Dusty changed into the new boxer outfit without much desire for modesty. It wasn't the worst thing she had ever worn, most Raider armor was nothing more then straps and rusty metal. Even the outfit she was given didn't bother her, it was similar to the one she wore long ago when she was a boxer. Except then she was much younger.

Replacing her, still bloodied, knuckle dusters with boxing gloves only strengthened her feelings of nostalgia. She recalled a time, so many years ago, when the gloves felt heavy on her untrained arms. Dusty chuckled, a genuine laugh at her old self, as she let herself have a few practice swings.

As she entered the ring she leaned up against the ropes, in an almost casual way. Her tactic was to make her opponent underestimate her. Dusty smiled and winked at the other woman, the woman who was about to throw down with her. As Jeshua introduced them she finally stood up straight, getting into a fighting stance.

The woman looks quick, but pretty lightweight. Dusty needed to keep her stamina up, but it should only take a few good punches to down the other girl.

"Hey cutie, my previous lunch date plans...fell through. How about after this we grab a bite to eat?"

Dusty, feigning distraction, kept an eye on her opponent. Dusty would let her opponent make the first attack, so she could be ready to block and counter.

Fred sniffed. This woman had nothing to tell him, it seemed but the general stuff. Still, he decided to ask something he should know. "Where does Donna Lazzari live? I'm new in Reno, so I need to know how to reach her. Directly. If you don't want to end up like them, speak up now." He said, with a smirk on his face. He got to kill two assholes and it was justice! That was damn wonderful.

He considered pitying the woman, but then he realized that such people were beyond redemption. They were just so hopped up on booze and chems, so poor, so damaged, nothing about them worked the way it should, he felt that killing her could even be a mercy. For now, he had to wait.

Dallen made his way back to the streets of New Reno, calmly making his way toward the Imperial. He smoked another cigarette as he walked past the vibrant colors and polluted air, wondering for a second where the others had run off to. He carried Alejandro's backpack of chems over his suit, yet under his trench coat, so that no one who may have known the guy would recognize his bag. Flicking his cigarette away, he entered the Imperial and went straight to the bar. Best place to start, he figured.

"Whiskey," he ordered, putting a few caps on the table. "Nice place, given the circumstances of the shit world we live in. Give my compliments to whoever manages this place. I know the Torres family owns it, but it's got to take a real stand out to manage it."

He gave out the bait, hoping it would work. If not, he'd drink his drink and try another method. Dallen took a quick look around to observe his surroundings, noting the different types that came here as opposed to the Shark Club. His honest opinion was that it was another shit hole, just like every other place he had been.

@Dragonbud

“You look cute in that getup, hun, but I prefer redheads.” Idabelle smirked.

She shot forward at an alarming pace, her feet bouncing nimbly off of the padded ring. Within seconds she’d moved into punching distance of Dusty.

“Sorry in advanced.”

Idabelle pulled back her left arm, sending a closed-fist barreling towards the young raider’s face.

---

@Andreyich

“The Shark Club!” The junkie yelped, the gun falling from her fingers as she broke out into a fit of shaking “She’s at the Shark Club, I promise!”

A few murky tears began rolling down her gnarled cheeks.

“P-please, don’t shoot!”

---

@Sol Grim

“I’m sure that Mister Rickman would appreciate the compliment. I’ll make a point of passing it on.” The bartender said with a smile, before slipping away to tend to other customers.

For some time nothing of much note happened, until a figure in a white suit and dark suit made his way into the Imperial and sat down opposite an older man in a leather jacket and stained trousers.

“Start talking, Mister Reed,” said the first man “tell me everything you know about The Salt Lake Chasm.”

Collab between Kingfisher and @Dismas

“You are, are ya?” The guard smirked, his voice the raspy tell-tale croak of a ghoul.

He paused, taking Horus in.

“I’ll cut you a break, brother. You can walk right in this time, but if I hear that you gave Mister Esteves any trouble, you and I are gonna get real chummy real fast.”

Hours' felt his ears prick up with the guard's words. It wasn't exactly the red carpet, but it was the warmest welcome he'd received in a long time.

"Shouldn't trouble him much. Just need to ask him some questions."

"And thanks...brother." He said as the guard led him inside the mansion.

The years had not been kind to the Wright mansion, which was riddled with gaping holes and crumbling walls. Given the amount of ghouls that were scurrying about the place, it really did look like some kind of Old World horror maze.

The Guard took Horus into a relatively quaint little room, which seemed to be in much better condition than the rest of the establishment.

Murilo Esteves himself was sat infront of an old-timey bar, drinking gin from a glass cup. He was well-dressed, but no nice suit could detract from his necrotic flesh and rotten aroma.

"Gentleman here to see you, Mister Esteves." The guard declared.

"Si' down brutha'," Esteves gave Horus a little nod, gesturing to one of the empty bar stools on either side of him "what can the Big E do for ya?"

Horus took the open seat next to Esteves. Within moments a ghoul bartender slammed a glass of liquor down in front of him then strode off. Horus took a quick swig from the glass then prepared to question Esteves.

"I'm looking for someone. Someone who's gone into hiding."

He took another sip from the glass. Horus did his best not to stare at Esteves as he couldn't help but admire the ghoul's suit. A quick thought popped into his mind that he'd like to buy a suit like Murilo's one day.

"Darlia Lazzari."

Esteves blew a hiss of air out through his rotten teeth.

"There's a name I'm sick of hearin'," he laughed dryly "Darlia's just another xenophobic, entitled, piece of smoothskin garbage, brutha'. But, I'm willin' ta let bygones be bygones...for a price."

The ghoul necked the last of his drink, dabbing at some peeled flesh on the corner of his lip.

"One of my guys, Barnes, got nabbed on a run. Word on the street is that those freaks from Oregon have 'im in a 'lil camp of there's just outside of town. You bring me Barnes, and I'll put the word out that the beef between me and Darlia is wata' under tha' bridge."

Horus couldn't help but cringe a little with Esteves' description of Darlia. Though the ghoul could very well be dramatic with his description Horus became even less thrilled at the prospect of tracking her down knowing she would likely hurl obscenities at him upon first encounter. Talking to this group of ghouls was so refreshing for him. It was nice to have people actually speak to him as an equal even if they were drug drug barons.

Horus followed suit with Esteves and downed the remainder of his drink.

"Alright, sounds fair. Anything else I should know about 'these freaks from Oregon' before I head out?" He said as he stood from his seat at the bar.

"Just that they eat human flesh, brutha," Esteves grinned "But don't worry, only the really depraved ones will wanna munch on a ghoul."

Nothing. His plan didn't work, however, Dallen figured that as long as he stuck around the place, he might eventually catch a glimpse of Rickman. About a drink and a half in, two guys came near to him and sat at their own table. One of them could be this Breckinridge guy, or they could just be two nobodies. Without having much else to do at the current moment, Dallen decided to stay put, order another whiskey on the rocks, and listen in. He sat back in his stool as he fired up another smoke.

@Kingfisher

Fred growled a little but then forced a face of calm and a smile. "She lives in a club? Or does she just spend her days there? Does she own the place? What kind of checks are in there?" he asked, and then added "take your time." knowing it was a lot for someone as hopped up on chems and scared as her.

He every so often turned to look behind himself, hoping no more thugs appeared.

@Sol Grim

“Geeze, buy a lady a drink, first.” The man called Reeve said with a laugh, as the newcomer eyes him from across the table.

“Neither I, nor my employers, are known for our patience, Mister Reeve.” The other man scowled.

“Alright, alright,” Reeve raised his arms above his head defensively “I’ll tell you what I know.”

The older man took a sip from his glass.

“Its out east, in what used to be the Four States Commonwealth. This big crack in the ground, right? Like God hacked away at the Earth with a fucking knife. Some tribals settled there in bygone days, and it's become a place of worship to some of the more...sadistic natives.”

“A place of worship?” The other man asked.

“I dunno how much stock you wanna put in this, but I heard some stories from caravans coming out of Utah. The merchants say the place is cursed, and that you can hear the screams of of those unlucky fucks that get thrown down into the chasm echoing for days and days after they should’ve hit the bottom. All sounds like superstitious bullshit, to me.”

A slight smile crept across the other man’s face.

“That sounds exactly like what I’m after.” He said.

“Heh, never took you as one to put stock in tribal voodoo mumbo jumbo, Breckinridge.”

---

@Andreyich

“Oh fuck, I dunno!” The woman hissed, jumpy skittish, and shaking like crazy “I dunno if she leaves there, but she sure as shit owns the place. I think she’s there most days.”

The junkie paused, scratching at her exposed arm.

“Say...you don’t have any jet on you, do you?” she asked, fixing Fred with crazy eyes.

Fred sighs, done with the woman. "Fuck off, you hear? Go to a farm or something, get clean. If you don't, well you saw what happens when people try and cross me. The world's not as big as some people think." With that he would wave his gun to show her she best leave now. Putting his weapons away he would go to the corpses and see if the stealth-boys they had were still functional, and take them if they were. Regardless, he would go to the Shark club, a grin on his face.

When he finally got there, he would stand outside, and look for just how serious the checks were, pretending to casually take a smoke outside of it not interested in it when he in fact was. He was not the best at staying incognito, so he kept and eye out for people paying attention to him.

Anneliese squinted as she attempted to get the damned binoculars to focus in on the distant group of figures, but no matter how much she turned the dial the cracked lenses refused to bring things clearly into focus. With an irritated sigh she lowered the useless things and resisted the urge to toss them down the haphazard pile of rusty containers that she had scrabbled up to get a better view of Doc Hadley and the others.

“See anything?” shouted up Carrie, the older woman watching Anneliese with a concerned expression. She was a computer expert and a friend of her mothers, so naturally she seemed to always be watching Anneliese carefully to make sure she didn't get into any trouble. Anneliese thought about it for a moment, she saw plenty from on top of the vantage point without the binoculars. Distantly she could see the others stood around with a caravan, several guards loitering whilst they bartered amongst the countless goods the pack Brahmin was undoubtedly carrying. She could see countless abandoned buildings and roads littered with decaying husks of cars and the occasional blackened skeleton. The sky was a dirty shade of brown and the terrain as far as she could see looked dead and decaying. She wondered again how anything at all could live out here, let alone such a huge volume of people and creatures.

In a few swift movements Annelise bounded down the pile of containers in a few leaps, stumbling only a little as she landed on the loose gravel that seemed to surround the abandoned factory.

“Nope” she replied casually tossing the binoculars back to Selby “those things are terrible. Best I could tell everything is going fine”.

Selby frowned and took a few paces out towards the road before he turned and paced back. The middle-aged man tended to worry a lot, Annelise had noticed – his face was wrinkled beyond his years from repeated frowning and his hair was greying prematurely. He was the head of security and had seemed like one of the most qualified to come.

“They’ll be fine, take a chill pill man” jested Annelise, borrowing the phrase from the vault’s video on reducing stress in the workplace that they’d all seen countless times. She didn’t mind having to stay with Selby and Carrie whilst the others dealt with wastelanders for supplies, but the pair of them together didn’t half work themselves up into a worried state every time something was happening.

As she waited Annelise eyed up the empty factory building beside them, half of the wall missing and the dated pre-war furniture was spilling out into the pile of rubble like some forgotten goodie bag. She made her way over and began to pick through the wreckage idly as the other two began to discuss scenarios where the others were attacked by wastelanders and what their course of action would be. After several minutes just after Annelise pulled a calculator, pencil and a tatty magazine with pictures of pre-war aircraft on it from a bent desk draw she interrupted them “Surely if the Wasters attacked then they’d be able to handle themselves? Drive em off or blow em away!”

As she spoke she made a little gun with her left hand and pointed it at Selby with a smirk as she made shooting gestures.

“You know they have guns too right?” Asked Carrie with a slightly exacerbated expression aimed at her “You know there are things worse than just people out here too right?”

Annelise continued to smirk as she aimed her finger gun at Carrie next and ‘fired’ several imaginary rounds at her. “Then we’ll fry those too right?” she half asked half stated “Just relax okay guys, nothing is going to happen.” As they continued to wait Annelise thought back over everything that had happened since they’d left the vault. They’d run into mostly wildlife, but nothing they hadn’t been able to handle, a few bloatflys here, a couple of molerats there. They’d been attacked by what Doc Hadley had called a Raider, a man so covered in filth and grime that Annelise hadn’t thought he was a man to begin with. He’d bellowed like nothing she’d ever heard, sprinting towards the group despite the several slugs that had been fired into his torso and a laser beam to the knee he’d seemed more like some invincible creature incapable of being stopped. That was until he’d made it within an arm’s reach of Doc Hadley and he’d blow the man’s head into chunks with his shotgun. That was the first time Annelise had vomited in the wasteland, after she’d seen his brain (or rather bits of his brain) smeared all over and discovered a piece that had landed in her hair. It never occurred to her that there would be more like him as she tried to forget the incident altogether.

She shivered at the memory and shook her head, these ‘chems’ sounded absolutely awful if they could turn a man into such a mindless thing. Addictive, poisonous and pretty pointless as far as she was concerned – that was unless you considered their resale value. The group was confident that the stash that freak’d stuffed down his pants would pay for their next several meals and leave them with a sufficient quantity of caps.

Several more minutes passed before the others returned, the four of them carrying a new pack between them that seemed to be filled to the brim with goodies.

“How was it?” asked Selby as they all gathered around. Between them Doc Hadley and Head Technician Stevens quickly explained what they’d been able to trade for, both goods and information. They’d managed to get plenty more food, more ammo and more importantly a potential lead on another vault.

“Vault city” explained Stevens “a vault that opened its doors years ago, apparently there is a whole settlement there now. Only problem is its part of that New California Republic we keep hearing about. Aside from that there is a place called New Reno not too far from here where we might learn more. It might be an idea to head to one of those places rather than follow the coordinates we have”.

Carrie continued to frown, after all it’d been her that had managed to pull the coordinates from what was left of the vault mainframe. Apparently after the bombs had gone off the original overseer had wiped all of the data, but Carrie had managed to isolate a file that somehow indicated that there had been deliverys of certain high tech parts that might, just might mean that there is some kind of facility that would have the parts they need. Assuming of course the place hadn’t been destroyed and of course the parts they needed were still there.

From there the conversation degenerated into more of an argument about the NCR and how liable they’d be to help without trying to influence the vault to become one of their territories – something they apparently had a habit of doing and if the group should head there or elsewhere. It seem fairly balanced until Doc Hadley pointed out that heading to a hub of civilization was the best option and started to list the reasons why.

Unbeknownst to the group of vault dwellers they were being watched from a distance.

Skabber licked his dry cracked lips as he stared at each of the dwellers in turn through the dirty pair of binoculars, three men and two women, all from one of those Vaults. Some of them were wearing other clothes over the top, but he could see the others had those stupid blue suits on. Skabber grunted what he saw to the others who eagerly joined him in their excitement and anticipation as they all began to retrieve various chems and weapons from within what passed as clothing as they quickly plotted how they would strike and what they would do to their soon to be victims.

“Ey boys, one of them vault ladies… well you should see er…” Skabber gawked as he pressed the binoculars up to his good eye again. Moments later Gritta slapped him aside and snatched up the binoculars as he too gazed at the group.

“She looks pretty old to me…” barked Gritta in his unnaturally high pitched tone.

“No you turd” shot back Skabber “tah ovver one!”

Moments later Gritta let out a long ‘Aah’ as he stared at the younger red-headed vault dweller eagerly, several more of the raiders scrabbling forwards to get a look too.

“Right boys!” Shouted Skabber as he snatched up his .308 scoped rifle “the others be fair game! But the redhead belongs to me, an once I’m done wiv er she iz a gift for iz majesty Krezzman – so no touchin an definitely no eatin! If they fight back too much kill the rest of em’. There were a few glares from some of the other men, but no-one challenged the rather unhinged looking raider as they all started to spread out and pick a spot to ambush the group that were now wandering directly towards them.

“So we are agreed?” asked doc Hadley finally. There were several nods and words of agreement from the others. After much discussion the group had decided to head closer to whatever it was that passed as civilization these days to gather as much information about the NCR and specifically Vault City, but as well to ask about any other facilities that might have a reverse osmosis machine they could cannibalize for parts. None of them seemed too eager to deal with something as large, powerful and corrupt as the NCR allegedly was.

The group hadn’t been traveling long when suddenly things got very hostile. The first sign that something was wrong was fairly obvious, Dalton the groups next most experienced fighter had been walking at the rear when a gunshot rang out and clipped his shoulder, sending him tumbling onto the cracked asphalt of the road. There were cries of panic as the group scrabbled about trying to locate the source of the shot – they didn’t have to wait long. Moments later the sounds of whooping and the shouts of the Raiders become more than obvious as they charged from behind several buildings, burnt out cars and other obstacles that they had used for cover as they had approached.

“Ambush!” yelled Selby as a moment later he too was hit, this time however the bullet hit the man directly in the skull. Annelise screamed as his body collapsed practically ontop of her and the feeling of warm blood rapidly spread across her torso. The sounds of gunfire filled the air as the Vault Dwellers returned fire from behind whatever cover they’d been able to find, the majority of them huddling behind a bus. Annelise pushed Selby’s body off of her and frantically tried to wipe the blood from her, but only succeeded in spreading it further and getting the deep crimson fluid all over her hands.

“Shoot Annelise! Shoot!” came Doc Hadley’s panicked voice over the chaotic chorus of sounds that filled the air. Until this point she had forgotten about her rifle, the panic and fear she was feeling totally gripping her. The thought that Selby was dead, Dalton probably bleeding to death only five feet away filled her with an array of feelings – shock, despair, sadness – to name a few. She felt like just curling up and waiting for everything to be over, like everything should just be a bad dream and she’d wake up back in the safety of the vault. But it was real. It was happening. The hot blood on her hands was proof of that.

Annelise realised that she was hyperventilating and tried to calm her breathing as she grabbed at her laser rifle and fumbled with it, her fingers already sweating as she lifted her head enough to glance up towards their attackers. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw at least eight or nine raiders, most of them rushing in with an array of savage weapons and crazed expressions. She took aim at the closest raider but before she could squeeze the trigger he was hit by a spray of bullets from one of the other vault dwellers and crumpled to the ground. She wiped some sweat from her eyes as she took a shaky aim at the next raider and pulled the trigger. A red beam hit the raider squarely in the chest and he hardly had time to scream before he exploded into a pile of ashes and his belongings clattered to the ground. The small act was enough to boost her confidence enough as she quickly leveled her rifle at the next few targets and in what felt like only seconds she emptied the entire microfusion cell as four more raiders hit the ground. She fumbled with the catch as she pulled the empty cell from the gun and started to pull another from her pack.

At that moment another gunshot rang out and missed her narrowly by a few inches, instead the round hitting the concrete barrier she was huddled beside. She dropped to the ground as she continued to try and reload, but her hands were still shaking and instead she dropped the cell and swore. Once she had recovered it and reloaded the rifle she sprang up again intent on finding whoever it was that was shooting at them. But as she did she was shocked to see how much ground the raiders had covered in such a short time. A pair of raiders were already ontop of the others location and another was a few moments away from her. She took aim and fired just as the raider used the concrete barrier to launch himself towards her, but the beam went wide missing him by less than an inch. Moments later the raider crashed into her and the pair of them went tumbling backwards violently.

Annelise half cried out and half grunted as the weight of the man drove her into the ground hard. The wind was driven from her and for a moment her vision started to swim as the man had brought his knee up into her stomach and was now flailing at her. She gasped for breath as the man grabbed for her arms, his face contorted into a feral snarl as he pinned her to the ground with his weight. She tried frantically to push him off, to scramble out from under him, anything that would get her free as he tried to restrain her. He managed to grab her left arm with his right, her other hand she scrabbled around trying to find something, her fingers closing around the barrel of her laser rifle and instinct kicked in as she swung it at his head with as much strength as possible. The rifle hit him with a sickening crack as the emitter and crystal array shattered and the body of it bent considerably – right now the loss didn’t even register. The Raider hardly slowed and instead simply seemed to become even more enraged as he released her other hand and struck her in the face with all the force he could muster.

“Fuckin bitch! Fuckin piece of….” he spat as he closed both of his hands around her neck and began to squeeze.

The combination of the blow to the face and now lack of oxygen left Annelise struggling to stay conscious as she tried to break free. As the pair thrashed about she frantically grabbed at the now useless rifles emitter core, pain lancing through her hand as numerous crystalline shards stabbed into her. Ignoring the pain she again grabbed and swung the mess of shards and jagged circuitry into the side of his face with all her might. This time it had the desired effect, the man jolting unnaturally as the mess pierced his head and face before he went slack and she pushed his twitching form aside.

She lay panting for a brief moment before she hazarded sitting up, gritting her teeth as she did so. Pain shot through her again, her body and face ached and felt bruised, her right hand worse of all was agony, blood seeping down her wrist as several crystalline shards protruded from her hand in numerous places. Suddenly her mind jumped back to the situation at hand and she looked over to where the others had been fighting for their lives moments ago. There were no raiders there, but likewise she couldn’t see any of the others where they’d been sheltering just before. She wriggled over to Selby and trying not to look at his vacant expression she pulled his pistol from his holster and clutched it in her left hand as she nursed the right hand in the crook of her arm. Still trembling she slowly rose to her feet, glancing around and studying the surrounding area as she did. A few moments later she took several steps towards the bus expecting a Raider to leap out at her without a moment’s notice. As she edged around the bus she saw what she feared, the bodies of Technician Stevens and Carrie lay beside those of their attackers. Assailed by an all too familiar sensation Annelise forced away the urge to vomit again as she saw that Stevens had been practically disemboweled by his attacker, Carrie’s face smashed and mangled beyond recognition. A bloody trail lead a short way to behind yet another wrecked car and wiping her mouth Annelise slowly made her way towards it, the 10mm in her hand was shaking violently as her arm refused to stay steady. The sounds of panting reached her ears and as she emerged she was relieved to see Doctor Hadley knelt over the last man from their group frantically trying to stabilise him as blood was seeping from his mouth and the rather savage looking wound to his stomach.

“Tony!” she breathed out in a sigh of relief at the sight of him, the thought that he too would be amongst the dead was almost too much to bear thinking about. But the doctor didn’t look back at her, he continued to quietly speak words of reassurance to the man as he frantically tried to cover the wound. A few moments later he stopped and sighed before heran his fingers across his now still eyes, closing them for the last time.
As he stood and turned Annelise couldn’t hold in the torrent of feelings any longer and practically burst into tears as she rushed forwards to embrace him.

“You’re alive” he said, more so to himself than to her as he hugged her in his arms.

Through tears Annelise managed to gurgle “Selby… Carrie… Stevens… they’re all gone”

He hugged her tighter and opened his mouth to reassure her once more when yet another gunshot rang out through the air.

Everything seemed so unreal, so insane. Before she knew what was happening the weight of Doctor Antony Hadley pulled her to the ground. Initially she thought he’d done it to protect her, to pull them into cover, but it only took her a moment more to realise that something was very wrong.

“Listen carefully…” he murmured, the usual strength in his voice gone “you need to take my bag, take Stevens bag and run… now.”

“I’m not leaving you” she croaked back as she realised that he too had been shot, that as soon as they’d embraced the Raider’s sharpshooter had tried to kill them both with one shot. As it were the shot had penetrated the Doctor but hadn’t made it all the way through – if they’d been stood in each other’s places then quite likely they’d both be bleeding to death in each other’s arms right now. Panic, shock and despair gripped her once more and she felt like everything she knew was gone, everything was being ripped away from her.

Tony grabbed her hand and gasped “New Reno… th…”
“Tony! Tony?” she shook him, but already his eyes were staring past her as he exhaled his last breath.

Feelings once more threatened to overwhelm her, but this time it was different, this time she was furious too, everything mixed together in a catastrophic symphony of rage. She clenched her jaw so hard it too began to ache as she stared down at the body of the only man she’d ever loved, the body of the man taken from her so suddenly by this cursed wasteland when only minutes before they’d been talking and joking. She turned her head slightly as she heard the distant sound of footsteps, clearly the remaining Raider thought she was wounded or otherwise unable to move as he sauntered up to them with his sniper rifle slung over his shoulder and a gleeful expression plastered across his face, a switchblade and length of rope clutched in his hands.

“You kill good girly!” the man shouted once he was closer “You killed Gritta wiv your hands! Krezzman is gonna like you!”

Before she could react the Raider lurched forwards brandishing the knife and she twisted on the spot to reveal the gun pointed squarely at his chest, his eyes widened and he lunged towards her closing the distance between them in less than a second. This time though she didn’t miss as she pulled the trigger as rapidly as she could, firing five shots into him before he crashed into her. As once more she tumbled backwards she continued to fire into him before they landed with a thud. She fired the last few rounds directly into him and then continued to pull the trigger as the raider gurgled and died a few moments later. She rolled him off of her and rose to her knees crawling forwards before she reached the nearest car and lay there panting, covered in blood, bruised and fighting back silent sobs.

Breckinridge. Dallen took another hit of his cigarette, looking around the room once more. Rickman, the mark, wasn't anywhere to be seen. Who knew where he was, it didn't matter. The target would eventually show up sometime. For now, his focus shifted toward Breckinridge. Supposedly the well dressed man had information on the Pagans, but after listening in to the conversation he was having, he wasn't so sure. 'What the hell would anyone want with a haunted chasm? Maybe he was part of some cult, using Pagan blood for some reason. Maybe he was another mercenary trying to find an end to his current job? Maybe he was just a curious architect? Who fucking cares?'

Dallen found himself wondering why he was wondering about all this anyway. The way he figured it, was that there was only one option here. Wait it out and follow him until they were alone, then make him tell him everything. Just like Alejandro. It was only a matter of time before the man had to take a piss. Speaking of that, Dallen felt his own plan turn on him as he realized it was about time for him to break the seal. Finishing off his drink and smoke, Dallen made his way to the restroom. The toilets were actually cleaned, which was a nice surprise. Everything else was a bit half assed, but good enough compared to the wasteland. After taking a piss, he scoped out the area of the room. More than the piss itself, he came in the restroom to see if it would be a good place to interrogate. The music coming from the casino was loud enough for it to work, and there was an old wooden chair near the door that he could prop against it so that they would be alone. The only issue would be how fast he would have to get the information, since a locked bathroom door could raise unwanted attention. It wasn't the best of places, but it would do if it came down to it.

Dallen exited once he was finished observing, then took back to his seat at the bar. Who knew, maybe the guy would leave soon and he'd be able to get him in the alleyway. Regardless, Dallen decided to continue to listen in, while simultaneously winking at one of the prettier hookers that just came in. At least he thought she was a hooker anyway. He flipped a casino chip through his fingers as he ordered more drinks, this time for himself and the lady. He made sure she saw his plentiful caps as he paid, then he waved her over to him. The hooker made her way to his side, a nice, playful smile across her lips.

"How much?" Dallen asked.

It had not been an easy day, not by a long shot. Annelise didn’t know how long she had lain beside the car, but she knew it had been for too long. Eventually she had stopped crying and shaking, had forced herself to realise that if she didn’t get up and move then she’d soon be as dead as the others. It had been difficult picking through her friends remains, each time she was forced to look at one of them again she felt like she’d break down again, but she just kept reminding herself that she had to survive, had to live, that if she died too then not only would they be dead but it would put the lives of everyone back in vault 96 at risk too. She wasn’t just surviving for herself anymore.

After again what felt like hours she had not only gathered together all of the vault dweller’s possessions but she had picked through the Raider’s things too. Altogether it was too much for her to carry, but right now she just wanted to get out of the open, out from under this endless sky that seemed to only bring misery and death. Annelise soon found herself with one pack slung over her shoulder and another she dragged behind her as she made her way into the abandoned factory that was a few minutes back down the road – making her way through the building slowly until she came to the office on the top floor. The trip was a miserable one, practically every part of her aching and throbbing, her hand especially. She wasted very little time in pushing a huge desk to block the door, still terrified that more Raiders might find her – but she needed to rest, needed to recuperate.

She pulled Antony’s medical kit from one of the bags and made her way into the restroom that was just off from the office. She had to again fight back tears as she began to pull the crystalline shards from her hand, her hands shaking and generous quantities of her blood flowing into the sink – she couldn’t ever recall feeling such agony. As she did she stopped to examine herself in the mirror, hardly recognising the face that stared back at her. There was blood smeared over her eyes, which were red and puffy – the right eye swollen and bruised as a black eye was rapidly beginning to form. A dark bruise ringed her neck from where she had been strangled and she was sure that her back and ribs too would be developing dark bruises. She finished pulling the last of the shards from her hand before she dropped the tweezers on the sink and pulled out a bottle of purified water before she cleaned the wound. Finally she pulled out one of the few stimpacks she had and injected it into her palm before she wrapped thin bandages around it. Already the stimpack was working its magic, the painful throbbing slowly subsiding. Next she turned to scrubbing the dried blood from her face before she wished that she was back in the vault once more, that she could shower with warm water, use a soft fluffy towel and then curl up in her cosy bed… preferably with Antony. Her vault suit was covered in deep patches of blood, some from Selby, some from the raiders and some of her own too. She wished she had a change of clothes, but instead had to ignore the clammy dried blood for the meantime.

She again had to fight away a wave of sadness as she made her way back into the office and tipped the contents of both backpacks onto the floor kneeling next to the piles. She would need to travel much lighter and so would need to decide what she would take and what she would leave behind. She flicked her Pip-Boy on and started to sort through the list of items as she stared dully at the bright screen, moving the items into two separate piles. As she came to the crippled remains of her AER9 rifle she frowned, it was clear that it was beyond salvageable in any sense of the word. It felt odd to still be upset by a broken rifle when already she was mourning some of her closest friends, but still she’d probably spent more time with the gun than she had with any of them and now it was gone too. The sense of loss was so overpowering she felt practically numb, she felt like just laying down and giving up. She finally turned her attention to the last small pile of items, the things that had belonged to the others that she hadn’t been able to leave behind. She wished that she had been able to burn their bodies or at the very least bury them, the thought of them simply laying and rotting out in the irradiated wastes made her feel sick again but she hadn’t dared spend any more time at the site of their confrontation in case the sounds drew in any other Raiders… or anything worse.

She picked up the necklace that had belong to Carrie, a gift from her husband before he’d died – she remembered her telling her. A little silver pendant in the shape of a bird, what kind of bird she had no idea since she’d never actually seen one in the flesh. She opened the clasp and slipped on Selby’s wedding ring and Dalton’s great great grandfather’s dog tags before she fastened it around her neck. She slipped a picture that technician Stevens had in his pocket of who she assumed was his daughter (her mother had once told her that she’d died of an illness before Annelise was born). Finally she had found a heart locket in Doctor Hadley’s breast pocket, upon opening it she was somewhat shocked to find that one side of it had a picture of her in, on the other side though was a picture of a younger Antony with a beautiful raven haired woman. She didn’t know who she was but the pair of them seemed happy and young, and judging by their embrace and where she had found the picture she guessed that she had meant a lot to him. She felt uncertain how appropriate it was for him to have kept it next to a picture of her, but since it was the only picture she had of him she slipped the locket into her own pocket.

Once she was finally done she moved over to the corner of the office furthest from the door before sitting down and laying the laser pistol comfortably within her reach. She had a bottle of water and the last of the food that they’d brought from the vault. She’d looked over the food the group had bought from the traders, but the Geiger counter on her Pip-Boy had shown her that it was all irradiated with low levels of radiation. Nothing deadly in the short term, but she wanted to avoid such food as long as she could. She sat in silence as she ate, thinking about her situation again and again, obsessing over what had happened and how it had happened. Suddenly it dawned on her that she had now killed at least six men. She wondered how many more she might have to kill before she managed to get home, if she ever did get home that was.

@Andreyich

A man in a dark blue suit slipped out of the bawdy crowd that made up the Shark Club, making his way over to Fred.

“Donna Regina’s days are numbered, friend,” he muttered, keeping his voice as little more than a whisper “you wanna make big bucks with those guns of yours? Come leng the Torres family as visit.”

---

@Sol Grim

“For a pretty boy, like you?” the woman smirked, fluttering her long painted eyelashes “I reckon I can stoop to ninety caps. I warn you though, I’m rough in the sack.”

From over the prostitute’s shoulder, Breckinridge and Reeve continued their conversation.

“These rumours are all built upon some element of reality,” Breckenridge said simply “voodoo, and other such tribal customs, are no exception.”

“Hey, it's your caps, pal.” Reeve laughed.

“Do you have the map?” Breckenridge asked.

Reeve reached into his coat pocket, placing a smoothly folded piece of paper on the table.

“The Van Graff’s thank you for your generous contribution to the family fund.” Reeve said with a smirk, whilst Breckenridge slid the map into one of his pockets.

“That’ll be all,then,” He said with a nodded, making his way out of the bar “I’ve got to go pay some old friends a visit.”

---

Horus crouched down besides a large chunk of rock, watching the compound from his spot in the shadows.

He could see the cannibal raiders going about their business behind a barbed wire fence in a patch of artificial flood lights. Crates and barrels littered the wind-blasted earth, as well as the numerous bound up hostages which the raiders were keeping for reasons Horus would rather not think about.

Can’t be that hard to find Barnes, he reasoned I don’t suppose they have many ghoul prisoners.

Horus climbed out of his hiding place, quietly sliding down the sand-covered slope which led to the compound, and slipping into cover behind a rusted support beam.

A raider in thick metal plated armour came strolling past Horus’ spot.

The blade of a knife slipped out of Horus’ sleeve, and then he was wrapping one arm around the bandit’s mouth to muffle his cries, and planting his weapon in the soft flesh of his neck. Blood splattered the ghoul’s clothes, and the raider died quietly, covered in dust and sand.

His time spent in the sewers of LA after the bombs fell had taught Horus to be quick on his feet and to stick to the shadows, which he used to his advantage as he crept past a wooden sentry post, and into the compound itself.

The hostages sat inside a small pen, guarded by two raiders with stocky hunting rifles.

The raiders were well-armed and armoured, but they weren’t watching the shadows, and weren’t aware of Horus’ presence until it was too late.

The Ghoul picked a set of keys off of the corpse of one of the raiders, and made his way into the cramped little holding pen.

Most of the hostages looked as though they were on death’s door, and all of them were bruised or bloodied in some capacity. Many were missing limbs.

Horus found a dark-haired woman who looked to be the most conscious of the group, and cut off her gag.

“I’m looking for a ghoul called Barnes,” he said softly, crouching down in front of her “can you tell me where they’re keeping him?”

The young woman spat blood before he spoke.

“Barnes isn’t a prisoner here, he’s the fucking overseer. Esteves sent him out here to make sure that his dealings with those freaks from Oregon went smoothly.”

“Esteves is working with the cannibals..?” Horus asked slowly.

“Too fucking right,” she gave a hoarse, humourless laugh “every time someone comes round his way, asking questions, he sends them up here, tells them to look for Barnes.”

“And how do you know all of this?”

“I’m Darlia Lazzari.” said the girl.

“That’s enough outta you, sweetcheeks.” a voice called out of the darkness.

Horus leapt to his feet and whirled around, just in time to see a burly ghoul with machete come striding into the pen.

“Names Barnes, friend,” he grinned, pointing the sharp end of his weapon towards Horus “and I’m afraid you shan’t be leaving here, tonight.”

Horus paused.

Suddenly he was back with the Followers, on caravan runs between Shady Sands. He was out in the wastes, panting for breath, and covered in the blood of dead raiders.

“We’ll see.” he said.

In a flash, Horus bolted forwards, barreling into Barnes, and knocking him to the floor. The ghouls scrapped in the dirt, steel clashing against steel.

Barnes forced Horus off of him with a sharp kick, but Horus managed to duck below the machete swing that followed, slicing a sharp gash through Barnes’ rotten midriff with his knife.

The two men stood in the middle of the compound, mere feet away from each other.

Only one of them was making it away alive.

“Darlia,” Patrick Teach called out “as soon as you have an opening...RUN!”

"With me then," Dallen told the hooker, handing her over the caps discretely. As Breckinridge moved, so did he. Dallen quickly got up, picking up the hooker's red wine drink while putting his free arm over her shoulders. "Play along, and I'll double the caps."

The pair began stumbling toward the exit, just before Breckinridge made it out. Giving the hooker a kiss for a moment, he turned just in time to knock into Breckinridge, pouring the red wine all over his suit. With a slight of hand, he gracefully pickpocketed Breckinridge and slid the map into his own sleeve.

"Oh shit I'm sorry man," Dallen spoke, grabbing a small towel from one of the poker tables and patting Breckinridge's stained suit with it. "Here, let me..."

It was clear the man didn't want to be cleaned, so Dallen ceased and let the man keep moving on. He expressed a lot of guilt, but after awhile he turned his attention back to the hooker, kissing her again passionately and ignoring what had just happened. With a shrug of his shoulders, he and the hooker exited the casino and slowly followed behind Breckinridge, carefully staying hidden in the dark shadows of the alleyway. With a good distance in between them and using the moon above as a light source, Dallen looked at the map.

Fred looked around, flicking his cigar away. He got closer to the man and pulled his recharger pistol, not in a threatening way but one that clearly showed it could be moved to be in a threatening spot. "See friend, there's a bit of trouble with what you said. First off you may be from the Donna looking for traitors and people trying to usurp her. Then of course, I could always give you to her. But hey, you said nothing against her, right? So you can say I am listening." He twirled his gun a few times in the classic cowboy style, grinning and turning his head just so to let the light bounce off of his metal teeth.

With a sigh he put his weapon away as a show of good faith. "I just need to know you're not a trap pal. The thing is that I was about to go to her and snake some people; don't worry I'm not a snake, it's simply that I got snaked too." he said, trying not to make things sound more complicated than they were. He motioned for the man to move a bit further away from the club and the general public with him in case the man had something confidential. "Well?" he asked.

@Sol Grim

The map caught the moon’s pale light, lighting it up just enough for Dallen to make out the finer details.

The markings were indisputable.

About five hundred and forty odd miles from New Reno sat the ruins of a place called “Salt Lake City”. The bombs had flattened most of Utah, and a direct hit to its capital had left a steaming gorge in the place of the former state’s most populous city.

The “Salt Lake Chasm” that the two men had spoken of was in the middle of a New Canaan, at the other end of an immense stretch of nuclear wilderness. Whatever Breckinridge was after, he was willing to fight through mutants, tribals, and countless other horrors to reach it.

---

@Andreyich

“It's no trap, hermano,” the man said simply, shrugging his shoulders “The Donna won’t be around much longer, and the smart money's on the Torres family. If you wanna talk freely, come to the Last Call, in downtown. You can’t miss it.”

---

Darlia Lazzari had been walking for three hours when she reached the outskirts of New Reno.

Her legs ached, her mouth was dry, and her cuts stung, but she was thankful to be alive. She knew she wouldn’t have made it out of the camp alive without the ghoul’s help, but she didn’t have time to mourn his sacrifice.

She had to chose her next movements very carefully. The Torres family would shoot her on sight, and the revelation that Esteves and his army of zombies were out to get her was more than a little disconcerting.

Mancini could help her. She’d go to Mancini.

Whores, pimps, drug dealers, junkies. He wondered how the tourists walking along the streets looking for a good time could turn a blind eye to the gutters teeming with the refuse of life's more shitty tendencies. He always felt a little pang of guilt seeing the other addicts who weren't afforded the good graces of powerful people and good brothers. Survivor's guilt, they called it, when you couldn't sleep and couldn't stand the thing looking back at you in the mirror knowing there was a trail of bodies sprinkled behind you. But that was the world- shitty.

“You fuckin' okay?” He heard a voice and looked at Ramirez, his .38 in his hand and one hand close to the knob of the door they were standing next to now.

He took a breath, his thumb reaching up to cock back the hammer of his pistol. He nodded. Ramirez knocked on the door, his hand still close to the knob, “Time's up, friendo! You only gave us a hundred caps and it's well past forty-five minutes.”

No answer. Redding knew what would happen next. This wasn't his first time doing this, he waited for Ramirez to jiggle the handle and find that it was locked. Then he watched as Ramirez stepped away from the door and Redding cocked back his leg, smashed his boot into the door. The frame gave some, but still held true. The neighbor didn't much like it and opened his door, but Ramirez didn't much like that himself. The squinty-eyed junkie saw the snub-nose close enough to his mouth to kiss it. The two shared a moment, reaching an understanding, and the junkie slowly closed his door.

Redding kicked the door again, smashing it in that much more before his third kick sent the door smacking against the wall on the inside. What greeted them wasn't all too unfamiliar to Redding. “Fuck.” Francine, Redding's whore, lay on the bed with a chin crusty with spittle.

The man who'd payed to fuck her was still nodding off in the corner, naked. Redding tightened his grip on his pistol, imagining the grip to be the tourist's neck. He walked up to the man, sitting in his wooden chair, half-conscious. The Tourist smiled, his eyelids fluttering and his eyes only barely focusing on him. “Thanks for the fun time, man.” He slurred and chuckled.

That put a sour taste in Redding's mouth and he was sick of this man. He looked back at Francine, she was one of the only whores in New Reno that wasn't a sore-covered junkie. She was the reason why Redding was one of the most successful independent pimps in the city. Now she was dead, nothing but meat and there went Redding's money. “You killed her?” Redding asked.

“I did? I only gave her what she needed...” The man licked his lips and looked at Francine on the bed and now he noticed what Redding did. She wasn't breathing. “Oh, fuck.”

“Oh, fuck is right.” Redding smacked the man upside the head with his pistol and he fell to the ground.

“Oh, shit, man. Wait,” The man was saying, a dark wound on his forehead yawning open and drooling blood. Redding swallowed, his lip curling, the way the man was laying there was disgusting, the way he was pleading was putrid. This piece of shit fucked with his money and there weren't many people alive or would be for long that did that. “I didn't- I didn't mean to, I got money, a lot. I can pay, man, shit!”

Redding lined up his sights and squeezed off two rounds in the man's lower chest. The Tourist slumped back, one of holes in him bubbling with each breath. His fingernails still scraped on the floorboards just a bit until he took a breath that sounded like a tub draining and sent a spray of blood from his mouth to his bare chest and died. Redding stood there and watched. This man fucked with his money. That was all. Just his money, only his money, and now it was done. That was the life he chose and friends came and went. No reason dwelling on it. “Jesus, Red, you sure you're okay?” Ramirez said, “Drugs fuckin' with your brain, man. Gotta get off that shit, how're you gonna sell the shit to junkies and be one yourself?”

“I seem to be making it work so far.” Redding tucked his pistol in near his waist and walked out of the room, Ramirez following after him. The two walked out of the apartments and down the street to their own. He reached out to the knob but before he could slip the key into the hole, the doorknob turned and opened, revealing the mess that was his room in the hotel-turned-apartment building.

It wasn't a mess when he left it. He brought out his pistol and pushed the door open, stepping inside as softly as he could. He couldn't hear anyone rooting around anywhere, so they had to have already gone. The drugs, he thought. He went straight to the suitcase filled with jet and prescription meds, finding it empty. A note was inside. He picked up the piece of paper between finger and thumb, unfolding it and finding only an infuriating, vague message- This is mine now, find me when you want it back. Redding snarled, crumpling up the piece of paper and throwing it over his shoulder, grasping up the bottle of whiskey near the mattress on the floor that was his bed.

He unscrewed the cap but before he put the bottle to his mouth, he stopped himself, only growing more angry. “They fucking pissed in my whiskey.”

“No...” Ramirez's mouth hung open, his eyes narrowed.

“Took my drugs, pissed in my drink, killed my fr-” His eyes flitted to Ramirez for half a second, “Killed my finest whore. She was worth a-fucking-lot, goddamnit.” He closed his eyes, his head hanging, “Fuck!”

He sent the bottle skidding across the floor, dumping pissy whiskey in the corner. Ramirez sat on his own mattress, at least standing the bottle up and laying a stray towel that was on the floor over the puddle of piss-whiskey. “The fuck're we gonna do.”

“We're going hunting.” Redding stuffed his pistol in his holster, tucked away in his waistband, and an extra magazine next to it.

“For who?” Ramirez asked, though he was loading up the weapons with no complaint.

“We'll ask around, I guess. They're bound to make it clear who did it, they don't send a message for no reason.” Redding stood, slipping on his jacket, “Never fuck with a man's money, or his drugs.”

* * *

The Cracked Glass, a small dive bar near Redding's apartment building. The bartender knew Redding, and he would hook him up with jobs for nameless clients, that way Redding didn't have to meet with anyone he didn't know and they didn't have to meet him. He slid five caps forward and Ryan, the tender, stepped up. “What'll it be?”

“Information, Ryan. Anyone been through here with far too many drugs for one night? New faces in town?” Redding asked. "I don't remember pissing off the Lazzaris or the Torres'. I'm pretty under the radar, last time I checked."

“Big bank likes taking little banks, Red. Wasn't long ago, you beat the shit out of Ramirez's gang and took their shit. But, yeah, actually. Group of 'em blew in today. Couple of 'em have been digging pretty deep into the town's shady parts. Ain't no tourists, people been saying, business trip, know what I mean?”

“Mm.” Redding nodded, “What do they look like, these guys.”

“One of 'em's a fuckin' zombie. The other's a tall fucker in a suit, talk about a high profile. Either one of 'em could be an interesting conversation.” Ryan coughed into a fist, “Anything to drink?”

“Whiskey.” Redding licked his lips, one drink before he'd go and handle business. Either find that fucker in a suit or have some words with the ghoul. “You know where these guys were last, at least?”

“Snooping around some of the Lazzari's places. Zombie left the Desperado some time ago, last I heard, Suit-n-Tie was at the Shark Club. And there,” He poured the whiskey in the glass, two fingers, no chill or ice, “On the house.”

Redding slammed the whiskey with no sense of ceremony, two big gulps, only slightly grimacing. A good shiver went down his spine and he shook his head, growling. He pushed the door open and stepped back outside, making a fist to pop his knuckles and sniffed, scanning the street. He made his way towards the Desperado, sure steps leading him there. Mancini would know about most of the people who entered the bar, or at least the bartender would. Once he got inside, there was no sign of the big-named Mancini that he could see, at least not now, but the bartender was still there. He stepped up, taking a seat on a stool and waited for the bartender to take notice of him, letting him serve some other patrons.

@Leidenschaft

David Giordano was working behind the bar when Redding entered. It was a busy night, but you didn’t let one of New Reno’s biggest Pimps go unattended for long, so he made sure to serve him as quickly as he could.

“What can I getcha, friend?” Giordano asked, his tone a mixture of friendliness and politeness.

The bartender had spent last years Christmas bonus on two of Redding’s girls and a bottle of red, but he doubted the Pimp remembered his face. New Reno was full of Giordano’s, after all.

“Mancini said he had something he wanted to talk to you about. Some business opportunity.”

---

An hour and a half earlier.

It didn’t take Darlia long to find Mancini.

He was buying a mole rat kabba from a street vendor, about two streets down from the Desperado.

“Jesus Christ, Darlia!” the gangster yelped, more than a little surprised. He took her by the hand, leading her further into the alleyway, and out of the way of any prying eyes.

“Regina’s been pulling her ‘air out lookin’ for you. Fuck, ya look like shit. Where the hell ‘ave ya been?”

“Esteeves…” She wheezed, her lips caked with dried blood “he’s working with those cannibal fucks. He kidnapped me. Mancini, he’s got others out there. Other Lazzari people.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Mancini winced, blowing air out through his teeth “if that’s true we don’t know who we can trust. Come on, I’ll take ya back to mine and get you patched up.”

They stuck to the shadows and winding back alleys, making sure to move as discretely as they could. Mancini lived in a fairly modest room at the top of a bombed out apartment block, up a fire escape, and past stretch of broken wall. He unlock the door, and they both made their way inside, quickly shutting it behind them.

“Si’down on the sofa, pet,” he said softly “I’ll take a look at you.”
Darlia took a step forwards, and that’s when Mancini knocked her out with a lamp.

Her body hit the floor with a soft thud, landing facedown on the carpet.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Mancini groaned “trust the zombies to fuck up a simple job.”

Redding remembered David. He was knocking on Redding's door on Christmas eve with a sack full of caps. It was Christmas, and David was a polite man so he cut the guy a holiday deal. Two girls, one at a half-price. Francine and Kristi. He frowned at the memory of Francine, she'd died only an hour ago and Ramirez must be having fun burying her and chopping up the fucker that killed her so they could dump him somewhere. He needed something more than a drink, some pills or Med-X.

“Said he had a business opportunity for you.” David said.

Redding looked up from the bartop, “Did he now?” He asked, “And I'll get a beer.” Once David returned with his chilled bottle, he slid a few caps forward, “Thank you, David. You remember how I cut you that holiday deal when I didn't have to? Well, I need to ask you something, these caps and a free half-hour with one of my girls is in it for you if you can dig out any information from that beautiful brain of yours might be important to me.”

He looked over both his shoulders for anyone that looked particularly suspicious. When he saw nothing, he gave David his best wolf's grin, “I'd like to know about the ghoul that was in here. Heard he arrived in town with some friends, know anything?”

Dallen pocketed the map and paid the whore.

"Easiest caps I've ever made, mister!" she told him. "Sure you still don't wanna...?"

"I'm sure," Dallen said.

"...whatever, queer!"

He continued to follow Breckinridge into the slums of the city. When the lights and the people were a good distance away, he walked out before the man. His hand stayed close to his holstered firearm, but he remained relaxed and calm.

"Breckinridge," he said. "We need to talk."

Dallen reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes. After lighting one up for himself, he offered quickly to Breckinridge. The two stood facing one another in the middle of a street, surrounded by decay and broken down buildings. A gust of wind blew by, pushing some tumbleweed past them.

"I just want information. I know you've been asking around about the Pagans, why? Who's giving the orders to take them out?"