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[@Sol Grim] 


Breckinridge was something of a hard man, but even his pain threshold had its limits. A gunshot through the knee, a broken arm, and losing a finger, had certainly pushed him past his limits. 


“Gah, Fuck! Alright, Stop! STOP!” the man shrieked, grasping madly at his hand, as bright red blood spurted out of the crooked gash where his pinky finger had been. 


“Jesus, FUCK!” he yelped, shaking and juddering in agony “The Pagan’s aren’t dead they’re just...missing. We’re keeping them at a camp, outside of New Reno.” 


It took Breckinridge a good thirty seconds before he could speak again, his face contorted in a mess of pain. 


“The m-map...it leads to Vault 93. The Tribals in New Canaan...they’ve started fucking worshiping it, or some shit. If you want safe passage through their lands, you need an offering to their Blood God. That’s what the Pagans are going to be.” 


[hr] 


“Fuck you!” 


[b] BANG! BANG! BANG! KABOOOOM! [/b] 


A volley of gunshots rattled through the air, tearing to shreds anything unlucky enough to be caught up in the hellish downpour of metal and fire. 


Even with Redding pushing him out of the way, David was unlucky enough to get clipped by a stray shot from one of the Fiend’s, blowing his brains out all over the bar counter. 


The Fiends didn’t relent, letting loose and spraying bullets in every direction. Pool tables were ripped into splinters, bystanders were riddled with holes, and the glasses that still lined the counter exploded in a mess of glass shards. 


“You’re a dead man, Redding!” Teresa giggled, swaying with giddy excitement “Your threats are fucking Brahmin piss in the wind.” 


Still tipsy with joy, Teresa skipped over to the corner of the room, where a pre-war jukebox sat. She gave it a little kick and it blared to life. 


[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wY4N5NOAsH0] “Now this is more like it!”[/url] she cackled, a big toothy grin planted on her face. 


“Time to root out the mole rats.” Warren said darkly, the hint of a smirk spreading across his wiry face. One hand slipped down to his belt, wrapping around the grenade which he kept there. 


“Boom.” 


He pulled out the pin and tossed it across the room, the grenade landing behind the bar counter, as time started tick tick ticking by. Every second was precious.