IC- Chapter Three: Lone Wanderers

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Ibis and Wally operate

OOC- Here's a little about Ibis.

ICC-

Ibis had stayed and watched Wally operate until he had to get back to his own work. The bodies had begun to pick up an odor.

For the two days he'd been out. During that time the Tabis PO meatwagon had continued to bring bodies. Most of the bodies had no one to claim them. Those that did would be given a proper funeral. A hall would be rented, a grave stone marked and a grave dug. Then on the chosen day, the body would be buried.

The others would be taken for pauper's burial. Normally, one of the many derelict buildings would be broken into, the cellar covered with lye, and more lye would be used on the bodies. Then, when either the cellar was full or a week had passed and the smell was too obtrusive, the bodies would be torched.

For this the Tabis PO paid a small fee. It was enough to get by.

Ibis would hire hands as needed to help. He was getting too old to dig the grave. A stone cutter from Tabis would cut a grave stone if the grieving parties had enough to pay for it. But he still handled the bodies.

Wally had explained the procedures needed. Because of the reaction of ghoul to human blood some of the organs would have to be removed and preserved. Others would have to be replaced. The generator was still humming so Ibis had the needed refrigeration, and the hybernation that Grimm's body had slipped into would help preserve it. But the ghoul blood had necrotized some of the other organs, and these would have to be replaced.

Ibis had watched Wally as he had opened the skull and removed the brain, being extremely careful to keep the brain alive and awake. Other organs had quickly followed. Soon the eyes were in individual jars, pointing in strange directions as if cross-eyed.

Ibis was impressed with the mastery of Wally's control of a scalpel and had listed to Wally. The old ghoul had consumed more medical knowledge than three lifetimes, and his knowledge of both ghoul and human physiology was unmatched. Even so, he had never experienced anything like Grim's condition before.

The meat wagon had brought in a load of other fresh bodies which Ibis quickly inspected what he needed. There were no claimants, again, so no one would miss anything. Using a wheel barrow he carried the bodies he needed into the room before working on them.

Fresh, they had to remain fresh, if only for a little while. Some tissue could be repaired, other was lost forever.

Wally had said that one of the virtues of the ghoul blood was that because it was infected by FEV, many of the complications of adaptation to new tissue would be avoided. But he still had to work fast.

First, from the body of a drunk he removed a suitable liver. But when he sliced it open he saw that it was too diseased. He brought the scaplel to his mouth. No, it didn't taste right either. Another drunk had been disembowelled. Pity, he had nice intestines.

Still, some of the lung tissue was suitable. Appendix? No, that's not needed. But let's not forget the Thyroid, shall we?

Of course some would have to adapt. The skin, the skeletel bone structure...

Unconsciously Ibis began to whistle pleasantly while he worked, a man comfortable in his trade. It was an ancient song, that he used to sing first to his wife, then his children. Had some one sang the song might have been "Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars. In other words hold my hand. In other words darling kiss me ."

And so Ibis worked, quickly, for the next few hours, removing Liver, Spleen, lung tissue, Kidneys, bits of intestine. He let his mind wonder as his fingers worked their magic, and on occassion, snuck a quick bite in. Each organ removed was placed in a jar filled with preservative, and when finished placed in refrigeration.

Wally, hearing the old man whistle came in to watch, pointing out certain organs and making suggestions when needed. Ibis was efficient and quick, yet seemed to show courtesy, perhaps a gentleness to each body. He was a natural artist of a morbid trade, and when he ate it was as natural as a chef sampling his own creations. Wally had learned from Ibis, and the two shared many secrets.

Ibis smiled at Wally, as Wally pointed out that a certain Pancreas should be kept. Practically a whole new body you'll have, Mr. Grimm.
 
Together the black-clad pair trudged warily out of the rowdy partying quarter, Gabriel leading Virgil back toward the factory. The young assassin wanted to find out how the others were doing. Earlier the problem of Caleb had occupied his thoughts too much and the others had been forgotten. Now Gabriel felt the unfamiliar tang of regret. He wished he had been there to help take care of Grim…and Rogue.

Shaking thoughts of the hardy girl from his mind, the assassin continued his journey, turning back to talk to Virgil,

“I need to meet some of the other survivors from the Wainwright excursion. They are at the field hospital.”

“What is this Wainwright place? And why is everyone so happy about it.” Asked the ghoul.

Gabriel chuckled,

“It’s nothing to be happy about. A bunch of fools got stuck out in Wainwright Park. It’s been abandoned for year, namely because of a lethal deathclaw infestation. This morning a second, successful rescue mission went in to get those fools out.” Gabriel kept on walking, his voice louder than normal. He guessed the alcohol in his system was causing it. “Now everyone in town is celebrating the ‘great victory over the monsters.”

“And you went out with the rescue team?” Virgil quizzed the assassin. Taciturn but curious, just like Gabriel himself.

“Well, yes. In the end I did.”

“Meaning?” Virgil wasn’t beating around the bush. Straight and to the point. Gabriel liked him already. Well the saving his ass back in the bar had endeared the ghoul to Gabriel but relationships can change even after something like that. At least Virgil wasn’t an asshole, thought the assassin.

“I was one of the fools but I got out via the sewer.” Yup the drink was definitely loosening his tongue even if it wasn’t slowing his reactions that much. “We couldn’t get the wounded out that way so I went on a supply run to keep the people holed up in the fort going.” He paused, “I sent some friends back to the fort with the supplies while I took care of some business in town.” Virgil did not understand what Gabriel meant by that, fortunately. Had the ghoul arrived in town a day before and knew the basic workings of the town, he might have guessed but for now, Frank Wachowski’s blood that was figuratively on Gabriel’s hands, eluded the tough ghoul. “The I went back to Wainwright with the supply team for the troops fighting the deathclaws up on the El.”

Virgil was impressed though perplexed. Gabriel appearance in the alley to save him not withstanding, the young man did not strike him as the noble type. Brave yes, but escaping terrible peril only to return to it soon after. That seemed to require a nobility of spirit that Virgil couldn’t see in Gabriel’s eyes.


“Why? There was someone in the fort you cared about.” That didn’t sound right either. Gabriel looked and acted like the type who didn’t make friends or care about people too much.

The young assassin hesitated before he answered,

“No…except…” he faltered, “I went back because they were counting on me. All of them.

Virgil nodded but he knew Gabriel was holding something back. Probably a girl. He remembered being young and virile. A long, long time ago. He almost chuckled despite himself.

“Brave, son. Takes balls to go back into a firefight.”

“I didn’t need balls. The deathclaw did. They should have known better than to tangle with me again.” Gabriel smiled.

“Bullshit.” Virgil looked at Gabriel’s knives, “You shittin’ me?”

“No, I a deathclaw, hand to hand. Wounded another. After that they attacked me at their own risk. Dumb bastards.” The assassin smiled again at his joke. He knew he was tough but even his arrogance didn’t really go that far.

“Whatever you say, youngster.” Virgil replied, unsure whether to be damn impressed or breath through is mouth to avoid the smell of Brahmin shit.

“There’s the factory, they should still be there.” Gabriel pointed, “I’ll go and check in the hospital.”

“Terrific.” Said Virgil, deadpan. Gabriel chuckled.
 
IC-

The streets were calmer now that the two of them had moved through and beyond the police barricades.
The noise of the party still raging on could quietly be heard in the background as Skik and Rogue left the busy night life behind heading for the factory.

Here, the streets were nearly deserted; the odd local could be seen shuffling through the abandoned passage ways but that was seldom. It was as though this part of the town had fallen into a deep sleep leaving the festivities behind.

Rogue was glad for the peace. The gentle refreshing breeze blew through her now slightly dusty hair causing small wisps of untamed hair to cover her face.
It had been so long since she last encountered tranquillity; here Rogue was more at ease as was by the sound Skik who whistled contently as they marched on towards the hospital.

“Sooo, what do you plan on doing now, you know, now that everything seems to be running alright?” Asked Skik breaking the night’s silence.

“Leave I guess. I never planned on staying in Tabis, just kinda got dragged into this mess.”

“I know what you mean, but now where would you go?”

“Probably hitch a caravan to Grey Cliffs; I hear that Red Eye Trading is looking for guards on a route there.” Replied Rogue. “And you, what will you do now that the future of the ghouls is looking bright.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Will probably move on, I’m not much of a settling down kinda ghoul.”

Rogue laughed remembering Skik in battle. The ghoul was at his happiest when throwing grenades at deathclaws and playing with explosives. “Well, you didn’t strike me as the settling down type.”

At that they rounded the last stretch and through a clearing in the building’s could be seen the lights emitted from the factory in addition to the dim purring noise of more than one generator.

“Ok, we should try and find the others whilst we’re here. They should know about Grim’s condition and where he’s been moved to.” Said Skik

Rogue nodded in agreement as they approached the large structure that stood before them.

On arriving at the door, they passed 2 men and a women all dressed in long coats. They wore rubber gloves and seemed exhausted. They stood propped up against the factory wall smoking in the cool night’s breeze. The three of them acknowledged Skik and Rogue as they passed through the door with a friendly yet tiresome smile.

“Long night?” asked Skik as he passed by.

“Too long.” said one and there was a small outbreak of laughter from the three followed by a sigh.

Inside the factory, the lights were bright and there was a slight change in temperature from the chilled night air outside. All around there were beds and mattresses laid out filled with injured and bandaged people most of which were sleeping.

Rogue looked around the room, searching for any sign of the others.

In one corner she noticed Fury who lay upon an old stretcher. She was still awake and chatting contently with a young boy. At her side holding her hand was Horus who was sleeping like a baby. In some way, it was quite weird watching the fighter chat with the young boy but on the other hand oddly fitting. From here, she no longer looked like a slaver but someone who could very well settle down and even start a family.
Rogue wished her and Horus luck with the future that lay a head for the two of them.

“I’m going to get what we need; you keep looking for the others.” Said Skik walking off in the direction of some back rooms. A man, what Rogue presumed was a doctor met the ghoul with a smile and a hand shake; the two disappeared through a door.

Continuing her search around the room, Rogue noticed Talon a sleep on a bed. Knox laid not far away, his side in bandages and was currently in the process of a blood transfusion.

Rogue scouted the entire room, but no Caleb, nor Jeeva or Gabriel.
Gabriel, she hadn’t seen the assassin since they had broken through the deathclaws back on the EL. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Caleb since then either.

“Damn it, where the hell are you all?” cursed Rogue.

It wasn’t till she felt the a hand lightly touch her shoulder that she realised some one was behind her. Startled, Rogue turned swiftly, there before stood the dark clad night blade him self.

“Damn it Gabriel, you scared the hell out of me.” She said smiling. Gabriel smiled back and unless it was her memory betraying her, Rogue had yet to see the slayer smile.
 
IC-

The two, slaver and Blade respectively, now walked together at the same pace. It was the third night and the deserts now lay dormant, resting up to unleash hell in the morning. They had left the man in the red cloak long ago.

Jeeva was tired, almost ready to crash at any second. Each step was a grand victory worthy of a parade. Even so, the young slaver was in better condition than Caleb Rutgers. As for as Jeeva could tell, the old man had stopped breathing. And the last time he checked, people normally breathed.

They had walked at the same manic pace, a plowing trudge through the deserts, with little rest. Food was hardly a problem since they didn’t have time to eat. Often times, they would piss while walking backwards, paving a yellow road for anyone to follow. Caleb simply kept going and Jeeva did not dare try to hinder him.

They had found cacti, natural reservoirs of water, sparsely scattered about and poached their stores. All of their canteens were filled now but they still restrained themselves from drinking; they did not know how long their supplies would hold out. To alleviate thirst, they gnawed on shrubs and weeds.

Jeeva did not have time to pack supplies when he had left Tabis. All he had was one canteen, having given his other one to the wanderer in the red cloak. The last time they had made camp, the slaver was forced to hunt and scrounge for his food. Caleb had tough jerky but he had not elected to share. Jeeva did not mind; he was lucky the Blade did not blast him into the ground. He made do with shriveled tubers dug from the ground and the occasional jackrabbit snared.

They walked in silence, hardly exchanging words. Only, Caleb had been muttering random things under his breath. Often times, the Blade would swat his ears in annoyance or vigorously shake his head. Other times, Caleb would kneel to the ground and cup both ears, chanting “No, no, no,” over and over again. Jeeva kept meaningfully silent during these spells.

So it was on the third day that Jeeva feel into routine. They walked in the night and slept, if they bothered to at all, in any shade they could find during the day. Silence throughout walking and silence throughout resting punctuated with the occasional ranting.

They had been walking in silence, the night breeze chilling their bones, when Caleb, without breaking pace, muttered, “Stop it, will you?” He tapped his head with two fingers and clenched his eyes shut.

Jeeva looked at the Blade, puzzling if he was addressing him. He shrugged and said, “What’d you say?”

Caleb stopped in his tracks, looking at Jeeva in bewilderment. He clenched shut his eyes, thinking. Then he said, “Would you stop looking at me like that?” He resumed walking.

Jeeva followed. Caleb was covering his right eye with his hand. The slaver knew he was having one of his spells. Thinking that talking would alleviate the pain, Jeeva said, “What am I looking at you like?”

Caleb gritted his teeth, contorting his face into lines of wrinkles and rage. He fell to his knees, clutching his head with both hands. Jeeva knelt down to help him but the Blade angrily slapped away his hands. Looking up with a pained expression, he said, “Like I’m some sort of desert scum.” Clenching his fist. “As if leaving that man back there makes me worse than you.”

Jeeva stepped back, letting the Blade his room. Softly, he said, “But I didn’t say anything, Caleb.”

Caleb got up, pounding the ground with his fist. Staring at Jeeva with blazing eyes, he said, “Exactly. But it doesn’t stop you from riding my back.”

The slaver said nothing, prudently keeping silent. After a while, Caleb began walking again. Jeeva followed at a safe distance.

They walked in strained tension. Caleb was still haunted by his choice: to save his brothers and leaving the wanderer in the red cloak to possibly die. It was a hard choice, but one he had to make.

Jeeva, though he was a slaver, could feel human misery. He was, in fact, especially emphatic to it. Because a slave in pain would ultimately strain the merchandise and drop the selling price. Nursing a slave, letting him recover for a few days, was better than having him die in exhaustion. What profit was there in that?

The slaver took his chance. He fell back until Caleb was fifteen steps ahead of him. Under his breath, Jeeva muttered, “We still shouldn’t have left him to die like that.”

Caleb was delirious, half-mad, but he was still as lethal as ever. His ears caught Jeeva’s words and the Blade turned around dramatically. Jeeva froze, watching the old Blade rest his withered hands on the Peacemaker handles.

“You say something, slaver?” asked Caleb hoarsely. He walked leisurely back to Jeeva, his eyes a’ blazing and his hands ready.

Jeeva swallowed but look defiantly back at the old man. “I said we wouldn’t have left that man to die back there.” He was glad that his voice did not quaver or break.

Caleb pounded his feet in fury. “And what should have we done?” he boomed. “Pick him up and carry him back to town? Nurse him back to health? Maybe pamper him and wipe his ass for him?”

Jeeva blinked uncertainly, wiping the spit off his face. “No, but we could—”

“Exactly!” cut in Caleb in triumph. “We could have done a lot of things, Jeeva. But those things take time and that’s the one thing we don’t have in excess. We did what we could for him and that was enough.”

“It still isn’t right, Caleb.”

“Not right?” exclaimed Caleb in disbelief. “You think it’s not right? Come from a slaver. Don’t you think it’s not right to enslave a man, place him in shackles, and sell him to the highest bidder? Huh, oh high and mighty?”

“This isn’t about me, old man,” Jeeva growled.

“Exactly.” Caleb glared at the tall slaver. “This is about me and my mission. Nobody dragged you here, Jeeva, and no one asked for any moral lessons.”

The Blade took a few steps back and traced a line in the dirt with the heel of his boots. “No one said this would be easy,” began Caleb. “There’s going to be a lot of hard choices to make and they’re all my call.” The Blade pointed to the line in the ground. “This is our Rubicon, Jeeva. This is the point of no return. You pass this line, and you’re in it for good. No turning back, no more bitching.”

Caleb turned his back and continued walking East.

Jeeva watched the old man walk away until he was but a tiny dot in the horizon. He looked at the line on the ground. There it was, in black and white: the choice to live or die.

The slave made his choice and stepped over the line. He followed the Blade in his quest.
 
"I'm sorry. I forget to warn people I'm coming. That doesn't help in my line of work." his face hardened for a moment, his mind flashing back to his encounter with the darkman. The powerful opponent had almost got the drop on him. Only his superb senses had saved his life. No matter how good a fighter he was, Gabriel knew that he would be dead now if the Darkman's first blow had landed.

"What's the matter?" asked Rogue, her voice concerned. Gabriel realised his face must be betraying his worried thoughts. What was going on? A few days ago he had been an inscrutable killing machine and dam proud of it. He had spent his entire life honing his skills as a killer but now, out here in the wastes, all that deadliness, all that killing power, didn't seem to mean that much when all that was needed was the ability to communicate.

"Nothing...I" he paused, "I fought him. The darkman Jeeva told us about." Rogue looked shocked.

"You killed him? I thought Jeeva said he was extremely dangerous. How did you..." She released she may have insulted his professional pride but the curious eagerness in her continued to struggle to the surface,

"He was dangerous." Gabriel was silent for a while, Rogue watched him, trying to understand the taciturn assassin. "He beat me."

"But you're -"

"Alive? Yes I know. My armour saved me." a smiled tried to assert itself on his face but didn't succeed. "I guess I'm not that different from any other Slayer, relying on protection and armour to keep me safe." Gabriel shook his head. He had trained as a Nightblade because he thought he could do more good as lone, deadly operative, than as just one more Slayer grunt, another walking tank. A single man could reach places and people that an army could not. But now, he realised, all that training couldn't protect him from everything. As other Slayers believed their armour would save them, he had believed his skills, speed, strength, his simple killing swiftness would keep him from danger. How could anyone defeat the fastest killer in the Slayers? The idea had seemed ridiculous to him three days ago. Now he knew the power of arrogance. He knew he had been wrong all along.

He was good. That was not in question, but he wasn't sure anymore, if he was the best.

"He didn't kill you. You must have done something to stop him. Jeeva spoke of him as a stone-cold killer." the memory that that was how she used to the think of Gabriel popped into her mind but she pushed it away. He had come back to save them. A cold-blooded killer wouldn't do that, would he? "The darkman wouldn't have just wounded you and left unless you were strong enough to fight." she paused, waiting for a reply but the assassin stayed silent. "Gabriel, you are one of the most dangerous men I have ever known," he brain almost laughed. She never thought she would be using that as a compliment but young as the girl was, she understood how much Gabriel's skill at arms meant to him. She knew that losing was not in his nature and that he needed to hear this. "He must have known that too and he would not leave you alive. Why would he? I know you fought him off. I have known you for a few days and I already know that much about you. Concentrate on what we need to do now to stop these people from hurting more people." Rogue remembered Fang's sense of duty and she Nightblade training included the same ethics lessons Fang must have taken. "We can stop these men but you need to focus and learn, not mope over losing a fight. Life is fighting you can't win against everything. What matters is surviving and doing the right thing."

"The right thing was killing the Darkman." replied Gabriel at last. Rogue wanted to sigh but the depressed, angry look in Gabriel's eyes told her this was not the time to mess around. Now he was like superheated metal. He could be tempered and made strong, powerful and deadly, but if pushed too far he could break. Despite all his strength, Rogue realised he had not been dealing with all these events in the best way. He was near breaking point and she needed to cool him down. She needed to stabilize him.

"We need to tknow more. If you had killed him then, we would be in the dark and our enemy would just lost one agent. There must be many more where he came from." she paused, thinking, "There is a caravan to Grey Cliffs moving out in four days - "

"Grey Cliffs. Caleb is heading there now."

"What? He went out by himself?"

"I met him at the gate...I saw him off." Gabriel replied, his voice slightly strained.

"Couldn't you stop him? He should have travelled with us."

"Can anyone stop Caleb?" asked Gabriel, rhetorically. Rogue nodded understanding.

"We can catch him up once we're with the caravan. I think it would be a good way to go and we can find out more about the Darkman and who he is working for. Too many people keep trying to kill me and people I care about." Their eyes met for a moment but neither could feel the moment the same way and whatever was between them, eluded them. For now.

"You're right. We can follow Caleb." he paused. "We'll follow Caleb to Grey Cliffs and go from there." he nodded, like a plan was forming in his mind. Rogue looked around.

"Have you seen Grim since we got back from the El?" she asked.

"No." he replied laconically.

"He's ghouled out. It's like he's dead but not really. We took him to Ibis' place, was that why you came back here. You were looking for us." Gabriel looked at her, then looked away.

"Yes, I wanted to find out who you were." he paused, then added, "All of you." Rogue nodded.

"Skik is finding supplies for Ibis and Wally. WE're going back to the funeral place. You coming?"

"Yes. There is someone outside, waiting for me. WE met in a bar."

"A girl?" Rogue raised her eyebrows.

"No a ghoul. An outlander, like me. He wants ot leave town and we've been talking. He might come with us on the caravan. He would be useful. He can certainly handle himself."

"That will probably come in handy." she smiled.

"I'll introduce you before we head off. Where's Skik?"
 
IC-

“Right here.” Answered Skik suddenly appearing through the door.

“Did you get what we needed?” Smiled Rogue turning to face the ghoul.

“Not exactly but I’ve been told where I can.” Skik glanced over to the middle aged doctor he’d talked with. The tallish grey haired man through a smile, “Tell him I sent you and it’s an emergency, it might save you paying dearly for it but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Thank you.” Smiled Skik shaking the doc’s hand. The three moved through the factory and headed for the door.

“Oh, one last thing. You tell Wally, we could sure use someone of his expertise in the future.” Yelled the doc after the departing trio.
Skik just waved a hand to the sky before passing through the door, the ghoul laughed to himself; Things were sure changing fast around here, hopefully for the best.

As they stepped out side, a tall ghoul stood leaning against the door running his fingers through a full head of black hair.

“Rogue, Skik, this is Virgil Black, a friend of mine that lent a helping hand in a bar.”

Virgil stood straight, moving forward to greet the two strangers.

“Hi.” Replied rogue. Virgil looked over the young girl; hmmm he thought to himself, this was probably the girl Gabriel was keen to get back to.

“Ahh.” Grinned Skik moving to shake the ghoul’s hand, “The name’s Skik friend.”

“Virgil, Virgil Black.” Answered Virgil taking Skik’s hand and shaking it harshly.

“Well, there’ll be plenty time for talk once we get back to Ibis’s but right now were in a bit of a rush.”

“Now were we going?”

“To old man Kaldren’s house.” Yelled Skik already heading off into the nights darkness, motioning for the others to follow.
Rogue remembering her earlier visit there with Horus picked up pace to catch the ghoul, “You main the guy with a shit load of guns?”

“Yes, but not only does he collect guns, he also has one of the biggest collections of pre-war material in this entire area and might just have what were looking for.” Replied Skik.

“But what do we need pre-war material for.” Gabriel catching up with the two.

“You’ll see.”

It didn’t take long to get to Kaldren’s house; Skik just hoped he was home and not out getting drunk in the festival.
On approaching the door, a clearly visible light could be seen through one of the still contact windows. “Ahh, looks like were in look.” Skik thumped heavily upon the door.

It took a few minutes before the sound of latches and bolts could be heard from the opposite side of the door.
Slowly, the old, chipped wooden door slided slightly open leaving a small crack just big enough to allow Kaldren to peer through. The old man glanced over his unexpected visitors, he recognised Skik, the girl too but not the others which he eyed suspiciously, esecially Gabriel.

“Skik, what the hell you be wanting at this time of night, some people sleep you know.”

Skik let out a burst of laughter, “Don’t give me that, you weren’t sleeping; now open the door, there’s something that Wally and a Doc is needing over at the factory.”

"Wally huh? Well I suppose you better be coming in just as long as you aint gonna be long.”

The old man un bolted the final locks and swung the old door open allowing the group in.

“You lot wait here, this will only take a minute.” Said Skik before disappearing down one of the many corridors of Kaldrens rather immense home.

“So, what will it be that you wanting.” Asked the old man.

“We need a pace maker and you being the man with all the pre-war gadgets around here, I thought I would come to you.”

Arr, a pace maker huh, that’s some pretty old tech you be asking for.”

“Yea, you got one?” Replied Skik knowing where this conversation was going.”

“Aye, I think I got one but it will cost ya.” Chuckled the old man.

Rogue, Gabriel and Virgil sat in the large front room of Kaldrens house. Non of them having seen such a well kept place, Rogue herself had failed to notice its beauty during her previous visit.
Glancing around the room, she noticed the different pictures upon the walls. She had only seen pictures of that type once before and that was when she was but a child in the care of the caravan company.

She continued to look around the room until she noticed Gabriel. The slayer was sat looking around the room as she was. She hadn’t quite figured him out yet.
Gabriel noticing Rogue’s stare caused her to look away, suddenly conscious that she had been caught staring felt suddenly flushed and bright faced.

Virgil noticed it as well and a grin spread across his worn face, Young n’s he thought to himself remembering what it like was like to be young as they.

“What, that’s a rip off.” Hissed Skik. “There’s no way I can afford that.”

“Hey, this is the only one I got and i'm not likely to find another. Take it or leave it but the price sticks.” Replied Kaldren.

Skik raised a slender hand to his head a scratched it lightly, small flakes of dried off skin peeling off as he did so.

“Ok, but allow me a couple of days to pay, I can’t possible find the money tonight.” Argued Skik.

“But...”

“Come on Kaldren, you know I’ll pay.” Smiled Skik.

“Well...”

“Look, I’ll even through in some weapons if you want, just for yer troubles.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Replied Kaldren.

The old man passed an old rolled up rag to Skik, “Here, it’s all set to work.”

“Your doing a great service Kaldren.” Grinned Skik. Kaldren just scoffed at the ghoul, it didn’t feel that way to him. More like he was getting screwed over.

There was silence between the three people sat in the room as Skik walked back in, he stopped for a second to look over the three of them before speaking.

“Right, we got what we needed; let’s get the hell out of here.”

Skik thanked Kaldren one last time before leaving; the old man just reminded him about the fee and hinted about an energy weapon of some sort as they left.

The four moved out into the streets, disappearing once again into the hustle and bustle of the night’s festival that still raged on even now.
 
The place between life and death

OOC- I hope this isn't giving too much away.

ICC-

Dreams without interruption. Liquid memory flowing from thought to thought. Tranquil sensations cross synapsis made warm by emotion and morphine.

In a jar, floating in a mixture of morphine, preservative and organic and inorganic nutrient, Grimm's mind floated free.

Imagines of a woman, her hair long and curly, wild and unkept, a shy smile, and eyes so sad that oceans where jealous of their depth. And the wild laughter of a child. Sensations of touch so close. Endless dreams unbroken by one's physical limit, the mind set to wander where it will.

________________________

"What will become of him?"

Wally heard the question, but shook his head. "I don't know."

Ibis, sitting in front of foldout table, finishing a meal. The night's toil visibly weighing on the old man.

"Do you have to go?" Wally asked.

"Yes, It's what must be." Said Ibis, nonchalantly. Some people accepted destiny as given. "And you?"

"No, my place is here. There is much to do and not much time."

Ibis nodded understanding, bring the fork to his mouth.

Wally admired his old friend's accommodation. There was no point to worry. Skik would either bring back the items, or not. Thus fate. Grimm would either survive or die, adapt and grow or whither and die. It was always that choice, towards life or death.

We are always in that place in between unsure of which direction to choose.

For some the choices were easier. For others the road was long and full of decisions.

Grimm's body was now mostly an empty cavity, kept in cold liquid statis. Those organs that were needed and could be removed, had been seperated and were currently being treated. New organs had been harvested and were undergoing similar treatment. Blood, plasma, inorganic instrumentation, well, one could not be expected to have all. And if all the parts were found, then it was merely a process of rebuilding.

A virtue of being a ghoul, interchangeable parts.

There were limits, but than in this hard land everyone had to adjust to changes. Just as the ghouls had been forced to adjust, adapt, overcome and survive. That or they would waste away.

Things were changing for the ghouls. New opportunities but new risks. They would have to overcome the old prejudices. Cannibals, body eaters, lepers, monsters, zombies. People made myths of what they didn't understand to make the world more comfortable a fit. Such stories were easier when others paid the price.

It had always been that way. It would always be that way.

FEV, the armageddon and the genesis. Few understood this.

The first ghouls had been unlucky. Returning to the cities to scavenge substanence, emerging from their pre-war vaults, they had been caught in that mixture of radiation and FEV. Lucky to have survived the direct effects of the bombs, they suffered the consequences.

The FEV virus, released and blown across the wind like spores in a breeze, had found them and changed them for evermore. It had turned them into the equivalent of lepers, thirsty for the radiation that kept them alive, even while many lost their minds. Rotting their bodies while prolonging their lives. Allowing them the opportunity to realize and appreciate the lost treasures while alienating them from the rest of humanity, turning them into outcasts and untouchables.

The FEV, blown across this hard land, slaying what it found, mutating most of the rest. Creating monsters from nature, the great corruption. Then, slowly, dissipating into the ground, dieing, the hard winter stemming its spread. But never fully dormant, never really dead.

Even those who had escaped the concentrations of FEV, and those who came later, when the other vaults were opened, had experienced some effects.

Sometimes the effects were slight, miniscule and eventually might fade into history. In others the effects were more long-lasting and required significant change.

Like Ibis.

Well didn't Darwin say that mutation was healthy?

Wally smiled at his friend, "How is it?" He asked.

"Not bad." Said Ibis, mixing in a taste of his home made wine, "Kind of like pork chops."

Indeed, the smell reminded Wally of bacon. The other white meat.

"We won't be able to make him fully human of course." Said Wally.

Ibis nodded.

"But this process should allow his organs to adjust to the mutations. He will probably have to go through regular hybernations, and his body should have the reconstitutive virtues that ghouls have."

"That would affect lifespan." Asked Ibis. The body handler had said little of late.

"Yes. The FEV, which should allow the body to accept the new organs will also affect other parasites or cancers, most pathogens really. Though I am not sure how the body will take to radiation."

Ibis nodded, understanding. "He will have to adjust his habits, make some changes in his diet."

"Yes, I think that his skin may lose sensation, and he will have to be careful about sunlight. Some ultra violet radiation might be good for him, but too much could cause scaring and that might be difficult to heal. I am also unsure of how quickly he will reconstitute lost skin." Said Wally.

For most ghouls, prolonged exposure to sun was dangerous, and so one would often see ghouls move in shrouded cloaks or wrapped like mummies in bandages. Such fashions often perpetuated the stereotypes and prejudices.

Ibis didn't say anything. Some habits were hard to sustain in polite society. So Wally continued, trying to make sure his friend understood.

"Yes, he will have to be made to understand this, that if he does not satisfy these urges... The body's desire to survive is quite difficult to control sometimes."

Ibis listened quietly. He understood. Periodically the body would need to renew and acquire new tissue to replace the old, or dieing.

There were those that once believed that consumption of others made one strong, allowed one to live longer. But that the hunger could make one ravenous, that the hunger was unquenchable.

It had take many years for Ibis to learn how to control his urgings, just as it had taken time to appreciate new tastes.

"This might be difficult for him to understand." Said Ibis, staring down at his plate. Despite himself he had to admit, it was delicious.

The two men waited quietly for Skik to return so that they might continue. Wally listened to Ibis eat, and together they could hear the sounds of the nightlife in Tabis begin to fade. Later they might play kings and knights, or perhaps they might just talk about old times, old friends. The meatwagon had not returned, the bodies unclaimed were prepared for disposal. There would be no more till morning and that allowed the two friends to enjoy the peace they had found, that they had learned to appreciate far from the crowds.

Wally wondered if Ibis missed it, even now.

"Life is difficult." Said Wally.
 
OOC- This is a little short but moves them along...

IC-

The smell of alcohol was near to breath taking. It filled the night’s cool air like a cloud that wouldn’t move. Never before had Rogue sampled the essence of such a strong mix of booze. The people of Tabis could drink, that was for sure.

It was late now, the nights festivity’s still ploughed on but at a much quieter pace, as the four walked through the streets, people staggered past them, using each other for support as they returned home for what sleep they could catch. Others could be seen still enjoying their drinks in the bars which were now considerably emptier as were the lightened streets. Only the hardened drinkers were still upright now, the true partiers which would keep on going as long as they had a place to down the drink.

In the morning, half this entire town would have a hangover thought Rogue observing another couple singing as they plodded back to their beds.

It must have been late night now, or more like early morning. Tiredness ached through every bone in Rogue's body and she walked on with heavy sleepy eyes.

“You ok.” Gabriel marched on besides her.

Rogue looked up and smiled, “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Gabriel smiled back; it had been a while since he last slept also. Fortunately his training as a night blade had put him through similar conditions, but despite his that, even he needed sleep sometimes.

“You should get some sleep once we get to Ibis’s place.” Rogue smiled back, she sure as hell needed it.

Up in front, Skik talked casually with Virgil. The two seemed to get a long well.

“A computer technician huh!” gasped Skik, slightly impressed. “Well, there aint many of them left I’ll tell you that.”

“Nope, there weren’t many that got out of there alive.”

"So, what brings you down from Alaska? tahst a hell of a treck." Asked Skik.

"Aye t'is quite a journey, few can with stand the harshness of the winters up there. I being one of the sole ghouls didnt wan't to try it alone." Replied Virgil.

"Ever since then i've been wandering south, passing from town to town, stopping at those that would expect me."

"Oh, a drifter of some sort." smiled Skik.

"Yea, you could call it that."

As they talked, they passed through the towns large gates once again heading out into the wastes, leaving the Tabis's lights and night life behind as they headed on back to Ibis’s.

The night’s air was much fresher out here in the wastes.

“What’s it like to be,” Rogue hesitated before continuing, “You know, an Assassin.” Said Rogue hoping that her question wasn’t too direct and that she wasn’t making a mistake.
 
Gabriel's face remained stoic as ever.

"It depends." he said.

"On what? asked Rogue.

"On who you have to kill." he replied, simply. Rogue considered this.

"You care who you kill?" The question would have sounded stupid but Gabriel understood what she meant. Soldiers fought battles, they killed to survive. Assassins were hired murderers. They didn't fight, they just killed.

"Yes. It matters."

"So you would refuse to kill someone you knew and liked or respected?" she continued in the same vein. THe obvious route for the conversation but Gabriel had hoped she wouldn't ask.

"That depends."

"What, it's all relative in your business?"

"I'm not sure I could refuse. I would hate it, but I would have to complete my mission. That is what I'm trained to do."

Rogue stared at him.

"You mean -"

"If you were targetted, or SKik or Cale-" he stumbled over the word and moved on, "or Grim. I'm a Nightblade. I am given a target. A name, description, and that person is dead. THey just don't know it yet."

"But you can't just kill like that. You're their tool. The Slayers make you kill people."

"No I do it myself." That silenced her. "I am a killer Rogue. It's all I have ever done with my life. I hunted animals as a child. My father taught me how to fight when I was ten. I killed my first man at 15. Killing is in my blood." he paused, taking a breath. "That is what it's like being an assassin. It feels good because because I'm doing what I was always good at. I'm doing what I've always done. And I am the best."

Rogue was speechless. She had expected a cold response. She realised he might say something that scared her. But this.

"Gabriel, you're more than a killer. You came back for us."

"I had to kill to do it. I left the fort to kill a person." he raised his hands in front of her, "That is all these hands are good for. I can kill three men in four seconds with these. Is that being more than a killer."

The two had fallen behind the two ghouls who were now walking some way ahead. Proably for the best, thought Gabriel. Bad enough that one person had to hear that outburst. What was happening to him. One day his life was fine. He killed those who had it coming. He killed more another day. Day after day, he cleansed te wastes of human filth. Now he felt...what? What was wrong with what he did. He was a predatory but he didn't prey on the weak. He preyed on the strong who abused their strength. Control sent out to kill Slavers, Raider leaders. He was blade in the hands of good. He had to be. He had done too much to be fighting on the wrong side. He would have known. He must have. All these thoughts were making his head spin.

"Gabriel?"

"Rogue, don't worry about me. You shouldn't try to get inside my head. There's too much blood. Too much death. I'm not sorry for any of it but I don't think you want to share it with me."

They walked on in silence for a while.

"I didn't mean to offend you." Rogue said, quietly.

"You didn't. These last few days have been...strange. The world seems to be changing. Or maybe it's just my world. I don't know. All I have ever had to rely on were the Slayers and myself. Most of the time that meant I had to be faster, more deadly than my enemy. Now I don't know who the enemy is and who to trust and what is really going on. That has never happened to me before and makes all my skills and training seem useless."

"They're not useless. Neither are you. You helped save us. Without you, we might never have gotten out of Wainwright. We might never have got out of the sewers. You're useful to us." she looked into his eyes and she was happy to see they were warmer than before. Almost normal. But they looked sad and as the met hers, they became embarrassed.

"Thank you. You are a kind woman, Rogue. I am glad I met you."

And they walked on.
 
The fourth day.

Two things Jeeva had learned about his companion now: the first was that as long as he kept quiet, Caleb was an amiable enough person. The second was that Caleb was thoroughly insane.

But, surprisingly enough, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. An amiable maniac was better than an angry maniac. Sure, Caleb totted around guns but the important thing was that he wasn’t using them. Sure, Jeeva was scared from even talking but Caleb made up for that with the quaint conversations between the voices in his head.

All things considered, Jeeva felt things were going well.

Caleb had decided to stop at the edge of a closed off river in the deserts. The stagnant waters were dangerous of course, the nuclear radiation having poisoned it, but the blowing winds sent a refreshing breeze across the water. Jeeva fell to the ground, talking advantage of the merciful respite to rest is feet. Caleb sat atop a rock, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of jerky.

As he opened his canteen and drank, Jeeva watched the Blade stare out to the horizon. His companion was dressed in rags, his clothes virtually disintegrating off him, yet he still cast an imposing figure of authority. In his overcoat, with a shade of beard clinging to his cheeks, Caleb assumed the classical cowboy. And falling into character, the Blade now hauled out one of his revolvers in a blazing quick draw. Jeeva watched, mesmerized, as the gunslinger ran the gun across his forearm, the chamber clicking and rotating.

Caleb caught Jeeva looking and turned around. Without taking his eyes off the slaver, he broke the chamber down to the side. Jeeva noted with great interest that the cylinder was empty. The Blade began loading the gun, using his clever fingers to slip cartridges from out of his belt to the bullet slots.

While he did this to both guns, Caleb asked, off to the side, “Have you ever heard of Rage Against The Machine, Jeeva?” He looked down to his guns.

The slaver, taken aback, lowered the canteen from his mouth. “Huh?”

Caleb shrugged, shutting the loaded chamber closed with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Never mind. All will be revealed in time.” He twirled the gun on his finger and returned it to his holster.

Jeeva was silent, as he had been these last few days. The Blade was now humming a furious tune, one fluctuating to angry high notes. His fingers continued reloading his second revolver.

Finally, Jeeva sat up and slung the canteen around his neck. The tall slaver walked towards Caleb. The Blade looked up, furrowing his brows questioningly.

“Help you, hombre?” he asked, tilting the Peacemaker up as if firing a .45 caliber round into Jeeva’s gullet was help enough.

Jeeva sighed and brashly, but gently slapped the barrel of the revolver away. Caleb let him, only grinning wryly. “Caleb,” he began, “I’m a bit worried about you.”

Caleb’s grin widened. In a thick southern patois, he bellowed, “Shucks, boy, worried bout me? I do declare that is just quaint.” He chuckled.

Jeeva scowled. “I mean it, Caleb. You’re not right. All this non-stop walking isn’t good for a man your age. I think you may have gone-”

“Insane?” finished the old man coyly. He slapped the chamber shut on his gun and returned it to his other holster. “Maybe. It doesn’t really matter now.” He stood up, letting the folds of his overcoat cover the holsters on his side. Finishing the last of his jerky, he said, “Break time’s over. Let’s go.” He started walking, not bothering to check if Jeeva was following.

Jeeva sighed heavily, despite himself, and followed Caleb.
 
"So you really think this guy's got a chance?" Virgil asked before taking a final puff from his cigar before dropping the butt to the ground and stomping it out with his boot. An act out of more habbit than anything else; there was nothing for the cinders to burn out on the desert floor, "Far as I've seen, ghoul blood usually turns out pretty toxic for smoothies."

"True, but after all Grimm's done, figure we at least owe it to him to try," Skik replied, "Besides, some do survive. After all - we did."

"True enough. There were plenty more that didn't survive the change back during the war, only the tough ones lived; so I guess that line of thought goes for everyone else too," Virgil cracked his neck and took in a deep breath.

"Hell - he might even turn ghoul on us. Get all the benefits we got," Skik's comment sat dead in the air for a moment before the both burst into laughter. Some jokes only ghouls really got.

"Not sure if it would work out that way," Virgil paused just moment, a sign that an anecdote was coming on, "Some years back, I ran into this fancy educated doctor from one of those opened-up cities from the vaults. Actually, he ran into me; I got into a little confrontation with this thief who was a bit quicker on the trigger than I. Got myself plugged - but the old Doc found me, out collecting plant samples or something, testing radiation, yadda yadda...those vaulters are always finding something to waste time on...anyhow, he prevented almost certain doom on that one; so when he asked if he could take a tissue sample so he could study ghoul cell material, I more or less had to say yes - that's just politeness.
Never went into that city of his - paranoid, biggotted bastards like to shoot ghouls on sight, but I ran into him later on; turns out he learned all sorts of stuff about ghouls...though I'm pretty sure him dealing with me got him in quite a spot of trouble at some point, cause he just stopped coming out soon after that.
Anyways - point is, as I understand it...this was a number of years back, mind you, so I don't remember it like yesterday...but usually for regular human cells to turn ghoul, it usually requires a bit more than just ghoul cells carrying the retrovirus. Standard ghouls are created by a slight mutation of the normal virus, and radiation usually is a key component; something to do with speeding up the change before it kills you...or something like that...course, thats if the radiation doesn't kill you...despite my years, my forte is still with computers and machines, so talking biology is a bit like talking ancient sanskrit - y'know? So best to take all this with a grain of salt."

"Guess we'll just have to wait and see..." Skik said, before looking back, "What's taking those kids so damn long?"

"Ahh, let them take their time. I gather their interest in one another is more than just proffessional, if you follow me."
 
yacob meets wally

occ- this finishes up something from chap-2

icc-
Yacob had stopped to speak with the guards on the way out of town. Sharing a few collegial words. Sounds like a party. Yes, crazy night. Just blowing blowing off steam, send for us if you need real cops. He smiled. Good men, and tried to remember their names. There were many men he whose names he would have to remember.

He was tired. For over 48 hours he had hardly slept. First the fire in Slumville, then the fight into Wainright, and then the fight out, and since then the business of becoming the new sheriff in town. Swearing in tomorrow.

He sighed. Maybe I am getting too old for this. I just wanted to run a decent bar and go out gracefully. His feet felt as if weighted to the floor and he could feel aches and pains running through his back even as his mind felt constrained with all the new duties and responsibilities that had been thrust upon him. This wasn’t the old days when he could just strap on the peacemaker and get down to business.

Maybe this was a mistake.

And even as he thought it, he knew that it wasn’t. Nana was right. He had been born a badge and a badge he would remain. The job might be different but the duty was the same.

Nor could he turn away from these responsibilities. Things were going better. The venture he had discussed with Kowalski was coming to fruition and soon, very soon, it would mean prosperity for his family. If the chemist was right, and Yacob had no doubts he was right, then success would trickle throughout the town and perhaps elsewhere.

But he had heard enough to know that that the future was not all bright.

There was a new danger out there, somewhere. What he had heard in the fort in Wainright had only confirmed what he had learned from Lucas Grimm and what he had suspected. There were forces at work that would have seized Tabis like they seized Bordertown, that would have raped and pillaged the town, would have stolen its wealth, ruined the market and sold much of the population into servitude. That so many slavers and raiders could be brought together, dogs that normally spent more time fighting with each other than with decent folk, meant there were a guiding hand. And what ever that guiding hand was, its strength was obvious. Anything that could wipe out 400 Blades would make short work of Tabis.

The council knew this, and was afraid.

Prosperous Tabis. Center of trade in the region. Home of the wealthy and haughty. Like a fat and lazy merchant, Tabis had become a target for the enterprising thief. It was the damn caravaners fault. They ran the town through the counsel, where willing to individually prosper without providing for the needs of the town.

Time for changes. Yacob would take the job, sure. But there were strings attached. First he would have to talk the Counsel into letting representatives of Tabis sit on the counsel chair. He would demand changes in the law. The first being that guns would have to be kept out of sight or in custody. There was too much violence in town to begin with. Then he would begin drafting a citizen’s militia, with Captain Krieg to help in exchange for support in recapturing Bordertown.

The time was right. The people were flushed with their own sense of victory, of accomplishment. The raiders had been chased away, the slavers had been dispersed and they had even overcome the monsters of Wainright. With Kowalski’s help, the deathclaw problem would be overcome within a short amount of time.

New taxes would be levied of course, but the people would pay. Their security was at risk. In exchange, Yacob would try to put an end to the graft that so many were forced to pay, and which taxed the citizens even harder.

So much to do.

And he had not even been sworn in.

Nana would continue to run the bar. She was more than capable and her sister was here to help. Horus would be responsible for the new venture and would have help from their new associates.

And then were the ghouls to consider.

He should not have been surprised with Wally’s demand for partnership. The ghoul had iron in his gut.

He needed to sleep but first he had to check in on his old friend.

Yacob found Ibis and Wally sitting outside the funeral parlor, a fold out card table and a pair of lounge chairs nearby. Ibis’s eyes were heavy; the old man was nearly asleep. But Wally had watched Yacob approach, even if he didn’t get up.

“Wally, Ibis.” Said Yacob, in greeting.

Ibis nodded, and lifted a feeble hand to wave, then put it down, turned his head and shut his eyes. Grandpa Death, how old are you. Never in Yacob’s memory could he recall Ibis being young. Once he had asked his father how old was Grandpa Death. His father answered that Grandpa Death had never been young, not in his father’s living memory.

“Sheriff.” Said Wally.

Word of his appointment had traveled fast.

“My brother told me what you said,” Yacob let that hang for a moment, “but I ain’t here for business but to check on Lucas.”

Wally nodded. He had to be careful now. There was much that still rested on this conversation.
“I wish I could tell you Lucas was out of the woods, but we don’t know yet if he’ll make it. Another 24 hours should tell.”

“I see, have you figured out what’s wrong?” Asked Yacob.

“His body is having trouble accepting the blood. A full blood transfusion wouldn’t work, as the organs have been exposed to the ghoul tissue and the traces of the viral agents. At the same time, Grimm’s tissue is rejecting the blood. So we have to find some kind of balance that’s viable, all things considering.” Wally tried to explain.

Yacob listened to the diagnosis but didn’t really understand it. Ghouls and Humies didn’t mix well. No surprises there. “Sounds bad.” Said Yacob.

“It’s extensive. To be honest I haven’t seen anything exactly like this before. But I have seen similar case.”

“His chances?”

“Depends. We got Skik out collecting supplies and if he gets back here with ‘em soon, we can continue. I say he’s got 50-50 odds. He’s going to have to make some lifestyle changes, if he makes it. But if so he should be recovering in a day from now, or so. Up in another. If he makes it.” Said the ghoul.

“That’s pretty fast. Will he be, ya know, a ghoul.” Said the sheriff.

Wally could hear the distaste in the word ghoul. Old prejudices die hard, even in good men.
“If he makes it? No, not quite. He won’t look exactly like me, but his body will need to adjust.”

“Can I see ‘im? Asked Yacob.

Ibis seemed to wake up with a start, as if he was having a bad dream.
“What? What’s that?” Said Ibis,

Wally glanced over at Ibis, and then turned his attention to Yacob. “I’m afraid not, Yacob. Your friend is in isolation right now. Has to be kept free of infectious agents in a sterile environment. Anything from the outside might jeopardize his condition. It’s a necessary safeguard.”

It’s absolutely necessary that you don’t see his organs floating in jars and his chest cavity hollowed out, thought the ghoul.

“I see.” Said Yacob, dissatisfied.

“Wouldn’t do you much good. Mr. Grimm is quite unconscious right now. He wouldn’t know you were here even. That is, if we could let you into the room he’s in. But I’m afraid he has to be totally cut off. “

Yacob nodded. Dissatisfied, but this was for the best.

Ibis glanced at the sheriff, then back at Wally, then slowly his eye lids fell and he turned his head away.

Yacob, the sheriff and Wally the ghoul stood motionless for a long moment, neither one sure how to make the next move.

Finally Yacob, “About that other thing.”

“Yes, about that.” Said Wally.

“Well we hadn’t planned on more partners.” Said Yacob.

“Life is full of unexpected turns of events.” Waxed Wally philosophically.

“Sometimes uninvited.” Responded Yacob.

“Yet still unavoidable, and unconditional.” Said Wally.

“Well, that I’m not yet convinced of.” Said Yacob.

Wally nodded. He had considered, expected resistance.

“Sheriff, not all unforeseen events or partnerships are without benefit. I could tell you that without us you’d have to fight your way back into Wainright park to get to the cage you’ve created. I could tell you that you’ll get lost in the sewers and if we wanted to deny you access, we could. We could tell you that we’d have less risk dealing with the deathclaw than you would. And you know this is true.”

“I know it.” Said Yacob.

“Then I could also add that we know about Mr. Kowalski’s experiments, just as we know that it won’t work as he has it planned. The eggs, yes. Congratulations on making a new omelet that will revolutionize the wastes. Yes, a new food source, but a dangerous one. It’s the other things, the biotoxin, and the alternative fuel. It won’t work.”

“How do you know that?”

“We do. Trust me. If you want to take some time for Mr. Kowalski to reach these same conclusions, fine. But trust me on this, the genetic code of the deathclaw in Wainright is beginning to break down, and if we don’t help you, then you will lose this opportunity. We can make it work.”

Yacob didn’t speak.

“We can advance your work, speed it up in ways that you can’t imagine.” Said Wally.

“Maybe.”

Wally was quiet. Humies were so often driven by greed.. “We don’t want much in the way of profit. It’s not important to us right now. Later, maybe we might change our minds, but for now, we don’t want much.”

“So why are you so damn interested?”

“Because we want to get out of the sewers and be part of this community.” Wally said, trying to work on Yacob’s sense of justice and equity. “Tabis is the center. Too long ghouls have been on the shitty end of the social ladder, and we can’t have that. The world is changing and we want to be part of it. We can contribute.”

“So you want to be part of society? Not sure most humies would care to share a table with a ghoul.”

“We have our own society, but yes. Yacob, you and I both know that there is something else on the horizon, something coming that will consume us both if we stand alone. Our societies can’t survive apart. You’re a good man, and with your leadership this town can be more than it is. The ghouls can be part of that change.”

“And if I refuse?”

Wally hesitated. He had offered the carrot, now the stick. “Then we take what we know and go elsewhere with it. We can either be partners or competitors, it’s your choice.”

The sheriff hands had been at his side, but then came over his holster and for a moment Wally thought he had gone too far. In that moment Wally thought about what the ghouls had done. Skik’s use of the fort had been carefully planned. Just as it had been planned to offer support to the normies. It had been risky, and more than a few normal lives had been lost. Such things the ghouls would never breath word of. But did they know?

But the sheriff merely slapped at the holster once, and then Yacob laughed.

“Wally, you are some piece of work for a ghoul.”

“Do we have a deal then?” Asked Wally, uncertain.

“Yep, I reckon. Grim told me about your folks, and how you all helped him out with the Raiders, and I known that the ghouls were shooting at slavers too, wasn’t much surprised to find that you folks had been with him and his friends throughout. I know a lot about you folks, Wally. Just like I know the kind of crap you folks need to put up with the less intelligent. I’d always played fair and square with you ghouls. I got no beef with you and no reason to play dirty. You might not trust us, and we might not trust you, but I reckon we can eventually get past all that. And yes, I believe it. We’re better for you than against you, and you for us. I figure we owe ya, and if we can help, and it don’t cost us much, I say, well what the fuck. ”

Wally nodded. “Then here, take this to your chemist. A token of trust, for our new arrangement.” In his hand was a vile of deathclaw blood.

Yacob took it and held it up to look through. “Yep. I appreciate it and will have this examined. In the meantime, take care of Lucas. He’s sometimes a mean old cuss, ornery too, but I’d hate to miss him. When all is done about here, let’s palaver about this arrangement and start planting our foundation.”

“I’ll do that, and I’m glad we understand each other.” Said Wally.
“Yep. And we’ll drink to our new partnership.” Yacob turned to go, but before walking away. “Good night,”

Wally watched Yacob walk back to Tabis, until the sheriff disappeared into the night.
 
Sanchez makes his entry

OOC- See if you can spot the pop culture references?

Oh I am borrowing a bit of Rogue, Gabriel and Virgil for this. Hope you don't mind.

ICC-
Tabis becomes a different town when the main gates are left behind. Behind the improvised wall of metal sheets, rusted cars and mounds of rubber tires, old Tabis is a place of tragic history. Ruined buildings offer no light and little shelter. Rats and cockroaches scurry in shadows. It is a ghost city, a memorial to the unknown dead, those countless lost in the long-ago war. Whose lives, like the original name of the city, are lost to living memory. Its long shadow chilled those unfamiliar with its empty and lonely avenues.

Skik, lost in conversation with Virgil, didn’t think much of it. To him, this was home. Unlike central Tabis, where ghouls remained the underclass, old Tabis was free of such inequalities. Here, there was no law, no civil order to sustain inequality. It was often a brutal and unsafe, but it was also savagely honest. To Skik, Virgil was just another wet body, new to town and in need of proper instruction.

The two ghouls had advanced further than Rogue and Gabriel, lost in their own discussion. The two humies had already taken two wrong turns and had nearly lost their guides.

They turned a corner and Gabriel grabbed at Rogue’s hand, pulling her to a stop, surprising Rogue with the sudden movement. She felt a finger against her lips.
For a second Rogue thought Gabriel might try to kiss her.

“Shhh” Gabriel quietly hissed. “We’re being followed.”

Rogue looked from Gabriel to the Ghouls, who were proceeding unaware of the humies.

“I want you to continue, and keep speaking. I’m going to try to take him and find out who he’s with. Be prepared to cover me.”

Rogue nodded, and watched as Gabriel slipped into a darken doorway, near the corner.

She continued walking, saying, “Gabriel, where do you think this location is. I am getting tired of walking,” struggling to find something to say.

She didn’t have long to playact.

From behind she heard a scuffle.

A man, long and lanky, had been following. Gabriel had been atop of him in an instant, and had him face down on the floor, the long cylinder of a silencer pointed at the back of his head.

The man was either crying or screaming. “No no , Mister! I didn’t do nuthin! I didn’t do Nuthin!”

“Shut up! Who you working for!” Said Gabriel, poking him in the head with the barrel.

“I didn’t mean nothin’. Don’t shoot me, Please I didn’t mean no harm..” The voice was slurred, as if the

The commotion was enough to stop both Virgil and Skik who can back to see what the commotion was. Rogue stepped closer, her gun ready.

Closer to the two, Rogue could see that their pursuer was little more than a very terrified boy.

Gabriel had him pinned, a knee to his back, a pistol to his head. “Shut up and stop squirming, who sent you. Tell me or I’ll splash your brains on the pavement.”

“I didn’t do nothing. M-O-O-N spells nothin’”

No, this was wrong. Rogue looked at Gabriel and could see the flash of the killer. “Gabriel I don’t think…” She said, protesting.

Gabriel didn’t even look up at her. “When you have doubts, there are no doubts.” He tapped the boys head hard with the gun. “I’m going to count to three and you’re going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here. If I am not satisfied, you’ll know. One.”

“No Mister, its’s not like that…” Said the boy.

“Two….”

“Dizzy, Dizzzy, Dizzy……” The boy was practically screaming. “I follow, I follow.”

“Three” Gabriel pulled back the hammer.

“Ease up compadre. You don’t want to shoot him,” Said a slightly accented voice.

Gabriel looked up to this new threat. A brown, squinty eyed man stood about 30 paces away, a .45 automatic pointing in Gabriel’s direction. Gabriel looked from the gun to the eyes and back.

‘Don’t mind the gun. It’s just insurance. I’ve seen how quick you are and am a bit worried you’ll shoot first and talk later.”

Skik and Virgil had gotten close enough, both with pistols out. Rogue was also aiming at the man. He was an average size man, with a small belly, a dark moustache and dark small eyes. His hair was jet black and straight. But he seemed very comfortable with the pistol and didn’t seem concerned at all that he was now outgunned. Judging by his age and demeanor, Rogue guessed that he was used to it.

Skik was the first to speak. “Gabriel, let the boy go.”

“He was following us.” Said Gabriel, “And I want to know for who.”

“His name is Dizzy and he’s the nephew of a caravaner named Conner who runs the Red Eye Trading.” Said Skik.

Gabriel looked down at the boy and for a moment Rogue that he would shoot anyway.

“In other words he’s harmless.” Said the man with the .45. Rogue could pick a faint accent. She had heard it before, from caravan guards who had come up from the South.

“I followed you from the hospital. She said you might be interested in working for Uncle Conner.”

“Who?” Demanded Gabriel, who had not moved the gun yet.

“Fury. She was there with another man.” Offered the boy.

“A big man?” Asked Rogue.

“Yes Ma’m. Damn Big with real dark skin. And there was Horus. He works at the Rusty Nail.” Said Dizzy, turning his head to look at Rogue.

“Gabriel, let him go.” Said Rogue.

Garbiel gripped the gun, and then looked up at Rogue. For a moment Gabriel looked, what, embarrassed. Then he got to his feet and stepped away. Dizzy quickly crawled to all fours and scattered away, still sitting down, closer to Rogue now.

“It’s ok, Dizzy. We won’t hurt you.” Said Rogue, looking back at Gabriel. Gabriel, what’s wrong with you. Are you so much a killer that it’s mere instinct now. Are you so driven by the drive to kill. Rogue felt a pang of fear of her colleague. Then a pang of sadness. How much of your humanity did they take away, Gabriel. How much is left?

Gabriel was now pointing his wicked looking gun at the man. “And what about you? Why are you following us. “

“I am looking for Lucas Grimm. I think you know him, yes? He is my compadre of old times.” He was now standing, and slowly stepping back, towards a door way.

“What do you want with Grimm?” asked Rogue, not trusting him.

“I need to have a word with him. It is old business. Tell him Sanchez is looking to speak to him. Tell him I have come back and I bring him news he will want to hear.”

The man named Sanchez stepped back, through a door way and into an old building. And then he was gone.
 
IC-

Kino and his guerilla force of four men lay await in the hills near the Grey Cliffs. There had been ill sightings of a moving caravan along the road. The word was that a camp was being built near the town. Dante had sent them to waylay the forces.

The Blades had only twenty men in camp and sending even a force of five was stretching it. However, what they lacked in numbers, they made up in ingenuity. Most armies looked down guerilla warfare upon but the Blades were not above it. They were not fighting honorable men, after all.

They were posted ten miles away from Grey Cliffs, in neutral territory. They waited near the paved road zigzagging through the hills. Kino could not afford to send his men alone on patrol. The caravan would have to follow the road or chance radscorpions. It was just a matter of waiting.

Kino lay atop the crest of the highest hill. He was dressed in a tan Ghillie suit, blending into the environment. A simple M1 rifle with telescopic sight rested across his knees. From this high up, with the aid of the scope, Kino could cover a radius of over a hundred yards. Across from him, on a slightly smaller hill, was another Blade with his own rifle. The other two Blades waited at the base of the hill behind a few outcropping rocks. Any travelers moving along the road would know this was ambush country and they’d be especially alert. But the Blades would not be seen.

They had been lying in the same position since morning and it was now afternoon. Any shift could reveal their position. If they moved, they’d disturb the carrions roosting with them and give away their hiding place. Kino’s back hurt from his hunched over pose and he yearned for a drink. He was sure that the rest of the men were hurting but they dare not move. It took enormous discipline but they were like statues.

Then, the radio on Kino’s side clicked twice. Kino looked across to the Blade on the other hill who was staring down the road with a pair of binoculars. Cautiously, he raised the ugly, military-surplus radio to his ear.

“They are coming, brother,” whispered a husky voice over the radio. Kino saw the Blade on the hill lower the binoculars and prop his rifle to his shoulder.

Kino pressed the radio to his mouth and asked, “How many do you see?” He resisted the urge to crane his neck and look for himself.

The Blade raised the binoculars again. Then, he said into the radio, “A brahmin driven cart. Two men driving and two more walking.” An uncertain pause and then: “I see another man on the back of the cart.”

This was their moment, the reason why they had been waiting in silence for a day. What was more, it was proof that Grey Cliffs was in danger.

“Wait for my command,” ordered Kino into the radio. “Do not engage but be prepared.” The radio frequency was filled with double-clicks as the three other Blades acknowledged.

Kino replaced the radio to his side and carefully lowered himself onto his belly. He wiggled around until his back was to the sun. Then he picked up the rifle, tucking its stock into his shoulder and under the Ghillie suit. Taking a deep breath, he stared down the telescopic scope.

He scanned the reticule across the horizon where a cloud of dust was being kicked up. As the dust-devil came closer, he could make out a cart drawn by two brahmin with an exceptionally large bed. The five men around the cart were all armed with Uzi’s. Though the handheld submachine guns could not reach Kino or the other sniper, they would easily tear through the other two Blades laying in wait.

Kino cursed and reached for the radio again. He depressed the TALK button and whispered, “Wait for them to get into range, brother. Then unleash hell.” The other Blades did not dare respond or even click their radios in affirmation. But Kino trusted his men.

The cart rolled down towards them, the men riding atop it unaware of the ambush waiting for them. Kino was relieved to see that only the men on foot had their guns in hand; the others had theirs strapped down. He trained his reticule on one of the walking men closest to him, hoping that the other Blade sniper was covering the other armed man.

Kino waited, his breath held. The cart came closer, just at the base of the hill his two Blades were hiding behind. He adjusted the reticule slightly so that it was now pointed at his target’s head. “Straight and true,” he incanted before slightly depressed the trigger.

The report of the rifle was loud enough to send the carrion birds cawing into the sky. The other Blade’s rifle quickly followed Kino’s shot, just a second in delay. The .30-06 round tore into his target’s face, breaking away the entire jaw line. Simultaneously, the other armed guard on the other side of the cart went down, his head exploding into a shower of gore.

The brahmin stopped short in confusion while the other men stared at their downed comrades in horror. It was enough time for the two Blades lying in wait to spring. They materialized out of the rocks, shotguns in hand while they rushed the cart. The two men on the seat of the cart saw the Blades coming for them and reached for their Uzi’s. But the Blades quickly closed off the distance between their foes and unloaded four barrels of buckshot. The driver shrieked as the lead balls tore into him, clutching his ruined face and falling off the seat. The other men, who had caught the brunt of the attack, was reduced to a riddled torso, the vertebrae column sticking out of the hunk of flesh that was once a man.

The last guard, who had seen his four comrades killed in but twenty seconds, dropped his gun in a panic and stumbled out of the cart and fell flat on his back onto the ground. The two Blades reloaded their shotguns to finish off the last guard.

“Keep him alive,” commanded Kino into the radio before they could fire their guns. He saw the two Blades lower their shotguns and roughly pick up the guard in vice grips. The senior Blade stood up, slinging the M1 rifle onto his back and leisurely walked down the hill.

The other Blade sniper walked off his own hill and met him. Without a word, he went to examine the cart and calm the two brahmin rigged to it. Kino nodded in approval and went to deal with the other loose end.

The last guard was struggling half-heartedly with his capturers. The two Blades flanking him remained stoic and silent, a dull expression behind their masks. “Hold him,” Kino commanded, as if the guard was about to burst free. He shrugged off the Ghillie suit, glad to be free of the camouflaged cover, and lowered the rifle gently to the ground. All the while, the guard struggled. And when Kino took out a straightedge razor from his boot, the guard struggled even harder.

“Hold him!” Kino repeated again. The two Blades tightened their fingers around the guard’s arms, lightly shaking the man. It was only when Kino placed the razor to the guard’s neck that he stopped struggling.

“Tell me where your camp is and I will release you,” Kino offered. He hoped the guard would be a man and make the right decision.

The guard shivered in fear and his eyes were wide but he still managed to say, “Never. Though you kill me, you shall never kill what I stand for. The others will not—urk!”

The razor slipping through his throat silenced the guard’s harangue. The two Blades holding the guard released their grips, letting him drop to the ground where his blood pooled out around him. Kino was glad that he was at least facing real men. Without a thought, he wiped the razor off the guard’s shirt, folded it, and returned it to his boot.

“Brother,” announced the Blade standing on the bed of the cart. “You must see this.” He waved a gesturing hand over.

Kino picked up his rifle and suit and bundled them behind his back. He rushed over to the back of the cart to see what was the matter. What he saw stored in the cart made him curse aloud.

“Blast it,” Kino whispered underneath his breath. “They’ve got a recoilless rifle.”

The Blade sitting inside the bed was holding eight-foot long tube with the bore the size of a human skull. The back off the tube ballooned into the loading hatch. Stacked neatly behind the hand-held piece of artillery were the shells, shaped like gargantuan bullets. The tips were full metal but their translucent cases were filled with healthy amounts of grapeshot. There were at least forty shells.

The four Blades surrounded the cart, staring at the piece of artillery in silence. They saw how easily their doom could have come if the recoilless rifle had made it back to the enemy’s camp. And they realized that what they faced was far more powerful than any other enemy in their history.

Kino set his jaw and turned around to face his men. “Mount up, brothers. We must get this weapon back to the camp.” His gaze fell to the recoilless rifle again. “The Elder must be told.”

The Blades climbed onto the cart and started driving back to the Grey Cliffs. The carefully executed ambush, though it had required hours of waiting time, had been completed in but fifteen minutes.
 
Back to Ibis

OOC- Ok, one of Gabriel's lines is from Ronin. When you have a doubt you have no doubts- Robert Deniro. But what the hell does that really mean?

OK onwards! Roguehex, forgive me for highjacking Rogue's thoughts on this.

ICC-

Gabriel watched Sanchez fade away into the building, pistol still ready feeling a bit embarrassed. Someone had come up from behind him, had caught him unawares and could easily have taken him before Gabriel would have realized the danger. Am I losing my edge?

At the same time he had almost killed a harmless, dim wit. Or am I losing my control, becoming paranoid?

He looked over at the boy, whose terrified eyes reflected an image of Gabriel he didn't like. Ruthless killer, arrogant bully.

He glanced over at Rogue, but only for a moment. He didn't care for the disappointment he saw.

Skik and Virgil had already begun walking away, and once again were deep in conversation.

"Let me tell ya about Wally. What a guy." Said Skik, "You lose an finger, a hand, an arm, an organ. don't sweat it. Wally will fix ya up. Make you good as new, maybe better!"

"A doctor?" Asked Virgil.

"A doctor? A mere practitioner of the medicinal arts? Nah, my friend. Wally is an artist! He knows more about physiology than any three ghouls or humans put together!"

"Sounds like the Zombs got a good deal, round here. Least as long as we stay buried and don't scare the smoothies." Said Virgil

"Ah we got it made!" Said Skik.

Virgil let Skik get ahead and glanced back at Gabriel who had not yet moved.

One of the virtues of being a ghoul was time, too much time maybe. But with time came reflection and understanding. But Gabriel was too young, too full of himself and his own sense of righteousness. Like the girl, still wet behind the ears and barely out of his diapers. No calm in him, only violence. Tempered perhaps, but no peace. Such people usually ended up burning those around them, those they loved and who loved them, and in the end themselves. If I stay with these folks, I better watch myself around that boy.

Rogue continued to watch Gabriel, who was still looking to where Sanchez had disappeared, and couldn't help but feel disappointment. Some people were defined by the enemies they chose. Some men merely defined themselves by what they did.

Gabriel was just a killer. She thought about what the assassin had said. As much as she would have wished to trust him, she doubted that she ever could. Gabriel, is that all that you are capable of being? Just a person who defines himself by the lives he takes. What kind of living is that?

Rogue hadn't traveled much in her short life, but what she had seen of humanity gave her mixed impressions. There was good, sure. People trying to make more of their lives, trying to rebuild, start over. To have families, to make a future, to make things better.

But there were so many willing to kill to take what others had, or to kill because others told them too, to kill because they believed they had the right to. The old order had been wiped out in the war, leaving a bitter legacy for those that remained. But perhaps that legacy was more than the guns and radiation and virus. Perhaps the real legacy was man's predisposition to revisit that same fate.

At the end of the day there were two types of people in this world, those who build and rebuild, and those that tear down and destroy. Rogue knew it was an oversimplification, maybe. But that was it. You are either trying to rebuild the world, or you're trying to destroying, or you're wasting oxygen.

She still couldn't make a decision on Gabriel. She had traveled first to know that one had to make judgments on people, to know who they were and what they stood for. Mankind was inherenly a social creature, so it was essential to know those around you.

Rogue had learned that the measure of a man was more than the sum of their parts, more than their history or their ideas. The measure is determined by what he does, what he stands for.

Gabriel had impressed her, but he seemed so locked into himself, into his past. Someone had taken a man and molded him into a weapon, so much perhaps that the man was dead and the weapon was all that remained. Such a terrible waste.

"Ma'm?" A voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned.

The boy Dizzy was looking at her. "Hunh?" She said.

"You ok?" Asked the boy.

"I should be asking you that." Said Rogue.

"Well my head sure does hurt and I almost wet myself. Good think I had a tinkle earlier, that's a damn sure." Said the boy.

"Well, he just thought you might be up to no good." Said Rogue, meaning Gabriel. Gabriel was now looking at Rogue, a bit crestfallen. "Don't mind him. He's a little highstrung."

"Yeah! You could say that again! High Strung! Almost shot me in m' head! Say, were you over at Wainright with all the Deathclaws."

Rogue smiled and began following Skik and Virgil who were rounding a corner. "That's right, but we have to hurry up. One of our friends is still hurt and needs medical help."

"Ohh. Did a Deathclaw get him?" Asked Dizzy.

"Not exactly, but let me tell you what happened....." And Rogue got into telling the story. Dizzy, listening soon forgot about the pain or the scare that Gabriel had given him, was rapt in what the pretty girl told him.

Gabriel let them get ahead, looking back for the man who had followed him, and feeling ashamed but not knowing why.

He felt a familiar throbbing from his wrist. The Pipboy.

He flicked it open and worked the decode. A moment later the message. "CONFIRM RECEIPT OF MESSAGE. REPORT THE STATUS OF THE MISSION. HAS TARGET BEEN NEUTRALIZED?"

________________

By the time Skik and Virgil had gotten to Ibis's funeral parlor, Rogue and the boy Dizzy had caught up. Rogue was still telling Dizzy the story, but smiled and greeted both Ibis and Wally as old friends.

Wally looked at the items that Skik had given him. "hmmm..... I guess this will have to do." And went inside, leaving Skik feeling as if he had disappointed the ghoul doctor.

Ibis yawned deeply. "Where's Gabriel and Caleb?"

Rogue looked back to the dark streets from whence they came. Gabriel was still back there somewhere. "Gabriel was behind us, probably still back there somewhere. Caleb left town already."

"Caleb's gone?" Asked Ibis.

"Yes, I guess he couldn't wait."

Ibis thought for a moment. This was not expected, but then the prophecy was only that Ibis would take the Blade across the river of death. Just because it was destiny didn't mean it necessarily had to make sense.

"Well... You'll excuse me, but I reckon I better assist Wally." And Ibis went back into the room. Virgil and Skik were once again deep in conversation. Rogue found a seat and relaxed, waiting for Gabriel to come in. Cerebus pawed up to Rogue and laid his big shepherds head on her lap, and Rogue scratched the big dog behind his ears. The wolfhead might have gotten jealous and soon Rogue was scratching both, and then when the Boxer wanted to get in on the action, she found herself overwhelmed.

She glanced up towards the street. Gabriel had not yet come in. She could feel him close, but she could not tell if the feeling was comforting of disquieting.

Inside the lab, Wally set to work reconstructing Grimm's body. "Alright now, which organ goes first."
 
The Old Fox and the Oprezki- in Mexico.

OOC- Ok folks, after long delay here is the first bit on horses. Also we get to see something of the other bad guys who will make their appearance more known in later chapters.

ICC-

Julio watched Don Pablo Rodriguez de Silva stare off into the distance with his binoculars. For more than two weeks they had been going South, trying to evade their pursuers, to throw the coyotes off the scent of their real prey.

There was so much moonlight and so many stars. It was not a good night to move, to much illumination. The riders had stood out against the night sky. They had moved with great care, exceptional silence.

"They are very close now. We must be careful." Don Pablo had told them. The bait had been dangled before the coyotes, now it was time to run.

Twenty men had been chosen from the rest of the clan. It was a great honor, no one would have refused regardless of the risks. And the risks were great. Julio was terrified of being caught. If they were captured, all knew their fates. The thoughts of what happened to the others would chill the young man, even on the hottest days.

Better to take your own life, the men often said. Always keep a bullet, to make the noble sacrifice.

The families were moving too slow and their pursuers too fast.

Don Pablo was very wise and very brave. The other men called him El Zorro Veijo, the old fox. He had outwitted their pursuers many times, and the two weeks they had bought would allow the families to escape, at least for a little while.

Los coyotes implacables. They had not given up for over a year. And so the De Silva clan had been chased, north, from their home, los jardines de la resurrección, through Sonora and up into the Carcays. They had fought tribes, commanches and apaches. There was no choice, it was that or starve. They had lost men, women. Many of the old ones were gone.

Julio climbed up to be near the Old Fox. There were other men near, the rest with the mounts.

The moonlight lit the old highway and the way station below. Like many way station, the building is part Inn, part store, trading post and fortress. "Patient. They are coming."

Los coyotes implacables. The Oprezki.

"Don Pablo, who are they." Said Julio, meaning the small building far below.

"Mormones. La iglesia de Ultimos Santos de Día." Said the old man. Mormons

An ancient religious order and community which traced itself from the land of the gringos. The men were known to rob villages of women to make as slaves and wives. They didn't drink or make coffee and many of Don Pablos people would laugh about the underwear they wore. But the Mormos were often hospitable people, generous as long as you were willing to listen to their gospels.

Before dusk the old man had led his riders to the hill south of their current position, which Julio could see as a shadow across the big valley, where had rested. Then, after dusk, they had walked their mounts across the valley, coming so close, so very close to the trading post. But then the Old Fox had moved them across, quickly and silently, covering their tracks, taking them into the hills on the north side of the valley, where now they hid in silence. Waiting.

There was little movement. No one smoked. Those guarding the mounts made sure there was no noise. Some fell asleep, resting. It was a wise choice.

They would be racing in the morning.

Near midnight, Julio nodded off. When Don Pablo noticed, he put a blanket over the boy. So young, but then the world is harsh on the innocent. It was time to learn his place in the clan.

It was near one in the morning when Don Pablo saw the first scouts came. By then almost all the torches had gone out at the fort, it had grown dark. The inhabitants had mostly retired and only a few guards remained.

As the Old Fox had predicted, the Oprezki were less than a day behind.

The rider approached the trading post, and then dismounted. He followed the trail, checking the prints. Yes, thought Don Pablo, willing the rider to see the trick. We are inside, seeking shelter. We are trapped! The tracks led to the trading post, not away.

The rider remounted and headed back to the southern horizon.

No more time for delay. Don Pablo told his men to get ready, to ride quick. There was the Hiaqui River to cross, and then more. He instructed three men, including Julio, to wait and watch. He would expect their report at the rendevous. How many men, how many horses? Watch carefully, but do not wait long.

Julio was very proud to be given this responsibility.

The others quickly departed, single file. The last riders had long rakes and brooms tied behind them, to cover up the tracks.

The three remaining returned to watch.

The Oprezki came in a cloud of dust, a plume rising up to the sky, like a dragon they thundered across the valley, galloping full speed, a storm trampling everything underfoot. It was merciless and cruel.

The sound was heard by those at the Inn, and Julio could see movement along the wall as torches were lit. A few men stepped out of the building, a white flag raised.

But there would be no clemency, no room for peace.

Don Pablo was very wise. Perhaps some would die against this fort, but more importantly this battle would tire them, and so afford the de Silva's a delay and an opportunity to turn back north, to reunite with the families.

He could see the lead riders, out front, their long curved swords high in the air. Soon the dust cloud reached the fortress, surrounded it, a thunderstorm circling a tower. Those that had stepped out disappeared in the storm, probably having fallen under the hooves or swords.

No quarter offered, none given.

Gun fire now, sporadic. He could hear the battle cries of the Oprezki, rising over the din of battle. Explosions inside the trading post. The walls of the fort burst apart in a sudden blast. Men on the wall falling. Flames licking the fortress, emerging from windows.

It did not last long.

The Oprezki must know that their prey had again evaded them, but the blood lust was upon the horseman. Many of the horses now riderless, the men having breached the gate. On foot, they swarm, guns and swords in hands.

On the ground the shapes of men and horses. A few dead, but not enough.

Screams, terrible screams from inside. The Oprezki enjoying their spoils.

A horse on the walls, its rider with a sword raised in one, in the other a head gripped by the hair.

The Oprezki would loot and rape, and in the end would take all they found, and they would leave a testament to their evil for all those who witnessed, creating fear. It was their way.

Los terriblees. Los otros.

"Count the horses," whispered Julio's compadre, an older boy named Juan. Further away, the third boy had already counted, "setenta y ocho." 78.

Julio and the others were up to 128 when the Oprezki began to slowly crucify the survivors, and fed the dead to the dogs. They feasted on the spoils, drank their full, and took what women they found. They plundered.

The three boys on the mountain ventured one last look, Juan whispering "Kozacks. Gobierne por el Terror" Rule by terror.

But the Oprezki would rest for a day and would wake slowly. They would be delayed.

And the families, far away, would continue. North, always North. Perhaps beyond where the Oprezki would chase them, perhaps to a new land they could call home.

Julio patted the horse, more to reassure himself than the horse. The horse had once been owned by the others, until it had been liberated by Don Pablo. Without the horses they could never have escaped, the entire clan would have fallen to the sword. In his heart Julio wanted to believe they would escape. Surely they must give up this chase.

But at night, when he was about to fall asleep under the stars, when he felt the sadness from his home now lost and longed for the scent of the gardens, he would remember what he had seen. Then Julio had no such faith.

It was a merciless enemy, indomitable. And they would never give up, never, until all his family had been chased to the edge of the world.

OOC-
We will see more of these folks late
 
Surgery

OOC- Ok, what literary reference?

ICC-
Wally worked for over 6 hours on Grimm, replacing the organs he removed and in the process restoring life to the man. Ibis did his best to assist but had grown tired and weary, finally had to lay down to rest, shut his eyes for a moment and slept through till the next day.

When Ibis opened his eyes again, the surgery was finished. Wally was sleeping in a chair next to his patient. Grimm also slept, his breathing deep and regular, a consequence of new and improved lungs.

Picking up a blanket he drapped it over his old friend and looked at the bounty hunter. His skin was pale and lifeless, but that was to be expected. The scars were healing very quickly, but he would always have a faint reminder around where they had opened up his chest.

Lucas, you won't like what I have to tell ya, but its better than the other possibility. Besides, you have promises yet to keep, miles to go before you can sleep. You might find that there are worse things.

Ibis walked out of the room and down the hall, finally outside where he saw that Rogue was sleeping in the old lounge chair. Someone had put a blanket around her, and he decided not to wake her. Dizzy was sleeping on the floor next to her, and he had but a vague recollection of the boys arrival. Business from Connor no doubt, recruiting for a caravan. Grey Cliffs. He didn't need to be told. Such things were easy to see.

Skik and the other ghoul had also vanished. That damn ghoul was always up to something, and now he had a friend to share in his misadventures.

He heard the clump, clump, clump of his young brahma come walking up the path.

"Escaped the shadow of death did ya?" Ibis whispered. One, his favorite, nosed up to him and he patted it. "I'll see about getting ya fed."

By the look they had traveled a long distance to get home. As for the wagon? Well, he had little use left for the old hearse.

So he led the young bulls to his pen, and made sure they were fed. In two days they would need what strength they had. It was a long way to Grey Cliffs.

And the assassin? No, he was nowhere to be seen.

Probably out chasing his own demons, thought Ibis.

When he had finished with the Brahmin, Ibis returned to brew up an old tea, a recipe from Wally that kept his joints right. Another change for ya, Mr. Lucas.

As he came up Rogue stirred in her sleep, and slowly opened her eyes, bleary to the new day.

"Grimm?" She asked.

Ibis nodded. "He's alive."

Rogue smiled, nodded, turned her head, and softly, quietly, started to snore.

Ibis smiled. A tough life for one so young. But no one said life was fair. Hard and cruel, and without prejudice on young or old.

Still, a new day meant new opportunity.
 
Robert Frost

Right poet, wrong Poem. Road Less Traveled ends with him saying something like two roads split in a wood, and I, I took the road less traveled and that has made all the difference.

This one is I believed called Stopping in the wood on a snowy evening.

Also featured prominently in the Charlie Bronson film Telefon (and others).
 
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. One of those Frost poems about traveling :)

Though we should probably cut the ooc chatter on the ic thread - agreed?
 
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