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“I wouldn’t, if I were you. The boss is in a foul -fucking- mood.” 

O’Leary took a step back, the ghoul tilting his head to address the doorman. 

“Who's got the boss’s panties in a bunch, this time?” He asked, his necrotic voice a guttural rasp. 

“One of the NCR patrols grabbed Chaves and his prospectors. Sounds like the republic wants to make an example of them.” 

O’Leary sighed. 

“Motherfucker. I guess all this shit with the Lazzari family has got the good people of California breathing down their necks.” 

“Pretty much,” the doorman grunted “President Bailey needs to show the wasteland that he’s still the one calling the shots.” 

“What am I supposed to do with the prisoners, then?” O’Leary asked, his rot-riddled face twitching with annoyance. 

“Improvise,” the doorman shrugged “just give them the bare bones version.” 

“If I get strung up for this I’m gonna be fuckin’ pissed.” O’Leary grumbled, turning on his heel, and stomping off back through the bombed-out hallways which ran like a web throughout the Pagan’s temporary headquarters. 

The walk back to the makeshift holding cell was a brief one, past peeling plaster and cracked brick. Grey hunks of metal were sprawled out across the floor, and centuries old electric cabling hang from the ceiling, swaying in the air like trails of frayed rope. 

The Holding cell itself was fashioned from a Pre-War Freeze Room, with a humongous metal code-locked door guarding the way. 

O’Leary punched the code into the keypad. 

[b] 1-3 1-3 [/b]

The door let out a deep groan as the lock steadily undid itself;  its internal mechanisms dulled by centuries of neglect. 

Inside were the prisoners; all bound and bagged, and knelt down on the floor. They were arranged in a line, stretching across the tiled floor of the now inactive freezer. 

O’Leary set about taking the old sacks off of the prisoner’s heads, but made a point of keeping their wrists bound. 

“Under normal circumstances we’d have shot you the moment you set foot on Pagan land,” the ghoul began “but these ain’t normal circumstances.” 

O’Leary paused, taking a moment to look over the ragtag bunch of prisoners. 

“Someone’s been killing our guys, and the boss reckons Donna Lazzari is behind it,” he explained “of course, we can’t be seen to openly oppose her ladyship. We need some nondescripts to head over to Reno and see what they can find out. The pay is two thousand caps, and your freedom.” 

The Ghoul looked them over once more, carefully watching each prisoner.

“Who here plans on living to see another sunrise?”