"Diamond City Radio! Folks! The great green jewel of the Commonwealth. Travis Lonely Miles always playing music in time to keep...shit I messed up.

Always playing music to keep the good times rolling..." He gulped, looking at his door to the trailer and expecting someone to bust it down.

"You may be young, but if you have enough sense...you'll rethink firing a gun around here...Here's Pete Wingfield with '18 with a Bullet'.

Pressing the play button to the broadcasting equipment, he quickly shut off his microphone and brought the palm of his hand to his face. "Gah..." He sighed, peeking through his fingers to the piece of paper written on his desk with the same words he spoke, written down in proper order.

"It was right Freiking there! All I had to do was say it right! Darnit! Darnit! Darnit!" Sinking down into his chair, he rolled his eyes around his studio and living space, looking for another tape to play after the song was over.

October 27th, 2287.

6:23 P.M.

"How cold is the beer?" Nate asked, walking straight up to the bar and taking a stool.

The Third Rail was a subway station directly underneath the Old State House, the tunnels out of the station were collapsed, in their place was furniture, and a stage on the left hand side of the bar area coming down, with a VIP section off to the right, where at one point would've been the maintenance and utilities area. There were bullet holes all around the bar, with a few plaster marks to cover some of them. The lighting was bright for an underground bar but dim by the counter.

The Mr. Handy robot behind the bar wafted over, his jets underneath aimed towards him and claw arm spinning around his frame to be the centermost position. He wore a bowler hat and on his shell behind was the British flag. Speaking in a proper English accent, the bartender said, "Our current temperature for carbonated alcoholic beverages is 37.7 degrees Fahrenheit."

Nate swallowed, licking his bottom lip, swinging his head down to Meathead, "Meat, I'm so God damn thirsty right now..." He said, shaking his head. He swallowed again, trying to clear a dry lump from his throat.

"What...it's been at four days since I've had an ice cold one?" He nodded, and Meathead returned the motion.

Meathead hopped up and sat on his rear, front legs still straight and back legs bent down, his tail dropping down over the stool behind him. All paws on the stool, Meathead wagged his tail.

"Meathead, you want a beer?"

"<Woohf!>" A few people in the seating area got a quick chuckle at Nate's expense for ordering a drink for his dog.

"I'll take twenty beers. Make it twenty-one. Fifteen for me, six for the lightweight here," A few more soft laughs, overhearing the large order. "I'll take them one after the other...but first I need three shots of whiskey."

"Scotch, Irish, or American?"

"American, The Bean."

"Excellent choice, sir. I'll have your drinks ready shortly."'

Meathead snuffed through his nose, grabbing Nate's attention.

"What?"

"<Snff. Hff. Hff.>" he breathed through his nose, eyes darting towards the bartender.

"Yeah. It's a bar, Meathead. You order drinks, besides, if the water is no good. Drink beer."

His throat felt dry and scratchy, tongue rough and the taste of dried blood needed to be rinsed from his mouth.

The Mr. Handy bartender pried off the tops of the caps and set them on the counter along with three shots of Jim Bean, then placed the beers in front of Nate and Meathead.

"Thank you for everything that's happened, everything that will happen, and everything that's happening right now," Nate said, lifting the shot glass up and quickly downing it.

Nate tensed with excitement after hearing the small hiss from the bottle cap being removed and the gasses escaping, feeling the cold glass in his fingers and then bringing it up to his bottom lip, he slowly tilted it back. The first taste wet his tongue, and he broke out in goose pimples. The hair on his arms stood up and he looked over to Meathead and nodded.

The dog put his entire mouth over the lip of the bottle, "You're going to create an air pocket if you do it like that." Nate passed the comment along.

"If you're going to chug a beer, you can't put your top lip on the bottle, it cuts off the air flow and makes air bubbles." He said, tilting his own beer back. The Gwinnett Pale Ales were lightly golden in color, crisp acidic with a lingering hoppy aftertaste. Nate poured the beer down his gullet in one uninterrupted stream and exhaled. Panting, breathing heavily. He looked around the bar and his shoulders relaxed.

"Watch, Meaty." Stepping off his barstool, he crouched down so he his head was level with the counter. "I learned this in Mexico. Start in three...two...one..."

Nate picked up the beer, and tilted it up, then higher, then almost straight up, giving the bottle a swirl, and then straight up creating a whirlpool effect that sent the beer straight down without it bubbling up. He drank the 12 ounces of beer in two seconds.

"Ghuh...Fhew...Heah..." Meathead looked up to Nate,

"<Y'alrit?>" His mouth barely parted, lips breaking open but no one could've heard or seen his mouth move. He spoke very softly and lapped at his lips.

"Yeah, I'm good, I just... it's been a long week."

Last month we went shopping at the Galleria with Nora and Shaun to pick up Codsworth. Last Thursday Nora and I went to dinner at the Shipwreck Grill, and Friday we went to the movies in Lexington. Then in the last five days...the bombs dropped, Nora was shot, Shaun kidnapped, everyone but us died in the Vault. There were the Concord Raiders and that fucking deathclaw, then...." Nate waved over the bartender, and he set another beer down in front of Nate. He grabbed it with his right hand while scratching Meathead behind the ears with his left. "Then you showed up, and we skirted east, and dealt with the group in...the compound. After that, it was Bunker Hill, the ship, set sail, and...it's been a long week." He took a long swig of his second beer.

"Everything I've ever seen or known is blasted, and you're one of the only things from the past that I can still look at without frieking out Meathead. I love you, buddy." Nate scratched Meathead's back harder, taking another drink.

Meathead sat up straighter, ears up, enjoying the back scratch and making a few "Graw..raw..rwoar" noises. Finishing his second beer, Nate set it on the counter and waited for the bartender, Whitechapel Charlie to bring him another.

Tilting his head and leaning into Nate's hand, he slowly reached his head down and wrapped the bottle around his lips, then throwing his head up, the dog took a sip and set the bottle back down onto the counter.

"Goo'boy."

\111/

<Ye'should shlow down. You've drunk nine beers.>"

"Meathead, only bitches count." He said, licking his lips. Drinking out of another bottle, he turned down to his dog, "This is number 13 by the way."

Whitechapel Charlie hovered back with another round, "Now that you're good and liquored up, I got a proposition for you. Blood on the pavement. Bodies in the ground. That kind of thing. You interested?"

"Who and what are the details, Charlie?"

"I got an anonymous client who's paying top dollar for a cleanup job. Three locations. Everyone inside. No witnesses. Only catch, it's all in town, in the old warehouses, so I can't use my regulars. Too noticeable. That's where you come in. The job pays 200 caps. Payment after it's done...and don't worry. I'll know when it is."

Nate rubbed his chin, looking down at Meathead. "How many caps did we bring?" Meathead shook his head. "Let me guess, it's the guy who owns the place who's putting you up to this?"

"Eh. Not like it's hard to figure out who's running the show here. Mayor Hancock's frontin' the caps. Internal political struggle. You know how it is."

"You hold on to my tab for ten minutes and I'll get this right taken care of quick, ey Charlie? But...fuck 200. I can't do squat with 200. I think I just drank two hundred in beer."

"ninety-one in beer, plus 30 for the shots. That's one 21 you owe. But, all right, three hundred."

"Ch-Ah. I had a long day Charlie. Otherwise, I wouldn't be down here drinking your delicious crisp ice-cold beer. I'm gonna need a little more caps to pay back the bar tab I'm gonna have by the end of the night."

"You cheeky bugger. Giving me a right kick in the Alberts. All right. Four hundred, but that's as high as I'm going."

"There we go. Meathead, pay attention. Let's go. , Charlie, I'll get it done. Be back in fifteen."

"Go bust some heads," Charlie said, waving him off.

\111/

Nate walked out of the Third Rail and heard Hancock calling out to the people below from the balcony directly above the door to the Third Rail.

"All right everyone, gather around. Now. I know you all are doing your own thing. But, I don't want anyone to here to forget what matters..." Nate walked out from under the shadow and turned around, looking up and joining a small crowd of maybe ten people. The railing was strung up with an old red, white, and blue banner of the American flag colors. Nate stood up straight, feeling the joints in his back pop, and he decided to stay and listen.

As Hancock addressed the crowd, Nate could hear Meathead buzzing like a fly in his ear, whispering.

"<Guy from Bunker Hill is here. He's glaring daggers at you. Don't turn around.>"

Hancock picked out a face in the troupe. "Daisy! Good to see your face. Glad you could make it. Didn't I see you with Markowski the other day?"

Daisy, another ghoul, and operator of Daisy's Discounts cupped her hands and shouted back. "He wishes!"

"All right. All right. We're getting off track." Hancock said, looking around. A few more members of the Neighborhood watch gathered along with some drifters and settlers from the small community collected underneath the balcony at the Old State House. "What was I saying? Oh! That's right. What matters..."

"We freaks gotta stick together! And the best way to stick together is to keep an eye out for what drives us apart! You feel me?" The crowd nodded and shouted yes in response.

"Tell it like it is, Hancock!"

"Now! What out there, in our big, friendly Commonwealth would want to drive us apart? What kind of twisted, un-neighborly boogeyman would want to hurt our peaceful community?"

"The Institute and their synths!" the man shouted.

"<Same guy.>" He whispered.

"Who said that?! You! Come on up for some Jet, later. The Institute! They're the real enemy! Not the raiders! Not the super mutants! Not even those tools over in Diamond City!"

"Screw Diamond City, I wanna punch that McDonough right square in the balls if I had the chance! Right square in the balls!"

"Hey! We all know I got beef with shit-for-brains, but stay focused!" Hancock cut any idle chatter by placing both hands down on the railing and leaning over.

"Now, I want everyone to keep the Institute in mind. When someone starts acting funny. When people are doing things they don't normally do. When family starts pushing you away for no reason. We all know who's behind that kind of shit!" Hancock's fists were balled up, and his voice grew louder. "And the only way to stop it is by sticking together! They can't control us if we're not afraid!"

There were a few shouts of 'Yeah!' from the crowd.

"Now who's scared of the Institute?"

"Not us!" Came the overwhelming reply.

"And which town in the Commonwealth should the Institute NOT FUCK WITH?"

"Goodneighbor!" The crowd shouted back.

"And who's in charge of Goodneighbor?!"

"Hancock! Hancock! Hancock!"

Everyone around Nate shouted along with Hancock as he said the words, "Of the people! For the people!"

"<He's sincere.>"

"Meathead. Is that guy still watching me?"

The dog nodded.

"Watch this."

Hancock turned around and went back inside the Old State House, Nate held his right hand in the shape of a gun, pinkie and ring finger in, he was still wearing his gold wedding ring. Middle and pointer finger out with thumb sticking up, he turned around and looked the man in the eye. He was wearing glasses and a suit like most people in Goodneighbor, and tried to look like he wasn't just staring at Nate.

Holding his right hand close to his chest, and pointing his finger at the man, he said, "Bang." and cocked his hand up like he fired a shot.

The man looked like he was struck by lightning at that moment, and sneered. "Not funny, jag off."

The man walked away, "<He's super confused and concerned how you got his number so quickly>." Meathead whispered.

"If he wants to talk to me, he'll talk to me. If he doesn't, he can fuck off."

\111/

Fifteen .45 caliber submachine guns and an armful of 10 mm pistols covered in fresh blood would've drawn more attention to them than they wanted.

Meathead was there to whisk every single gun and bullet away into a neat and tidy warp space and walk through the streets, without looking any worse for wear. They were both back inside the Third Rail fifteen minutes later as Nate said.

Nate sat down in his same barstool, Meathead taking a seat next to him, Whitechapel Charlie placed a fresh beer down in front of Nate and he said, "Cheers."

"Indeed mate, the boss is mighty pleased you took care of his rat problem."

"What's it take to get a meeting with the Mayor around here?"

Charlie scoffed, "Door's open. But, word on the street is that he likes Mentats." Nate nodded, tipping his drink back.

"I always liked the grape flavored ones. Meathead, another beer?"

\111/

"OH! Show me the way to go home!
I'm tired and I want to go to bed!
I had a little drinkie 'bout an hour ago.
An it went straight to my head!"

Where'ver I roam, Land or sea or foam,
you can always hear me singing this song!
Show me the way to go Home, Home, Home!" Nate wiped his face and stared up at the ceiling. Sitting in the barstool, he tapped his heels together three times and shook his head.

OH! Show me the way to go home! " Stomping his foot down, the force was enough to be felt by Meathead next to him.
I'm tired and I want to go to bed! [Stomp!]
I had a drink a bout an hour ago! [Clap]
And it went strit' to my head! [Stomp!]

"Leave the singin' to the lady!" Someone called to him, Nate sung louder.

SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME!
Buying drinks, swell kinks!
Gathering in a... bar like today!
A Scotsman who had a few was feel'n rather gay!
He kept drink'n with each guy, as the hours fled!
When it came his time to buy, he stood up and said!

OH! SHOW ME THE WAY TAGGER HOME!
I'M TIR'D and Wanna GO TA BED.
I had a wee drappie about an HOUR A GO
AND IT WENT STRAIGHT TO MEY HEAD!"

Meathead howled along.
"<ArrooohaaarrrrooARRoooRooo!
Arrhrooroooroo!
ARrawrawahhroo!
AR AR ARHOOO!>"

Oh show me the way to go home!
I'm tired and I wanna go to bed!
I drank about an hour ago,
and it's going to straight to my head!"

Nate grabbed his fifteenth beer and downed it, slamming it onto the table with a mighty belch. Staggering up away from his bar stool, he looked at the bartender.

"Where's the head!?" Nate shouted, Ping. His bladder was full and needed to make room for more beer. He glanced at his Pip-boy, the green Vault-Lad was sporting a half-lidded smile and giving him the Fonz thumbs up and pointer fingers out.

"Eyyy." He said to his Pip-Boy.

"Stay here, Meathead." Meathead set his head on the counter and wagged his tail. Quietly growling "Ruff."

Nate shook, walking back through the dirt covered tiles, "It's called a broom, people." He said to himself. The concrete ceiling carried a fair share of bullet holes from various gunfights in the bar over the years, along with larger divots and holes from cracking rock and pressure.

\111/

"Don't tell me you're getting rusty." He heard, ignoring the stares of the other people as he walked behind them, over to a corner where a small dead plant showing only the bare twigs and branches and he pulled down the zipper.

"It ain't like that. Just here to deliver a message."

"In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good!" Nate's head jerked up as he worked up the flow and started peeing into the planter.

"Yeah. I heard-!" Came the reply.

"I heard too! Now everyone shut up, I'm taking a piss over here!" Nate shouted over his left shoulder.

Winlock and Barnes turned to scowl at Nate pissing in the planter, he propped his hand against the wall and was really hosing down the bush with some of the last eighteen drinks.

"Take your business elsewhere!" Winlock shouted, "You fucking drunk! This ain't the bathroom! Take it somewhere else."

"Can't! If I stop now, it stings!" Nate said to the wall, hosing down the plant liberally with piss.

"Speaking of which," Winlock grit his teeth, trying to remain focused. "You've been taking jobs in the Commonwealth, that ain't gonna work for us."

"It's 'it is not going to!' 'Ain't' is not a word!" Nate said, loud enough for the three men in the VIP lounge to hear.

"I'm gonna stab that bitch when he's done," Barnes said. MacCready broke out with a wide grin and stood up. "Heh."

Nate snorted, head bobbing up and down. "You'll find no Elbow Room in Dutch Harbor." Nate said to himself quietly.

"I don't take orders from you anymore. Why don't you take your girlfriend, and walk out of here while you still can." MacCready threatened.

"Winlock, tell me I don't have to listen to this shit," Barnes asked.

"OOoooh! Sounds like FIGHTIN words!" Nate said, his pee flow slowing down.

Barnes bit his lip, shaking his head, waiting for the moment to turn around, he already rested his hand on a knife sticking out of his belt.

"MacCready, the only reason you're not pumped full a bullets is because we don't want to start a war in Goodneighbor...you can play tough guy all you want, but if we hear you're operating in Gunner territory again, all bets are off."

"You finished?" MacCready asked Winlock and Barnes.

"~Almost!" Nate said, not realizing he wasn't part of the conversation. Giving it two shakes, he shuddered.

Barnes bit his lip and shook his head at Nate.

"Yeah...We're finished."

"HOLD IT!" Nate said, zipping up his fly and turning around. "You bitches are with the Gunners? The motherfucking skulls with X's on them painted around?" Nate asked.

"Yeah, we're with the Gunners, what the fuck do you want, drunkie?"

Nate smirked, "Sober enough to kick your ass!" Stagger sprinting across the room he jumped at Winlock fist outstretched and tackled him to the ground, rearing back his fist he saddled Winlock across the chest and threw haymaker punches into Winlock's temple.

Barnes kicked Nate in the head, throwing Nate off Winlock as MacCready shoved Barnes towards the door. Nate was on Winlock again, gripping his throat, he slammed his knee into the back of Winlock's leg and punched him right in the Adam's apple. On the ground, choking and dead-legged, Winlock struggled to get up. Barnes rushed Nate and pinned him to the wall, Nate slammed his knee up into Barnes' balls and he dropped to his knees, winded.

Nate punched Barnes left temple with his right fist and he fell sideways, slamming into the ground.

"Like he said! You had your chance to walk out of here." Nate said, rolling Winlock over, he straightened out the leg and foot, then jumped and slammed all his bodyweight down onto the left ankle joint. It broke with a crack and Winlock screamed, Barnes tried fighting off Nate as he stood up and looked down at Barnes.

"You said you were gonna stab me? Bitch?" Nate spat. Still nursing a swollen crotch, Nate kicked him in the balls again, stomping on the groin and shoving Barnes against the wall.

He pulled his right leg out and stomped down on his knee. "ARHGGRGHHE!!! FUCKING EX MOTHER FUCKERING GOSHAHD!!"

Nate stomped harder, cracking the leg and breaking the knee.

Meathead appeared at the threshold of the hallway and grimaced as Barnes howled, drawing more attention from people in the bar as they turned their heads to the VIP room.

"Shit! You are so fucking dead!" Winlock choked out, reaching into his pocket he pulled out a Stimpak and his hand was caught by Nate, crushing the stimpak between Winlock's hands, the glass shards and needle broke into his hand, bloodying the fist.

Winlock screamed as MacCready sat back down, his eyes going up to the former Gunner with a look of spite and indignity.

"Oh no, you don't."

Nate yanked him up onto his feet and threw him over his right shoulder, then picked up Barnes and flung him over his left.

Marching out, hustling down the hallway past Meathead and up the stairs, he huffed and panted, kicking the door open with his leg, he took two steps out into the street and flung them down onto the pavement.

"You come around here again, and I will fucking curb stomp your teeth in! I fucking dare you to use a stimpak after that!" He shouted in front of the bewildered Goodneighbor guards, pointing at the two Gunners trying to crawl up to their knees.

Nate grabbed the doorknob to the Third Rail, slamming the door to the Gunners outside.

Walking downstairs, the rest of the patrons were staring at him as he returned to the bar, but he was drunk enough to be oblivious to them. Meathead and MacCready were there at the bar, waiting on him to return.

"Sooo...can I pay for your drink?" MacCready asked.

Nate turned his head and looked at MacCready, "Shiiiit. You wanna pay for my last drink, that'd be great."

MacCready held back a laugh, then exhaled, and then laughed. A few other bar customers were smiling as well and shared in with the laughter.

"You realize who those guys are, right?" MacCready asked.

"Course I do! They said they were Gunners."

"You do realize that there's Gunners holed up in the Mass Fusion tower literally right next door? And that's is most definitely the first place they'll crawl to?"

"Really? They're that close? Good, means they won't have to go too far to reach their mother's asshole where they crawled out of." Nate said, looking up at the Mr. Handy bartender.

"Your next round? Sir?" Nate glanced down at Meathead, then to MacCready.

"Nah, the beer here is warm. I'm good."

"Jog on..." The bartender said, hovering away.

"So what's your beef with the Gunners?"

Nate had to focus, turning his head to MacCready again.

"Here I was...tryna be friendly...tryna be a good neighbor...and they shot at me."

"Who? And Where?"

Nate closed his eyes and belched, "Overpass near...Wildwood Cemetery. Bitches. I was about to fire back when Boomer comes along, and cut's their heads off and carved the letters to spell out BOOM into their skulls and lined them all up."

"What happened? They take something from you?"

"Nope... But...It makes you think. Who goes around shooting at every person they see?"

MacCready nodded and smiled, "They try to screw you over like everyone else?"

"Nope. They pointed a gun at me, intent to kill, so I don't trust them."

MacCready's hands were open on the bar, thumbs up and palms open. "That's it?" He probed.

"That's it." Nate nodded.

"You fucked up two Gunners because some other chumps at an overpass shot at you one time?"

"Well, it wasn't really one time, it was more like a lot of machine gun fire...and then I decided. IF THEY DON'T want to play nice, they can all go fuck themselves. Then I remembered a guy in Concord told me the Gunners massacred a whole bunch of people at..." Nate swallowed.

MacCready was on the edge of his seat, grabbing Nate's attention. "...At?"

"Quincy. The Gunners. The Minutemen had a coup. Half of 'em said fuck the town and its people, it doesn't pay enough. And that's what get's me riled up. It makes me want to kill every single one of those motherfuckers for abandoning their post for money. Then they went in to massacre almost everyone there except for the group that I met." Nate said, looking down at the bar top.

MacCready's shoulders tensed up. "Quincy's down? What happened to the other people from Quincy?" His cheeks were tight, and he squinted a little in confusion.

"Yep. Last sign I saw of anyone was right before raiders from the Corvega plant in Lexington came in and separated us near the Museum of Freedom in Concord. That...and a Deathclaw showed up...two of em. Fuckers tore the Corvega raiders apart and fucked up a suit of power armor I was wearing too...the second one dragged me away and I blew it's head off with a grenade I shoved down its throat."

"Jesus..what happened next?"

"I..." Nate burped a long slow, "Urrrrrp. Started picking over bodies, looking for ammo and guns. Those deathclaws sure like to soak up the bullets." He said nodding.

"The Gang from QUINCY." MacCready insisted. "What happened to them?"

"Probably all dead. More than most likely all dead." MacCready rubbed his eyes, swearing to himself.

"Well, if you need an extra gun, I'm willing to give you a discount after dealing with Winlock and Barnes for me."

"They'll be back...not for a while after what I did to them, but they'll come back like cockroaches after their heads are popped off...crawling around disgusting little cocksuckers... What's your name? You said they were posted up right next door?"

Nate asked, pointing a finger into MacCready's chest and leaning into him, slowly blinking and squinting at him, wondering if he's seen him before.

"MacCready."

"MacCready...I'm N-" Yawning, he accidentally cut himself off and kept talking. "Those Gunners seem like the type of assholes who'le come back and stab you in the middle of the ~urp~ night..." Nate closed his eyes. "When you're passed out drunk in your bed. Fucking Nazz'yghouls." Nate poked MacCready hard in the heart with his pointer finger.

"Yeah. They're fucking nasty ghouls. And they would too. How about this...For two hundred caps, I'll make sure they don't get anywhere near you and be your bodyguard."

Nate exhaled loudly through his nose and smiled. "How about a trip to the top of Mass Fusion? I wanna check out the view."

Nate waited for MacCready to respond...

"What??" MacCready asked, Nate's head was swaying, eyes squinting and face flush red.

"What do you want from me, MacCready?"

"Money, for one, but I like finding another person who hates the Gunners as much as I do. The only problem is that your suicidal going up inside the Mass tower."

"Peshaw! I don't hate the Gunners, I hate that they think they can make more money by killing people! Those dumb motherfuckers! If I were leading the show...hehe. You don't make money by killing people...or raiding caravans... I want to go to the top of Mass Fusion."

The dog inhaled sharply and brought his neck up straighter, growling low in his throat.

"You want to go to the top of the building? There are at least fifteen Gunners inside. The Lobby has-"

"SHHHHhhhhhh...I know. I been in there before. Security on the left, security on the right, little stairs leading down, and a wall of elevators on the back right with two sets of staircases leading up that circle around up into the building, with a nuclear reactor housing one of the two most rarest pieces of machinery in the fucking world is less than a thousand feet away from us... Whole bunch of expensive shit in there, I bet. I know there's the Byzantinium somethinginator built by the boys at Mass Fusion. I bet people would pay a mint for that."

"Huh? A what?"

Nate shook his head and his hands.

"WHAT do YOU know about giant fuckin' robots..." Nate leaned his head way back, imagining how tall the mechanical marvel was. "One hundred feet tall and shouts GOD BLESS AMERICA FUCKING KILL ALL THE COMMIES!?"

MacCready turned in his barstool to look at Nate completely.

"Liberty Prime? You know about that?" Meathead growled louder, and Nate shushed him.

"LIBERTY PRIME! That's what it was! GOD if that thing hadn't a shown up at False pass...I'd still be there! It comes stomping over the hills and FUCK! It was fucking huge! There we were on Unimak and see the biggest robot boner coming to fuck all these Chinese commies."

Nate looked around the bar, at the three other patrons still here after so long into the night.

"How are you with animals?"

"What? Good- what did you mean by Liberty Prime? What are you talking about? Where the heck is Alaska?"

"WHERE THE HECK IS ALASKA?! It's so far north, and west, that it's east too! The Allee-oops go so far west it goes across the international border, that it's the most northern, western, and eastern state!

"Liberty Prime. What are you talking about? The only Liberty Prime was the one in the Capital Wasteland. It was destroyed ten years ago! Is there a second one in Alaska?" MacCready was leaning out of his seat, grabbing Nate's shoulder to focus him.

Nate inhaled and blew out his next breath. "Liberty Prime was a beast. She got the rest of 'em that didn't freeze. Cleaned the Chinese up. The winter...FUCK it was cold that winter! The only thing...keeping Liberty Prime...from getting close to False Pass was Doctor Xian. Ex eye aye en...and he...wasn't happy when we found his 'anator."

"Guy, What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"The Blyzantinium amprifier!" Nate slurred. "Now...I gotta go take another leak, and this one is gonna be off the top of Mass Fusion. You coming or not?"

"That is a bad idea. You're shitfaced drunk, and can barely stand."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Bartender! Lime juice! And Salt! And a shot of Tequila! Curteshy of this guy!" Nate jabbed a thumb towards MacCready.

"I don't think more drinking will help you."

"I don't give a shit what you think! Come on!" Nate waited for the bartender to pour the lime juice into a small shot glass, along with a second shot glass of Tequila, and place a salt shaker on the counter.

"Salt. Shot. Then the lime." Nate unscrewed the cap of the salt shaker, and let the granules sprinkle onto the counter. MacCready watched the new patron pour a small pile of salt onto the soft spot between his thumb and pointer finger on the back of his hand.

Licking the salt off, Nate drank the shot of alcohol and kept it in his mouth while he tilted his head back and dumped the lime juice into each eye. MacCready and Meathead both widened their eyes as Nate shook and swallowed he Tequila and shouted. "ARGHHA!"

MacCready's mouth hung open, "I...don't think that's how that works."

More awake and sober than he was ten minutes ago, Nate looked MacCready in the eye with tears pouring down his face and eyes burning red. "Let's go."

Nate said, standing up swaying, he kicked over his stool and knocked over three empty beer bottles. One broke against the floor, Meathead barked, trying to get Nate's attention, but Nate was charging up the steps, three at a time.

"Wait! Wait you drunk fucker! You're gonna get yourself killed! And you didn't pay me!"

Whitechapel Charlie poured MacCready a shot, "You know this is going on your tab. Hint. Hint."

"I know, I know. Be back in a bit." MacCready tasted the salt, slammed the shot, then sucked on the lime. Scooting back from the bar counter, he chased after Nate.

Meathead chased after Nate, up onto the street. Nate sprinted down the sidewalk and stepped on Winlock and Barnes backs, stooping down to pick a combat knife and sheath off Barnes, and kept running for the Goodneighbor gate.

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Nate stumbled and slurred through the front doors of Mass Fusion with a combat rifle and a combat knife in his left hand, "I think you're all special just the way you are! Won't you be my neighbor?" Tripping over his feet, he fell face first onto the ground and started snoring loudly.

The closest Gunner, a woman with blue eyes, brown hair buzzed into a short mohawk, and a AAR 5.56 mm rifle aimed right at Nate actually paused, walking up to him and poking Nate in the back with the barrel of her rifle.

"Sho'we just toss the drunk out? Or just kill him?" She asked, facing the Gunners.

Nate was already on his feet, yanking the gun out of the woman's hands and swinging the combat knife in a wide arc right into her neck. Twisting her around, he leveled her combat rifle on her shoulder, using the left hand to keep her upright as she grasped at her neck, trying to breathe as Nate used her as a human shield and lined up VATS shots.

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