Motor-Runner had a surprising number of accomplishments, for someone who amounted to a gang-lord junkie. The man had been the leader of one of the most feared criminal factions in the Mojave. He, as I later found out, survived multiple assassination attempts from the NCR. He, through the use of his two functioning brain cells, had successfully cobbled together a gang of some of the worst scum the wastes had to offer.

In a few ways, he reminded me of a watered-down version of Caesar. Or, perhaps more accurately, a version of Caesar who'd had the legion's already terrible features cartoonishly exaggerated. From the little he said before we took care of him, Motor-Runner had all the charisma of a Creepy Undertaker. But I guess you don't need more than that when the people you're leading are as sane as rabid Geckos and so chemically dependent on you that they'll do anything for a hit.

Despite that though, I'd expected more a challenge from him.

You couldn't even call what happened a fight, more a confrontation than anything. Given it only lasted about ten seconds or less. Cass shot both of the dogs he'd had with him, Donnie and Marie, in the head with diligence. Neither of them had even had the chance to bare fangs before they were dead in a fury of sound and lead.

Motor-Runner got it worse though.

He'd just gotten his weapon around front of himself as he ran at us, a chainsaw of all things.

I shot him in the leg and he fell onto it at full rev. The blade vivisected him after about ten seconds. I was pretty sure he was dead after the first three though. Blood and viscera sprayed in a messy line from the chainsaw's edge for several feet. Only stopping because the engine finally stalled out.

Part of me wondered why Motor-Runner had used the damn thing as a weapon anyway. Sure, it was scary and damned effective if you could focus it on a single target. But it wouldn't take much to overwhelm, the chain could bind on something if it was placed against something hard enough, and it couldn't be used like a traditional weapon. Even the ripper I'd secured from Vulpes wasn't the most efficient of weapons most times, but was close enough to a knife in function to circumvent those issues. I suppose that's the trade-off for using lumber-mill equipment as weapons though.

Still, Motor-Runner might've survived longer if he'd at least been wearing armor that was worth a damn. He didn't even have his chest covered. Idiot.

I swiped his hat, left the chainsaw, and we walked out without issue. Which I found surprising. We hadn't exactly been quiet about handling Motor-Runner. Though given the fiends' already established collective lack of empathy towards one another, I should've figured as much. But they gave no resistance all the same, I could've rigged the place to blow on our way out and they might not have cared. They probably all got high or something.

But, regardless, we got out without incident. It was only slightly disconcerting to be walking amongst the fiends' main encampment without them attacking us. Guess they'd spread word around I was a runner for the Khans. Not that I actually was, but they didn't need to know that.

Though as we walked, I did notice this dirty looking mofo. He was undoubtedly a fiend, but he was actually wearing armor. A full set of metal armor and a welding mask, plus a flamer. Aside from that though, it looked like they were dragging the remains of the fiends that jumped us in the hall behind them. I couldn't shake the feeling they weren't planning to bury them but, who knows, maybe I was reading the drug addled psychos wrong.

After that it was just a short walk back to McCarran. A disconcertingly short walk, in fact. One had to wonder if the fiends weren't so good at ambushing troops not because of info leaks, but because they could hear their proverbial neighbors chatting from the next yard over.

Though the near total lack of guards around the perimeter of McCarran certainly didn't help.

But what do I know, I'm just the hired help.

We passed the main checkpoint to the camp and wandered the area outside the main concourse. Anders hadn't told us where to find Dhatri, but had told us that he headed up First Recon. Which meant he was likely outside with the troops.

What had once been the pre-war parking lot had been converted into the barracks. A series of canvas tents and corrugated metals shanties to cover the troops from the elements. Dotted, here and there, with tables, fire pits, chairs, barricades, and the occasional crude approximation of a super mutant. It was strange that despite having plenty of room on the base they had their troops waiting outside like this. Although the main entrance to the camp lead directly into it, that just made it even stranger. In the event of a proper assault any soldiers that were unprepared would be among the first casualties. Not a bright decision on the NCR's part, especially since McCarran had a direct route to the heart of the strip.

The only justification they could have was that this was the current home of the First Recon battalion. Meaning if you were planning to assault the place, you'd have to account for the literal standing army of people who could pick your head off from almost a mile out with ease.

That did little to diminish the fact that it was still a very slim justification though.

We passed amongst the tents for a minute or two. There weren't many of them, for a camp this size, so there was plenty of space to move around at the moment. We'd had to bug a few of the troopers about Dhatri before we got a straight answer. We found him towards the south east corner of the camp. He wasn't alone either.

When we approached him, he had his back turned to us and was speaking to a pair of troopers. One a bespectacled young man with a darker complexion. The other, an older woman with rough cut features, her head shaved and aviators over her eyes. All three wore familiar red berets though.

"-Third time I've needed to have this talk with you Corporal." The man I assumed to be Dhatri said to the woman "I've been getting these reports regarding you behavior regularly enough now that I can't ignore them as being false."

"They're just words." The woman answered, her voice somewhere between calm and frustrated. "They need to grow a thicker skin."

"That doesn't justify you speaking and acting that way around the cadets." The man retorted "If you keep at it, the MP's will court martial you. If you were any more aggressive, they already might have."

"Not my fault they're as cute as they are." The woman answered curtly.

"Corporal-"

"So what if I want to get into someone else's pants after a day or two in the field. Respectfully, Major, that's none of your-"

The woman stopped speaking, her gaze seemed to shift from past the man she was speaking to and to me and Cass. I saw her quirk an eyebrow and get this weird smile on her face.

The man she'd been speaking to, confused, turned around and got a look at me and Cass approaching. He gave an irritated sigh and turned partway back to the woman and kid.

"You're dismissed corporal, for now. Go."

"Sir."

Both the woman and the kid gave a salute and walked away. The man they were talking to turned back to face us and met us in stride. He was built like a brick wall. A squat one, but a brick wall none the less. His chest broad and barreled beneath the armor. His arms, by comparison, were thin and almost wiry, though they were still solid. His skin was a deep tan, like the color of fresh, sandy mud. His face was wide, and a bit flat, lines from stress and age wrinkling around his eyes and mouth. A brown, unkempt beard and moustache furnished his jaw, chin, and upper lip, looking in need of some grooming. He had a wide, flat nose, liked someone had crushed it against his face at some point. His eyes though, were much like I'd seen on Hsu: tired orbs of bloodshot brown. But unlike Hsu, Dhatri's didn't seem as much alive, strange though it may seem. They were a little glassier, almost unfocused, the way I'd seen on some others around the Mojave. But most of those people had been much older than Dhatri looked. Like he'd seen too much, too soon. Or perhaps just too much for too long.

We approached him and he gave us a nod.

"Major Dhatri?" I asked, wanting to confirm who he was

"I am." He answered shortly "Is this bad news, or something about some dead fiends?"

"'Suppose it's pretty good then." Cass said, smirking

"Did Anders make it back?" I inquired "Figured I should make sure he didn't collapse somewhere first, after how much of a hassle it was to help him."

"Oh, so that was you Anders was talking about." Dhatri said, a small smile worming its way onto his face. "Was wondering what he was thinking, showing up without finishing the mission. The lieutenant had said someone was sent to relieve him though."

"We were, though we hadn't planned on finishing the job for him."

Dhatri gave me a quizzical look "Does that mean you did?"

"Depends-" I answered, pulling out Motor-Runner's road-kill hat "Do I have to keep carrying this thing around?"

"… Hot damn!" Dhatri said, suppressing a chuckle "The colonel said you got things done, but I hadn't counted on this."

"You guys are talking about me behind my back?" I asked "If that isn't rude, I've got no clue what is."

Dhatri rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately for you, since the job had been assigned to Anders-"

"- and because Boyd asked me to intervene you can't pay me despite the fact that I not only completed the job, but also saved Anders in the process." I finished for him.

"…" Dhatri gave me a deadpan look as I cut him off.

"I figured as much when I took the job for Boyd." I answered "I'm kinda pissed you can't pay me for taking care of Motor-Runner though."

"I'll take it up with the colonel." Dhatri said, empathetic "Sorry, but I made sure to keep that job internal. I figured once the bounties went up, we'd have a harder time trying to take the head off their leader."

"Bounties?" I asked

"Yea, we have a couple of outstanding bounties for high-ranking members of the fiends." Dhatri elaborated "You interested?"

"… Do they pay?"

…

The only reason I woke when I did was because my hand had unconsciously swatted at one of the burners near me, knocking it over and causing the jet to be redirected at my then resting arm.

I awoke to the feeling singed skin and the smell of burning hair.

I unintentionally and groggily waited until I couldn't quite stand the pain of being burned before finally waking up. My eyes snapped open and I pushed back from the burner. In doing so, unbalancing the stool I was perched on and toppling painfully to the floor of the lab.

"… ow" I groaned, groggy "… I've got to stop falling asleep in here."

I'd fallen asleep in the lab at least twice the past three nights. Not a smart move given anyone who got curious could sneak up on me. But I'd been so deep into work that it wouldn't have been hard anyway.

As I slowly picked myself up, I took stock of my surroundings, ensuring no errant blankets or bowls of cafeteria food had chosen to appear this time. They appeared to have steered clear. In their place though, were crumpled balls of scrap paper, broken glass, pencil shavings, bits of plant matter, burned notes, broken beakers, scorched test tubes, dried chemical residue, a half-eaten sandwich, empty containers, and what appeared to be several syringes half filled with viscous liquid. All of them still failures, if I recalled correctly. Perhaps my feeling about being close was a tad off, but miracles of medicine don't happen overnight.

Well, technically they do, sometimes… semantics.

I picked myself up off the floor and followed it with a quick dust off. My clothes were a bit rumpled and stained themselves, but nothing a little more abraxo cleaner wouldn't take out. I took a look out the lab windows that overlooked a section of the grounds. The sun had long since risen from the horizon and required me to crane my neck at an odd angle to see beyond the window. It was likely around noon now. I could vaguely remember checking the time early in the morning after another of the batches failed. So I'd gotten, maybe, seven hours of rest.

My brain finally finished shaking out the cobwebs and I realized what today was: Sunday. I had a promise to keep… in about six hours.

I'd have been happy to call it quits then and there. The work wasn't going anywhere and as long as I cleaned up before tomorrow night, no one would know I'd been there aside from Peach.

But I was excited, this was the first legitimate chance I had to finally get drunk since I'd been stuck here. Not counting that one time I tried to- um- 'barter' with that guy in the liquor store. Not to mention my experiments were close to bearing fruit. If all went well, tonight would be little more than a pre-amble of the things to come.

But then, perhaps a little more work was in order before celebrating.

I surveyed the carnage that was my work area and came to the conclusion that it could definitely be more of a disaster area. I righted my stool, wolfed down the remains of my sandwich, and got back to scribbling formulae on paper. The stimpacks weren't going to make themselves.

…

"Alright, so you know what you need to do?" Weiss asked, staring intently at Yang.

"Yea Weiss, I know." Yang responded, brushing her hair.

"… Let's go over it one more time just to be sure."

"Ugh" Yang groaned.

Yang stood in front of the mirror that was nestled into the corner of team RWBY's dorm room. Readying herself for the coming festivities of her evening. Ruby sat on her bed, absent mindedly swaying her legs as she watched her sister. Weiss sat beneath her, reviewing her mental list and ticking off items on her fingers. Across from Ruby and Weiss, on her own bunk, Blake laid back reading another book from her seemingly endless collection.

"You're going to take Six to this 'club' you know about." Weiss said ticking a finger.

"Yea." Yang replied.

"You're going to- discretely -ask him about where he's from."

"Yup."

"You're going to ask him about who he is."

"Mhmm."

"You're going to ask if he's secretly a monster under that mask?" Ruby uneasily interjected.

Her question was answered with only a smirk from Yang and a disgruntled sigh from Weiss.

"I'm serious!" Ruby whined "I can't be the only one still freaked out by that stupid story he told, right?"

"I think Jaune is still freaked out." Blake answered, not looking away from her book "I think he's woken up screaming almost every night the past few days."

"Hey, that's less than you sis!" Yang said, smiling.

Ruby gave Yang a small glare.

"Lastly-" Weiss said, overcoming the interruption "You're going to do that without him figuring out what you're trying to do."

"Obviously" Yang answered "It's literally a list of four things Weiss, how could I not know what to do."

"How could Ruby not do a list of three?"

"It's not as easy as it looks!" Ruby whined.

"And now team JNPR knows as well!" Weiss answered "What if they don't bother being subtle and just ask him point blank?"

"… I asked them politely not too." Ruby responded feebly.

"Ok, cool it Weiss." Yang said, turning away from the mirror. "I know what I need to do, no need to get so wound up over it."

"I'm not wound up over it." Weiss snipped.

Yang rolled her eyes and set her hairbrush off to one side. Exchanging it for a small cosmetics kit, she plucked from it a small, round bristled brush and began applying mascara.

"…This has been going on for long enough."

"I'll take as long as I need to get ready." Yang said, smirking "Not my fault we've been taking cold showers the last week."

"I meant with Six!" Weiss said, exasperated "It didn't take us this long to talk to Blake after she ran away!"

"It took you guys three days to find me." Blake corrected.

"And Six helped." Ruby added.

"But we didn't drag our feet either!" Weiss continued "You say you want to avoid pushing him away, Ruby, but we've accomplished nothing as a result!"

"N-not true!" Ruby said, sliding off her bed and to the floor "We know more about him now than we did two weeks ago."

"Yet we still know nothing." Weiss continued "We know he had friends back in the Mo-wherever he's from, we know he has ghost stories, and not much beyond that!"

"We did learn he didn't have an aura." Blake pointed out, turning a page.

"And that he doesn't use dust." Ruby added.

"And that he can cook too." Yang smirked.

"And that helps us how!?" Weiss snapped "Can we please start taking this seriously?"

"We are, Weiss, chill out." Yang said, continuing to pretty herself "There's a good chance I'll be able to get the information out of him tonight."

"But what if you don't?"

"Weiss-"

"We keep assuming we're going to just get him to tell us everything without asking him, but he seems content to keep dancing around us as long as he can. What happens if he realizes what we're doing, we'll be right back where we started and doing what we tried to avoid doing in the first place."

"That's not going to happen." Yang re-affirmed solidly "I have ways of getting information out of people."

Ruby thought over the words her sister said for a moment. She knew that, for a while, Yang had been looking for someone. She'd never been entirely clear on who, but she'd assumed Yang was looking for her mother. Ruby had been in Vale on night while Yang was 'searching', and found her just outside some seedy club. One, she'd gathered, Yang had almost demolished inside. A part of Ruby couldn't help but worry. For the Courier, not for Yang.

"… Please be careful." Ruby said at last "We're not trying to hurt Six either."

"Don't worry baby Sis" Yang said, giving her sibling a warm, sunny smile "What's the worst that could happen?"

…

I shoulder checked the lab door open and stumbled out of it as quickly as I could. I had all of a half second to gulp down fresh air before I turned and slammed the door shut, trapping the fumes in the lab.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"H-ho- o- k." I managed to sputter between hacking and coughing fits. "Note to self: Abraxo cleaner and Datura root don't like having an electrical current run through them."

I glanced down at the slightly singed chunk of plant matter I'd kept a hold on before quickly exiting the room. It was hardly the length of my palm, and a bit charred on one end. I hadn't done it intentionally, nor had I expected it to produce such a noxious gas. I didn't feel like my lungs were melting, and I didn't see any flaming yao guai, so It wasn't immediately dangerous. It just smelled absolutely rancid.

I peered back through the window to the lab and double checked what I'd left in there. There were no cartoonishly putrid clouds of gas filling the room. I didn't see anything of the furniture melting, nor any of the plants wilting. The room looked perfectly fine. But I knew if I opened the door, I'd get a filter-full of foul-smelling gas. Mercifully, in my stumbling I managed to shut off the burners. So at least I wasn't going to immediately burn this place to the ground or blow it sky high. But I'd left everything out in the open, so anyone passing by would be able to take a peek in on my work. Including the most recent batch I'd left out to cure. I say batch, but I had only succeeded in making one syringe's worth with the remaining materials I had. I was going to need to collect more from my garden soon.

I looked down at my Pip-boy and checked the time. I was surprised at how much I'd lost track of it. I'd only been planning to spend an hour or two more working on the stimpacks. Instead, I'd succeeded in losing about five and a half.

I looked back at my stuff in the lab and weighed out the consequences. Normally, I would've sided with caution and gone back in and cleaned/hidden most of it. But I wanted to spend as little time in the gas as I could, and the room was likely to be abandoned until the day after tomorrow anyway.

It didn't sit right with me, but I settled on taking the chance of leaving my mess to be cleaned later. Best case, the gas would keep people away, and would settle itself out by the time I came back. Worst case, it kept people out but didn't disappear, meaning I'd have to vent the classroom whilst cleaning.

Though to help deter people, at least in part, I did lock the door. Maybe it wouldn't stop Peach if she decided to come snooping, but it would keep out anyone else who got too curious.

With that, I slipped the chunk of root into my pocket and started back towards the dorms. Stepping out the building confirmed that the clock on my pip-boy was still accurate at least, the sun had begun to dip towards the horizon, perhaps just kissing it. I hadn't realized I'd wasted as much time as I had. I'd gotten wrapped up in my work again. I'd been hoping to at least get a shower before we went gallivanting. Though with the water heater out of commission for the time being, it wouldn't be as comfortable as it had been.

I was a bit giddy, really. I hadn't had something to drink in so long now I'd almost forgotten what it felt like. Plus, there had to be drinks out there I was unfamiliar with. This place, similar as it was to my world, was still vastly different. What kinds of good stuff were out there that I had yet to be acquainted with? Maybe I'd finally get to taste some real tequila. Raul told me how the stuff used to be made, compared to the rudimentary ways I'd picked up. He said there was no comparing the two beyond "One is complete shit, the other is tequila". Or maybe I'd get to taste some vintage wines. I'd gotten the opportunity to sample some during my tenure in the Sierra Madre. The labels and writings had practically rotted away by the time I'd gotten a taste, but at least one bottle marked its contents as being nearly four hundred years old. It'd rolled like water down my throat, tasted of fruits and herbs I'd never known, and gave me a warmth so pleasant I'd wanted to wallow in it for days. Regardless of the dangers the Mojave posed.

I swear, it only took a few drops of the stuff to make me an Old-World Gourmet. Perhaps the only truly good thing the Madre did for me was that it made me want to be a better cook.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'd get to sip some whiskey. Take a shot or two for old times. Cass had taught me how to hit it right. She always had a trick to it that made it much more enjoyable to drink. Made me feel stronger too. Or maybe that was just a psychological placebo of being able to drink in the presence of friendly company… friendly female company… who always had my back…

I shook my head back and forth a little. Now was not the time to get mopey. Tonight was to be fun. Go into town, have a few drinks, make merry, the whole nine. If Cass were here, she'd be tearing it up with me. We'd have a ball, probably burn a place or two down, then make our way back, crawl under some sheets… take our clothes off…

I shook my head even harder; I had no idea that thought started coming from, but now was not the time for that either.

I made it to the dorms and stopped at the bathroom long enough to splash some water on me and remove my rougher edges. I was pretty sure going out drinking while reeking of burnt plant matter and noxious fumes wasn't socially acceptable. Nor was reeking of sweat. The summer heat had only been growing in intensity the past few days. The humidity had stayed low, but after a while dry sweat made everything feel sticky anyway.

After making myself feel less like I'd crawled out of a cess-pit, I returned to my closet and pulled on the nicer clothes Byz had sold me. A black vest and violet button up shirt, with a surprisingly comfortable pair of jeans. They all were beginning to feel tight though. Not uncomfortably so, but they fit me differently than when I'd bought them four months ago.

'Stupid body, first you shrink and now you're wearing clothes differently. I swear, I better not be getting fat…'

I chuckled a little at my own stupidity. They were just clothes; the hell was I getting worked up over?

I pulled my boots on and finished piecing myself together. I gave myself one last once over to make sure I was put together and stepped back out of my closet.

Only to then realize that I had no idea where I was supposed to meeting Yang. We hadn't actually said where we were supposed to meet, only when. But that was another easily remedied issue. We were quite literally down the hall from one another most of the time.

I took a short walk down the hall to my teammate's room and gave a quick knock. There was no immediate answer, but I heard rustling on the other side of the door. A moment or two after that, Ruby opened the door and looked up at me. Beyond her and into the room, I could See Weiss sitting on one of the beds. Blake lay halfway off her own as well, her upper body hanging upside down over the edge as she read a book.

"Oh!- Uh- hey, Six." She stuttered

"Evening Ruby" I answered, nodding "I'm looking for Yang, I believe the two of us had something planned?"

"Y-yeah" Ruby continued "She's at the weapons workshop."

"Really? Odd, we hadn't said where we'd meet so I'd just assumed it'd be here… Anyway, thanks, you have a goodnight, alright?"

"Um… you too."

I prepared to head back down the hallway but before I'd fully turned Ruby put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me.

"… Six, can I… ask you something?" Ruby asked cautiously

Behind Ruby, I noticed small movements from Weiss and Blake. Both seemed to be looking at me intently now, with thinly veiled scrutiny. Weiss more obviously than Blake, who hid behind her book like a barrier.

"…Sure." I said, slowly "I'm in a bit of a rush, but sure, ask away."

Ruby looked at me anxiously. "… That ghost story you told us the other night, how much of it was true?"

In the background I could see Weiss exasperatedly clenching her fists and glaring at Ruby, while Blake stopped actively paying attention to us.

I stayed quiet for a moment, but couldn't quite suppress a little chortle or a smirk from stretching across my face. I shook my head back and forth a little. "Oh, Ruby, you're cute. Don't ever change, alright?"

Without another word on my part, I turned and began to walk back down the hall.

"That… that's not an answer though!" Ruby called meekly after me.

I didn't respond to her, simply remaining quiet as I reached the end of the corridor. It wasn't until I heard the door to her room close that I stopped and looked back. I was alone in the hallway, but I looked back towards my teammate's room.

My paranoia was acting up again. Maybe I was just overthinking it, but that was the second time I could recall my teammates having vested interest in questions someone else was asking me. It wasn't even just snowflake this time, Blake was in on it too. What was going on and how many times was I going to ignore it before I finally did something?

If I had worse impulse control than I did I'd sneak back up to the door, put my ear to it, and eaves drop until I had this mess sorted.

Instead, I just took a deep breath and pushed my paranoia back into a corner with a concentrated effort of will. I shouldn't have been listening to it. I was mildly frustrated by repeated failures, it was hot out, and I was ready for some drinks now. I could push it off a little longer, maybe, but not forever. Eventually something was going to tip the scales in favor of my paranoia and I was going to do something mildly idiotic. Or perhaps a little psychotic… maybe both actually.

I just needed to trust my teammates. Just like they were choosing to trust me.

'… and now I've got the power guilt working against me too.'

I pushed it into the corner with my paranoia and headed for the exit. I left the dorms and began to cut across the grounds as I'd grown experienced to. Run through a courtyard here, jump some bushes there, and go through a building somewhere in between and you arrive at your destination.

That building, in this instance, just so happened to be the same one where the various sparring classes had been held. The place was a tad creepy, vacant as it was. My footsteps seemed to echo throughout the entire place and the lighting seemed to have been dimmed in the absence of the student body. Probably to help save on electricity or some such.

I passed by our previous sparring room, evidenced by the slowly being rebuilt wall, and stopped to peer into it. It was, unsurprisingly, just as vacant as the rest of the building. I turned to continue walking, in doing so I cast my eyes on the doorway to the locker room. My gaze lingered on it for a moment as paranoia, or perhaps my instincts, felt the need to chime in. What if something went wrong tonight, and it didn't go as smoothly as me or Yang planned? Given my often-horrific luck, was that even an if or a when?

'…'

I erred on the side of, well justified, caution and entered the locker room. It was just as dimly lit as the rest of the building, but it wasn't much of a problem for night-vision. The room came through to me as shades of gray rather than pitch black.

Once I got to and opened my storage locker, I looked over its contents. I had a number of tools fit for fighting and putting holes in whatever pissed me off. Unfortunately, most of them weren't exactly… covert. I'd gotten good at sneaking weapons into the strip's casinos over the length of my time there. But there were limits at what one could smuggle in through socks, belts, and exceptionally deep pockets. If I'd been thinking about it ahead of time, I'd have grabbed my sawn-off from my closet. Few things speak louder than a double load of shot to the anatomy feature of your choice.

Strangely though, I was never able to sneak That Gun past security. Despite the fact it was smaller than my sawn-off.

I could easily slip my straight razor or boxing tape in if needed, but neither of them did much for stopping power. The razor would be good if I could get past aura, not great but better than no weapon. But both it and the tape had no weight to them. The tape would supplement that with how hard I could punch, but the Razor couldn't. So I ignored both of them, and took my spiked knuckles instead. They had the weight of the razor, but could keep my punching power behind them. I slid both pairs of knuckles up my sleeves and did my best to secure them.

Aside from them though, I was going to need something with a bit more reach than close range. Just because we were going to a bar didn't mean I wanted to be within stabbing distance of anyone.

I reached into my locker and pulled out my 10mm pistol. It was still a bit worn and just a bit dusty, just like I remembered it. I released the magazine from the well, checked the spring, tapped it against my locker and slid it back in. I locked the safety on and racked the slide back, holding it open. The action still felt smooth as glass and a quick glance at the mechanisms didn't show any immediate problems. I released the slide and it snapped forward. If the magazine was loaded, I'd have a round chambered and ready to use. It was good, sturdy, and ready to put holes in things once I fed it some bullets.

I promptly threw it back into my locker. As hard as I could.

The fucking thing had nearly gotten me killed during initiation. 10mm was common, and good enough for some varmint hunting back home. But it had been worthless against what had amounted to over-grown animals here. What would I expect, that it was useful against smaller, faster targets that could somehow naturally generate forcefields?

Fuck that, I'd sooner gamble Russian roulette with a semi-automatic.

I looked back through my locker for a better holdout weapon. My sawn-off would've been my go-to for it. But that's also half the reason I keep it under my pillow in the first place. No one's likely to notice it until I've already got it jammed in their face.

While searching for something more suitable, I grabbed one of my two remaining flash-bangs and slid it into one of my socks. A frag grenade might've been more useful, but who knows how things were going to go anyway.

My finger wrapped around another pistol grip and I pulled the gun out into the low light of the locker room. The colors were muted through my lenses, coming through only in grays. But I'd used a number of its type enough times to have its image ingrained in my head. Its slide and frame were a scratched and pitted gunmetal grey, with the handle scales a warm red-brown. The trigger a solid block of steel with a crescent carved into it for the finger. The slide bore a second set of serrations towards the end of the barrel. Meant to compensate for the heavy-duty springs and metal by giving better grip.

I held the .45 Auto Pistol flat across both my hands, examining it. It was a marvelous piece of machining and engineering. A several hundred-year-old piece of weaponry that stood the test of time, and laid low any would-be challengers. It was aesthetically pleasing, powerful, fast, and could take the wings off a bloat fly at fifty paces.

It also wasn't the gun I thought I'd brought with me.

Before I'd left Zion, I'd made sure to grab a few of them, in case I ever needed a back-up I could rely on. I'd grabbed two, plus some spare pieces, and I'd had a third gifted to me the night before I returned to the Mojave. I'd thought I'd grabbed the third one.

But, considering I'd been drunk at the time of packing my gear, I probably should've been happy I'd grabbed one at all.

I went back through the checklist of weapon usage, this time using a loaded magazine and leaving the chamber empty. With the .45 ready, I slid it into the back of my pants, using my belt and waistband to secure it. If Joshua knew I was doing this, he'd probably whoop my ass for both disrespecting a piece of his tribe's heritage and for flagrantly ignoring basic firearm safety. I'd probably let him do it too. But I couldn't wear it openly and I couldn't put it in my vest without it being obvious to the rest of the world. Leaving the safety on and the chamber empty was just going to have to do.

Hopefully I'd make it through the night without giving myself a new asshole.

But, perhaps going the extra nine yards to hide my weapons wouldn't be needed anyway. Maybe the weapons in general wouldn't be needed. Maybe I could have a good night out drinking without trouble.

And maybe the Brotherhood would stop being a bunch of zealotic jackasses, use technology for the betterment of others, and give humanity a fighting chance at recovery.

Anything is possible.

I closed up my locker and quickly made tracks back out of the locker room and onto the rest of my evening.

The workshop hadn't been locked up when I'd used it earlier in the week, but I'd expected it to be over the weekend. It was a bit strange for it to be open at all, given the near total lack of students on campus at the moment. But I wasn't going to complain. Having free and unrestricted access to tools and materials was convenient beyond belief.

I found Yang leaning against one of the workbenches, absently drumming her fingers across the countertop. She was dressed as she normally was outside of class. Short cut brown jacket and half-skirt, black too-short shorts and that extra lacey piece of fabric that constituted her 'butt-cape'. Orange stockings and scarf, boots, gloves, and perhaps most notably: her gauntlets.

Perhaps I'd been right to pack some heat myself.

But there was something else about her as well. Maybe it was just my eyes playing tricks on me, but she looked… different. Not in a bad way either. Her features appeared softer than normal, perhaps a trick of the lowering light. Her violet eyes seemed to smolder, rimmed by shadowy rings. Her skin seemed to glisten in the light of the setting sun, shining like a crystal with a million muted facets. Her blonde hair cascaded down around her shoulders in golden locks, flowing both ahead and behind them. It may have also been my imagination, but her clothes seemed to accentuate her. Her stocking and shorts showing every curve of her legs and waist. Her jacket hugging her, framing her chest and emphasizing her... um… health.

It was enough to make me stop in my tracks and just look at her for a moment.

She looked at me as I came through the doorway, the light of the setting sun catching her hair and setting it into a golden blaze. It framed her face as a soft, friendly smirk crossed her face.

"About time you showed up." She said cheekily "You know it's rude to keep a pretty girl waiting, right?"

I stayed quiet for a moment while my head tried to catch up with the rest of the world. A lesser man would've felt embarrassed. His face would probably get a little warm and he'd stumble over his words as he tried to keep his tongue from lolling out of his mouth.

I was not a lesser man. Yang was cute, but it wasn't enough to stop me. My face was most certainly not warm.

"Funny-" I said, gruff "Wonder if anyone told her it helps to tell people where she's waiting?"

She gave me a saccharine smile and rolled her head back and forth, humming while she did it.

I forcibly buried any thoughts rising up from her appearance, keeping a cool mask of indifference. It helped that I was already wearing a mask. But the effect she was having? She shouldn't have been. I'd been around Vegas long enough to become desensitized to a little excess skin showing. There was no reason why her playing the whole 'pretty girl' routine right now should have been bothering me.

'… come to think of it, why is she-'

"You ready?" Yang asked, rising from the workbench and stretching her arms over her head. Languidly flaunting her figure. Because I knew that's what she was doing.

"Depends, you never really told me about where it is we're going beyond it serving drinks."

Yang smiled playfully "A place I know. It's in Vale, not too far from the docks, actually."

"So the 'shady' part of town?" I asked, remembering how she'd phrased it.

"That's the place" She said, still smiling.

"Ok, well, how are we getting there?" I asked, gesturing around the workshop "The airships aren't running now, and this place wasn't built on wheels."

Rather than just answer me, she just gave a chuckle, beckoned with a hand, and began to sashay towards a set of bay doors on the far wall.

Like a moron, I followed her.

I'd never been particularly sure why the bay doors were part of the room. With all the tools and equipment lying around, I'd assumed the workshop double for mechanic work as well. Except I hadn't seen any vehicles around campus, or heard of anyone driving. Pretty much any traveling that needed to be done was handled by airship or walking. I didn't even think we had a place to store vehicles

Yang hoisted the bay door upward and reveled that we, in fact, did. Beyond the bay door was a simple gravel lot, surrounded on all sides by stone walls. A simple opening at the far end leading to a dirt path, sparsely lit with lamp posts akin to those that littered the rest of the grounds intermittently. The large lot was pretty much empty, the gravel undisturbed by everything but the elements. The sole exception stood off in the corner, covered by a stretch of blue canvas. Considering Yang and I were approaching it, I could safely assume it was her 'answer'.

Yang undid a few straps securing the tarp to the object it was protecting, then whipped the sheet free. I could safely say what I saw was a surprise. There were probably hundreds of the things lying around the Mojave.

"Is that… a motorcycle?" I asked.

"Duh~" Yang said, smirking as she folded the tarp.

The motorcycles back in the Mojave were, much like everything else, leftovers from before the war. Leftovers that were sustained by cannibalizing one another and filling the gaps with scrap metal, but leftovers anyway. They were bulky, much like the shells of the cars that also littered the Mojave. But unlike them, the bikes were clearly much more rugged and meant to handle going off-road for more than a few feet. The tires spanned damn near ten inches across, the headlights were reinforced, and metal paneling protected the engine from the elements. They were meant to take a beating and, as a testament to how many of them there still were, they had.

Yang's motorcycle though, by comparison, seemed almost anathema to the ones in the wasteland. The bike was sleek. Unlike the blocky paneling of the bikes in the Mojave, Yang's bike had curves. The body panels contouring around the bike smoothly, flaring only slightly at the front to direct the wind away from the rider. The panels were the color of a sunrise, or perhaps a sunset. A warm, orange-yellow hue that deepened to a warm red just under the seat. The paint then lightening back as it traveled outward once more. It made the dark steel undercarriage appear tenebrous by contrast. The metal itself appeared flimsy, but I could see the way it was reinforced, reaching and wrapping around itself to form a solid whole. Its wheels were almost as large as the ones from the wasteland, even sporting similarly solid rims. The headlight was protected by what appeared to be a curved pane of glass that fed seamlessly into the panels covering the front wheel and handlebar. It was shiny, new, and looked like it could go fast enough to reach escape velocity.

Strange as it was, some part of me was glad to know that it didn't matter what world it was. That there was always an idiot who decided to strap a high-powered motor onto a pair of wheels. Then proceed to provide no protection in the event of a crash, strip the braking system down to something better suited for a shopping cart, and then crank all of the torque and horsepower into the rear wheel. Yep, didn't matter what world it was, there's always someone in it with an adrenaline-fueled death wish.

"… well, I can certainly say I hadn't been expecting this." I said finally, walking around the bike as I examined it. "Though I won't say it doesn't suit you either."

"Aww, thank you." Yang said, flashing me another sunny smile.

"Is it fast?" I asked, kneeling down to eye the engine. It was my first time getting a look at a dust engine, even from the outside.

"Oh yeah~." Yang answered, putting the tarp into a compartment behind the front panels.

"I'm almost afraid to ask how you got it… or if you know how to drive."

Yang gave me a skeptical look, then smirked again. "I bought it, duh. And of course I know how to ride, how do you think I got it here?"

"Oookay, but where did you get the money-"

Yang interrupted me, putting a finger to her lips and shushing me. "It's a secret, now come on, Vale's not getting any closer."

I thought about it for a moment, then motioned for her to lead on. I wasn't going to let it lie forever, probably, but tonight had more important things transpiring than 'why?' right now. I could worry about what bank she robbed, or stores she ripped off later. Right now, it was wheels and a means, which was all I required.

From the same compartment she'd placed the tarp in, Yang retrieved a yellow half dome helmet. It had a black, blazing heart emblazoned on it, much like her clothing proper.

"… do you even need that?" I asked, watching as she strapped the yellow semi-dome to her head "Wouldn't your aura protect you if you fell off?"

Yang gave me a look that asked if I was an idiot. "Of course I need it, it's basic bike safety. I'd offer you one, but you already have one sooo…"

Without the slightest hint of irony, she then pulled a pair of aviator sun glasses from seemingly nowhere and paired them with her helmet.

This despite the fact, of course, the sun was most of the way set now.

I backed away from the engine and Yang mounted the machine. Easily levering herself overtop of the bike and onto the seat. Her thumbs flicked over a couple of small switches, and the gauges on the handle bars snapped to life.

She depressed a final button, and the bike roared to life. When I say roar, I mean roar. Despite lacking in anything resembling life, the machine gave a short, almost triumphant bellow of life. It only did it for a second, before dying back to an aggressive rumble akin to rolling thunder. It had only lasted a moment, but I'm fairly certain I'd unconsciously taken a step back regardless.

The bike didn't look like any from the Mojave, and sure didn't sound like one either.

"You getting on?" Yang asked, giving yet another playful smirk

I then became acutely aware of another fact: The bike's seat was quite small. Just barely big enough to fit two people. If you didn't mind sacrificing some personal space. That was also aside from the fact I was going to be riding bitch.

I mantled onto the portion of seat behind Yang easy enough. Where I sat was slightly higher than where Yang sat, but I could still put my feet flat on the ground. I could feel the vibrations of the motor through the soft cushioning of the leather seat. A rumbling staccato of steel.

"You ever ride on a bike before?" Yang asked "Or are you going to cause an accident?"

"Maybe." I said, a tad sarcastic "I just have to keep balance with you, right?"

"Yep."

"Alright, so what do I hold on to-o-o-WHOA!"

Not even bothering to answer me, Yang twisted the throttle and the bike's rear tire howled. We wrenched around in a cloud of hot rubber and shot off towards the gate at the far end of the lot. I just barely kept my balance with Yang's as I clung to something as if my life suddenly depended on it. Considering flying into something at high speed might kill me, it probably was.

The bike ripped past the gateway, skidding across the loose packed stone and dirt as Yang cut into the trail. The moment we were righted, she gunned the engine and we shot forward even faster. The engine roaring defiantly at the encroaching night. The headlight carving a yellow cone through the looming shade, illuminating the rough, pitted path that we raced down at break-neck speed. Trees and undergrowth whipping past us as we leaned into another curve.

I could feel my heart racing. I could barely remember the last time I'd moved this fast. Felt the wind against me like an unyielding torrent. It reminded me of some of the calmer winds of the divide. Barring the removal of my skin by millions of grains of sand. The rumble of the engine making the bike itself feel almost alive. Its darting movements: corrections in its stride as Yang drove. The world around us only a darkening blend of inky pitch. All of it blending together into an indecipherable blur as we raced down the path, save only for the light the guided our way.

'Definitely not like any bike in the Mojave.'

The bike jounced and jostled suddenly, before the tire bit into more beaten and hard packed earth. Yang slowed us to a stop as we came to what must have been a main pathway now, rather than the side-path we'd been on. Yang motioned her head side to side, searching for something briefly. Perhaps other drivers. Satisfied at the lack of other motorists, she looked over her shoulder at me.

"Should only take about half an hour to get there, as long as you don't mind going fast?"

"What do I look like, a wimp?" I growled, trying to sound more confident than I felt. The adrenaline pummeling my nervous system like a twenty-pound mallet on a two-inch nail.

She just gave a soft chuckle, then turned back to the road ahead and got us moving. It took me a moment after that to realize what I was holding onto for dear life.

It was Yang's waist.

For the sake of propriety, I carefully shifted my grip to the edge of the seat. Locking my fingers down like a vice as we continued onward into the yawning darkness of the night.