The police station was as dark as rest of the Villa I'd been acquainted with thus far. Perhaps more so, given there were no windows for ambient light to slip through. There were more radios active as well. Hidden almost intentionally out of sight as I half-stumbled my way through the place. I spent some time scavenging and scrounging what I could from the place. Though it was admittedly less than I was hoping for. A little food and drink, some actual bullets, a couple firearms to use them in, and the odd chem. Aside from that though, I found plenty more of the brassy chips lying around, plus another playing card. Probably the most useful thing I found though was a suit of 'security' armor, and a helmet to match. Something that probably would've been used to enforce the casino's rules pre-war. Shame it was hideous though, a bright yellow jumpsuit with a large black ballistics vest and cod piece. It was better than the boiler suit I was wearing, at least.

Plus the helmet didn't have me feeling naked anymore.

After sweeping the main floor of the station, I began to work my way deeper. The Nightkin in the cell wasn't going anywhere, and didn't seem interested in anything beyond talking to itself. I was going to need to figure out how to make it leave the cell, given Elijah would kill me if I didn't. I started down towards the basement, wary of what traps could lie ahead.

There were a few more radios, hiding just out of sight, but I was ready for them this time.

What I wasn't, was the sudden voice that crackled through them, giving me instructions to go deeper into the basement. I didn't have much incentive to actually obey it, but as I was going deeper to begin with, following the instructions was actually easier than ignoring them. The voice told me it was responsible for locking the Nightkin, Dog, in the cage. Apparently because he kept 'disobeying' the voice.

The basement itself wasn't large, almost more like one large hallway than anything. I took my time to loot as I went. Got lucky and found some booze, some more chips. There was a still-active terminal on a table near the entrance as well that I'd read over later. At the end of the basement's corridor, seated on a table, was a holotape. The voice told me it was a precaution, on the chance that I wasn't who it was looking for. Told me to return to the cell and play the tape.

Given the voice said that it was looking for the person using it and Dog to kidnap and drag people here, I had to assume the tape was meant for me.

I finished searching the basement and climbed back to the main floor. The Nightkin was where I'd last seen him, sitting in a fetal position, faced towards the far corner of the cell. Rocking gently back and forth. Standing outside the cage, I loaded the holotape into the deck of my pip-boy. The same deep, smooth voice crackled from its speakers.

"Dog, back in the cage!"

The Nightkin stilled, unnaturally so. It's gentle rocking arresting to an abrupt and complete halt. It twisted at the waist to see me, the muscles of its neck and shoulders too thick to properly complete the motion.

It's not uncommon for Supermutants and Nightkin to be ugly. The process that turned them into what they were had that effect. The sheer amount of muscular and skeletal growth they underwent in nearly every aspect wasn't something that any wastelander could naturally replicate. As it stood to reason, it ruined their chances of ever being face models. But even compared to the normal Nightkin, there was something… off, about this one. It wasn't just the scars that covered it, despite how numerous they were. Its skin seemed tighter than it should have, strained into the grimace most Nightkin have. The brow of its Right eye was heavy, covering and obscuring most of the organ. What little I could see appeared damaged in some way. Its lips and mouth were large, hanging heavily away from its face and drawing its grimace even deeper. Revealing yellowed, but undamaged, teeth. This was without getting into the rest of the damage that covered them, or the large scar carved into the chest spelling the word 'DOG'.

"What have we here?" the Nightkin asked, voice different now. Before it had been deep, rumbling, like something you'd hear from a wild animal. But now it was smooth now, calm, the same as the one from the recordings. It did nothing to ease me. I could hear the knife's edge of violence laying just beneath it. "You weren't who I was expecting. I'm disappointed… Still, even if you aren't my intended guest, you take direction. Good. You can't have been an idiot to figure out how to release me from my cage."

"Depends on the day." I shrugged, trying to play off how unnerved I was. After what'd just happened outside, this shouldn't have bothered me nearly as much. But it was rather obvious I was liking my circumstances less and less the longer I was trapped in them.

"Hmm… Perhaps you are." The Nightkin said, pausing to look at me, eyes drifting down to my arm. "That leash on your arm, and the one around your neck." I could see his mouth twitch, trying and failing to form something reminiscent of a smirk "-With our collars and our manacles, why, we may as well be kin."

"Wouldn't be the first Nightkin to call me that." I answered coolly. "… Going by the word carved into your chest, I'd ask if your name is Dog. But I get the impression there's something a bit more complicated here… Tell me, who are you."

The nightkin made a groaning, almost tired, noise. "I'm the voice of Reason. I sleep sometimes… down in the basement, in the cage. Now that I'm awake, Dog goes back in the cage. Dog knows I'm here, but can't do anything about it. I'm his… Conscience."

In other words: Separate personalities. My knowledge of medicine is a bit fuzzy. But he had a condition… If I remembered correct it's brought on by stress and trauma. Even barring the fact that he was marred to hell and back with scar tissue, the fact he was a Nightkin meant, yes, he had been through one extreme form of trauma. Even putting side the mental strain of constant stealth boy use.

"You're the part that keeps him from doing 'bad' things?" I asked "Funny, you don't sound like a cricket."

"I Keep him tame-" The Nightkin growled, annoyed "keep him from hurting us… doing foolish things."

"Like getting yourself locked in a jailcell?" I asked

"I am here by choice. A chance to force out the coward who thinks he can command Dog… and myself."

I nodded, choosing to let that issue lie, since there wasn't much use debating it. "So if the other one's 'Dog', what does that make you, 'goD'?"

"Yes" God answered, clearly choosing to give a blind eye to my sarcasm "That is indeed who I am."

"Huh, well I guess that makes me the first wastelander to ever properly meet you. Gotta say, done a real bang-up job with the world, man."

God growled for a moment, but continued regardless "I've been trapped in here for some time, then you come along and let me out. So… You opened my cage for a reason. Now… I want to know why."

"I was told to find people wearing collars like mine." I answered, motioning to the bomb around my neck "Don't see one on you, but you match the description I was given."

God growled again. "I have one. Closer than I'd prefer. Dog… gets into things. Needs to learn how to chew."

"… You ate it?" I asked "That… at least explains the odd noises from the broadcast frequency."

"Yes… Strange though, it had gone quiet when I'd locked myself in this cage. Now you're here, and I can feel it come alive again. Burning, pulling like a leash. How very… intrusive."

I nodded "The collars are linked. The guy that had them stuck on us did it to make sure we didn't kill each other. Either of us bites it, so does the other."

God growled again. "How troublesome. I'd been thinking it'd be easier to take that pip-boy off your arm. Use it to find the one who keeps commanding Dog. I'd been hoping he would come here, searching for Dog… Instead, it seems that you found me first. Why?"

"Don't know, I got chosen for leg work. The guy who's got us trapped here, Elijah, wants me to track down the people I'm supposed to be working with. Told me to find you, or rather Dog I suppose. Told me he'd be docile as long as he'd fed recently."

"Hmm… It is fortuitous that I locked him in here then. When last I was in control Dog was getting… hungry. Would have eaten you and gotten us both killed."

"Thanks for that." I said, only half as sarcastic as usual "You locked yourself in here hoping Elijah would come to you then… I'm afraid it'll have to be the other way around. Elijah's forcing us to work for him, you're going to need to come with me."

"No. I won't." God answered, voice creeping closer to its murderous edge "I'm here for the old man. Hoped you would be him, instead you're his hand. An extension of himself. One riddled with greed. The other, confused, but sure to follow not long after."

"The only thing I want to do right now is not get my head blown off." I clarified

"Yes, confused indeed. But you'll understand in time. You followed the broadcast, the radio. That's why you're here. Let your curiosity lead you as Dog is led by his stomach. It won't be long. You'll be the same as the old man before you realize. Consumed by your greed."

I shook my head. "You say that, but I'm the one with a bomb around my neck. Just like you."

"No, just like Dog." God clarified, trying to grimace "You'll feel it. Hunger."

"I just want to get through today." I said again "If you do too, you'll consider trying to work with me. These collars are all bugged anyway, if Elijah thinks you're dead weight, he'll detonate your collar remotely. Don't think it'll trigger the rest of them that way."

"…I don't think he would." God growled "He doesn't care about Dog. But he needs someone to empty the man traps. If he detonates our collar, he loses a great asset."

"You're the one who dragged me here?" I asked, sounding ever so slightly peeved

"Not I, but Dog. I wouldn't haul bodies around the wastes like some whipped Brahmin." God snarled, losing his calm veneer for a moment "Dog, Always greedy and hungry for the Master's affection and approval. I hear the echoes from the cage. Foot falls and the clink of collars… that last one must have been yours. Don't remember you though. Would have been before the cage… Tell me, do you know how long it was before you awoke in the Villa?"

"No." I shook my head "It was for a while, but I wasn't lucid until Elijah contacted me."

"Hm… lucky indeed. Dog would have devoured you otherwise."

"If you knew me, you'd know I don't have that kind of luck. Regardless, we need to go, God. Elijah's not going to come find you. Where's the key to get you out?"

"The chain, behind my neck." God answered, composing himself "Dog and I don't share everything. Needed to hide it somewhere he wouldn't look before he forced me back into the cage."

Which spoke volumes about how intelligent 'Dog' was, I suppose.

"Then you need to use it and come with me. Elijah's not going to come, especially not now that he's heard you were clearly waiting for him."

"I'm going nowhere." He said once more "Even if he were to set off the collars, kill us both, I'd still win. I'd rather die in a cell than have both myself and Dog continue to be his slave. Dog may hunger for his affections, but I only hunger for his demise. If he slays me, then I win regardless. To die or be chained… I'd rather let go."

"How pyrrhic." I drawled, thinking for a moment, before checking my pip-boy "… You said Dog would listen to Elijah, right?"

I could see God tense slightly, clearly sensing I was planning something. "Yes… he would follow blindly… and loyally."

"Well, I have a radio connection to Elijah on my pip-boy." I said, motioning the device in question "If all it takes is hearing his 'Master' to make Dog come out, perhaps I could tune us in for a spell. See what Elijah has to say on matters."

God's eyes snapped open wide, fury glowing in them. "Don't you dare. You may get me out of this cage. But I would make you regret it. Dog may force me into the cage, but I would be free again eventually. When I am, I'd grind your bones into splinters. Leave you alive long enough to escape this place. Let my collar go cold."

"You could, but you don't seem to have much picked up on something: I'm not a fan of Elijah either."

God said nothing, watching me with that same fury in his eyes.

"We're at an impasse. You're not going to get Elijah, and I'm dead if you don't come with me. Far as I'm concerned, the old man could suck a fat one and choke on it. I just want to get out of this place. I can't do that unless we get along right now. So, knowing what we both want, what say we come to a compromise, and kill the old man together."

I knew full well Elijah could hear us. But I also had to bank on the idea we were both important enough to not warrant killing right this second. He needed us, and aside from that, for all he knew I could just be trying to convince God to work with me. Making it sound like I wanted to kill Elijah would just be the fastest way to do it.

Truthfully though, I was most certainly going to find a way to kill Elijah the moment the opportunity presented itself.

God growled again "No… I don't trust you. Even if you're not working with him, you'll fall into the same trap he did. You may think you can take your revenge… but you'll change, get Greed-blind. Think you can find a way to take it all."

"There's always the chance, yeah. I'm human." I agreed "But I'm also a human who likes to keep his word. So, let me make you a promise."

God continued to eye me, the fury dimming in his gaze, withering.

"I've got the power to pull Dog out at any time… But I'm not going to."

A look of surprise, or perhaps confusion, tried to work its way onto God's face.

"I don't like the idea of screwing with other people's free will. You and Dog clearly have some issues to work out, but it's not my place to meddle with them. I have the power to order you around… but I'm not going to use it, period."

"…Words are worthless." God answered "You'll turn back on them as it suits you."

"They're only worthless if I don't back them up. If Dog is really as docile and ready to serve Elijah as you say, it would be easier for me to just pull him out, rather than waste my breath on you, wouldn't it?"

"Hnh… Yes… it would."

"Ergo, I'm not going to force you to do anything." I said, nodding "Ergo… We both want the same thing right now."

"… You may regret this." God said, the fury having died back "This place… it's a place creatures like Dog can survive. The people that fill its streets…"

A chill rolled down my spine. "I've met them." I said "Had to kill one before finding you. It was more of a labor than I thought it would be."

"He is more vicious than them. He would be of greater help than I. His hunger… when I am in control, this shell is difficult to… fight in."

I got the message. If Dog were out, he'd have an easier time putting those… things down. For a given measure of 'easy', anyway.

"…Even so, I stand by my promise. I won't call Dog out. I can't control what Elijah does, but I can control myself. Right now, I just want to get out of this place. The two of us, we'll manage… somehow."

"..." God gave a throaty chuckle "You…. I'm not sure you… no, you don't belong in this place. Yet… you came this far… and I'm not interested in remaining here."

"Good, so-"

A slow, thunderous pounding resounded from the door of the police station. Like a sledge hammer working iron.

"Hm… it appears you were followed."

"Oh, great." I said, feeling a sense of panic rising in me as I looked to the door.

There was a rattling of chain and a click of metal. I turned back to God and found he'd unlocked the cell. He stepped out, towering over me as Nightkin and Supermutants do. He was leaner than ones I'd seen though. Almost wiry by comparison, despite the still monstrous musculature clinging to him.

"… Should Dog ever force his way out, I expect you to be kind enough to return him to the cage. The tape you used to let me out now will work fine… I expect you to honor your word."

"I shall endeavor, even if I can't control Elijah."

"I wasn't telling you because of the Old Man." God said, his face darkening "Dog has gotten… hungry."

The door to the Police station slammed open off its hinges.

One of the inhabitants, the Ghosts, lurched in through the doorway at the speed of a runaway locomotive. Charging at us with it long, loping strides.

Before it could even get close though, God changed. I didn't even notice until it happened.

He turned and charged the ghost with speed to match. Despite the immense strength I knew the Villa's inhabitants to possess, I saw that God possessed greater.

Or rather Dog possessed greater.

Dog fell on the Ghost like a wave, crashing them to the ground with the force of a piledriver. His massive hands gripping the arms of the Ghost, wrenching them off its torso as if they were never truly attached to it. He pounded the inhabitant, tore at it, crushed it. Hit it in ways that I'd never seen a Supermutant attack someone.

Then, once the Ghost was good and beaten, His head dipped low to it. Teeth sinking into its mask. I could hear him breaking bone and tearing through flesh like paper, sounding wet and… meaty. Bones snapping like dried twigs. I could barely make out Dog saying something as he tore into his… 'meal'. It sounded vaguely like 'Om nom nom'.

Blech.

I was suddenly very thankful I'd convinced God to work with me, rather than trying to brute force Dog into subservience.

….

My Pip-boy chimed, telling me break time was over.

I got up from the floor of the fire escape I'd been resting on and began climbing back down to ground level.

I'd gotten to Vale and found next listed Bar well ahead of schedule. So well in fact, it hadn't opened for the night yet. I could've gone in and ransacked the place, but I was trying not to distract the police from what they were supposed to be doing. They had enough trouble getting out of their own way without me making a mess. Besides the fact that me and Vale's night scene didn't exactly have a good track record. Something went wrong, having people around might mean the difference between another bloodbath, and just having to handle one or two people.

So I gave it an hour or two, stopping to grab something to eat and taking the chance to rest. Once the night got going again, I wasn't going to.

Now that their time was up, the work could begin.

I touched down in the alleyway and walked out to the sidewalk. The night was well on us now, but the soft glow of streetlights gave the place the impression it was only midevening. Despite the inky blue sky overhead. Couldn't make out any stars from street level, too bright. Too much light pollution.

There were people still bustling about, enjoying the evening as they were wont to do. I could still taste the tension in the air though, just as I could the night before. Everyone knew that something was wrong, but were choosing to go about their lives anyway. Not much else they could do about it anyway. There were practically cops on every street corner, and I could see cruisers idling here and there. Perhaps the previous night's events were to blame. Even if I'd managed to avert a catastrophe, it was still a close call. Depending how tonight went, things might only get worse. It was on me to keep that from happening if I could.

But first, bar hopping.

I walked down the street, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Not exactly easy, given how I was dressed and armed. But I wasn't the only person who walked around like this, I could give several examples to attest to it. Still, if things were only going to continue escalating, I was going to need to begin figuring out better travel routes. Last thing I needed was to be stopped by the police for walking around while carrying weapons. As it stood, things were getting on edge enough that it was becoming a possibility.

I stopped across the street from the next bar I'd yet to visit on the list. It was an unassuming place, as so many were. A squat building that didn't go any higher than a single story, made of light colored, smooth stone. Series of twinkling lights running the edges of the building, along with two columns of larger lights set on either side of the door. Tinted to help dye the stone work in shades of purple and violet. Signage on both sides and over the doorway gave the name of the establishment.

Stardust.

The place was a bit… ostentatious. But considering it was another seedy nightclub in the Vale nightlife, I suppose it had to be. Compared to Junior's, it practically stuck out like a sore thumb.

I stayed on the opposite side of the street for a while. Watching people pass by, enjoying the evening. It earned me a few awkward, and perhaps cautious looks. But I wanted to make sure there were a fair number of people inside before going in.

I could live with the place looking like Junior's. But I wasn't walking into a repeat of it.

Which, as it turned out, was a more accurate assumption than I'd thought.

After waiting a few minutes more, I dodged traffic and crossed the street. Opening the doors, I found myself in a small reception area. The person manning the front desk offered to take my coat, despite eyeing me with ill-disguised apprehension. I brushed past them and continued deeper into the club, descending a staircase to the main hall.

I rounded a corner at the bottom of the stairs and was greeted with the club itself. The layout reminded much of Junior's, only scaled down. Junior's club had been more open, vacuous. This club was smaller, and it showed, the walls and ceiling gave everything a close feeling. Not cramped, but not nearly enough elbow room for my tastes. The dance floor was much smaller than the one at Junior's club. Much of the excess space eaten by tables and booths that wouldn't have been out of place at the Aces Theater. It also landed well in that middle ground like Junior's had, when compared to the Strip's casinos.

The coloring was different too. Junior's had been mostly monochromatic, with splashes of red here and there, assuming it wasn't just my helmet. This club, Stardust, was much darker. The lighting kept in inky, obscuring shades of Black, blue, and purple. With only the random burst of neon to cut through the haze. The largest source of light was easily the dance floor itself, underlit with displays that spelt out the club's name.

Despite having been open for a few hours, the place was already jumping. It was easier to count the booths that were empty than those that weren't, and the dance floor was well occupied. A short distance past it, on a raised platform, was a live band. An odd-looking bunch, consisting of a man wearing a safety cone, an android, a cat faunus of some variety, and a man wearing a golden flight helmet. As they worked the instruments, two more stood with them. One glaring murderously out at the audience, cloaked in black with a mask over his face. It felt like his gaze was somehow both directed at myself, and no one at the same time. His hands rhythmically working a set of drums like a Freeside loan shark.

The other, was a male stripper. Dancing with the microphone.

Definitely an odd bunch.

Their music even more so. Another interesting sampling of what Remnant's music industry had to offer. It held a strange electronic edge, but I could hear instrumentation. The twang of guitar, the staccato of drums, and the thumping rumble of bass.

It was… funky.

(**BGM**: No Pants Dance, TWRP)

I spied the bar, set into the right most wall, and cut my way to it. Walking around the booths and tables that ringed the outer most portions of the dance floor. No one seemed to pay me any mind. The place was dimly lit to begin with, and most people were either more absorbed in drinking, dancing, or getting laid.

In contrast to the previous night's outing, nobody paid me any mind to my current equipment. Though I suppose that was a boon. I guess there were enough students and hunters that walked around with weapons for it to not be such an eye-catching sight. But the previous night had at least told me it still wasn't a common sight. Though that didn't really matter.

I approached the bar, finding it nearly empty. Something told me this wasn't the type of place that normally had people lingering by the counter for long. The bartender was a shorter, mousy looking guy. Short, pointed features wrapped in comfortable looking clothes. Beady eyes, and a wispy, whiskery moustache on his upper lip.

And, fittingly, an extra set of small, round, rodent ears on top of his head.

I sidled up to the mostly empty bar and leaned against it. The bartender eyed me for a moment. I could see he was trying to keep a neutral look about him, but I could see it for what it was. A mask. He was skittish, nervous. Not a good mix for the bartender of a, potentially, seedy nightclub.

"C-can I help you?" The bartender asked, his voice nasally

"That depends, you serve cops?"

The bartender gave me a confused, shifty look. Eyes scanning the rest of the club briefly, as if checking that this was a trick question. I knew the answer. Assuming my knowledge of old-world pulp fiction held true, the only cops in a place like this would be narcs. The types he wouldn't 'help' willingly.

The bartender looked at me for moment, before responding. "This- uh- isn't the kind of place that really… caters to them, no."

"Good." I said, smiling "Then maybe you can help me."

The bartender took a shaky breath. "What are you looking for?"

"Information. Something tells me I found the place to get some."

The bartender stared at me for a moment, a bit of confusion evident behind the fear. Then something clicked in his head. The confusion in him condensed itself into fear, bordering on panic.

"Y-you… you wouldn't happen to know a blonde girl, right?" The bartender asked "Probably around your age, long hair, r-really strong hands."

"Oh, I might say I do." I said, coolly "Might say she even said to pay this place a visit."

"O-oh fuck me." The bartender dry swallowed, looking like he was about to choke on his own tongue. Guy was a wet blanket if ever there was one. "L-look, let's just take it easy, alright?"

"I'm not here to cause trouble, yet." I said "Just tell me what I want to know, and I'll be out of your hair."

The bartender dry swallowed again, nodding "Sure- sure, what did you want to know?"

"Do I really need to say it, or can the news speak for me?"

The bartender blinked, still clearly panicked "Y-you want to know about… N-no, I can't-"

"Oh, I think you can. And I think, if you want to avoid trouble, you will."

"B-but I can't! You have no idea what they do to-"

"Oh, believe me, I know what they do to… well, rats." If the bartender was insulted, they were too busy being scared shitless to show it. "But here's the thing, buddy, I need to know what's going on. It's not an exaggeration to say you're the first one I'm getting somewhere with either. So, you're going to tell me what I want to know, or I'm going to start getting creative. You'd be surprised by the things I can do without even once putting hands on someone."

The bartender licked his lips, looking about ready to sell out his own mother if it would help him. That's probably one of the good things about working with people of a weaker constitution. As long as you keep the pressure on, and their options limited, you'll work something out of them fairly quick.

Now, to drive it home.

"It doesn't need to come to that though." I said, losing some hostility "Nothing needs to come of this, as long as you tell me what I want to know. You do, and I'll walk out of here, never to haunt you again, understood?"

The Bartender stayed still for a moment, before slowly, jerkily, nodding his head. "A-alright… Where should I-"

"H-HEY *hic*, BARTENDER!"

I turned to look over my shoulder, as a man dressed in white armor staggered, drunkenly, up to the bar. A soldier if I had to make a guess. He was about my height, a blocky helmet covering the upper portion of his head and face. His mouth and chin receiving protection from a strip of metal that hardly qualified as a chin strap. Both the helmet and armor were white where the plating was thickest, black where not. Undercut occasionally with Blue near the neck and shoulders. Kind of like he'd been painted to be some sort of walking target.

Psychologically speaking, there might actually have been some intelligent design behind that. Given the right circumstance, at least. Which this most certainly was not.

The soldier stopped at the bar and planted both his hands down on the bar-top. Clearly leaning against it for support. "'m gonna need another' round." He slurred "Tequila this time."

The Bartender's eyes shifted back and forth between myself and the soldier for a moment. Then the bartender reached a hand beneath the counter and produced a large number of shot glasses. They began carefully doling out tequila in a fashion that I knew was intended to stall for time.

I growled a little, turning to look at the soldier.

"Hey, buddy, d'ya mind?" I asked "I'm kinda in the middle of something here."

The soldier drunkenly pivoted to look at me. I couldn't see most of his face, but if the slight grimace was anything to go by, he was confused. "Aren't you a little *hic* y-young to be dr-hinking."

"And you're too drunk to be upright."

It took the soldier a moment to respond. I could practically see the gears trying to grind through the drunken haze. It took a few solid seconds before he actually responded.

"You got something you *-urp* wanna say, brat?" The soldier asked, snarling

"Yeah, you've got all the mental faculties of a potato, you vodka sponge." I spat back, motioning to the bartender "I was in the middle of having a polite conversation with our friend here, and the least you could have done was wait a minute."

Another moment passed, before the soldier got enough sense to say something back.

"Kid, you better- better watch yer mouth, you got no idea who it is you're- you're talkin' to."

"No, but If I had to guess, I'm talking to a future court martial. I'm pretty sure your CO wouldn't be happy to know you're getting plastered in uniform."

The gears ground again, but the soldier didn't get to respond this time. Instead, a woman approached the bar. She was rather attractive, bedight in an intoxicatingly fit cocktail dress, hair done in loose, dark curls. Disappearing amidst her, well accented, bosom I saw the barest fringes of a tattoo. It had to have been one at least, it was an odd spot to apply makeup. Her eyes were clear and sharp, sober.

"Let him be, Reed-y" The woman spoke, her voice cloyingly ardor "We've… better things to be doing than bothering children."

No doubt about it, this lady was wringing something out of him.

"B-but the drinks…" 'Reed' said dumbly

"Oh, I believe our friends have more than enough." The woman gave the bartender a look that, if I have any ability to read body language, said 'cut him off'. She then turned and began to lead the soldier by the arm back towards the booths. I looked back out to the club at large. Situated in a booth not too far from the bar proper, I saw more soldiers, uniformed similar to 'Reed'. Each situated with a woman, or two, of their own. The woman walking away with 'Reed' turned back to me once more, giving an overly friendly smile. "Sorry for the interruption, please, continue."

I stared after them for a moment longer, making sure they were well out of earshot. Then I turned back to the bartender, ready to rip everything of value out of him.

Except he was gone. With little more than a mousy dust cloud to show he'd been there.

My head quickly snapped side to side, checking to see where he'd gone. At the far end, behind the bar, I saw a door swinging back and forth on its hinges.

"… mother-fucker!"

That was the other thing to remember about weaker constitutions: their people bolted the first chance they got.

I vaulted over the bar and bolted for the door. Crashing through it and spilling into a back room, most likely a storage room. I weaved past crates of liquor and cola, chasing after the faint footfalls I could hear ahead of me. I rounded past some shelving in time to see an emergency door slam shut on the far wall. I bolted for it and slammed into it. The door nearly fell off its hinges as I spilled out onto an alleyway, not losing a step. Since we were below street level, the alley was set at a steep incline back to it. I climbed the hill at a dead sprint, nearly catching air as I crested back onto the sidewalk.

Too bad it didn't do any good, the bartender was gone.

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The crowds had begun to pick up, people lining up to get into 'Stardust', and others just prowling the night. Not so close together you could slip away easily, but in dense enough pockets you could be lost if you were quick enough.

Clearly the bartender was.

I scanned the crowds for a moment more, before growling in frustration. The bartender had been my first actual lead. Not only that, but they'd been a good lead. One I could potentially come back to and scare more info out of if push came to shove. That wasn't an option anymore though. If the bartender was smart, they'd already be getting ready to jump ship and swim to the nearest bit of safe harbor. Considering they'd known well enough to run while I'd had my back turned, they probably were.

My frustration continued to mount, and I probably would've done something stupid. Fortunately, I was aware that I was standing there, growling like an animal, and earning strange looks from passersby. So I capped my anger for the moment, and started back down the sidewalk. Dipping into an alleyway as soon as I could find one to break line of sight and give me a measure of privacy. No reason to make myself any more suspect than I already was acting.

I ducked behind some waste bins and checked my pip-boy.

-Completed: Travel to and search Stardust for evidence.

-Failed: Convince the Bartender to share information.

Well, didn't that just blow?

No sense in crying over spilt whiskey though. Couldn't do anything about the bartender, poor planning on my part. Should've thought to look for a way they could run out of. But the night was still young, and I had more yet to do. I just needed to figure out my next heading and get to it.

I clicked over to the pip-boy's map and examined the city. There were still plenty of bars to hit from Yang's list. With the night starting to fall into swing, I probably wouldn't have to worry too much about standing out. But considering the bartender had quickly put two and two together about why I was there, I couldn't be too cautious. At least I could be thankful he hadn't bolted the moment he saw me. It meant people hadn't quite yet picked up on who I was.

As I began figuring out a course to the next closest bar though, I felt something begin to vibrate in my pocket. I looked away from my pip-boy, and down to the pocket of my cargo pants. The vibrating stopped for a moment, then renewed after a moment. I fished around in my pocket for a moment, until I found what it was.

I pulled the scroll out of my pocket, sliding it open as it continued to buzz in my hand. There was a section of it, 'messages', that had become highlighted with a red exclamation mark. I tapped at it, and was brought to an ongoing dialogue with someone. Their ID image was a blackened silhouette, and their name was randomized text. Their message however, was legible.

[Meeting tonight, 10, the usual place. Come ready]

I stared at the message for a moment, mulling it over. Though I had no clue who sent it, I didn't need much pondering to figure out a basic answer: The White Fang. It wasn't for me, clearly, but the person it was intended for was either currently in a hospital bed or jail cell. The fact that they'd sent the message anyway either meant they hadn't picked up on that, or had sent it by mistake.

In either case, I could use it… if I actually knew where the 'usual place' was.

I checked my map again, looking to see if a new marker had appeared amidst the others. Unfortunately, I didn't see one. Figured it couldn't be so easy.

So: I knew the White Fang were meeting in the city somewhere tonight. Worse, they were planning to do something 'loud' again, if the obvious call for arms was any indicator. I wasn't inclined to letting them a repeat of the previous night, which meant I needed to do something. Quickly.

I stared down at the scroll for a moment longer, then swiped at it. A keyboard displayed itself on the screen, and I began to type. Assuming the message hadn't been a mistake, it would mean the sender thought I was with the White Fang. Then perhaps I could use that to my advantage. If it had been, then I wouldn't get anywhere anyway. Worst that would happen is I'd be walking into a trap that I could see from miles away.

So, I replied:

["Where's that again?"]

I waited a moment, genuinely not holding my breath for a reply.

["Fuck's sake Cork, again?"]

"…" I had to stifle a laugh. No way this was gonna work.

["Yeah, again, got a new guy with me who wants the address."]

["… Bro, can u srsly not remember this shit?"]

["Hey, I know where it is, the other guy doesn't. Just no good with addresses."]

A moment passed, as I waited for a reply. Almost genuinely disbelieving it was working.

Then an address appeared.

["Write it down this time man, I don't want to have to tell u again."]

I chuckled, typing ["Yea, yea, I got it."]

["BTW, what did you think of that pic I sent you?"]

[ "Which one?"]

["Aw come on bro, the 1 with the chick with the bassoon."]

"… PFT-HA-HA-HA-"

I couldn't help it anymore, I laughed. I was messaging bassoon boy.

["Yeah, sure was something."] I answered

["Hey, I know it's no cellist, but she sure knew how to blow."]

["I bet, c u there."]

I tried to stifle the titters of laughter and tapped the scroll against my Pip-boy. Sure enough, a new way marker appeared on my map. I just stood there looking at it, dumbfounded.

"… Holy shit, it actually worked… Ha!"

…

I followed my compass east into the residential district. I tried to keep from getting lost for once, something I had a propensity for. I had no idea what was going on, but last night had shown the consequences of being too slow. I wasn't going to let it happen again.

The Pip-boy led me to a more neglected portion of the district. Old, shuddered midrises and apartment complexes. Places that were likely condemned and probably not long for demolition. Made some sense. Assuming they didn't do too thorough a scan before bringing the place down, most evidence would be buried. Wouldn't be the first place the cops would be looking either. Even standing outside of it, I couldn't see anything that said 'Hey, we're over here!'. Given it took almost flashing neon to get the cops' attention, it was perfect.

They hadn't left anyone to stand guard at the door, so getting in was a breeze, but from there on I was vigilant. I was running head long into enemy territory again without a clue of what was waiting. That was always a recipe for disaster in enclosed spaces.

Especially in enclosed spaces.

So as I went in, I took stock of the building. The main entry was a fairly plain area, a foyer with two flights of stairs and a couple of hallways leading to oblivion or some such. Judging from the way things had been moved, and the dirt tracked in, things were taking place on one of the upper floors.

The eighth, as I was soon to discover.

I reached the top of the stairs and found myself at the end of two long halls. One running off ahead of me, and the other to my left. Given the shape of the building, I could intuit they conjoined with two other halls to form a large loop. Meaning that it didn't matter which way I went, I'd find out where they were eventually.

But rather than do that, I just took a second and listened.

We were in a part of the city most would probably avoid, in a location that would definitely be avoided. So it stood to reason that, if the White Fang were here, they wouldn't much care about being too loud. So I closed my eyes and listened to the building around me.

Lo and behold, I heard them.

It was muffled, and a little distant, but I could hear people talking, laughing. It was coming from one of the apartments at the far end, to my left. But there was an odd clarity to it. Made it sound like it sound closer than it should have been. Like it was coming from the apartment closest to me, spanning the interior of the building. Rather than walk the whole distance to find nothing, I tried the door to the apartment, carefully. Opening it slowly, quietly. I didn't think anyone would be waiting on the other side to ambush me, but I could always be wrong.

I wasn't that time, though.

The door opened with a barely audible creak, and I found myself, for the moment, alone. The voices were clearer now, crisper, if still some distance off. The apartment I'd found myself in was lined with boxes and crates of varying sizes and makes. But I could recognize arms cases and ammunition canister when I saw them. Most of them were sitting on the ground, others on what had likely been counter space at one point.

On impulse, I opened one of them to take a better look. It was my first time handling munitions produced on Remnant. Meaning more than likely they were dust rounds rather than gunpowder. But the similarities were evident. The overall design and shape were that same, which made things simpler. But the materials were different. The casings of the cartridges weren't brass, something closer to iron or nickel in shade. The bullet itself nearly matching the case. The tips were also different as well. Some form of acrylic, colored a shade of pale blue. If my knowledge served me, it likely denoted the kind of dust used in the charge. Pale blue… so ice, maybe?

Not important for the moment.

The room was dimly lit by portable construction lights, dying the room a muddy yellow. It was dark enough that most people might have trouble seeing anything not directly in the light. But Faunus weren't most people, so things probably looked just about right to them. The walls separating apartments were also torn down. Leaving the normally smaller domiciles much larger, sprawling. Judging by the ruins of where the walls had been, the apartments were small too. More accurate to call them tenements, really. But the truth still stood: They'd turned the entire upper floor of the complex into a stash house.

It left me with a line of sight as to where the voices were coming from as well.

Down at the far end of the conjoined apartments, I could see more lighting. Given it was the same direction the noise was coming from, I had to imagine that was where the meeting was taking place. More than likely, I was standing in the storage area. Which worked for me, last thing I needed was to walk in on their massive circle jerk.

I crouched, and began to creep my way towards the far end. As I went, I began double checking my weapons. Cycling open the action of my shotgun, making sure the magnum shells were loaded. Making sure That Gun had hollow points in the cylinder. Blood Nap was sharp, and my prod was charged. As I reached the end of the room, I broke the action of my flare gun and double checked the loaded round.

I could see them now, the White Fang.

Standing, funnily enough, in a semi-circle near the exterior wall.

I ducked behind one of the partially destroyed walls and surveyed the room. On the far wall, next to a hole leading to the hallway, was an enlarged map of Vale. Marked with arrows and X's, notes on plans and movements. The room was still sparsely lit by portable lighting, for the little it mattered. There were tables set up with odds and ends, food and drink mostly, no weapons. Meaning they weren't immediately armed, or not heavily, at least.

There were 1, 2… 6… 15 of them, meaning this was going to require some thought. Most of them weren't particularly stand out. The uniforms helped blend them all together nicely. There was a large one I took note of however. He wore the same style of outfit as the rest of them, but had to be standing near seven feet tall. Thick enough with muscle he'd make a convincing super mutant. His skin was mottled as well, scaly and the color of moss.

There was one more, standing in the middle of the circle, motioning to the map.

"-Cotton and Zin's groups will move in from the south, while our group and Sepia's move them from the north and east." The white fang motioned to a portion of the residential district "As soon as the rest of the guys get here, we'll give the go ahead and start moving into position. Remember, our goal is to be loud and visible, draw all kinds of heat our way." He motioned to the western edge of the district, at the river. "Don't waste time trying to get everyone, focus on just getting their attention our way. We'll reconvene here, by the river, and divide from there. Dragging the cops where we want them. Whittle them down and make life a little easier for the guys moving the Dust."

I smirked, that was a nice little confirmation to have.

The rest of it though? Bad news. Really bad.

"Once we're out on the street, there's not going to be time for questions." The White Fang said "You need anything cleared up, ask it now. After what happened last night, things need to go smoothly."

The rest of the group murmured for a moment, before another member raised a hand. "We're not checking our fire for anyone, right?"

"'Course not." The large member growled; voice as coarse as Mojave sand "There's no room for exceptions here."

The apparent leader nodded "Waylon's right, we don't have the liberty to make distinctions here. They're not with us, they bleed like anyone else. Doesn't matter who or what they are, understood?"

The members nodded and grunted an affirmative. Another member raised their hand "What do we do if they get huntsmen involved?"

"Assuming we keep it up that long, you can consider that the point of critical success." The leader answered smoothly "If we're somehow able to draw huntsmen from Beacon academy, we're not going to engage them. We're to disperse immediately, make it hard for them track us. You'll receive instructions after escape. Do not get caught. You're on your own if you are."

The more I heard, the less I liked what was going on. It wasn't some master stroke of a plan; it was little more than a barely coordinated assault. Something that'd rack up a high death toll and keep the cops out of the wrong people's hair.

Which meant it would probably go off without a hitch.

Because even if everyone got caught, that kind of an attack would jam things up well and good. Almost like what the group I'd encountered the night before had planned, but on a grander scale.

'… Yeah, fuck that.'

I slowly closed my flare gun, the breech snapping shut with the near inaudible click of metal.

Another member raised their hand. "Isn't this the same as what Cork's crew had been planning last night?"

"Yes, except we're not going to get distracted by Lien this time." The leader growled "He and his clowns had a simple job, and they fucked it up before they could even start moving. Everyone was waiting, but he and his guys got taken down before they even got out of the bank."

"… Hold up, what?" The member asked "They got caught!?"

"Yeah, something went wrong. We're still trying to figure out what."

"But… Then who was I messaging with!?"

Silence flooded into the room with that statement. Rarely do I get such a wonderful cue to get to work.

I took aim with my flare gun, firing a round into the center of the circle. Right at center mass of the 'Leader'.

A flare round consists largely of magnesium, phosphorus, and binding agents. All packed tightly into a slow burning wad with a parachute. Good for signaling over long distances if lobbed into the air. With the binding agents slowly breaking down as it hovers in the sky

Or you can shoot someone with it. Breaking the wad into smaller pieces and causing the reaction to happen faster.

The White Fang leader took the shot to the chest. The round breaking with a *pop* and engulfing them in a phosphorescent ball of flames. Burning brighter than what the portable lamps had been providing. The effect was immediate. Faunus's senses are sharper than human's, and most have rather effective low light vision.

It screwed them here.

The sudden change in the lighting caused the circled White Fang to flinch, trying to cover their eyes as the sudden intensity of the light through them into a panicked frenzy. The leader, meanwhile had it worst, since he was just a great big ball of fire.

The leader howled in pain and fear as I charged into the fray of White Fang. Taking advantage of their panic. It wouldn't last long. Flares weren't a substitute for a flash bang. But it was the best I had at the time, so I'd make it work.

I whipped out my cattle prod as I closed in on the nearest Fang, ramming it into the base of his skull. Panic screams turned to pain as electricity coursed through them. The momentum knocked them off balance, and they fell forward. I moved with them, cupping the back of their head with my free hand. I half dragged, half pushed them forward, down. I traveled with them, planting my leg in the floor ahead of them, guiding their head as it crashed into my knee like a hammer.

I hardly felt the impact.

But they did.

The Fang fell to the floor, unmoving as I darted into the next nearest member. They hadn't realized what was happening yet, too busy trying to adjust to their rapidly changing environment. The only one who'd come to grips with the situation was their leader, who'd collapsed to the floor in a panic, clearly trying to put out the flames.

I shoulder checked the next Fang in the chest, knocking them off balance. They retaliated, grabbing at me to try and stabilize themselves, but they went wide, missing. I swung my closer arm in an uppercut at their jaw, catching them square on the underside side of their head. The momentum toppled them onto their back, and I went with it. Falling forward and planting my fist into their face, their head cracking audibly against the floor.

The White Fang members began to collect themselves, trying to stave off the panic that gripped them. At least two of them had the presence of self to rush over to their leader, trying to douse the flames that engulfed him. They were going to have a hell of a time with it, the intact flare burned near 1600 degrees Fahrenheit. The increased surface area would've shot well past that.

But I decided I'd give them a helping hand.

I launched from the ground towards them, knocking aside the members that got in my way. The few that did, collided with the portable lamps, knocking them to the floor, further muddying the light.

I drove a heel into the back of the first Fang's knee, then brought the cattle prod into his temple. They yowled in pain as I switched to their partner, bringing my leg up and catching him in the head. Before a sound could escape him though, I stabbed the prod into his diaphragm. He doubled over involuntarily, and I grabbed the hood at the side of his head, doing the same to his fellow.

I smashed their heads together like a pair of deathclaw eggs.

They collapsed onto their boss in a heap, helping to smother the chemical fueled blaze.

For a hat trick, I kicked their leader in the side of the head, removing him from the equation too.

By then, the white Fang had collected themselves enough to realize what was happening, and they all looked to where their leader had been standing but moments ago. They likely saw me, bathed in red fire and looming over their comrades like some grim wraith. I could see it in their stances, they were afraid, holding themselves close, low. Some had even stumbled backwards. The only one who didn't seem affected was the big one, Waylon. He just bared his teeth in a furious scowl, an undulating growl eliciting from his throat.

"S-shit!" another member gasped, reaching towards their belt.

I assumed he had some weapon he was going to try and pull on me, but I wasn't giving him a free target.

I sprang from the spot over their leader, sprinting for the hole in the wall next to the map. It led out into a hallway between the exterior wall of the building and the room itself. I dipped down to the right as shots rang out, a trio of bullets colliding with the wall and windows of the hall. Missing me closely.

I sprinted silently for several meters waiting to see how many follow-up shots there were. There were only the immediate three though. I continued to back pedal until I reached the connecting hallway, then dipped around the side of it, waiting. Leaning out just enough to see If anyone was going to be crazy enough to follow me out.

The big guy, Waylon, was. Leaning halfway out into the hall, his growl echoing down the corridor. I stayed behind the wall, out of sight, waiting for him to return.

It was a long, quiet moment, before he did. I could see he wanted to begin stalking down the hall after me. But there was something patient in his movements, calm.

Dangerous.

Once he was back out of sight though, I crept silently back down the hall towards the hole, stopping at its edge. I returned the prod to my side, and slid my shotgun off my back, making sure the hammer was primed.

"W-what the fuck was that!?" I heard someone ask

"If I had to guess, Rivera, the same thing that took care of Cork's crew last night." Waylon growled, implicative "Which you lead here."

"I-I didn't kno-"

There was an almost sledgehammer like impact, and a yowl of pain as something, or someone, hit the floor.

"It was all over the news you MORON!" Waylon roared

"I-I'm sorry!" The voice, Rivera, screamed, shuffling away.

A moment of silence followed, though I could hear the big man growling.

"… Hrn, deal with you later… You four, guns, now." Waylon said, commanding "You four, with me. Rivera, watch the hole, see if our friend comes back. Don't fuck up."

A moment's silence followed, before everyone got into motion, I could hear people begin to move further away, back towards the stairs. Heading for the arms room I'd seen. The rest seemed to be coming back my way, though one of them was distinctly closer than the rest.

I got an idea of what to do next, but I was going to need to move quickly.

I listened to them approach, waiting. I raised my shotgun.

Rivera stepped out into the hall, his head warily snapping in my direction.

The surprise in his face was evident.

As was the shotgun barrel hovering directly in front of it.

"OH FU-"

I pulled the trigger, engulfing his head in a ball of fire and lead. I didn't bother following it up with anything. The rest of the White Fang would be on his heels, and I wasn't going to turn this into a straight up fight if I could avoid it. Besides, the last guy I did that too stayed down when it happened.

Instead, the moment the recoil jolted back into my arms, I turned and sprinted back down the hallway again. Knowing the closer Fang members were going to be close on my heels as soon as I blasted Rivera. I reached the end of the hall as they clambered out of the hole after me. I rounded the corner and continued sprinting down the hall. Exchanging my shotgun for my Flare Gun as I ran, ejecting the spent shells of both for new ones. Though as I drew closer to the end, I realized using it would be a bad decision and swapped it for That Gun.

The ammo in the crates was dust based. If I missed my mark and hit one of the crates instead, it would be an ugly scene. I've seen what happens when ammo gets cooked before, I didn't want to know what would happen if dust rounds went up.

Especially with how many were sitting in such a small room.

No, That Gun would work better.

I continued sprinting down the hall silently until I came to a door nearest the end. The one that would lead back to the conjoined munitions cache.

I didn't bother with subtlety this time. I planted my heel near the door's lock and frame and kicked it open. It swung back hard on its hinges, crashing into the wall with a splintering bang. The four Members had made it into the room already, and had begun drawing arms from the crates. The door crashing open drew their attention away from the gun though, buying me precious seconds.

I didn't aim with the first two shots; The Fang was close enough I didn't need to. I planted both of them in his torso, staggering him. I ran at him, opening VATs as I tackled him. I judged my shots on his three friends. Two of them were already turning to face me, clearly scrambling to load their weapons. The third had either opted to ignore me, or was aware of me and chose to focus on arming himself.

I closed VATs and rattled off the last three shots in the cylinder. I caught the first two in the head, knocking them for a loop.

The third missed.

But I'd assumed it was going to.

The magazine snapped into the receiver of whatever weapon he'd been loading, but I was already in motion. I grabbed the White Fang I'd tackled into and pulled him in between me and the gunman. I didn't expect him to hesitate for more than a second before choosing whether or not to pull the trigger. But I only need the one.

I pushed forward, pivot at the waist, and throwing my faunus shield at his friend.

I still didn't have a grant handle on how aura worked.

But it did.

My improvised projectile sailed haphazardly across the small room and crashed into his friend like a ton of bricks. Sending them both tumbling to the ground. I didn't waste a second running over and making sure they stayed there though. Smashing my foot into the first one's head, and kicking the second with the back stroke.

The clatter of metal told me I wasn't done though. It turned in time to see the other two I'd shot in the head were recovering quickly, I could hear more footsteps approaching too. Echoing down the hall I'd careened in from.

I grabbed the previously loaded weapon from the floor, a sub machinegun, and charged the two recovering members. Gripping That Gun in one hand and the SMG in the other.

The first got his hands on the table before I brained him with the stock of the SMG. Not enough time to focus or recover before he hit the floor. The second guy was luckier though, if only by so much. He was on both feet again and scrambling to get his gun on me. Too bad he didn't realize: guns are less effective in close quarters fighting.

I was practically on top of him.

I spun that gun around and hit the cylinder release, launching the spent brass into his face. A fun little trick I'd used before. It kept him off balance, if only momentarily. I used it to pistol whip him, spinning That Gun around by the guard. The butt of the pistol cracked him in the head once, twice, thrice. Then I dropped it back into its holster, swinging the SMG back around behind his head for leverage.

I gripped the weapon by either end, and used it to drag his head into mine. I didn't wait for the ringing to subside before repeated it, this time dragging his face into my knee.

Then he stayed down.

Just when the White Fang that'd chased me down the hall tried to funnel into the room.

I whipped around to face them, ready to squeeze the trigger before an odd feeling washed over me. An image of the action ran through my mind, cycling empty.

Wasting a precious second, my hand left the trigger and opened the action, checking to see if it'd been charged yet.

It hadn't been.

The member I'd taken it from hadn't chambered a round.

I stared at the chamber for a second, confused.

It almost cost me. One of the White Fang made it into the room, and stopped for a second himself. Seeming to notice I'd torn through four more of his friends. Which sucked for him, since that's how long it took me to let the action close on the SMG.

I ran for the opposite door, the one I'd initially come through, without turning away from the Fang. I pulled the trigger as I moved. I didn't bother to aim, but let the torrent of bullets stall and suppress my approaching enemies. The spray caught the guy standing in the doorway, and I heard the guys in the hall shout in surprise, likely trying to dodge out of the way. These walls seemed thin enough.

I made it to the doorway I'd come in from and emptied the magazine at the opposing wall. Hoping I'd managed to slow them down enough to keep ahead of them.

I tossed the SMG down the stairwell and bolted down the corridor, back towards where the initial meeting had taken place. I pulled my shotgun back around front of me, fully expecting someone to round the corner at any moment.

I was wrong.

A massive, scaled arm crashed through the wall in front of me, palm open in my direction. I tried to stop, backpedal, but I'd been running at a full sprint. Not so much time for that.

I collided with the arm, and felt claws scrap my armor as the hand seized hold of my coat.

Then I was hauled off my feet. Right into the wall.

It was a merciful thing, I guess, that it wasn't particularly thick. Maybe a few inches of dry wall and brick, weakened from the initial strike the hand caused. But hitting a brick wall is still hitting a brick wall.

I came out the other side in a cloud of dust, mortar, and brick. The hand releasing me so I could sail through the air and crash against the other wall. The impact releasing my grip in the shotgun. Not sure which hurt more, being pulled through the wall, or hitting the other one.

It broke my aura either way.

I recovered quickly, scrambling to my feet in time to catch a hammer fist to the side of the head. I rolled with it as best I could, using it to put distance between me and my assailant. Scrambling away from another follow up as I figured out what happened.

I was in another of the conjoined stash house tenements, pulled back through the wall by the big bastard trying to crush me.

Waylon.

The room was dark and murky, the lamps having been knocked aside. My nightvision helped keep him in sight, but he cast one helluva silhouette. All massive muscle and scales. The same reverberating, rumbling growl carrying from him.

"Think you're clever?" He growled, all the decorum of an idling chainsaw "You won't be the first human I've-"

I dove at him, trying to recover. I whipped the cattle prod back out and stabbed at his stomach. I felt it hit home, then pulled it back. Dipping to the side as I struck him in the ribs. One of his massive arms careened down at me, just narrowly missing my head. I swung low, catching him in the back of his thigh.

To my horror, he tanked it.

All of it.

He just turned to me with a vicious, bloodthirsty grin. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy killing you."

Three White fang members approached from the direction of the munitions cache, directly behind Waylon. They were armed. If they were the ones I'd shot at before, that made them the last of the basic members still standing. Which meant my cover fire had succeeded in nailing at least one of them.

They tried to take aim, but Waylon flexed his hand, stopping them. He hardly turned his head back to them, but there was a venom in his voice. "Shoot him, I'll rip your throats out…" He faced me again, teeth out and ready. "He's mine."

Great, another psychopath. As if I hadn't seen enough of them.

With a growl, Waylon charged me. I could just make out claws at the ends of his fingers as he made another pass at me. I slipped the strike, catching him on the side with my cattle prod. He rounded on me, a massive leg thrusting at me like a hydraulic piston. I avoided it easily, slipping past it and into his guard, thrusting the prongs of the cattle prod into his stomach. I felt them strike home, but Waylon didn't even so much as groan. He cupped his fists together in an overhead strike, striking down at me. I retreated from the blow, avoiding it handily. Countering with a strike to the head.

That got a reaction: an annoyed hiss.

Waylon dove at me, the close range almost ensuring he'd get hold of me. But I tumbled with him, rolling on to my back with my legs as a pivot between us. I used the momentum and pushed. Instead of landing on me, he careened to the floor past me, landing with a crash.

I scrambled to my feet and sprang at him, swinging an axe kick at his ribs. It felt like I'd driven my heel into a brick wall. I was having trouble telling if that was his aura, or just his default state.

Waylon didn't raise, instead sweeping a leg around in a low kick. I kicked off of him, moving back in time to avoid it. I continued to back pedal, keeping the other members in sight aside from Waylon. They were, rather poorly, keeping their guns pointed my way, but I could see they were wary. Whether it was of me or Waylon I couldn't tell, but it meant they weren't about to open up on me just yet. Something that could change at the drop of a hat.

Waylon rose from the floor and stormed after me. His excessive bulk hardly seeming to slow him down. He came at me with another large swipe, and I slipped under it, striking his back with my cattle prod. Which, did nothing but distract me.

Before I could see it, Waylon's arm whipped back at me, colliding with my head like a rocket. I heard the metal creak with the strike, and felt myself tumbling backwards. It took no small presence of self to keep from slipping out of focus.

He didn't hit as hard as Yang.

But, HOLY SHIT.

Waylon wasn't someone who needed many hits to win.

I tumbled with the strike, rolling backwards again as my head rang with church bells, vision doubling, tripling even. I could see Waylon stalking towards me, he and his twin brothers. He seemed to know the kind of effect his hit had. He was trying to keep me off balance, panicked. I let him think I was.

I staggered drunkenly on my feet, letting my head shake blearily, not a hard thing to fake. Made it seem like the blow had rattled my brain worse than it had.

Waylon and his twins smiled coldly, hungrily.

He got impatient, surging towards me, going for blood.

I stuttered VATs open a moment later, forcing reality to clear itself if only for a second.

Then I dodged Waylon's lunge handily.

Both of his hands clasped together where I'd been standing a moment prior. I'd dipped low, close between his arms.

My legs tensed like coiled steel as I sprang up, driving the cattle prod into his diaphragm again. Pushing every bit of strength I could spare into the motion. Making sure I had direct contact with his skin, even if the prongs stabbed straight into him.

Then I cranked the voltage to maximum.

There was a moment where nothing seemed to happen. A creeping dread sank into me for the length of it.

Then Waylon's aura warbled over him breaking audibly.

Followed by the bellowing roar of Waylon's pain.

I watched every muscle in his chest spasm uncontrollably. His arms twitching and jerking as synapses and nerves fired uncontrollably, curling tighter and closer to his core. His head peeling backward, face to the sky as he loosed his pain in the only way available to him.

I didn't let up, I pushed harder, twisting the cattle prod as if I was trying to run it through him.

I should have been paying closer attention.

I didn't realize what he was doing until he'd had both hands wrapped around the shaft of the cattle prod.

Then he snapped forward.

His head crashed into mine like a pile driver, with all the mass to match.

I lost my grip on the cattle prod and hit the floor, bouncing off it like a ball. Some part of me tried to power through it, get back up.

Waylon kicked that part of me in the stomach with a steel toed boot. Sending him skipping across the floor like a stone until the small of his back smashed into the edge of something hard. A cabinet probably. A gasp of pain escaping us. It was hard enough that, even with the armor, both of us knew we'd be pissing red in the morning.

I struggled to get to my hands and knees this time, head cocking towards Waylon as the world spun.

He stood some feet away, gripping my cattle prod in one hand. The he hurled it somewhere, far enough away I wasn't getting it back soon enough to help.

He was still smiling. A smile cold, cruel, and hungry enough it easily made my top ten. What sold it though were his eyes. I could almost see them glowing beneath the hood and mask all White Fang wore. An amber, blazing with rage and bloodlust.

"Yesss." Waylon growled, almost hissing "Fight. Make it worth the struggle."

He must have been trying to scare me. But he didn't. I'm scared of many things, reasonably so.

Overgrown freaks with a hard-on for sadism weren't on the list anymore.

I pushed myself to my feet, fighting off the pain and shakes like a bad hangover. Now he'd gone and turned me from desperate to pissed.

I was gonna make myself a croc-skin coat.

Waylon seemed to get the idea when I got into a stance. He hissed like the animal he was and coursed towards me again. Neither of us had aura now. Just one big guy versus a midget supermutant with a case of eczema. Evened odds. I was gonna make how I handled the other members seem like a mercy.

He lashed at me, and I slipped it, raising an arm to guide myself past it. I then used it to give him a counter punch to the ribs, and a driving blow to his liver.

Waylon growled, twisting at the hip with an elbow strike. I dipped into it, avoiding the blow as I kept the pressure on his ribs, coming back around front again to hit him in the diaphragm. His other hand came towards me, claws ready to rake. I used its momentum as a guide, slipping it into a scything heel to the other side of his chest. Before he could recover, I back stepped and launched into a Ranger's takedown. My leg scything out a second time, striking at his legs.

I felt his bones shift on impact, his knees buckling as he toppled to the floor lack a ton of bricks. He moved better than one though. I lunged into a follow-up kick, but Waylon was already recovering. He rolled out of the way as my strike arced past him. Once more he launched up from the ground at me like a rabid beast. I twisted as he passed, his claws managing to catch my upper left arm as I cracked him one on the back of the head. If he felt it, he didn't act like it.

He rounded to face me, still smiling like a mad man, then raged in with a haymaker. Hands open and claws wide. He missed the first, but I tried to deflect the second. His claws stinging my right forearm with dull heat as it passed. As it passed, I brought an upper cut in with my left, only narrowly catching the side of his jaw. It didn't bother him, as he barreled into me. Trying to knock me to the ground.

He was too fast for someone his size. There was a whole law of physics dedicated to proving it.

I needed to fix that.

I fell into a pratfall, tumbling with seemingly less control than I actually had. I stopped, making it look like I was drunkenly struggling to get to a knee.

Waylon took the opening, steeping close with a leg reared back, clearly intent kick my head off.

He stepped right into it. Literally.

My hand dropped to my foot, and caught the handle of Blood-Nap with ease. I snapped it from its sheathe, quick enough you'd hardly see a thing, even if the lights were on. The blade spun in my hand, singing with the wind.

Then I rammed it into Waylon's knee.

It didn't stop him from kicking me, but I tanked it better than I otherwise would've.

His leg connected, and I fought through the impact, feeling my shoulder shift in a way it shouldn't. A growl of surprise escaped Waylon. I could hear the tendons straining and sinew snapping along the blade's edge. Then I twisted it, levered it, and slammed and elbow down on it with all my weight.

His knee left its socket like a broken bearing.

The growl erupted into a howl as Waylon scrambled backwards, trying and failing to get his leg to work right. Funny thing about the body: joints are one of the hardest things to strengthen. Not impossible, but only with the proper work put in. Waylon's mass, despite his speed, said he focused more on power. Which didn't mean shit if it couldn't be used. He fell back, clutching at his knee, trying to pull the knife out. I was more than willing to lend him a hand. I pulled the knife back out of his knee and slashed it across his abdomen and side. His outfit kept it shallow, but I got blood.

He swiped at me in a frenzy, unable to retreat as quickly as he wanted. Likely realizing a very important fact about knife fights: you get into one, you're gonna get cut. Doesn't matter if you have one or ten of them.

I slipped the first swipe, and thrust Blood-Nap at the second. The thick blade running through his forearm, just a few inches shy of his wrist. He didn't howl in pain this time, but- oh boy- was he feeling it. I pulled Blood-Nap back again, finding it growing slick with its namesake. Waylon's other hand went and clasped at his newest wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

I rounded on him, Driving my fist into his ribs again. I felt them shift, crack.

Waylon bared his teeth in a snarl.

His hand released the wound on his arm, swinging backwards in a closed fist. I didn't so much stop it as I did redirect it.

I let the swing burn up its momentum, then applied my own to it. Waylon's balance had been destroyed, and he sure wasn't paying the attention he needed to be at that point. I pivoted his arm at the shoulder, jerking and pushing him forward until he was face down on the ground and his arm twisted painfully behind him.

Then I pushed down.

His shoulder wrenched out of its socket with a crack. He roared in pain, but I forced Waylon to stop being my focus of the moment by stomping the back of his head.

Without releasing the twist on his arm, I drew out my flare gun and hip fired.

Directly at the three idiots just standing around.

They could have opened up on me at any moment, and that would've been the end of it. The only reason they probably hadn't was because they were too scared of Waylon to do anything. That was going to change in a moment, so I couldn't ignore them.

The flare hissed through the air and impacted the middle of the trio in a gout of incandescent crimson. His two friends stumbled away from him, shielding their eyes at, once again, being blinded.

I dropped down on Waylon, hammering his head into the floor. He stopped resisting.

I released my grip on the flare gun and held Blood-Nap in a reverse grip. I lurched up from Waylon, sprinting at the last three pieces of trouble in the room.

I crashed into the closest one, slamming Blood-nap into his shoulder, before shoving the burning one into the third. Knife-boy howled, before I drove his head into my knee and kicked him to the floor. The other two grappled for a moment, before the third managed to toss burning-man off of him. Then I crashed into him, burying my fist in his stomach before putting him down the same way I did the Knife-boy.

Which left burning man, writhing and howling on the floor.

I breathed for a moment, catching my breathe and wiped Blood-Nap clean on Third's clothes, then sheathing it. I walked around Burning man, and back into the room immediately adjoining where I'd fought Waylon. The cache.

I reached back into the ammo tin with the pale blue tipped rounds, and tossed one onto burning-man.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the round cooked, and a burst of cold air billowed out over the room, covering everything, and myself, in a thin layer of frost. Burning-man's flames were instantly snuffed, leaving him to curl up on the ground.

"Yep, definitely ice… cool."

I loomed over ice-man. Physically: he looked fine, if a bit singed. He must've been lucky, got his aura to tank it. Mentally though, he was scarred for life. I could hear him whimpering. I did him a favor, and knocked him upside the head. He could process later.

Silence blanketed the floor after that. If any of the White Fang members were conscious, or alive for that matter, they weren't making it immediately known. I took that as a sign to begin clean-up. Collecting my weapons from where Waylon had tossed them, and reloading anything that was empty. I needed to keep moving. It was right as I was thinking about what to do next that I noticed my shoulder wasn't feeling quite right.

And something warm was trickling down my arms.

And my kidneys hurt.

I hurt pretty much everywhere, come to think of it. Which was a bad thing, since tonight wasn't nearly over. But I had a solution for that.

I pulled a syrette out of my pocket, and stuck it into myself. After injecting its contents, a whole new world of pain washed over me. Like something was systematically piercing the surface of my skin needles. Lengthwise, like they were trying to stitch me. Everywhere.

It lasted a moment, and I absolutely hated it. Afterwards though, the pain transitioned into a whole-body itch that I had no feasible way of scratching. But, conversely, the pain was gone, and further checks showed my wounds had healed up nicely, minimal scarring.

Stimpack recipe was effective alright, definitely needed more refining though.

Back to snuff, I wandered back into the room where this whole mess had started, and looked intently at the map of Vale. Despite taking out everyone here, there was still a problem: Things were still in motion.

Assuming the map was accurate to the way things were going to go down, there were at least three more groups of White Fang hiding in the district. Maybe more, but I wouldn't know until I saw them. It was too many though. I could handle tough odds, but I could only be so many places at once. There wasn't a guarantee that while I was running around the assault wouldn't start anyway. Things were just too spread out for me to cover ground effectively.

I needed a better plan.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the map, thinking over the minimal information I had. This whole thing was intended to be a giant distraction. Make it big and loud enough that they could keep things moving in the background, while whittling down Vale's defenses. There had to be a way to get around it, or at least dampen the impact enough to make any success they achieved negligible.

I thought it over for a moment more, then had an idea.

The fastest way to throw a wrench in thing: move up the time table.

Get the cops involved before everyone was ready.

There was certainly plenty of evidence to work with in this building alone. If the cops had a push in the right direction, there was less chance they'd get bushwhacked when it happened. Might even prevent any serious casualties if done right.

All they needed was a little push.

I searched over the fallen White Fang for a moment, and managed to produce a scroll from them. Couldn't take any chances. I didn't know if there was a way to track scroll's locations, but I wasn't looking to test it and find out.

I cleared my throat and did a few vocal warm ups before trying the numbers. Wasn't too sure what was used to contact emergency services. But there were a couple standardized one from before the war I could try. I got mostly dial tones for my efforts, but I did manage to find the right one eventually.

There was an electronic click, as the scroll connected.

"Vale emergency services" A man answered on the opposite end "What's your-"

"IF you want to SAVE lives TONIGHT, you're GOING TO listen TO me." I barked, giving my best Mobius impression.

I must have caught him by surprise, because he didn't say anything in response.

"THE White Fang is PLANNING to attack the RESIDENTIAL DISTRICT tonight. Intending to draw the fine PEOPLE of the DEPARTMENT into open warfare in the city STREETS. You have one CHANCE to avoid letting THAT happen."

A moment passed on the opposite side of the line, and I heard the operator give an aggrieved sigh. "Sir, this line is reserved for emergencies only. Save the jokes for-"

"LISTEN HERE YOU JACKASS." I roared into the scroll "I have SPENT enough time WATCHING you fucking IDIOTS screw around TRYING to DEAL with the WHITE FANG. YOU were LUCKY I was there at the bank last night, OR YOU'D already be LOOKING for a new JOB!"

The operator didn't respond.

"PEOPLE WILL DIE TONIGHT unless you take your JOB seriously. I'M the ONLY saving GRACE you're getting TONIGHT." I paused for a moment, thinking, then looked around the room around me. "… I'm STANDING in one of their STASH HOUSES as we speak, and have clear view of their PLANS for the EVENING. I will TELL YOU where it is, SO you can TRUST I am TELLING YOU THE TRUTH. Even if you just SEND a squad car TO INVESTIGATE."

"…" There was a sound of shuffling papers on the other end of the line. "I'm listening."

I rolled my eyes, and gave the operator the address. "I WON'T be here when they ARRIVE. Tell them TO HURRY. IT'll be too late once the shooting STARTS."

I cut the line and tossed the scroll aside. If they were smart, they'd listen to the crazy man, even if it was just sending a squad car over. They didn't have much time to prepare. But it was more than they would have otherwise.

If they didn't, more people would die.

I could only do so much.

I studied the map for a moment longer, puzzling out the movements of the arrows, tracing them back to their points of origin. I couldn't just outright assume they traced back to other Stash houses. But they were routes to be followed, possibly rallying points. Maybe I couldn't stop all of it, but I could lighten the load. Make it something more manageable for the VPD to handle.

A part of me wished I hadn't taken care of Burning-man already, dragging some info from him would've helped.

I marked the potential rallying points into my Pip-boy, and prepared to get underway. I gathered what I needed and made for the stairs. Descending them in rapid succession

Then I heard the sound of doors opening, echoing distantly below me.

It was too early for the cops to have gotten there. Meaning there were only a few other things it could be. Most likely: more White Fang. They said they were waiting on a few more guys before they could move out.

I smirked; boy were they in for a surprise.

They'd make a nice little sign post for the cops.