the back of her hand across her cheek. "Let me jus' get y'all a key so you can mosey on home," she replied as she waddle… walked, off to the trailer.

'I'll for the time being assume first-degree murder is common out here,' Virgil thought to himself as the large trash compactor opened, a bloodied hand sticking up from the mangled remains of the now-crushed car. Did he see anything while he was out there? Nope. Not a lick.

"Here ya are," Ellie said tossing Virgil a new set of keys a couple minutes later, while jabbing a thumb over her shoulder to a blue-colored version of the car he'd just drove up.

"Thanks for this," Virgil replied taking the new keys in hand, while tossing back the ones for the one Scooter needed fixed. "So… Need any help with anything?" he asked against his better judgment. 'Please say no, please say no, please say no.'

"Hmmm… Nope. Not a thang."

'OH THANK GOD!' "Ah, alright then," Virgil replied, hiding what he was truly thinking. Immediately hitting the Exit Button to that conversation, he hopped into the fresh automobile before the enormous woman could change her mind and rope him into something potentially violent.

Like blowing up a distillery. Or blowing up a racetrack. Or starting a gang war and then killing off whoever annoyed him the most at the end. Essentially anything that would involve pain and bloodshed, 'cause that's the vibe he got off of her when she crushed that one guy in the trash compactor. He wasn't even that familiar with Mad Max yet he kept getting that feeling.

*BLOODY ERRANDS*

"And that's what happened."

"Well, sounds like you've had a busy day," Moxxi replied with a wave of her hand, pouring a shot of vodka with practiced ease before sliding it down the bar to Virgil. Was it early to drink? Yes. Was it technically five o'clock somewhere else? Also yes. "So, what do you think of our little town now that you've ventured off the beaten path?"

"Won't be doing it again 'til I get a firearm of my own," the brunette replied as he down the shot. He wasn't an alcoholic. He was a social drinker. "Pretty sure I saw a Nomad eyeing me as I made my way back into town, and I'd rather not reenact a scene from Mad Max, thank you very much."

"As long as you don't antagonize them or look like you have anything of value, they should leave you alone," the woman replied with a casual shrug.

"I'll keep that in mind," Virgil replied, slipping some money into the woman's Tip Jar when she wasn't looking. Just because she wouldn't take his money for living there, didn't mean he couldn't smuggle any into her coffers anyway.

*BLOODY ERRANDS*

NeoNazo356: And thus Virgil meets more of the retconned characters from Borderlands.

Spaceman: Our Protagonist has only begun to learn how deep he's in. Hopeful he will never need the Back Alley Doctor for treatment, despite him being one of the few "sane" men in town. Dr. Zed, Scooter, and Ellie are only some of the strange characters Virgil will be meeting and nowhere near the weirdest. The dumbest in Scooter's case, but not the weirdest.

NeoNazo356: Not really sure when Borderlands' main protagonists will make an appearance in-story, but I think you'll like what I've done with them in this iteration.