"All-right, Diamond City I think I got it. If you're looking for a way to keep out The Intruders, playing some of their loud music might scare or ward people and animals off. I haven't heard anyone coming in and telling me it's worked yet with humans, but... It works for Yao Guai, and those are pretty terrifying, so who knows? It might work in other scenarios. 'The Intruders, Cowboys to Girls'."

One by one, ponies filed out of the Weatherby Tower heading different paths but in the same direction. Hollow Point, Serin Copper, and Warner left towards Haymarket Square as Golden Grain, Dart, Cherry Fizz, with Curie in the rear led by Thunderstruck went North towards Bunker Hill.

Following far behind each group was a Giddy-up Buttercup, which Thunderstuck noticed on her first overhead pass flying back towards the group to check their rear.

Their goal and destination were someplace they hoped to dig in for winter. Three to four hours at a steady pace, they would reach Concord sometime after mid-day.

\111/

The Copper Dome of the Massachusetts State Courthouse overshadowed the Old State House Goodneighbor built itself around.

It'd taken him most of the night, but walking blindly in the dark he made it to the North End before it got light enough to see the Copper Dome and use that as a bearing until he walked right underneath the posted gate sentry of Goodneighbor. The sentry didn't even notice Hancock standing right underneath him until the tired ghoul took the butt of his rifle and slammed it against the tin siding, tapping loudly, "You, sleeping?"

"Holy smokes!" The sentry said after being startled, "It's Hancock!"

\111/

The return of Hancock caused a small stir as he entered the Third Rail, by the time he was walking down the steps, already a group of four people was following him, all of them offering to buy a drink, but waving most of them off. "I ain't even been back five minutes, I haven't even sat down yet, so what I should be doing is finding the yahoos I left in charge while I was gone, and nursin' a giant bottle of brown bourbon and sour mix-" was what most people in the Third Rail heard as he went straight back to the V.I.P. section.

"That's it for me," Deacon said,

"You still have an outstanding debt, no matter how many times you change your face, I recognize your voice." Whitechapel Charlie said.

"And I pay a piece of that tab every time." Deacon said, laying down a tower of caps from his coat pocket and placing them on the bar, he knocked them over with his ring finger, scattering them behind the counter. "Oops, well, gotta run. Money's...here and there...and there..."

\111/

Ice was a rare commodity in the Commonwealth, so much so, that Hancock didn't even have an ice maker in the Old State House, the Third Rail was the only bar from here to Diamond City with a machine to have the ice cubes churned out.

As Hancock sat there sipping on a glass of bourbon sour on the rocks, he thought of how nice it would be to have ice anytime, anywhere. He was making a mental note to find more ice makers, eyes on the ceiling, legs splayed out, arms wide open, taking up the whole couch, the coolness of the glass spreading up his fingers and easing the hotness in his heart, and every sip, his chest was tempered with damp heat that made him sink in a little bit deeper when a dark figure approached from below his vision.

He closed his eyes, recognizing the figure, savoring the last gulp before addressing the person standing in front of him.

"Back so soon?" Fahrenheit asked, when Hancock left, it was she who ended up handling the Neighborhood Watch, along with dealing with traders and business fees.

Gulping, Hancock sighed, "Just came back for a pit stop," he said. Sitting upright, Hancock took another sip and then spoke to Fahrenheit. "Tell one of the guys to ask Betsy or Revere if they ever heard about a Unicorn named Athena. One with a Severed-woman's head, with snakes for hair marking on her flank, magenta coat, red mane."

"You wanna tell me what happened in private? Or keep this conversation open to the bar?" She asked, feeling the sensation that others were listening in.

"Nah, it's fine. Heck of a walk. Feel like I'll be on my way again soon enough."

"What happened to the person you left with... And his dog?"

"Hold up right now. Sleeping the last two days off."

"Is this conversation open?" Deacon asked, approaching the duo.

"Depends," Fahrenheit replied.

"Let him," Hancock said, waving Deacon towards a bar stool.

"Heard you were down in the Glowing Sea. See anything interesting?"

Hancock rolled his eyes up, head back, and laughed, taking another sip he settled back into the couch, "First, Deacon, grab a seat, not too close, I'm still radioactive-hot. You look like you just got thrown a bone...well, Deac's? Where'd ya' bury it?" Hancock titillated, knowing how this conversation of give and take was supposed to go.

"I heard you mention a name, Athena. Three months after Nuka-World was taken over, the number of ponies around here just sorta dropped off real-quick. Plenty of parties noticed quickly that shipments between Diamond City and Nuka-World dropped off. A year ago, there used to be regular caravan trains- whole trains of twenty-thirty ponies. Remember that? You weren't there in Diamond City... Anyway, there are as many wild marauding ponies out there that are as deprived of childhood as any other raider. Athena, I hear, is a marauder from Nuka-world. Not just a raider, but an organized one. So whatever she's planning, it's in her own best interest."

"Fucking dandy. Where do these ponies and things come from anyway?" Hancock saw Deacon and Fahrenheit about to ask what happened the last few days,

"Equestria." Deacon said, "But there were Vaults and bunkers all around America sheltering ponies all the same. The closest one I know of would've been Vault 97 over in Springfield."

Hancock made a low "Hmmm," noise with his throat, "Yeah."

"A few hours ago, Tom and I dug this hunk of rock growing out of a ghoul's body, see anything like it down in the Glowing Sea?"

"A few, after we killed this big damn beast down there. What's so special about the rock you wanted to show it to me?"

"Takes about two to three ballistic bullets before integrity shatters it, so it provides minimal protection against gunfire, but it is amazingly reflective and absorbing of laser and plasma weapons. We shot at it for a bit, and you can see there are some black marks on it, but hardly any divots or scorch marks burned out."

"So whatcha need?"

"More of these things. You know why they started popping out of the ground like zombies?"

"Yep. That Windigo thing was feeding off them, keeping them all like penned-up cattle. Hypnotized or brainwashed or something. Killing him came with the unfortunate side effect of more fucking ghouls to deal with."

"I probably would've run."

"This wasn't something we could've outran. It's not something most living creatures would be able to outrun, Deacon. Nate's the only one who's killed these things before. He said it could be done. I didn't believe him at first, but...we blew it the fuck apart and cooked its insides black, and even then I'm still not convinced it wont come back for a third round to try something again. That isn't even the whole fight, but God, all I can say is that we were damn lucky."

"Is Nate hurt?"

"Yeah. Pretty Bad."

Deacon drew in a deep breath, handling the chunk of moldavite. "What's next?"

"Then what? Nate had plans, something I haven't had in a long time," Hancock mentions.

"Did you see any groups of feral ghouls with these crystals growing out of them?"

"Dozens, If you want to do another expedition to the Glowing Sea, great. That's fine. I'll pass this time around, I'm not eager to go back in already. You wanna try luring ghouls out of the Glowing Sea? Keep it simple. Use lights, noise, big bangs, and boomy noises that get them all stumbling, shambling out, and you'll get all the crystals you want, just watch out you don't call any deathclaws or radscorpions along the way because those are what'll get you when you're not ready."

"How bad is the Glowing Sea?"

"There's a radscorpion Queen's nest somewhere between the North edge and Ground Zero. Irradiated streams along the east side seem to draw the ghouls and creatures that survive in that place toward the water. Turns out everything still needs a drink... those that could move anyway. Dried dirt and their tunnels send vibrations down through footsteps into the ground, and that's what they feel to use to hunt." Hancock patted his pockets, remembering a bunch of plants folded up in his coat pocket.

They were folded over in a bag, "Here, I almost forgot. Plantlife from the Glowing Sea, it'll do the Railroad a lot more good studying this than I'll get out of it. Nate was suggesting the same thing about getting it to a spot where it could be properly looked at. Careful though, the bag's hot, and I'm hot, heh...I think that's why I'm craving ice for the first time in a long time."

Deacon gingerly took the bag and placed it on the table, "Sounds like quite the expedition down there."

"Well, cheers then. To the Glowing Sea. You never know what it'll spit out."

"Cheers, Hancock."

\111/

The ponies were in two close groups, with Thunderstruck as overwatch, keeping an eye on their path ahead and circling to check their rears.

The morning tasks and meetings with Mayor Kessler at Bunker Hill and Rathen at Haymarket Hall separately ensured a caravan was sent South to Shaia at Mass Health Metro. The cost of a caravan was paid for and armed by bartering guns from the Constitution. They asked which roads were clear, hanging around the merchant's den for a few minutes to listen for the morning gossip, and were cautioned how a colorful, large group like themselves might draw attention.

The streets were busier and lively, with lots of creatures along the waterfront this morning, everything watering up for the day. Good for a hunt, but not so good if you're not prepared.

They left as they came, in two groups. Walking under an overpass, Westbound from Bunker Hill, Thunderstruck flags their attention, Golden Grain, Dart, Cherry Fizz, and Curie come to a stop, as Hollow Point, Warner, and Serin Copper wave back, signaling to her.

She landed with Hollow Point's group, "We're about to intercept a group of robots. There are six robots that I spotted coming out of East Boston while we were in Bunker Hill, they've been moving parallel to the river on the other side this whole time, but they're moving faster than we are and one of their floating ones just crossed the closest bridge in front of us. I hate to think they're here for us, but the big tank rolling around is what concerns me most."

"Do we arm up, or take cover?" Dart asked.

"Take cover, they're moving fast and will be on us any second. Get into cover, everyone carrying tools, keep low, everyone else grabs a weapon and stay quiet. The moment we pass the corner of that next building, they'll be in sight."

\111/

The ponies were all directed East and told Thunderstruck to run as she flew above them. A band of robots was coming down into Cambridge from the North, all that separated the two groups from being spotted was a line of buildings from a mini-mall complex, with plenty of open space across the parking lots, a bus, and some old cars. A few leaning lamp-posts and tall weeds separated them from waist-high cover.

From her viewpoint, while her attention was on the group, she became aware of a third group that they were about to run into. Humans, scrappers, from what it looked like, and more robots. There was a pony and a brahmin hauling loads of metal and scrap, but there were two minutes where Thunderstruck was the only person who saw all of these groups moving towards each other.

As a rule, she didn't know who was a threat or not, and directed her group away, circling behind the mini-mall cluster of buildings, but as the scrappers saw the ponies, the robots saw the scrappers.

The eyebot identified targets, transmitting data back to the tank bot, protectron, assaultron, swarm bot, and Mr. Gutsy.

From the Eyebot's speaker, the message came, "You are a threat to the Mechanist!"

"The What?" Zoe shouted, unsure but firing her laser rifle at the swarm bot coming straight for her.
Of the three humans, there was Zoe, a caravan guard. She was hired to protect Shades, a merchant specializing in tech and bots, and Jackson, the mechanic merchant who was able to repair and operate machines of his own, and program them to protect the caravan. Jackson built and maintained old-world robots if there were parts, but it was the guardians themselves that drew the eyebot's attention. They wouldn't be after the brahmin or the stallion, they were just pack animals, he noticed. Not a single shot was fired in their direction unless provoked back. That's where Ada, a modified assaultron, came in. If any other reason, he was sure it was Ada that somehow triggered the robot's proximity threat sensor.

For years this arrangement worked, but in the last two weeks, Jackson couldn't help but wonder if he was better off abandoning the robots, that if in some way, attracting the attention of this band of robots not just once, but three times since leaving the Boston Airport. They'd spent a decent amount of time looking over the cockpits of old planes and rooting around the terminal for parts. They knew of the mirelurk population close to the water's edge but were caught off guard by the sound of different robots suddenly appearing and attacking them.

It was a terrifying thirty seconds, as they fought and blasted away rounds through metal, while they fired laser beams back, or were armed with ammo, or rockets, blades, and electric batons, while they were able to blast their way out of the Boston Airport with an excessive amount of force, it was necessary just to survive at the cost of most of their electric weapons and explosives.

Jackson meant to lead the group West, towards the interstate of Massachusetts where guns and ammo were even more plentiful outside of the major cities and suburbs, where ordinances on guns, rifles, and the like were much more relaxed. There were plenty of towns that were abundant with what they needed since Diamond City was too expensive to both do business in and be a customer simultaneously.

With that in mind, he felt confident about reaching a haven, but it was that second evening a fresh batch of six robots tracked them down and attacked them as they were setting up camp for the night. Liza, another guard, was killed while reloading her rifle.

Now they were being run down into the dirt. Shades was yanking at the brahmin's ropes' trying to get her to move as the yellow stallion, Hertz Donut, was close to bolting with half a load of supplies barely tied down. Shades, Liz, Jackson, and their three combat bots protect the cargo.

Ada was the only robot capable of dealing with an Assaultron since he spent as much time programming and building, as he did scavenging and traveling. The fast-moving, teal-coated with a red glowing eye to take in its surroundings and fire a laser as well as the standard for every assaultron, but these looked fresh out of the factory, with no dents or dings.

The Tankbot was spinning up a mounted cannon attached to its arm, and the echo of bullets ripping through metal, concrete, dirt, and brush was all around them.

Jackson's fingertips felt numb, fumbling with his gun as he wrapped his finger around the trigger and squeezed to counter back. Twice he felt two small objects slam into his chest, blocked by thick pads, but the force knocked him backward onto the ground. His chest seized up in pain, cracked ribs for sure, but he couldn't rely on the others to finish the fight without him. Dragging himself behind a wrecked car, he readied his weapon again.

Liz reaches into a pouch on her leggings, grabbing out her only Pulse Grenade. Gripping the handle, she needed to aim and time this correctly. Heaving the grenade, it clanged once off the side of the Mechanist Assaultron, before exploding in a ball of blue sparks encompassing it and the protectron.

While the Mechanist protectron burst into flames, its circuitry and hardware were completely cooked by the EMP, while the Assaultron was only walking slower. The machine was taking longer to register its surroundings.

Its response was to charge up a laser blast directly from its eye-laser cannon and sweep the field from left to right. The cylinders driving the dynamo core were audible as the power charged, whirring faster and faster until the bright beam of energy fired out, slicing through everything it touched.

Shades was cut down in two, Liz was able to throw herself down to the ground for cover after watching Shades be killed, only for the beam to sweep over her head moments later. The laser swiped through the brahmin's supplies, spilling them all over and across the ground, and trimmed the top of the mane for the pack pony Hertz who nearly had his head taken off.

The yellow stallion Hertz heaved his saddle off and scrambled for the brahmin. Laying on the ground next to the cow was a tank with a hose attachment on it, a welding torch they were using at the airport to cut through metal siding and beams, but Hertz knew how to operate it. Extremely dangerous, the tip nozzle could be tampered with to spray out a long jet of flame five feet long over 1000 degrees, and capable of melting tank armor.

Lighting the burner, the sparks made the torch flare up, the unicorn pressed the equipment away from himself, knowing that one stray blast could ignite him and everything within a 3-meter radius instantly to ashes.

The robots didn't know how to identify a floating flamethrower, because they were expecting an operator or human to be carrying it. The fire lancing through the air bore cuts straight through after glowing white hot, overloading the electronics with too much heat. The assaultron took ten seconds to burn through its helmet and fry the hardware, making the robot pop with a crackle of expanding metal under pressure bursting.

\111/

The ponies were almost tempted to leave the other merchant caravan be, Dart and Hollow Point were readying weapons in case the robots slaughtered the other caravan so quickly, that they turned on them next. Cherry Fizz and Warner were looking away from the battle, looking for possible routes out. Golden Grain was grabbing his rifle out of his things when he heard a whirring noise, like fan blades spinning, "Hey we-" He didn't even finish, as floating above him, flying right on by and aiming straight for Curie, the mechanist's eyebot scanned and identified the Miss Nanny bot and belted out its message once again, "You are a threat to the Mechanist! prepare to be neutralized-" It fired once, twice, missing both times as it struck the wall and ground in Curie's direction.

Hollow Point flung herself at the floating eyebot, tackling it out of the air. The eyebot resisted franticly as its servos sped up to keep the both of them afloat before succumbing to the pull of gravity. Hollow Point tumbled to the ground, and as the eyebot tried to right itself and hover again, two stallions descended on it, stomping and bucking its case, crushing it, smashing the frame into bending pieces as the metal ripped apart.

\111/

From across the parking lot, the Mechanist sentry bot and swarm bot, the only two robots still functioning receive a series of commands, and then sweep over the area again. All the humans are downed, or as they perceived, [down]: out of commission, as Jackson lay there on the ground, painfully breathing, as Liz remained completely motionless, gun laying next to her, but in direct view of the sentry bot.

They turn towards the storefront of Watts Consumer electronics and start moving in that direction. Hertz is the only one unscathed, along with the brahmin who was shocked and unsettled from all the gunfire and loud noises, but he noticed the lack of interest the robots had in the four-legged animals, and the way they froze for a moment, suddenly interested in something else.

As the sentry bot rolled across the uneven cracked pavement towards the storefront entrance, a missile was launched from the first-floor window, directly down at the robot tank's treads.

Dart pulled backward the moment he fired, taking cover as his ears rang, and an explosive ball of heat and rubble erupted outwards, ripping the sentry bot's legs and body cover off, throwing the two tons of metal up into the air and flipping it down onto its side. A moment after the Mechanist's tank bot was destroyed, the swarm bot was taken out by a volley of lasers and bullets right afterward.

The entire block was deathly quiet as everyone held their breaths on their account, silently wondering and waiting if the fighting was done before a collective assessment agreed that the shooting had stopped.

\111/

Ada was at Jackson's side, the man painfully digs through his pockets for a stray dirty pill that he shoves in his mouth and chews on the dry powder, shuddering at the taste before pulling himself to a sitting position. He wheezes, feeling it painful to hold his head upright and take full breaths, he doggedly grabs at Ada's heels, then pulls himself up, using his robot for support.

"Hmm, cow...Shades..." He takes a moment, head still spinning as he takes in the aftermath.

Hertz notices Thunderstruck land close enough to Jackson to draw his attention, "Are you badly hurt?" She calls out.

He grabs at his side, "Thank you," he says as his eyes are drawn to Liz as she shakily comes to her feet, looking in all directions to make sure there aren't any errant robots, taking a step towards the motionless body of Shades, before reconvening back with Jackson. "But no, I'll live."

"We have to get out of the Commonwealth. Or go to Diamond City, or anywhere out of range." Liz says to Jackson, "Who are you?"

"I'm Thunderstruck, we're passing through, our paths collided, saw the robots, my group is on its way now. What happened to you? Why were those robots attacking?"

"They've been after us for three days! That's the third group. All the same," Jackson stated, working himself up. "A tank, a protectron, an eye bot, a floating drone swarm-bot, an Assaultron, and a Mr. Gutsy. All spouting that same message."

From the storefront, the trundles of ponies emerged, with most everyone moving West again, except for Dart and Cherry Fizz who broke away from the group, quickly striding over to speak with and introduce themselves.

Jackson watched the other caravan, noticing the Miss Nanny bot, in particular, he pointed out, "That's why...! The person behind these messages, I...I don't know why they're targeting humans and robots, but they came after my robots first, then us...Hertz! You got ahold of Ion still?" The stallion leading the brahmin nodded, bringing the cow over to the others.

"They never even looked at us," Hertz said,

"That's the third group," Jackson started, only to be cut off-

"We won't survive this again tomorrow," Liz says, "This isn't a coincidence- and where did you drop in from?"

"I've been watching them for the past two hours, keeping my group out of their sight," Thunderstruck said,

"The eyebot spotted Curie, played its message, and started shooting at it."

"I fear that the Mechanist is targeting robots," Ada concluded, "and as we speak...assembling another round of robots to send after us, and when they are successful at eliminating myself, and my traveling companions, followed by renewed interest in your Miss Nanny unit."

"Well, hell. We can't have anyone follow us, we can't just let Curie be tracked down and destroyed, we need to get her out of here, and keep moving." Dart said, looking back West, he saw the tail end of the caravan turning the corner around the street.

"I want to know, right now, does Curie have a target painted on her back?" Thunderstruck asked, looking around the circle, from Jackson, Liz, Hertz, Ada, Dart, and Cherry, no one said anything at first. "Our relationship with Nate depends on Curie, he needs her. That means we need to get her underground by tonight, hide her, and hope that when they come again, they pass on by, that they find nothing, and search somewhere else."

"We're just going to let them come?" Cherry Fizz asked,

"Only when they come," Thunderstruck clarified, "But that means we need to move faster. As for your caravan, do we part ways? Or, if you come with us, we may be able to help each other and come up with a solution to the Mechanist and her roving robots."

At times like this, when the group was painfully low on morale, and large decisions needed to be made, it was the captain of a ship or the caravan leader to make them. As much as he was parted, he nodded, "Our caravan...we need time to recuperate and find a way to deal with the Mechanist. If this is the third time in three days, I can only expect a fourth. We need to get off the streets."

"Then, when we're all done with this, we do some trading, how's that sound?" Thunderstruck asked, hoping to inject some good foresight into the dreary demeanors of Jackson's caravan.

"It sounds like a day that can't come soon enough," Liz said,

"Then let's make all the time count, then. Cherry, and Dart, see if there's anything they need help grabbing, otherwise, we may be expecting more robots by this time tomorrow. I'm going back up to keep overwatch."

\111/

If Nate was stuck with new features, Meathead reasoned, he would change as well and adapt the appearance, but at the same time, the thought of plain-looking Nora came up...until the image of her chest with a gunshot wound to it soured the memory. Despite people's reactions everyone else in this world was used to walking mutants, deathclaws, and a human with a permanent gauntlet attached might not stick out as much as he considered.

He spent a moment looking around the Boston skyline, wondering where Nate and Athena were.

Sensing Hancock and Deacon were both near, he discovered them in the Old State House and changed into Nate's new appearance, Deathclaw arm and all.

Meathead landed on the streets of Goodneighbor as quietly as a paper ball thrown off the roof and made his way inside the building.

"Nate?" Hancock asked, Deacon was stunned, seeing the gnarly appendage hanging off Nate's side, unsure of what to say.
"What happened to your arm?"

Meathead shook his head and Hancock got the message, "Oh,"

"<I'm standing in, Hancock. Deacon, this is what happens when you tango with a Windigo. I've got a lot to tell you both; Deacon, you especially. Plenty of it interests the Railroad like I said, the Institute is just a bank with a vault inside, but now I know how to get to it.>"

\111/

Deacon heard the words, but didn't pick up what Hancock was asking Meathead at first, Meathead turned to Deacon, mustering up energy for a grin, "<It's time we told Deacon about what happened, Hancock. Deacon, here. I got a handful of questions for you and I need your help finding some things that would also be of interest to the Railroad because the Institute wants these things more.>"

"Yeah, that's great, but, Nate, what the heck happened to you? Where's...you know? What happened with the unicorn?" Hancock pressed.

"Yeah Nate, what's the word? What's the big secret? Are you a synth too? What the hey happened to your arm?" Deacon asked, "I mean, we all got big secrets, but what's so captivating you two?"

Meathead felt Deacon trying to be humorous, but for how he was feeling at that moment, it washed right over him, he chuckled, for Deacon's benefit. "<Deacon, there's one more than Unicorns out there that can do a little bit of extra magic that others can't. Windigos...I didn't even know they were magic or could do what they did too. I'm not even sure if what I saw was even magic or some other...ability. Deacon, what I'm trying to say, if you haven't figured it out by now, is that I am not Nate. I'm not even human. my innate ability is to detect the emotions of organic creatures. Right now, the real Nate is being coerced into working with Athena and another Windigo, Mona, running around Boston looking something like this.>"

"Show him the form-changing thing," Hancock said.

<Deacon, Mind the flash of light->" Meathead said, feeling that Deacon was comfortable and eager enough to see if this was a ruse or not.

Sitting there was the German Shephard, and then after a few seconds, Meathead changed into a green unicorn with grey hair, but only furthering the demonstration, he changed into Deacon before realizing it struck a nerve, allowing a green wash of flames dispelled the illusion to his plain changeling self.

Sitting there in his skin, Meathead felt like steam was coming off the top of his shell, he looked down and saw that the bite mark was all green with his congealed blood. Still gooey, but otherwise mending. He hated to think that it was infected, but the warmth was abnormally hot and concentrated.

"Here I thought the dog was some secret Vault 111 experiment... a super smart dog and...hmm... I don't know what else I was thinking... Secret government army hunting dog...? I was way off... Nate. Or, what do I call you?"

"<Meat,>

"Alright, so...you can look like whoever you want, but...why Nate? Especially if there are two of you running around? I don't get your logic."

"<We're...friends, close friends, you could say. If I hadn't acted like a cowardly dog, keeping my mouth shut when the world was going to Hell, I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Nate. So I feel I owe him...literally everything if he and Nora hadn't thought about bringing me along while I was disguised as their German Shephard.>"

"So where's Nate now? I got one part of the story from Hancock, why were you a dog though? Back then? Before the war?"

"I told him most of it."

<"Well, as for Nate, we killed the Wendigo in the Glowing Sea, Nate was injured in the fight, we dragged him out, Athena showed up took us, we arrived somewhere along the waterfront, and we met the second Windigo in Boston. Her name is Mona, she did this to Nate.> He held us in his arm, letting the two of them examine the Deathclaw arm.

"<She did this as part of a business deal, and what I'm telling you is that everything we get done as soon as possible will benefit you, me, the Railroad...Hancock, you want in on this still?>"

The ghoul took a big deep breath, exhaling, "Yeah, let me just go get a little high first before we do."

"Meat, I'm listening. The fact that you came to us with the synth-crow is the reason why we moved. We already trust what you have to say. The Railroad's got...you're well, Nate's back if you're going to keep looking like him. We're split between Vault 75 and 114, we got a phantom crew left in the Old North Church, but I'm willing to join you. I'm used to working solo. What do you have to say?"

"<It'll be good to have another person on board.>

Deacon looked out past the boarded windows and towards the Boston Common, through his sliver of vision, he saw a brown stallion and Drummer Boy loaded down to make themselves appear as merchants moving quickly for the gates of Goodneighbor.

"I'm expecting someone to be looking for us shortly, so this conversation will have to get wrapped up."

"<After Mona fixed up Nate, Athena left with him, but Mona's feeding off him now. I can't track Nate, or know where he is...And...suddenly not knowing where he is after being by his side for the last 300 years is starting to drive a railroad tie right between my temples. So, bear with me.>"

"Okay, so what'd she want?" Hancock asked.

"<To do some dirty work. Kill intelligent mutants that she says are beyond her control, find out why they're getting so smart if we can, and put an end to it.>"

"She sent you out with a kill list?"

"<Yep. I got mine, Nate's got his. So. God forbid, we cross paths with him sometime, didn't give us a time limit, but the sooner the better. Otherwise Deacon, here's the part the Railroad would be interested in. After all this! I was tired. Hancock, I saw you and I passed you and kept flying to the Glowing Sea to take care of this one thing. I found Brian Virgil. I found the Rogue Institute Scientist. I found him and I went to him."

"Hell Yeah," Hancock said.

"How's he managed to fight off the radiation for so long?" Deacon asked.

"<He turned himself into a mutant by using a special strain of FEV giving himself the best attributes, but the catch is that it's still killing him and turning his brain into mush. He says he can undo the FEV, that he wants to preserve his ego, and will be our agent on the inside so long as restoring his humanity takes priority. The only way we figure he's going to be allowed back into the Institute is if he's found some things worthwhile. There's tech from South Boston University the Institute wants, and then there's a man from Greygarden, Brian is drawing up blueprints for an array that will get us inside, bypassing their teleportation shield. However, the one thing he said that is on that list is a courser chip.>"

Deacon's hands went to his face, quickly ripping off his sunglasses and wiping his eyes, shaking his head and hoping he didn't hear the word right, "Damn it."

"<He told us how to find one, how their main insertion point is in Cambridge. Speaking of which, Deacon, you need to tell the Railroad right now that Ticonderoga isn't safe anymore. You need to Blacklist it.>"

"What about it? What'd you learn?"

"<While I was with Brian Virgil, I asked him how he got out of the Institute. While there's a lot, you need to understand that Ticonderoga...the Railroad secret safe house, is right above their secret fire escape. So, Deacon...tell me how you wouldn't suspect or feel something knocking on your backdoor? Because Brian caused a fire inside the Institute, that disengaged the safety protocols on the escape safety door, which allowed it to open. Otherwise, the hydros and magnetic seal keep it permanently shut. When he came out, through a sewer tunnel leading to the river, the closest building he could recognize was Ticonderoga. I don't have any evidence to back up my instinctual gut feeling about Ticonderoga, but my senses are telling me that you need to clear that building and that it's not safe."

"Wait, no...You found the Institute's entrance?"

"<It's the Institute's backdoor! Not the front, but the back. Their Fire Escape, their hidey-hole! It's right underneath Ticonderoga! In the river. A rat-hole sewer pipe that feeds out into the Charles River from the North bank, direct line of sight with your safe house. That's how Brian Virgil escaped, it's a one-way, but if there's ever a big enough threat to the Institute from within, that's the route they're bolting through. I can only imagine they've got cameras and monitoring equipment and sensors all around Cambridge, especially Ticon.>"

The more this conversation revealed, the more Deacon felt his pride hurt from lack of insight. Every time Nate or now Meathead came around, they openly dropped information that would've taken them weeks, if not months to discover. Deacon couldn't remember the day he first thought about the Institute, or even heard its name. The harder he tried remembering, the more he was drawn to the fact that they'd been looking for the back door to the Institute for longer than anyone could say, and Meat just revealed it to him.

"That explains so much of our losses...they've been tailing us from Ticon, which lead them to our other safehouses using the crows to expose our whole network. We need to shut it down."

Without warning, Deacon wrapped Meathead in a bear-like grip, the changeling felt Deacon's arms shiver as he felt both grateful towards him, and extreme self-loathing at the same time. "Oh my God, you don't realize how much you've helped us."

It only lasted a few seconds, before Deacon broke the grasp, "Thanks, bud,"

Deacon refreshed himself, going through the motions of processing all this when a knocking at the door came from a Neighborhood Watch Guard.

"In a meeting!" Hancock shouted, but there was more knocking at the door.

Hancock threw the bottle at the wall where it exploded into a rain of glass and dregs of alcohol, "We're in a damn meeting!"

"It's important!" Drummer Boy shouted through the door, "Deacon, we just got word of a big fight happening soon."

Deacon went to the door and opened it, "Drummer Boy, I'm wrapping this up,"

"It's synths at the Combat Zone, I just got word. Some raider clan caught three synths from one of our trains, beat our conductor to death, and they're already in the Combat Zone. They're setting up the whole street like some kinda demented fair, people are already showing up. They're going to get beat to death and then ripped apart. Or hell, I don't know, they might be forced to fight each other, or just keep fighting to the death, all I know...is that they're going to die unless we do something."

"Yeah...that sounds about right. That's a hot mess. Tell Dez I'm there...with: Code Red; Ticon is Blacklisted. Don't send anyone else there, everyone there is on their own. Got that? Priority. Ticon is compromised. I'll explain everything back at base, we'll get the synths, and I got Boston's finest with me. Right? Maybe?" He asked, looking over towards Meathead and Hancock, "Would you mind helping me out with this thing real quick? I promise that's all I need to take care of, I'll help you wherever you need."

"<Alright.>"

"Yeah, I'm ready too, I need more ice for my drink."

\111/

It was a street fair, a throng of twenty people outside the Combat Zone, thirty more inside, with raiders and marauders all in their world. But the slave market crier selling collared three feral ghouls for sale, while another offered all arrangement of drugs for the upcoming fights. Two raiders pitted their guard ponies against each other in the street, two feisty earth mares clobbering each other with their hooves. While a small crowd watched cheering and placing bets, others held guard dogs, ready to pit them against each other next.

Some people were sitting on the ground next to the building, a few wares laid out, stolen twice, sold once. Showing off their best armor, the latest gear or the newest acquisition was bragging rights. One gang tried to capitalize and sell giant slabs of meat off brahmin cooking over a metal barrel spit.

A sign advertised 'Synths Fight,' Then in bolder letters, 'Til they Die,' Beyond the bouncer, everyone had to pay the cover fee for the night, 5 caps, no acceptions. Inside was booze, another drug vendor with more diversity and reliability that it wasn't cut with a filler agent, then the seats, balcony or auditorium, the matting was so old and decrepit, most chairs were broken, but still, plenty attempted to sit in what remained or stand to watch the fight.

Tommy Lonegan sat closest to the stage, in a padded chair brought down especially for himself, with a small writing desk covered with caps, bookie bets, papers of lists, and names, besides the armrest. Along with a few drinks, and a box of Addictol, it was perfect viewing entertainment after he announced the fighters.

Deacon, Hancock, and Meathead were a block down the street, on the rooftops after climbing up fire escapes to get a better view of escape routes, and amount of people, raiders, and marauders in the area.

"We need to stop the fight before everyone kills each other." Deacon said,

"Then everyone will be trying to kill us," Hancock said,

"<That'll be unfortunate for anyone who tries.>" Meathead said, "<What do either of you know about the Combat Zone?>"

"The place needs to be torn down," Deacon said.

"Then where would all these depraved suckers get their kicks? They'd probably take it down the road to the Highschool, and just keep on being deprived." Hancock said, "That bastard...Bosco. Remind me later I need to shove a grenade up his ass."

"<Anything useful?>"

"Back exit door along with giant shutter they use for bringing in creatures and cages for fights, dirty dealing all in front, as you can see. Drinks upstairs, drinks downstairs, everyone you see is carrying some sort of weapon, the head honcho Tommy Lonegran, is a ghoul, and has been wearing old business suits from before the pre-war for years now. It's an old theater, so there's a lobby up front, and cages in the foyer too. The most scandalous thieves among thieves, the most perverted rapists, or other poor sobs dragged in off the street for whatever reason. But, as for synths, to spare them from getting shot before the big show, I think they would be put in the back, or down below. You can get upstairs seating with a staircase on the left, they built shacks, and booths, but everything all slopes down with seats aimed at the stage. Fighters and slaves are brought up from below backstage, and more combatants and better-off fighters come from the green rooms backstage. There used to be a catwalk, but the whole thing fell off the ceiling. There are four ways to the basement, one on stage, a cargo lift or a staircase in the back, and then a hatch from the street to the basement, but it leads directly to cages, so we would be stuck down there with whoever else is already down there."

"It might make a good escape route if the hatch doors are unblocked," Hancock said.

"<I believe there's a way to get in from the roof, a fire escape hatch. So, to avoid this blowing back on ourselves, Goodneighbor, and the Railroad, what we're doing needs to look like a breakout. I'm going to go in, sneak downstairs, make an opening for you and get through the back door. Hancock, you're on the lookout. If they talk to you or go past us, you're the best at conversation, anyone comes close, and you just start bullshitting with them, small talk, smokes, anything to distract them. If we haven't been discovered yet, I'll make my way down below with Deacon, and find these synths. Once we find them, I'll send them with Deacon and then you four will make a run for it to meet up with you, Hancock. After that, the five of you need to get to the Boston Common. It looks like a busy crowd and people are filling in fast. Deacon, do what it is you need to do to get them out of sight and back underground as soon as possible. I'll stay behind, wait for them to figure out they're gone, then cut the power. We all meet back at the Third Rail for drinks and pretend like this night never happened.>"

"Will do." Deacon said, "Got it," Hancock replied.

"<Alright, let's move.>"

\111/

Meathead entering the Combat Zone from the roof took little enough effort, the decrepit theater was sinking in on multiple places on the roof, and as he knew, there was a fire escape hatch forgotten about built-in. Letting sneaking downstairs to the backdoor, and letting Deacon and Hancock in went remarkably fast, but five raiders working directly for the Combat Zone, these people allowed the callous carnival to continue. Beside Tommy Lonegran, there were tenders and caretakers to the creatures in the cells for the Combat Zone, Bruce, Terrance, and Parri were all apathetic bastards who didn't even feel thrills anymore watching blood splatter across the stage, sure they would cheer, but wheeling out the next fighter, and making sure they didn't starve, as little as they cared or fed them, was their job. Two women, Ophelia and Jenny, worked the bar concessions, gun sales, acquisitions, and purchases of live cargo.

Parri was clearing out the ring, and Cait was just finishing a seeded fight, something easy for her to win and remain the undisputed champion of the ring, capable of surviving seven minutes in a bare-knuckle fight against a gryphon fed on Buffout and entire sides of brahmin cattle.

The gryphon, while expensive in its upkeep, practically drew a crowd every night wanting people to see the monster fight.

They were giving the gryphon Buffout in its meal, making it grow voracious and strong, chunks of mirelurks, fish, and other meat to keep it full, the gryphon was kept in a near-constant state of alertness when awake.

The basement was a cement and bare wiring exposed sublevel with barred cages and chain-link fencing. Storage areas were repurposed for different times, but Bruce and Terrance were both responsible for feeding the gryphon a fresh side of a brahmin and packing the meat with the drugs. Right now they were applying the chems like a dry rub, with the side of beef perched over the open basement hatch doors, ready to slide things down directly into the gryphon's cage. As Bruce was rubbing the powder into the meat, they knocked the entire box holding six extra-large containers of Buffout. With no way to get the drugs away from her, and the animal already needing to eat, they dropped the carcass side and let lit slide down the ramp.

The gryphon tore into the case of Buffout, ravenously hungry, but stopping when the chemical taste hit her mouth. She screeched, roaring at the putrid taste in her mouth, wanting only something to eat, and then the side of meat finally came into her view. Biting into and ripping off large strips, she devoured the bones and muscles, chewing through nerves and letting the drip of blood not get in the way of a meal.

"She ate six damn containers of Buffout! She's going to be on a hairpin trigger for days! That's if her heart doesn't explode!"

"Fuck her, she costs way too much to feed all the time anyway."

\111/

Cait was awake, hearing feeding time commences and then their blunder. Within minutes, the whole carcass was consumed and the gryphoness was clawing around the pen, cawing, doing laps to burn off all the energy, flapping her wings, trying to get enough room to stretch out, but the walls were so close, her wingspan touched both sides. Being cooped up for weeks was only agitating the creature more and making it more fierce in the openness of the larger cage on stage. It irked Cait to no end, how she'd been the champion, and now it was a spectacle, something these marauders laughed at, or internalized and responded to seeing something so alien, that they only wanted her to kill this gryphon.

"Leighla, please, calm down, you know what they're doing to you ain't right, but you need to fight it!"

Cait couldn't. Not that they didn't try the first three fights, but, all without talking, they both understood in front of all the raiders gathered at the Combat Zone, as they needed to drag this out as long as possible. The pain she could see in the gryphon's face, just to be able to stretch out completely, to move, be agile, even in a larger cage, it was the only time in the whole day this animal could be free to move, and it was spent fighting her.

That's why the fights started lasting longer, the strongman and a lion both in the ring, trying to make the bit last as long as possible.

It's what the audience didn't see, what Cait and the gryphon both were able to communicate to each other on stage, was the reason why the gryphon never went in for the killing blow, because they both knew they were part of the act.

These six people who are responsible keep feeding the gryphoness a whole cocktail of drugs. Sometimes Cait is forced to fight the hen while it was shaking so terribly, it could barely stand, but her heart was racing two hundred miles a minute. Not to mention how large she grew in captivity, she would put junk-yard pit bulls to shame, gaining nearly three times her weight since being captured and sold to the Combat Zone, the gryphoness was beginning to be known as a powerhouse of an animal.

"Damn, Bastards!" Cait would say, not that it mattered, or anyone was particularly paying attention to what she said, but this latest mistake would put the screws to anyone who got near the chick until the Buffout wore off.

The sounds of footsteps coming down the 300-year-old staircase were impossible to hide, and Cait knew it well, but it didn't sound like any footsteps she knew, which put her in the right spot to face whoever turned the corner and be waiting for them.

Two men appeared, giving her one look, then stopping, "The hell you're looking for is still a few floors down, so what're you doin' here?" Cait asked, leaning against the cage bars.

Deacon was about to speak, but Meathead cut him off, "<Keep looking,>" He said, then addressing Cait, "<I can get you out of here if that's what you want.>"

"There's not a day that goes by I don't think of that, but tell me? How long's the leash then?" The way she spoke, Meathead looked at her eyes, the heavy bags and sunken look on her face made him realize she was not at her most lucid.

"<I...>" Examining Cait's emotions, she was like a loudspeaker for energies passing through and around her, everything became amplified, the high, the lows, good energies, and bad. Right now, she was radiating waves of grey depressed energy that was lit up by self-deprecating humor.

"Meat, I found them." Deacon went to start yanking on the chain around the gates keeping it closed.

In a cell were two men and a woman, all beaten, wearing the same pre-war clothes that they were given after leaving the Railroad, one man with a broken arm, the second with a broken rib and actively bleeding wound in his abdomen, then the woman's face was cut and scratched up, along with her shoulders, and back. All of them showed cuts nipped out of their earlobe, patches of hair cut out, and fingernails cut down to a nub, but those wounds, in particular, were stopped and congealed. They were taking bits and pieces off them, examining them, and somehow discovering through invasive surgery that they are synths.

"Everybody up, this is a breakout."

"Oy!" Cait shouted, clarity clearing her vision, "You're there for those synths, machine-fucks? But you ain't even look at me twice! I have been here for years, you selfish bastards, but the night those boy'os drop in, it's all hands on fuckin' deck to save those who are already dead? I see how it is you limp-dick-for-flesh robot-fuckers!"

There wasn't any real way to effectively deal with or calm Cait, but Meathead was paying more attention to his surroundings, he could feel a shift in energy above them, and the noise of two more sets of footsteps crested the peak of the stairs and was coming down.

"That's what you get for not letting me out first you Samaritan good-for-nothing!"

"Meat, sounds like company." Deacon stressed, readying his weapon.

With only a little magic effort, Meathead broke the lock to the cage with the gryphon inside, then he shoved Deacon and the synths back into the cell as the door to the cage slammed open. Eyes already dilated and heart pumping, the bulked-out berzerking gryphoness sprinted through the halls, leaving deep gouges on the floor with her claws.

Leaping through the air at the left corner going up the stairs, she extended her right claw out, and gouged it into the drywall and wood, leaving long drag marks to slow her momentum as she slowed only for a moment before running directly into two of her captors.

They didn't have time to draw their weapons before Bruce's head was crushed into a ball, skull, and brain oozing through one claw as she opened wide and bit down around Terrance's skull, crushing through his neck, spine, and ribs, ripping the body in half with a spray of blood as she devoured two short bites while dashing up the stairs.

"Leighla!" Cait yelled, arms against the bars reaching after her.

Leighla reached the upstairs hallway, she expanded her wings fully and screamed, feeling more alive and unstoppable at that moment just from being able to stretch that one muscle after being cramped inside for weeks, that one moment where she wasn't fighting was euphoric and enough to make her rely more on senses than what instinct was telling her to do.

\111/

"<That'll buy us some time.>" Meathead said, directing everyone towards the gryphon's cell, "<Up and out. Hancock! Are you up there!?>" He yelled, listening for a response.

"Hey! You can't just do that to my friend, you heartless bastards! You can't do that to her! Leighla isn't your meat shield! You don't let me out right now, I will rip these bars out and beat you senseless with them! I will shove a pole up your arse and out your mouth, I'll spit roast you over the fire! Let me out of here you finger-bangin', toothpick-smoking-" She threatened, becoming more descriptive and agitated by the moment, her red hair was as fiery as her emotions.

Deacon cast a side look to Meathead, "Oof Dah," He implied with a whisper. God Damn translated into Norwegian.

"<Just get them out, I'll deal with her,>" Meathead quietly replied. "Hey!" He shouted to get Cait's attention, cutting her off. She was actively bending one of the metal posts, and was in the process of forcing a second bar apart when she finally stopped to look at him.

Deacon climbed up the chute, noticing all the claw marks along the passage, he pounded on the metal doors, shouting for Hancock again. The hatch doors opened above, opening to the street where Hancock was ready to reach down and start pulling people out.

"<What's your name?>"

"What?"

"<What's your name?>"

"Cait."

"<Cait, do you hear that? That's the sound of your friend giving every living thing up there a new asshole, she needs your help to keep going.>"

Meathead didn't have time to deal with the lock, balling it up in his fist with magic force, he broke it, and allowed Cait to leave. "Ain't you a strong one? Still, you let the lion out of the cage! If Leighla dies, I blame you."

Not entirely sure what to do with her at the moment, Cait nearly shoved Meathead out of her way as she went for the destroyed containers of Buffout on the ground in the gryphon cell. Reaching down she scooped out piles of the raw powder and ate it. She reached for another one, ate dug her way through the scraps as Meathead readied his weapon. She smacked herself in the face a few times, hopping up and down. When Cait stood up she yelled a powerful battle-cry, and grabbing a knife off Terrance's front, she stormed upstairs.

\111/

The enraged screeches of the gryphon tearing apart the Combat Zone from the backstage, spilling out into the theatre was one long scar of destruction left in her wake. Contestants and self-proclaimed gladiators backstage were arming themselves to beat down synthetic-looking humans, and tried taking swings at the gryphon with clubs, axes, and bats, but it was like beating on a mattress. With a wave of her wing, she hurled them with enough strength to send them flying through drywall and timber or impact cement and brick. There were a few wild shots, but nothing high of enough caliber to bring her down.

Those first shots were what alerted the rest of the Combat Zone to the fight inside. There were those close enough to the doors who thought the fight was starting, and others close in were pushing their way out, or suddenly caught unaware. When Leighla the gryphoness finally reached the lights of the stage, she took a giant breath and screamed, wings jutting out she took off the ground, racing for the rafters, towards the second floor where raiders were suddenly the target of a massive 800-pound flying lion with an eagle's wings, head, and claws. She tackled the first person with a rifle as shots were squeezed off, gouging his chest in with the weight and momentum of her body alone, Leighla jumped 10 meters with a single bound, beak open and claws upright to rip and tear the second raider's arms off, using them as s post to jump off, then diving down off the mezzanine, swirling through the air as she swept five raiders off their feet.

Blasts of gunfire peppered her, only directing her to the raider with the clearest shot, Leighla stomped down in the middle of three raiders, throwing them to the ground, spinning around and slashing at them, bucking with her hips. As one raider stabbed at her with a spear, she reared back, grabbing the tip and heaving the raider scavenger closer as he attempted to hold on. Taking the raider scavenger in her claws, she crushed his windpipe, then slammed him head-first down into the ground. All around his head, a bloody halo splattered out.

Another maurader came at her with a sledgehammer, as more patrons of the Combat Zone either ran out or in, the confident ones came alone, or the cowards grouped up. More bullets flew through the air, Leighla took the sledgehammer blow to the side, raising her left foreleg to ward off some of the blow, it pounded painfully into her left forearm, which put her close enough to bite the arms of the ravager, forcing him to drop the sledgehammer and make the other raiders back off with their shots.

Punching the ravager, he sailed through the air, slamming into the seating. Leighla jumped to the second story again as more shots tore past her, clattering holes into the walls. Two raiders came to the show with a bandolier of Molotov cocktails, plugged and ready to light, and without regard to the old timbers keeping the theater standing, lit four and were hucking them around. Keeping Leighla moving, smoking out the second floor, bullets reigned in her direction, but as two more bottles landed, splattering flaming oil across the old rugs, Leighla brought her wings in, slammed her claws down into the flaming liquid, then dove through the air with flaming talons poised out ready to strike the pyro.

Smashing into him, her talons grip was so wide, that she crushed a bottle still pinned to his side, piercing through his back and frontside, then standing on her rear legs, she ripped the man in two from the chest and stomach as flames crawled over the two of them.

Leighla was shot through her wing, then another in her back leg, and then a shotgun pellet struck her in the chest. She yelled again, and looked up at the ceiling, looking for any way out.

Extinguishing her claws, she pounced on three legs, jumping twenty feet along the right side of the theatre, beak outstretched, as she landed her beak snapped shut, biting through a 9mm machine pistol and the raider scum's hand that was holding it. She flung the man thirty feet up into the air with one sweep of her wing but then screamed as a hot burning lance of pain coursed through her limbs. Her vision swam as she collapsed to the ground, breathless, her heart was about to explode.

The Buffout.

The coldness strangling Leighla was her heart stopping and lack of blood flowing through her veins, heart skipping beats like a record needle jumping the groove during an earthquake.

Cait was sprinting down backstage, knife held backward in her left hand, she came on stage and the lights hit her, there Leighla was, pinned down behind old metal chairs, seven raiders about the seats, upstairs on fire, with four more coming in from the lobby.

Diving off the stage with all her limbs stretched out, she landed on the back of a raider she'd seen observe the fights. They both toppled to the ground, but Cait plunged the knife into his neck as she tackled him, ripping it out and jamming it back in three times before their tumble came to a stop.

The next in her sights was three rows up, she jumped up off the first row of chairs, and kicked square down in the shoulder with the back of her heel. He crumpled at the blow of the impact, nerves compressed as he hit the ground.

Meathead took to the curtains on the stage, staying mostly obscured from view, but able to get a line of sight to the lobby where he stood, firing shots with his laser rifle at anyone aiming at Leighla. He burned holes in one raider, and blasted at a second, but only drew their attention long enough for Cait to close the distance and deliver a spine-twisting skull-popping punch to the jaw, sending that raider spinning with teeth flying through the air.

The gryphon was crawling up the side of the theatre steps, shaking but undeterred to keep moving despite her blackened claws and blood trailing down her sides.

Cait took two long strides, then jumped, tackling another raider across the ground, this gun grabbing his gun out of his hands and blasting the trigger a dozen times until it was empty, then hurling the gun spot-on to collide with a gunner's skull.

While her target shooting was wild, her throwing skills were accurate, the 5lb pistol hurled through the air smashed into the gunner, knocking him out instantly.

There was a lull in the fighting, where everyone inside the Combat Zone was pressed up against the edge, waiting for the next person to stick their head out, reloading, or tentatively hanging back by the front lobby doors, poking their heads into seeing if the fighting stopped. There was a tense dread filling the air like smoke, along with actual smoke from the embers of the fire burning out upstairs.

"Cait! You fucking bitch! You and that fucking bird!" Tommy Lonegran shouted, he was hiding on stage, behind the metal cage, a dozen feet away from Meathead. "Biggest waste of money I ever spent on that bird and the" rapping his fingers against the chain link fence, "Fucking cages!"

Cait clenched her jaw at those words, like a railroad spike being pounded down into her skull, "Greedy! Acid-dipped, rat-faced, whore's lippin', puke-stained, buggering bastard is what you are!"

"And you used to be able to fight! Once I cook and serve that bird on a spit, I won't break even for all the drugs pumped into her system. Look at her, she's dying, O'D'ing. Screw serving her up, the meat's probably all stressed out."

Cait suddenly jerked her head towards the table-stand next to Tommy's chair, where he would watch during the fights.

"Looking for this?" Tommy asked, holding up a box containing a syringe of Addictol. While it does contain the equivalency of an adrenaline shot, this old-world treat is a premium-luxury medical item, where the chemicals or drugs a user is on or addicted to are burned out of the system, all the way from the tip of the brain, to the endings of the longest nerves in the toes. It was created in conjunction to stop an overdose, as well as purge the drug from the person's system causing the overdose from pulling the person back under.

He stuffed the Addictol in his interior coat pocket and then held a pistol toward Leighla.

"She killed our meal ticket, Cait!"

"To Hell with being fed at all! I ain't eat a decent meal in two years you overstuffed, leather-faced, shit-spewin', pig! More always come, and they always do, you know it, and I know it. I could fight a million more fights, and they'd still be coming."

"Nah, this is a blessing in disguise, the cost of drugs being slammed through the two of you both shaking so hard, looking ready to collapse. Look at your hands Cait, you can't hold a candle. If you and that little bird aren't making me money, that my whole audience could be slaughtered, then the both of you are a liability. Unlike you, I can always get more fighters. So here's what I'm going to do, I'm going to get the place back in order, and you are going to turn around, and leave through those doors, right now."

"The hell you say? Give me the Addictol, Tommy! You're nothing but an inbred-muther's taint-suckin' child if you don't."

Meathead went around the backside and pressed the metal square of the laser rifle to the back of Tommy's head. "<Hands up. The Addictol's in your coat pocket, yeah?>" Meathead asked, Tommy raised his hands, caught.

"Yeah."

Meathead pulled the trigger, blasting a bright red beam that appeared for a quick second that blasted out through the front of Tommy's forehead, wrapping his arms around Tommy before he fell, Meathead dugs his hands in and grabbed the Addictol, then ran for Leighla.

He felt an enormous, ferocious-like protective wave of angry energy coming from Cait the moment Meathead got close, "Give it here!" She stammered, but at the same time, he could tell she was crying on the inside, terrified that her friend was dying.

She was shaking so violently right now, from the Buffout and whatever else, that when he tried to say anything Cait yelled back.

"<Cait, I've dealt with female quadrupeds before, I need you to hold her talons away from me and be ready to step back because she's going to come out of this swinging.>"

Cait's head was spinning, but she listened to the command and held away Leighla's arms, peeling back the left wing, Meathead popped the lid to the case of Addictol, and saw that it was still factory-fresh sealed on the inside. He filled the plunger, found the ribcage, felt for the gap in breast tissue between the ribs where it was easiest to reach the heart, and slid the injector in.

\111/

Leighla's mind never experienced a shift in sudden change so quickly from her entire body burning up, dehydrated, muscles burning and growing stronger with every movement, to suddenly a bitter-aching, harrowing pain of icy-cold spreading through her soul. She inhaled a breath so deep to nearly draw the air out of the room and then screamed as her eyes opened to the blinding unknown surroundings she couldn't recognize, and the terrible real pain of being shot and burnt and beaten down.

The yell was so loud, that it sent people running from the building, raiders were pulling each other to get away from the Combat Zone while hearing Leighla scream. She bolted upright from the floor and took off like a rocket through the lobby doors. Once she saw the open sky, even on three legs, she jumped twenty feet up the side of a building and crawled the last ten feet with two short ledge grabs. Once she reached the roofs of the Theatre District of downtown Boston, she was out of sight.

"Leighla!" Cait yelled, running after her friend, "Lee-la!"

"<Cait! We can't go that way. We'll get to her! We'll make sure she's alright.>" Cait stopped, turning around to look at Meathead.

"<We just can't go that way. Too many people.>"

Cait was forming the words to protest, but Meathead cut her off, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from the front doors.

They made it to the street, and then looked for a route out, but Cait kept demanding that they search for Leighla.

"<We are, I know which way she's going. She's flying south.>" Meathead's attention was more on listening for any signs of being followed or looking overhead, for any signs of crows.

Far overhead, Leighla could be heard crying out,

"Leighla!" Cait yelled up through the alley.

"Lee-la!"

\111/