"Alright, I admit it, I have a crush. I wish it weren't true, because I think about her and the time we're spent apart makes me wish she were here, spending that time with me, or the other way around. Out there with her. Wouldn't need to call myself Lonely Miles anymore, But, don't worry Diamond City, I'll always treat you like the first darling baby I ever met. "

"These songs are making me sappy! Elgins up next on Diamond City Radio."

Let me know what you think in the comments.

The afternoon was far from over as Meathead watched Trish and the Triggermen depart in their boat, checking his Pip-Boy, there were a few things in East Boston that needed to be taken care of. Checking his surroundings, there was nothing organic observing him, but to be sure, Meathead went into the alley behind Back Street Apparel, before disappearing in a flash of green light.

\111/

Meathead exited the Weatherby Savings and Loans building that used to be occupied by the USS Constitution but now laid dormant and empty. With only light, but chilling breeze coming off the water at his back, Meathead walked to Bunker Hill.

There were sounds of gunfire coming from the far South, echoing against the skyscrapers of Boston, ringing out, but then they stopped suddenly.

It seemed like there was always some sort of commotion in Boston, but when there was silence, it only meant that another fight was soon to come.

Upon rounding the wall built around Bunker Hill, he was spotted by the lookout and a few people responded his presence, scurrying around inside.

"It's the Vaulter." Meathead distinctly heard. Disguised as Nate, no one was ever able to tell the difference, not even Piper when he talked to her in her office in Diamond City, while Nate went through the stores, looking for supplies to rebuild Vault 111.

He calmly went up to the memorial, "<Good afternoon.>"

The lookout was a brunette female armed with a hunting rifle, dressed in scrappy brown clothes, and came up to Nate's neck in height. She looked him up and down, sizing him up before she answered. "Yeah, I heard about you. Come on in."

"<I'm looking for Mayor Kessler, is she around?>"

"She's sleeping, what do you want?"

"<Another Raider Boss is dead, and the situation around the Commonwealth has changed. It's something she should know.>"

"Who?"

"<Tower Tom, the guy who was shooting at your caravans, from what I was told.>"

"Well, shit! That's great!"

"<That comes with a big *but*, however. A different gang already is there to fill the void, but this one is much more amicable and willing to trade than Tower Tom.>"

"Shit. Who?"

"<Her name is Red.>"

"I...never heard of her. I'm gonna send someone to go peek in on the Mayor, maybe she's...I don't know. Hey!" The lookout called to a guard patrolling the grounds of Bunker Hill. "Go see if the Mayor's up. This guy's got something she needs to hear!"

The brahmin in their pens mood and the guard nodded, walking off to find the Mayor.

"<What's your name?>" Meathead asked.

"Marley."

"<Nate.>" He said, reaching his arm out for a handshake.

\111/

Within the enclosure of the walls, it wasn't difficult to find anyone, Bunker Hill Park was three city blocks large, with the monument in the center, and shacks built close to the walls built on the pavement.

"Mayor Kessler?" the guard inquired, speaking softly enough to not wake her if she were asleep but loud enough to be heard if she was awake.

She rose from her bed instantly, a light sleeper by habit, alarm bells rang in her head, throwing off the covers and taking a large breath of air as she stirred.

Rubbing her eyes, and sitting up, "What?" she asked while standing up.

"No rush, but that Vault-guy is back with some news you might want to hear."

"Something good, I hope?" Grabbing her rifle, the guard moved back, allowing her to pass down the stairs of her shack to the muddy grass. She spotted who she thought was Nate and Marley exchanging small talk as she crossed the yard and approached them.

"What's this about?" She asked.

"<Tower Tom is dead, I thought you would like to know.>"

Mayor Kessler inhaled and exhaled, digesting the information, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she nodded.

"<But, there are a few other things that happened as well, a different gang from the Federal Ration Stockpile, they're run by a woman named, Red."

"Jesus, they keep cropping up out of the woodwork. What happened?" Mayor Kessler asked.

"She was quite emotional when it all happened, but Tower Tom kidnapped Red's sister, Lily, and was extorting Red's gang for food and supplies. Lily tried to escape and was killed. I went to Red with Tom's confession, and things escalated from there. After taking out a good portion of Tom's gang and absorbed the rest of them. In particular, his Lieutenant, Sparta.

Mayor Kessler stared at the ground, seeing the scenario and all the problems laid out at her feet. Working her gaze back up to Meathead's eyes, she asked. "So what does she want?"

"<As of two days ago, I convinced her to use the brewery to make beer. Something she could trade, something that would offset the number of goods being traded between here and any of the farms and settlements your caravans try to reach. I don't know if she knows about caravans paying protection to the other bosses, but as of yesterday, there was a massive gang war at Corvega. Only three people from the original gang survived, they went off to join Red's gang, so everything from Lexington to The Fens is all up for grabs, and she's making moves to become one of the biggest gangs in the North-Western part of the Commonwealth right now. It might be in you or the caravan's best interest to send a tithe her way to set up trade routes through what was Tower Tom's territory, and keep the peace."

Mayor Kessler nodded, then sighed. "It doesn't end...But...consider-" She didn't finish the word, thinking everything over in her head as fast as she could. "...That's one less caravan that needs to be sent out." Rubbing her face from her eyes to her chin, she said, "We could do bigger trains as well, and we wouldn't lose as many men." Finding the positives, she looked up at Meathead.

"When did this happen?"

Meathead paused, "<Yesterday, and the fight at Corvega happened this morning.>"

The Mayor sighed again, trying to understand the whole situation. "You came a long way in a short time."

"<It keeps me alive.>"

"I'll send a group her way as soon as possible. We need that edge...and we need those routes. I've been waiting for Tower Tom to keel over and die for months, and now that it's happened, I should've expected another gang. Thank you for the information. I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name."

"<That's alright. It's Nate. I was only stopping by to give you the news first-hand. I came to ask one question though before I leave.>"

"What is it?"

"<A few days ago, Hancock asked me to look into a place called Pickman's Gallery.>"

"Oh-" Mayor Kessler said the word with loathing. "It's-" Turning around to a piece of scaffolding with a ramp that was wrapped around the monument, "Follow me." Kessler leads Meathead up the ramp to the lookout perch, then pointed across the Charles River to the North End.

"Let your eyes follow the bridge, then off to the left, you see those brick buildings?" Kessler turned her hand vertically and waved up and down, "Between that alley right there, you can just barely make it out, is Pickman's Gallery. You're not the first person to ask about it, the guy-" Mayor Kessler was at a loss of words for a moment, "His name is Pickman, but from what I've heard, and this is stories from raiders, traders, and freelancers like yourself, is that Pickman has it out for raiders. Fucking hate's them with a burning, blood-soaked passion. It's a booby-trapped nightmare, but a lot of raiders also want Pickman's head for all the..." Kessler shook her head. "Corpse mutilation and art... and... and calling cards he leaves around. Plenty of raiders- oh look! You can see six-or seven- moving towards it right now. See that semi-truck on the road there? Yeah, I just saw two of them disappear behind it. Pickman's Gallery is right through there. They have no idea what they're getting into."

"<Thank you. I'm heading there now.>"

"Be careful. Some people like to be left alone, and Pickman is definitely in that category, but if you see him, tell him I said hi."

\111/

"Jesus, you're such a fucking hardass." There were two raiders, both timid, one male and the other female. The male spoke first. He was wearing brown coveralls that crossed along his backside and wore a white, but yellowed, t-shirt, with brown boots that were on the verge of busting through the toe section.

"That's why I'm still alive," The female replied, "but since I need to rely on your sorry ass to watch my back, that's why I'm trying to keep you alive, too." They were standing arm's length from each other, but a green flash of light blinded them for a moment, and they each felt a hand on their shoulders.

Meathead teleported right between the two, and was holding onto their shoulders, "<Eve'nin'.>" He said, greeting them both. Their emotions exploded into shock and immediately went to strike Meathead. Dodging the first and second punches from both the man and woman, he yanked them together, causing their heads to collide.

The woman went for Meathead's chin, but he dipped his head down, and she struck her knuckles against his forehead, making her cringe after hitting the thickest part of the human skull. The man tried shoving Meathead off with both arms, but he shoved his knee to the back of the man's leg, dead-legging him and forcing him down on one knee. Quickly jabbing his elbow at the side of the man's head, he was knocked backward and flat onto the ground, allowing Meathead to spin the female around and pin both of her arms behind the back.

Dead-legging the female as well, she cried out and went down to the ground. The man went for his gun, but before he could even draw his weapon, it was ripped out of his hands by Meathead's magic and flung down the alley, not that he was able to notice in the brief second Meathead cast the spell.

Meathead pushed the female-forward, and down to the ground, using a zip-tie to bind her hands together. The man got back up to his feet and pulled out a small knife, but Meathead pulled out his handgun and pulled back on the slide, making an audible 'Click-clack' as a round was loaded into a chamber.

"<Uh-uh,> Meathead warned, pointing the barrel directly at the man. He froze, his eyes searching the ground for his partner's gun, but it was pinned underneath her. "<Don't try it. I'm giving you the option right now to turn around, and walk away. You follow me into that building, and I will kill you.>" Meathead hoisted the female off the ground and held her by the arm. "<Take your friend here, and start walking, I'm not here for you.>" Shoving the female raider forward, she nearly stumbled, running into the man and nearly knocking him down as well, but he caught her and kept both of them from falling.

Meathead held the gun steady, keeping it level, the man and women hesitated for a moment, sharing silent looks, second-guessing if they should take Meathead's offer and leave, or try to take him on.

Firing once up into the air, it made them bolt back down the alley towards the waterfront. "<Don't forget your gun!>" Meathead shouted, firing again and again into the air.

The man ran past it, then turned around, running two steps back. He fumbled the gun as he tried picking it up, and then dropping it. The gun clattered onto the alley pavement, he grasped it again, and shoved it into his waistband, jogging after his partner.

Meathead waited until they were out of sight, then a little bit longer as they retreated a safe two blocks away. He could gauge their distance from their emotions, which were slowly balancing back out to normal levels, but there was still a healthy dose of fear from being taken on so suddenly.

"Where the fuck did he come from!? I didn't see or hear anything! He was just fucking there!"

"He must' a used a flash-grenade! Did you see that flash? I heard about grenades like that, just- poof! Caught both of us with our pants down! Fuck! Motherfucker! Should we go back?"

"Fuck the guys inside, I think we got off lucky."

\111/

Easing the front door to the Gallery open, it was a three-story Boston townhouse. A steep-grade of stairs immediately off to the right-hand side leading upstairs, with a hallway down the center that branched off to two more rooms, then a the ill-fabled gallery to the left.

With all the gunfire going off around Boston, the raiders inside didn't even think anything of the shots Meathead fired off, they were desensitized to the violence around them.

"Think we'll catch that Pickman character this time? The slippery bastard got away before."

"Slab won't leave a man breathing after he-" The second raider never finished his sentence.

A tripwire was pulled and an explosive in the wall stuffed inside a jar of nails exploded outwards, ripping the man's skull off and shredding the rest of his body. The first raider hit the ground, feeling pieces of shrapnel in his arms.

"Ah! ah! Ah!" He managed to choke out, too painful to scream.

A shout came from above, "Who did we lose?!"

"ARHG! MMFff! Roy! We lost Roy! I got hit too! I'm getting the fuck out!"

"Get out and stay there! We'll be out of here in no time! Slab is on his way with more guys!" The voice from the second story shouted down. There were five raiders in the building, but the mention of more people coming was what set Meathead off. He didn't detect anyone in the immediate area, scattered groups of people more than five blocks away, but no one directly heading to this location.

Sensing a person's maleficence nearly ten blocks away, if Slab would arrive was unknown, but Meathead knew he needed to be in and out of the Gallery before this second group came.

Meathead reached for his pocket dimension, pulling out a piece of duck tape. The age made it less sticky, but that also made it silent as he pulled off a long strip. If it were fresh tape, the noise alone would be enough to alert someone.

The injured raider was picking glass and nails out of his arms, back to the wall, crying. He didn't even notice as Meathead stooped down beside him. Slapping a piece of duck tape over his mouth, he tried to struggle, but he could barely move his arms.

"<Shhh...> Meathead pressed a finger to his lips. Pulling out a stim pack, he held it up in front of the raider for him to see.

"<You get this, if you're quiet and promise not to come back. If you do. I'll dig my fingers through every cut and scrape you have until I find the bone, and rip whatever I can grab out.>"

The raider was in no position to argue, and his emotions were so wreaked, he could barely stand. Nodding weakly, he made to grab the stimpak from Meathead. "<Close your eyes, and bite down on your cheek, I'm going to get the metal out all at once." The raider clenched his eyes shut, and Meathead's eyes glowed, finding all the metal embedded in the raider's arms, then pulled them out.

His arms were drenched in blood as twenty pieces of glass and nails and metal shrapnel were removed. Sticking the raider in the chest with the stimpak, the wounds were quick to stick themselves shut, and being the long process of scabbing over.

Whimpering, whining, Meathead helped the raider to his feet, then gave him a light shove towards the door.

It's a death trap in here.

Moving towards the kitchen in the back, Meathead didn't think to look in the main living room, otherwise, it would've prepared him for the bloodbath in front of him.

<Oh....shit.> On the back wall was a portrait painting, but the color was so distinctly ruby red, that it could have only been blood.

Like Picasso, Bold Black lines, intense glaring yellow eyes, dried blood-red background, pronounced nose, flaring nostrils.

The face was staring directly into the viewer.

But the painting was perhaps the only thing sane in the kitchen, there was a body laying on the table, then in buckets and metal pails scattered around the whole room were filled with bones, still red from being fileted, and most were partially filled with blood. "<Psyyyychoooo.>" Meathead said with a sing-song tone to his voice.

Turning around, he looked into the living room and was immediately filled with a sense of dread. Swallowing, there were poles jammed into the ground, ringing a table with a raider's body on it. On most of the poles were human heads, all pointing outwards. There were skulls and meat bags, but the way everything was arranged was done with a critical eye. There were paintings on the wall, but to describe them, would be like describing the body the blood came from.

One was a red background, but then nothing but eyes that all followed the viewer. The second looked wet, a ghoul's head painted in red, with thick bold black lines. The top half of the skull was missing, and the brain painted yellow was exposed.

The third painting was...Meathead couldn't think of the words at first, but it was a man with black angelic wings. Maybe a demon, but then he thought it was Mothman, the urban monster legend from Virginia's.

The fourth was only showed everything above a man's chin, wild staring eyes with yellow snakes coming out of his mouth.

The symbology behind each one was terrifying to think about, and there were surely ghosts in this room, trying to possess Meathead to look at the rest of them before letting go.

The next one showed the top portion of a man, everything above the shoulders with his arms out of view, but fingers were cut off, next to the man's head. A yellow sun, one with eight sun flares, Meathead balked, it looked almost exactly like Princess Celestia's cutie mark, was painted directly on the third-eye, the center of the forehead, with a yellow line, was spiraling out of it until it reached the edge of the frame.

The next one after that was a smaller painting, but the man didn't have eyes, just black sockets, with the supposed removed eyes to the right and left of him. The eyes were surrounded by black circles that almost looked runic.

The second to last painting was of a beheaded skull, with blood pouring down in torrents like a river. Behind him were yellow lines as thick as his fingers spreading out like all the spiritual energy was coming from the brain.

The last one, the most palpable, was of a man crying. Yellow tears with black lines, almost looking like cuts that were painted across the entire canvas, were painted over the mouth.

"<What The Fuck.>" Meathead could feel the paintings, the well of emotions poured out by Pickman as he painted on the canvas, every line and detail painted with the smoldering outpouring of raw feeling into every stroke.

\111/

"Why the hell did Hancock want us to come here?

Shaking the ghosts off, Meathead heard more shouting.

"Oh shit! Come quick! Think we got a problem!" There was running, then a sudden shotgun blast from above.

"What is it?"

The same voice spoke again. "Oh shit!"

Looking above, he identified two emotions that were not like the others.

One, Meathead could only assume, was Pickman. The other was on a similar plain as Pickman's, but more optimistic.

The other three were angry, fearful, and enraged.

Moving to the second floor, Meathead almost set off a tripwire rigged to a gun aimed through the doorframe. Stepping over it, there were gurneys and wire bedframes, on one of the beds was another dead raider, with a machete laying on the nightstand next to it.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are." The voice came from the next room closest to Meathead. Calmly reaching for the machete, sliding it off the table, he could hear footsteps from the warped floorboards creak and signal that in about two seconds, he would have company.

"Found Y-!" Heaving the machete, it flew forward and impaled the raider in the chest.

From the floor above there was banging, pounding, like someone trying to kick or ram open a door.

Meathead could hear one set of footprints run the length of the building, followed by the distinct sound of hooves galloping after. Pickman and a pony, he realized. Through an unseen set of stairs, the duo dropped down to the second level and then escaped to the first, before going down deeper into the basement.

The two raiders left alive were still pounding, trying to get the room open, and succeeded as Meathead made his way onto the staircase leading to the third floor. The handle and lock gave away, and the door was bashed open.

Above him, hanging from the chandelier chain was a headless body with a lamp sticking out of the neck hole.

"<God, this is fucked.>"

Reaching the landing, the two raiders were trashing the room, looking for where Pickman and the pony escaped to, "Here!" On of the voices shouted.

Meathead heard an audible click, and then the whole house rocked as a tripwire rigged to a missile launcher exploded in the room.

The last two raiders were dead, but Meathead went to check to see if the path was still there. Cleaved through the wall, into the building next door was Pickman and the pony's escape path, but the raiders were blown to smithereens.

What was the most off-putting about this room, aside from the fresh blast marks and blood, was how well this room was put together.

Two clean white beds in wooden frames with green linen and cotton blankets, blue painted walls, swept wooden floors, furniture that was arranged decoratively, then to one corner of the room was a bunch of toys and a toy-chest. It was as if Pickman and the pony recreated a room straight from before the Great War.

The absolute stark contrast to the rest of the house was startling, it was clean, or it used to be until about thirty seconds ago. If Nate were here...Meathead wouldn't know what Nate thought about this entire building.

Thoughts bubbled up, but the grotesqueness from the lower two floors made a hard argument against this one sanitary room. Grabbing a toy rocketship from off the shelf, Meathead went to the blown-out hole in the wall.

Following the path through into the pipe and vent chases, Meathead was quick to spot the land mine left behind and took care to deactivate it before picking it up.

He needed to drop down to the second floor, where it was obvious that this was always the backup plan in case of raiders penetrating the higher floors past the booby-traps.

When he reached the first floor, he could hear the main door open, forgetting to pay attention, or spending too long distracted by the blood-paintings, eleven more raiders walked into the building. Two of them ran for the basement door and two more ran up the stairs, and there was a shout "Fuck! The thing nearly took my fucking head off!" After the basement door was forced open.

Another one of Pickman's traps, but the crew followed the path down.

Reactivating the landmine, and setting it on the ground where, if the two raiders running up to the third floor found Pickman's escape path, then followed it down, they would land right on top of the landmine.

Dropping down into the basement, the air was thick with the scent of iron and blood.

Seven raiders ran down deeper into the building, but where the basement lead, Meathead could only guess.

Two raiders trailing behind heard Meathead drop down to the basement, and shouted for him, shooting at the wooden walls, hoping to blindly hit him.

Meathead pulled off his laser rifle Paladin Danse gave to him and fired back. The burn marks boring into their skin as one raider died almost instantly from a headshot, while the other's armor needed to be burnt off first before the damage sunk in.

Meathead was shaking, in the center of the basement was a shrine, in the center of the shrine was another painting, but this one was of black hands reaching up out of yellow fire towards Celestia's sun, all painted over a blood-red background.

Around the sun were Equestrian symbols and characters, spelling out a question, "God's Forsaken Us?"

Glimpses into the mind of Pickman were disturbing but necessary to understand what type of person Pickman was, but this pony who was with him must be more than a pet. A deeply disturbed man and a resentful pony who knew and hated Princess Celestia.

Possibly one of the best examples of what Nate meant when he said he had been living in the post-apocalyptic world for just over a week now, while everyone else was barely surviving in the chaotic post-nuclear world for decades.

\111/

"Pickman!"

"Come out to Plaaayyeeayyy!"

The tunnel leading from the basement opened up to a brick catacomb beneath the Boston townhouses. Sewage, propane, gas, and electrical lines running overhead.

Back in the Gallery, the landmine exploded.

The hub of the pipes leads to a large circular room with paths leading off in two directions. Meathead saw a raider running back up the tunnel and shot him down before he could realize the enemy was right in front of him.

The catacombs winded down into the sewers which were practically glowing from the radioactive water runoff, but in the dirt was a set of hoofprints, followed by eight footprints. The thing about these sewers was that they dated back to colonial times, Revolutionary war times when America was fighting off the British and was building tunnels underneath Boston to smuggle food, weapons, and people all around the city. It was purposefully designed like a winding maze because multiple entrances were found and raided by the British, but after the centuries, many areas were closed off or walled off as businesses and construction crews dug down for foundations.

Catching three raiders in the tunnels, the gunfire was loud and echoed in every direction, making it impossible to tell where it was coming from unless you were one of the targets.

Meathead fought them only as he knew how in a direct confrontation, no Changeling tricks, no magical surprises, just shooting at them and hoping he killed them before they killed him.

Once one raider was dead, Meathead threw the toy rocketship towards them. It clunked and bounced off the ground, but the two raiders thought it was a grenade and ran for cover, exposing them long enough for Meathead to fire off a dozen rounds from his laser rifle, killing a second. Transitioning forwards, Meathead tackled the last raider, shoving him down onto the ground and using a revolver to finish him off.

\111/

"Found ya' Pickman, and your fucktoy." Slab said.

Pickman was Nate's age, dressed in a suit that needed to be washed. The red unicorn with a two-toned mane of purple and orange and her Cutie Mark was Medusa's Severed Stone Head.

As far as Cutie Mark's stories went, despite everything Meathead saw above, he was interested in hearing how such a bizarre Cutie Mark came to existence but now was not the time.

They were both caught at the end of their maze, raising his hands, Pickman had nowhere else to run, but his eyes didn't show the sad emotion of losing his only friend in the world.

"Thought you could hunt and torture us to your heart's content?" Slab lambasted.

"You're the fucking monsters, human! You damn raiders do is rape us, enslave us, kill us, and then keep fucking the damn corpses after we're cold and dead! You think you're the best thing to emerge from the damn rubble, but you're nothing more than cockroaches!" The red unicorn shouted back.

"Shut the fuck up! You're going to taste good after we kill you, shove a metal pike up your ass and out your mouth, then grill you whole! Same goes for the animal." Slab said the level of their malice was filling the whole catacomb chamber. Wanting to roast both of them until their skin turned black as ash, then feed the rest of his crew their prize.

Pickman tilted his head, spotting the crouched form of Meathead aiming a rifle at them. Meathead heard all he needed to hear and pulled the trigger.

The bullet punched through the back of Slab's skull, spraying both Pickman and the unicorn with Slab's blood and brains.

Normally, Meathead expected a change in emotion, usually, after being confronted with death the feelings range towards shock or relief, but Meathead had to force down a little vomit from the sudden wave of overwhelming ecstasy coming from Pickman, with all the emotion was directed towards their savior.

A knife appeared in Pickman's hands and the Unicorn tipped her head down, they both were running at the closest raider while the death of Slab still distracted them.

Batting the rifle away from being pointed at him, he slashed at his face, his chest, his neck, drawing long lines all across the raider's body. The raider fought back, but Pickman cut at every exposed piece of skin, cutting through the shirts and light armor this raider wore.

The unicorn impaled the second raider, lifting him above her head and shaking him. A trail of blood came down her horn and into her mane.

The raider on the unicorn's horn was heaved off, she whipped her head and the raider was flung to the catacomb wall. She galloped to the raider and spun around, bucking off the ground and slamming her hooves into the raider's skull with enough force to break his neck and shatter the jawbone.

She kept kicking until she was sure the raider was dead, leaving her panting and breathless.

Pickman finished carving slices out of the raider in front of him by sinking his knife into the raider's chest, right over the heart and then weighing into the blade with both palms, leaning forward as the raider was rooted to the spot, dying, dying, and then falling over onto the ground.

\111/

Tugging the knife out, it didn't immediately come out smoothly, so Pickman pulled harder, then wiped the blade off on the raider's coat. "Athena, I believe we have a new friend to thank."

Turning around, Athena looked up at the dark form of Meathead in the shadows. Dropping down to their level, he revealed himself.

She was frowning, "Who are you?" Athena demanded to know. Her horn was glowing red, ready to cast a spell, but Pickman raised one hand and she immediately dispelled it.

"That was close, thank you, stranger. May I please ask your name?"

Pickman was quiet, but that was because he spoke softly. Meathead could feel the suffering welling up inside of Pickman as he talked, a truly tortured soul that felt the death of the world in his chest, that to sink so low, that failure was more than damaging to him, it was eating him alive. Seconds ago it was ecstasy, now it was depressing sadness that slowly turned to hope, all hanging on Meathead's response. Pickman's gaze bored a deeper hole than any other person Meathead ever laid eyes on, it was seeing right through his disguise, knowing instinctively that the figure in front of him was not human.

A psycho recognizes a psycho.

It was psychotic to think Meathead could parade around in another human's form, and not a single person would catch on, but the eyes are the windows to the soul, and he was being examined and read over like a leather book in Pickman's library.
When his entire race used to body-snatch ponies and other races off the street, parade around in their form, taking love from them, and then do absolutely nothing to placate the snatched person's death, it was difficult for Meathead to accuse Pickman and Athena of wrongdoing, when there was blame to be cast in his direction as well. It was garish and grotesque, but so was shoving ponies into pods, and never letting them see the light of day again either.

All in the reaction and tell, he was exposed before the artist, and from seeing the paintings above, Meathead carried a look in his eyes of knowing the symbolism behind the sun, Celestia's sun. It shone a light in the darkest of places, and whatever marks it left on Meathead, it carried with him for Pickman to gauge his reaction.

Was it worth lying to this man and his companion? No, the lie would be too obvious.

"<I'm not who you think I would be.>"

"And what do I think you should be?"

"<Human.>"

Athena cut in, "Is this some serial killer bullshit that only psychos can understand? 'Cause I'm not impressed."

"Athena." Pickman calmly called out, "I believe he's trying to say that he is not what he appears to be."

"So what are you, if you're not human? You look pretty human to me."

"I know about the sun symbol you painted, I know about Princess Celestia."

Meathead was suddenly wrapped in a glowing red embrace, picked up, then slammed against the brick wall with his arms pinned up. "THAT FUCKING WHORE! I don't want to hear that lowly bitch's name! Who Are You?!" She demanded again.

Meathead thought for a moment, then focusing, he dispelled Athena's spell, falling to the ground to the shock of the pony.

"<I'm a Changeling, but I'm disguised as my friend who isn't here right now. My name is Meathead. I know a little bit about where all ponies came from.>"

Athena looked ready to cast another spell, but Pickman reeled her back in with a flex of his fingers.

"Let him explain."

Meathead dispelled his disguise, allowing his Changeling form to show.

"Meathead the Changeling," Pickman said.

"What the fuck are you?" Athena asked.

"We are both descended from Equestria, but where the ponies looked up to their Princesses, Changeling's looked to their Queens. We are not so different, but born in radically different times and places."

"Where are you from?"

"<I'm from Concord, but my story, and the man I was impersonating, our story began a long time ago.>"

"Why did you reveal yourself to us, Meathead the Changeling?"

"<I can sense emotions, I know where people are, how to find them, even if they're hiding. I know what emotions you're feeling right now, even if you can't identify with them. You feel...lost, but when you look at your friend, Athena, you're bursting with joy just to be in her presence. You love her as much as I love my friend. Boundless energy...you feel such a complex range of emotions that are beyond what everyone I've met in the Wasteland before this point in time, that I didn't think was capable.>"

"Those people deserved worse than death," Pickman said, relaxing his shoulders. It took a while after the fight for both Athena and Pickman to calm down, but the longer Meathead spoke, the more he could wrangle and calm the inferno in his chest.

"I know, but it's not always up to us to decide what people do and don't deserve. I want to ask about your inspiration for the paintings in your gallery, but I feel like I know the answer. What was it like for you growing up?"

"I would go to bed screaming because of the pain in my stomach from not eating in weeks," Pickman said, he held up his hands, and they were shaking. "They still shake, and I've been shaking for so long. Only when I hunt or focus on my artwork do they stop."

Athena gave a sad nod.

"I was forced to watch the elders who berated, beat, and starve me, then be butchered in front of me. Where men took chainsaws and hacked them from the top of their skull, straight through their testicles. I wanted that revenge so badly on the elders, but have never forgotten that I got exactly what I wished for."

"<Then it would be wrong of me to judge you for the...display...of...heads, because I grew up in drastically opposite conditions. I've been trapped in a Vault-Tec. experiment, frozen like a block of ice since the day the bombs fell, and only recently was released.>"

"Did you not feel enraged for what was done to you? The atomic fires that washed this earth, only soaked into the ground and made it prune?"

"<I apologize, but no, Pickman. We have a different outlook on life. The question is, are we angry that Vault-Tec. fooled us? Of course. But that's a fraction of my story that is so small, that it seems negligible, so insignificant that to go after Vault-Tec. or anyone related to it would be not worth the effort. The atomic bombs, however, sure they went off, but why has it taken humanity, or us, to say, 'Okay, let's fix it,'? If the people who caused all this suffering were still alive then yes, I would want justice, but there is an absurd insurmountable cost at which the people responsible would never be able to repay.>"

"Then why not kill them?" Athena asked.

"<We could, but then no one would learn from their mistakes. People who dropped the bombs felt like there's no way to win, so let's make everyone else lose. Selfish, greedy, prideful, egotistical, envious, and slothful. I'll say lustfull too because someone got an erection at the thought of pulling experiments on people, on mutually assured destruction. Nobody wins, and we lose the best parts of ourselves, that deep down, is all we hope to maintain, like the bedroom on the third floor.>" Meathead floated over the toy rocketship to Pickman, who passed it to Athena.

"<Just a little something to call our own. Without that...then we're no better than the people who come for us.>"

Pickman was moved, his emotions settled on the sensations of glad and satisfaction, that someone was able to understand him, but Athena was lost gazing at the toy spaceship.

"That's sappy," Athena said, "You weren't born in Nuka-World, and you weren't abandoned by that Cunt Celestia."

Meathead felt out Athena's emotions, mostly rage, but from his perspective, a tad misplaced.

\111/

Pickman guided Meathead back up to the street level, with Athena following behind him.

"I'd like to repay you, Meathead for your honesty and for saving us."

Another wave of ecstasy from Pickman, making Meathead feel awkward. Even though he could feel their emotions, the mental math for why Pickman was feeling this way made no sense to the Changeling.

"<Oh, you don't need to repay me. I would've done it either way. But leave out the changeling part, Yes? You both seem good at being the secret-keeping type?>"

"Most definitely. That's all the more reason to reward you." Pickman replied. "If you visit my Gallery again, look deep within the painting 'Picnic for Stanley', and there you will find our gratitude. You'll need this, however."

Pickman passed Meathead a key with a Vault-Boy head on the keychain.

Meathead took it in his magic, then transformed back into Nate, holding the key in his hand now.

"<Do you know what you'll be up to soon?>" Meathead asked.

"Rebuilding, but for now, hunting."

"<Ah, well, that's all...good...As a suggestion, you probably shouldn't leave your calling card on the people you kill, it sends the wrong message.>"

"I'll take it into consideration, especially now that my studio has been ransacked and all the traps need resetting."

"<And...>" Meathead hesitated, "<I would be remiss if I didn't offer you the option to drop by our place, the Weatherby Tower, anytime, but hold off on going up into the USS Constitution, one of us needs to be there to deactivate the security robots. They're...testy and...old. We've got a few Giddyup-Buttercups running a store on the ground floor, and there are some executive offices on the top floor if you take the elevator up. It's perfect for resting. Good view too.>"

Athena snorted at the mention of the Giddyups, but then Meathead offered something more. "<And for you Athena, I'd be willing to teach you how to teleport.>" She pulled her head up and gave Meathead a questioning look.

"Teleport?"

"<Yep, like this.>" Giving a small demonstration, Meathead teleported in front of Pickman, then behind Athena, then back to his place between the two of them. "<Teleportation, really nifty for getting around, furthest I've gone with a human is five miles in one snap. However, I imagine you could do at least six or seven snaps before your horn started to crackle. I'll I'm saying is that it never hurts to run.>

Athena was curious at the offer but didn't express herself, Meathead put on his best smile that Nate was always going on about, making the mare snort distastefully at his contagiously happy mood.

"Such a wonderful offer, Meathead." Pickman said, "Here. There's the ladder leading to the surface."

\111/

Climbing up into a dilapidated building, it was easy to see how no one would've been able to find the back entrance. They were above ground, and a block away from the Old North Church.

Letting his senses go out, it was interesting to feel all the life forces coming from underneath the old building, The Railroad. He thought about going there now, but he didn't have anything to say to them yet. There were still a few more things to take care of before he and Nate approached the group.

"Be sure to give Mayor Kessler my best, next time you see her again. Her care packages of explosives are always appreciated and put to good use."

<Oh, right, she said to keep up the good work killing raiders, but...I feel I should tell you that Nate, the real Nate, is working with raiders to make it difficult for the Gunners. So...transcendental art; those days might be coming to an end."

"Ah, such is the mind of an art critic, art changes, so is not limited to the canvas."

"<I don't know how to respond to that.>"

"It means we're doing some art installations around Boston," Athena replied, eyes rolling up to Pickman.

"<Ah, well...happy hunting.>"

Pickman extended his hand, and Athena begrudgingly held out her hoof, shaking both of them, Meathead winked out of existence in a flash of green light.

"Freak."

"Be nice, Athena. We have new neighbors. We shall need to prepare a house-warming gift for Nate, our unspoken host."

\111/