Glory’s first instinct, upon escaping the caves, was to run. She didn’t know where to—Reza City, maybe, but anywhere other than the caves would’ve appealed at that moment. But Dixon and the woman’s sheer determination to retake what remained of their town kept her stuck in place, her self-preservation protocols warring with her social module.

Dixon had let her go—had even let her choose which of their companions to bring with her. She couldn’t abandon him now, just because he was being illogical.

He and the woman—Lucy—crept a little closer to the edge of the little outpost, Dixon pulling a cracked and warped pair of binoculars from a coat pocket and scanning the smoldering ruins.

Glory peeked out from around the large rock she and Needles were using for cover and used the zoom function on her own vision to survey their objective as well. A few corpses littered the streets; townsfolk, judging by the fleshy, burnt remains of their bodies. Raiders tended to have scraps of metal implanted into their flesh for the purpose of psychotic adornment; things like spikes sunk into their shoulders, or rings along the rows of their ribs.

How they didn’t succumb to infection or blood poisoning from the rusty metal, she had no idea. One of the wonders of genetic modification and mutation, she supposed.

“Looks like they ain’t watchin’ out as well as they could be,” Dixon’s voice drew Glory out of her musings. She reset her vision to its normal function and she turned to look at him, watching as he pointed vaguely towards the town. “That one there. Big ugly. I’m guessin’ he’s supposed to be their lookout, but he keeps lookin’ up at the sky. Prob’ly bored and waitin’ for the others to be done.”

Glory zoomed back in on the town, quickly locating the ‘big ugly’ he’d pointed out. And, he did indeed look incredibly bored. A series of thick chains hung from his chin and jawline, like a faux beard. Other than that, however, he looked like any other particularly muscular, intimidating wastelander man.

That was what set raiders and cultists apart from cannibals. They were all mutants, and all bloodthirsty animals to some degree, but cultists and raiders actually had some modicum of humanity left in them—cultists generally more so.

“I’ve got an idea,” Dixon whispered. He turned to Lucy. “Old Nick still got his minigun?”

She grinned. “You’re damn right.”

“If someone can take out Big Ugly, me an’ Wilkes can slip ‘round main street towards the Mayor’s place an’ clear that out. From there, it oughtta be a straight shot to Old Nick’s place.”

Lucy nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

It did not. It sounded like the bare beginnings of a plan. But Glory got the distinct impression that her opinion would not be appreciated, so she kept her mouth shut and made a mental note to keep an eye out for a possible escape, in case this all went horribly wrong.

“Only question is…” Dixon murmured, “who’s gonna take out Big Ugly?”

“I can do it,” Glory said.

Dixon and Lucy both turned to her with brows furrowed. “You got a death wish, kid?” Dixon asked.

Glory’s eyes narrowed. She’d prove herself to them. “I can do it,” she insisted.

It’d be easy enough to climb up onto the roof of one of the outbuildings—one of the few town structures not currently either burning or a smoking remain, most likely due to it being made of metal as opposed to a more flammable material. From there, she’d have easy access to the so-called ‘Big Ugly’. It wouldn’t be difficult to eliminate him from the rooftop, and it would give her a higher vantage point to scope out the rest of the town.

Lucy looked unconvinced, but Dixon had a thoughtful frown on his face. “You’re sure you can handle it?” he asked.

Glory nodded, recalling the mountainous terrain up in Manitoba that she had navigated easily. “I can do it.”

“All right.”

“Dixon!” Lucy hissed.

Dixon snapped, “What? Not like we have a lot of options!”

Lucy still didn’t look happy. Glory wasn’t sure why. What had she done for the wastelander woman to dislike her so? But, those thoughts were soon interrupted.

“What about me?” Needles’ soft voice drew Glory’s attention, and almost without her thinking about it, she began including him in her potential escape plans. She doubted any of the others would expend any effort in rescuing him.

That belief was only affirmed when Dixon and Lucy looked over at him with a sneer. “You stay out of the way,” Dixon growled. “Keep your head down and hope they don’t notice you. If I find out you tried to signal them, you’ll end up with a bullet in your pretty little head.”

Lucy said nothing, but the glare on her face implied a similar sentiment.

“Enough,” Glory huffed. “How much longer are you going to pretend he’s like the others?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dixon hummed in a faux-thoughtful tone. “However long it takes to make sure this isn’t some trick.”

“It’s fine, Glory,” Needles muttered. “I don’t blame them.”

“Well, I do,” Glory snapped. Then, she sighed. This was Needles’ fight; not hers. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Agreed.” Dixon nodded to Wilkes, who returned the gesture. “Wait until we’re in position, then… do whatever you need to do.”

Glory nodded as well, and moved to stand up, when Dixon grabbed her arm. She jumped at the contact, and whirled to face him, but was interrupted by the deadly serious expression on his face. “Don’t do anything stupid, girl. You hear me?”

Glory glared. “Are you calling me an imbecile?”

“No. I’m calling you inexperienced and untested. If it looks like Big Ugly might notice you, pull back and get outta there. Wilkes an’ I can figure it out ourselves if we need to.”

Glory would do no such thing; she’d already promised to help. But she nodded to placate Dixon, and watched as he and Wilkes crept over to the east of the town.

Lucy shot one last glare in Glory’s direction before she as well took off, this time towards the south, leaving Glory and Needles behind.

“He’s right,” Needles whispered. Glory shot a venomous glare at him, and he held his hands up. “I—I just mean, don’t be reckless. Don’t risk your life.”

Glory scowled. “I won’t.” She took a deep breath to settle her circuits, turned back towards the town, then shoved hard against the rock and sprinted towards the metal outbuilding. Just as she’d hoped, ‘Big Ugly’ wasn’t paying enough attention to notice an intruder skulking closer.

She arrived at the intact building and peered up at the roof. Only about a meter over her head. She backed up just far enough to get a running start, then ran up and jumped at the wall, kicking her way up. Grabbing the edge of the roof, she heaved herself up with barely a whisper and a soft bang that, thankfully, didn’t seem to have gotten Big Ugly’s attention.

Glory shuffled closer to the edge of the roof over Big Ugly’s head, watching as he yawned and pulled a combat knife off his belt, idly flicking the blade around. Glory half-expected him to accidentally lop off one of his fingers, with how careless it looked like he was being, but he proved to be surprisingly deft with the weapon.

Glory looked up and scanned around the town. She caught a glimpse of Lucy’s blonde hair in a shadowy alleyway across the outpost, and Dixon and Wilkes waiting at the edge of town. The placement of the narrow streets meant that any attempt to sneak by likely would’ve alerted Big Ugly, no matter how quiet they were.

Glory didn’t have a choice. She would have to kill him.

The thought didn’t disturb her, exactly—mutants killed innocent people every minute of every day, after all. But still…

Glory reset her vocalizer softly, enough that Big Ugly didn’t notice. She glanced farther down the street, towards the other raiders still in the town. They were too far away to see, which meant they wouldn’t be able to see her, either.

She slunk a little farther down the roof, until she was directly over Big Ugly. She pulled Dixon’s pistol free of its holster, aimed down at Big Ugly, and hesitated.

Even lacking any practical experience, Glory knew that gunshots were loud. Very loud, even with a suppresser, which this gun did not have. Even if she managed to kill Big Ugly on her first shot, the commotion would being the other raiders sprinting to her location.

Glory’s hand on the pistol trembled. She glanced up at Dixon, who was looking right at her. He nodded towards the mutant, and even across that great distance, she could read his lips as he mouthed, “What are you waiting for?”

Glory hesitated for a split second as a different plan took form. Riskier in the short term, perhaps, but at least it wouldn’t alert every damn mutant in the outpost.

She re-holstered the pistol, peered back down at Big Ugly, and lined herself up with his position. From there, she leapt down on top of him, earning a startled yelp as he collapsed under Glory’s much greater-than-normal weight. He opened his mouth to shout, but Glory slammed a hand over his mouth, her free hand pinning his hand holding the knife to the ground. His legs were still free to thrash around, and thrash around they did, but Glory’s body was safely out of their range.

She squeezed her thighs together and wrenched her hips roughly to the side, snapping his neck with an audible crack. The noise made Glory wince, and she all but fell off his lifeless body.

Only then did it truly hit her; she’d just killed a man. A raider, true. If anyone deserved to die in the wasteland, it was a mutant. But still…

He’d been breathing just minutes ago.

She crawled backwards, away from the corpse, staring at the lump of flesh that had once been a person, until her gaze landed on the combat knife now clasped loosely in his limp hand.

She looked to his waist, and saw the holster fastened to his belt.

Glory tried to ignore the way her hands shook as she grabbed the knife. Its handle had been worn smooth from years of being gripped by callused fingers, and it smelled vaguely of blood, but it was well-made, and the slight heft made it a viable weapon despite its relatively small size.

She pulled the holster free of Big Ugly’s belt and fastened it to her own before sliding her new blade home. Much like Dixon’s handgun, it felt as though it burned through her clothes and synthskin, branding her chassis with its weight. She did her best to ignore it, but was only marginally successful.

She leapt back up onto the rooftop, and locked eyes with a disbelieving, incensed-looking Dixon. She gestured down towards the mutant and dragged a finger across her throat, hoping that got the message across. It seemed to, as Wilkes strode forward, but Dixon still wore a furious glare.

Why? Glory had done exactly what she promised to.

Dixon finally turned to follow Wilkes, and Glory turned around to look back towards the large rock where she knew Needles was still hiding. She found him peeking out back at her, his mouth slightly agape. Had he seen her dispose of the raider?

A chill settled into her core, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that Dixon would almost certainly not believe him even if he told the others.

She turned back to the events inside the outpost, her gaze frantically flitting around until she located a duo of familiar figures; Dixon and Wilkes, slinking down an alley towards yet more distracted, blissfully oblivious raiders.

One of the raiders was dragging a burnt corpse out of an equally burnt building, dropping the lifeless form onto the dirt street. Glory could see Dixon’s gaze harden, his grip on his rifle tightening.

Glory watched, waiting for the obvious to happen—for Dixon to lose his temper and open fire on the raiders, giving away his position and their advantage. Glory supposed she couldn’t blame him for it, exactly, but it would still massively inconvenience them.

But, impressively, he forcibly relaxed his grip on the weapon, lips parting briefly, as if to release a soft sigh.

Glory blinked, surprised. So far, he hadn’t shown her much to his character beyond a hot-headed wasteland lawman. It appeared he did have some self-control.

Glory’s attention was briefly drawn to the other side of town when she noticed a collapsed door swing open. The woman—Lucy—glanced around the empty street before sneaking inside.

For a lack of anything else to do, Glory huddled down and entered an almost meditative state, scanning the town in search of anything out of the ordinary.

Unfortunately, she was so focused on the rest of the town that she didn’t pay much attention to the very roof she was on.

ALERT// proximity sensor activated

The alert flashed across Glory’s vision just in time for her to dodge backwards, out of the way as a rusty machete arced through the air. A raider woman, with a shaved head and jagged scars carved into the corners of her mouth that pulled them up into a permanent twisted smile.

The raider woman growled and grunted like an animal as she swung again, pulling her lips back to reveal teeth that had been sharpened into fangs. Glory managed to duck out of the reach of the second swing, but the third came as a surprise, swiping over Glory’s forearm.

Glory reared back, panic flashing through her circuits. Don’t let them see, don’t let them see! She lunged toward the woman, too fast for the eye to follow, one hand clapped over her mouth to muffle any screams, the other drawing her new knife across the woman’s throat.

Warm red blood spilled over Glory’s hands, dripping onto the roof of the outbuilding. Red like the walls in Father’s compound. Red like Father’s favorite suit.

The woman let out a choked gurgle as her life slipped away, her legs kicking weakly against the rooftop. In one last burst of strength, she brought the machete up again, this time to Glory’s side. The blade tore through Glory’s threadbare clothing and synthskin, sinking deep into the metallic chassis wall.

ALERT// chassis wall damage

Glory grimaced and dismissed the alert. She brought one leg up to kick the machete away, leaning on the woman even heavier until she finally weakened and slumped against the roof. Glory almost immediately fell back, away from the corpse, her knife clutched in one weak hand.

Shaking, she wiped the blood off the blade and sheathed it, running through her systems as she did so.

>> Engage Diagnostic

//Diagnostic engaging…

ALERT// chassis wall damage

ALERT// chassis component #453 damage

ALERT// coolant leak

ALERT// central coolant pump damage

ALERT// right forearm superficial synthskin damage

- Diagnostic completed. Upload to mainframe Y/N

>>N

ALERT// Recommend return to Dr. Matthias Janssen for repairs

>> Assess Nanite Repair Function

//Assessing…

- Nanite repair function effective. Nanite repair at 1.2%

Glory let out a soft, relieved breath, lying limp on her back. At least her nanites were still working; she wasn’t sure what she’d do if they’d malfunctioned. Shut down, most likely.

Unfortunately, the nanites took time to repair damage, especially damage this major. She’d be leaking silver coolant for a while yet, which would most definitely alert everyone as to her true function, even more than waving a sign saying ‘I’m an android’ over her head would.

Clasping one hand over the largest wound on her side, to at least try to keep any more coolant from leaking, Glory tried to relax for the time being. She was just grateful that she couldn’t, strictly speaking, feel pain.

Taking a few deep breaths, both to cool her internals and settle her synapses, Glory shut her eyes and did her best to clear her processor, entering an almost meditative trance. In theory, the lack of anything else to focus on would have freed up more resources to repair the damage. In practice, Glory didn’t notice a sizable boost in repair nanite activity, but she supposed the meditation couldn’t truly do any harm.

ALERT// proximity sensor activated

Glory lurched upright, her free hand flying toward her new combat knife. In less than a second, she had her newest assailant on their back on the roof, a knee on their chest and her blade to their throat.

The raspy voice croaking, “Wait! It’s me!” jolted Glory out of her daze, and she stared down at Needles beneath her.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “Dixon told you to stay hidden!”

“I saw you get attacked,” he whispered, his hands held defensively to either side of his head. “I thought you might need help. Or, if not, you might need patching up.”

Glory wanted to swear. This was just what she needed; someone sneaking up on her while she was damaged.

“Are you injured?” Needles asked, blissfully unaware of the jolt of fear that flickered through Glory at his innocent question.

“No,” Glory said, a bit too quickly, even to her own ears. “I’m fine. She was sloppy.” She slipped the knife back into the sheath at her hip and lifted her knee off his chest. “Better get back before Dixon finds you up here.”

“Dixon can go jump.” Needles pushed himself up onto his elbows. “You’re not a very good liar, which makes you my patient.”

The urge to let out a few choice words got stronger. “It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Please.” Needles’ eyes widened, his lower lip poking out. Was he pouting?

The expression shouldn’t have been as pitiful as it was on a grown man’s face—especially not on a face as gaunt and skeletal as Needles. But, somehow, he managed it. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

“Don’t.” Glory grabbed his wrist as it reached for the hem of her shirt, glaring fiercely. “Don’t. Touch me.”

“You’re injured!” he hissed. “I need to—” He struggled, and managed to get his other hand free. Before she could stop him, his fingers curled around the hem of her top and yanked upwards, revealing the damage.

His mouth fell open, a quiet squeak escaping his lips before Glory had him on his back once more, knife to his throat for the second time in five minutes. He didn’t struggle—he must’ve realized how futile it would be. Instead, he merely stared up at her, wide-eyed, breath escaping him in rapid, shallow pants.

“If you tell anyone,” Glory hissed, “I won’t intervene the next time Dixon wants to end you.” She pressed her hand harder onto his mouth. “Besides, no one would believe you. You’re a cannibal. I’m a nomad girl who just lost all her friends. Who do you think Dixon would side with?”

His breathing picked up considerably, to the point where Glory worried he might hyperventilate. Glory did her best to dismiss the warnings—the alerts emphasizing his dilated pupils, shallow breathing, and clammy skin.

He knew her secret. She shouldn’t give a damn.

But, despite his obvious terror, he wasn’t fighting to get away or to scream for help. He just… lay there, under her weight. Glory hesitated momentarily before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “If you scream, I’ll kill you.” She jerked the knife at his throat for emphasis. No need to let him know that she couldn’t kill him without reason.

Needles nodded, swallowing thickly as Glory slowly, carefully, pulled both her hands back. And, just as slowly, Needles pushed himself up into a seated position.

Clearing his voice softly, he stared at her as Glory sat back on her heels. “Wh—What are you?” he rasped.

“Janssen-series android. Model 42113, serial number J-46B.” Glory rattled off her identification codes almost reflexively. They were so ingrained in her programming, down to the smallest synapse, that she didn’t even have to think about it.

Needles stared at her after her introduction. Or, well, re-introduction, as it were. But, try as she might, Glory could find no hostility or disgust in his expression; no curling of a cracked lip, or wrinkling of the nose. No narrowing of the eyes, or furrowing of the brow. Instead, he simply looked… amazed. Shocked, surprised. A dozen other synonyms offered by her thesaurus program that Glory dismissed.

“What?” she demanded, defensive.

“I never believed…” He shook his head.

“Your brother seemed to suspect what I was,” Glory pointed out. It still made her shudder, how close Ghost had come to finding out her secret.

But Needles shook his head with a wry smile. “Ghost had brought me at least five others he suspected of being synthetics. Each and every one of them bled red. I assumed you were yet another false positive on my brother’s paranoid quest.” His smile faded. “I always assumed the stories of old world artificial intelligence were just meant to keep us in line.”

Glory half-shrugged. “They might be. I’m a new world model. My Father was a runaway citadel roboticist who got tired of creating mere automatons.” She offered what she intended to be a sardonic smirk, but was unsure of how accurate it was. “I am… unique.”

He gazed at her for a long moment with awe clear in his gaze, his mouth open ever so slightly. Then a small frown crossed his face, and he leaned forward. “What about your side?”

“What about it?”

He stared at her like it should have been obvious. “You were injured. I’m a healer.” After a moment, he added, “I’m not sure how much help I can be to… you, but I can at least take a look.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Glory said dismissively. “The coolant clotted while we were talking, and repair nanites should take care of most of the major damage in a few hours.”

“Please?” Needles asked softly. “Let me see.”

He already knows what you are, a voice inside Glory’s processor that she couldn’t identify whispered. What harm could it do?

“Don’t try anything,” Glory whispered warningly. “I’ll be watching you.”

“You’re my patient,” he said stubbornly. “I would never intentionally injure you.”

He kept saying injure—not damaged, injured. As if Glory were human.

Glory ignored the odd phrasing and reluctantly lifted the hem of her shirt once more, revealing her damaged side. Just as she’d said, the coolant was no longer flowing freely from broken tubes under her chassis wall.

Needles reached out to prod at the edges of the damage, his mouth parted as he shifted from side to side, as if to survey the damage from all angles. “Incredible,” he whispered. “Mechanical life with the ability to heal itself…”

Glory couldn’t quite suppress a snort. “Most old world machines had self-repair functions at some point,” she said. “It’s hardly unique to me.”

“Still,” Needles insisted. “It’s incredible to watch firsthand.” He glanced up at her. “Can you… feel it? If I do this.” He prodded at the edge of the injury again, slightly harder.

“I can feel the pressure, but I can’t feel pain. At least, not like a human could,” Glory said.

“That should make you an easier patient to deal with, at least,” he said. Something in his tone of voice suggested he was trying to make a joke. Unfortunately, Glory didn’t have a terribly strong grasp of jokes, or humor in general.

“Have I satisfied your curiosity?” she asked, trying not to let the hostility simmering under her synthskin bleed into her voice. Judging by the way Needles all but leapt away from her, though, she didn’t entirely succeed. Shimmery, silver coolant coated his fingers, all the way up to his knuckles. The view caused alarmed pinging to go off in her processor, much like a human might panic upon seeing someone’s hands coated in blood.

She ignored the pings, reminding herself that of course Needles would be covered in coolant; he’d just been digging around in her internals.

Before Glory could say anything to him, Needles was already reaching for a rag at his belt, wiping off his fingers. The coolant, despite its silver color, blended almost seamlessly into the grimy material, and it left Needles’ hands relatively spotless.

“Would you mind if I asked you questions about your functionality?” he blurted suddenly, words all jumbled together like he was trying to get them out as fast as possible. “Not right now. And not in front of the others, of course. But just… in general.”

Glory stared at him. “Why?”

“To learn more about you.” The corner of his mouth ticked upward. “I think you’re fascinating. And beautiful. A machine, flawless in its imitation of life.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Maybe even a form of life in and of itself?”

Glory blinked rapidly. She could hardly believe it.

She couldn’t believe it.

“What, to make it easier for you to pull me apart later?” she hissed. She shoved his shoulder hard and stood up. “I don’t think so.”

He stared up at her, one hand flying up to the shoulder she’d shoved to rub at it. “B—But I— I don’t—”

“Get up,” she said roughly, reaching down to yank him to his feet. “We’ve still got raiders to deal with.”

Peering out over the ruined outpost, panic momentarily suffused Glory when she couldn’t immediately locate any of their new companions. The woman—Lucy—might’ve been easy enough to overlook, but Dixon or Wilkes should have stood out.

“Damn it,” Glory whispered. “I was too distracted.”

Needles crawled over to crouch beside her, like a warm void in space. “Raiders aren’t exactly stealthy. If they found them, we would have heard.”

Logically, Glory knew that he was probably right. But, Glory was finding it harder and harder to work by logic alone, the longer she spent in the wasteland.

She refused to think about it.

Glory zoomed her vision as she scanned the various streets she could see from her vantage point, her hands fidgeting the longer she went without spotting either familiar face—or, mask in Wilkes’ case.

“Do you have binoculars?” Needles asked.

Glory tapped her temple, just beside her eye. “My vision can magnify up to 1000%.”

“Fascinating,” Needles said, “but it doesn’t help me.”

“You aren’t even supposed to be here.” Glory waved distractedly behind her. “Go back to your hiding spot. I’ll find the others.”

“The best chance I have of not having Dixon threaten to blow my head off any time something goes wrong is if he’s convinced I can be useful,” Needles snapped. “So I’ll stay, thank you.”

Glory arched a brow, silently surprised (and a little impressed) by his mettle. She’d judged him to be fairly weak and submissive, based on his behavior in the caves. But maybe…

Maybe it was simply a different kind of strength; the strength to keep helping people even when they hate you. Remaining benevolent even when they’re completely ungrateful, and might even damage you.

“Over there!” Needles pointed wildly to the far end of the town, and Glory followed his finger with her gaze. Almost immediately, she noticed Wilkes’ rather distinctive mask, followed by Dixon’s hat moments later. “What?” Needles asked. “What is it?”

“You found them.” She magnified a little more, watching the pained grimace on Dixon’s face. He didn’t look injured, but then again, he was wearing long sleeves, and he appeared to be leaning heavily on the gunslinger’s side. “Dixon looks wounded.”

“How far?”

Glory grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “Too far. There’s still the other raiders. They’d spot you before you could—”

A loud spray of gunfire cut off Glory’s sentence, and she barely had a chance to react before Needles was diving for cover, dragging her with him. They landed flat on the roof once more, a ramshackle barricade serving as their only shelter.

Glory was, admittedly, impressed by Needles’ reaction speed. Glory’s processes worked at the speed of light. Even when she had to think about a problem for a while, it typically happened faster than a human could register. And there, Needles had moved before Glory had.

“Stay down!” Needles hissed, voice barely audible over the repetitive, rapid gunfire.

After a moment, Glory realized that the gunfire was not aimed at them, and pushed herself onto her hands and knees. Ignoring Needles’ reaching for her, she crawled to the edge of the roof to peer down into the town again.

Lucy marched down the main street with a minigun in hand, its round barrel firing off an average of five thousand rounds per minute. What few raiders remained in the outpost ran out to find the source of the noise, only to get gunned down in seconds, their bullet-strewn and bloodstained corpses quickly clogging the streets.

Glory glanced over as Needles came to stand beside her, his body half-hidden behind her, using her as a sort of shield. His eyes were wide as he surveyed the damage.

“Efficient,” Glory said to him.

“Fatal.” Glory could practically see the calculations behind those icy eyes, performing triage and making snap judgements just like in the caves.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the minigun fire sputtered out. The barrel remained spinning for several seconds, Lucy frozen in place until she registered that she’d run out of ammunition. A deafening silence was left in the air, until Glory and Needles pried themselves away from their barrier shelter and moved to the rooftop’s edge.

Glory hopped down with ease, and turned back around to face Needles. He had a bit more difficulty, but still landed with little more than a grunt beside her before standing up and dusting off his pants.

They moved to approach Lucy in the center of the town, and Glory could see Dixon and Wilkes approaching from the other side. Dixon leaned heavily on Wilkes, but he at least appeared alert.

“Lucy!” Dixon called. “It’s over. Put the minigun down.”

Lucy’s hands trembled where she held the weapon, before she seemed to realize how pointless it was and dropped it as though she were disgusted by it.

Dixon and Wilkes came to stand in front of her, and Dixon clapped her on the shoulder. “It’s over. We did ever—” His voice cracked and he broke into rattling coughs, listing heavily to the side in Wilkes’ grip. Despite his obvious injury, Lucy made no attempts to help him. “We did everything we could.”

“Like hell we did,” Lucy spat. “They still got most’a the town!”

Needles walked up to Dixon, reaching towards the man’s free arm. “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine,” Dixon spat. “Just a bruise.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Please don’t make my job any more difficult than it has to be.” Needles gripped Dixon’s arm and moved it aside, feeling along to the side of Dixon’s ribs, in an eerie mirror of Glory’s own damage. Glory subconsciously tugged her jacket tighter around herself, as if to hide her damage from the world.

Needles frowned thoughtfully as he felt along Dixon’s side. “Take a deep breath. As deep as you can without it hurting.”

Dixon took a gasp, and immediately began coughing, a pained grimace on his face. He listed to the side, forcing Wilkes and Needles both to grab him before he could collapse.

“You have a cracked rib,” Needles informed him bluntly.

Dixon heaved a raspy, throaty laugh. “‘M I gonna live, doc?”

“So long as you don’t get hit in the same place again until it’s fully healed, yes.” Needles’ frown deepened. “You need to rest.”

“We don’t have time to rest!” Lucy spat.

Dixon nodded. “She’s right. We have to get the others. Who knows what—”

“Do you know what a broken rib can lead to if not properly treated and healed?” Needles interrupted, his frown transitioning into a deadly glare. “I do. You’re looking at pneumonia, at best. And what do you think your odds of surviving that are outside the citadels?”

Dixon scowled at him. “And… worst case scenario?” he drawled, almost mockingly.

Needles’ glare hardened. “A punctured lung. And that will be fatal outside the citadels.”

“We don’t have time to wait around!” Lucy snapped. She kicked wildly at the minigun and stalked towards Needles, wrapping her hands around his throat and yanking, making him choke. “Why the fuck are we listening to a cannibal, anyway?”

“Let him go!” Glory lunged towards her, grabbing her arms and pulling.

“Let go of me!”

“Let go of him!”

“Girls!” Dixon shouted, only to immediately begin coughing again.

At his shout, Lucy released Needles, leaving him to cough and hack into the dirt just as hard as Dixon.

With Needles still coughing, Dixon gasped for breath and turned to glare at Glory and Lucy, both of whom glared back at him, albeit for different reasons. “Listen to me. I know you’re upset, Lucy. Hell, I am, too. And we’re gonna get them back. But, much as I hate to admit it, Needles is right. The last thing we need is to be developing pneumonia. Or worse.”

“What’s this ‘we’ stuff?” Lucy interrupted. “You’re the one who went an’ got hurt, Dixon. You wanna sit behind on your ass while our people are raped and farmed, that’s your own damn business. Hell, they were only taken ‘cause you ran off an’ left us on our own devices. But I still care about the people of Black Sun, and I am gonna save them!” She spun on her heel and marched off into the distance, towards the far end of the town.

Dixon tried to pull away from Wilkes and Needles, reaching out for the woman. “Lucy, wait!”

“No! No more waiting!”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

She paused just long enough to glare over her shoulder. “That’s a risk I have to take, Dixon.” She turned back around and sniffed. “Follow me if you like. Or don’t. I don’t really care anymore.”

She picked up the pace, jogging until they couldn’t see her anymore.

Glory frowned after her. “She can’t possibly hope to deal with an entire raider band alone. She’s being illogical.”

“I need to go with her,” Dixon growled, wrenching Needles’ and Wilkes’ hands away from him. Needles ignored him, and continued what he was doing; wrapping the man’s chest. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

“She may be stupidly putting her life on the line, but you are not,” Needles spat, pulling the bindings tight and earning a grimace from the marshal. “You’ll be no help to anyone if your ribs break and puncture something important during a fight.”

Wilkes suddenly started snapping their fingers, making Glory jump. Their thick gloves, rather than muffle the sound, instead somehow made it louder and more resonant, getting everyone’s attention. Wilkes then turned to point out over the horizon, where the sky had turned orange with the oncoming sunrise.

“Damn it,” Dixon grumbled.

Needles gentled his treatment ever so slightly, determinedly not looking into Dixon’s glaring eyes. “Rest today. If you promise to take it easy, we can follow this evening.”

Dixon didn’t look happy, but it seemed that the realization that sunrise was upon them had stolen most of his fight. Instead, he just looked tired, suddenly looking somehow even older than Father. “Fine,” he sighed. “Make it quick, doc.”

Needles brushed his hands on his pants and stepped back. “You’ll be fine for now. It should be sore, but let me know if you feel any sharp pains.”

“Reminds me of the time I broke my arm,” Dixon muttered.

Glory glanced around the ruined town. “Is there any place still standing where we can take shelter?” She nodded to the old outbuilding whose roof she and Needles had previously inhabited. “That one looks too small for all four of us.”

“They were just getting to the Mayor’s longhouse when Lucy started mowing them down,” Dixon said. “There might be a few holes in the walls, but it’s well-made. It should be fine.”

“If we don’t freeze before the sun comes up,” Needles murmured, shuddering.

Glory abruptly realized how little he was wearing, and pulled off her jacket. Something almost akin to melancholy settled into her struts; it had been with her for so long, it almost felt like removing a limb. But she shook off the feeling and held it out to him.

“No, no,” Needles shook his head. “I can’t take your—”

“I don’t get cold much,” Glory interrupted, gazing pointedly at him. She was sure he hadn’t forgotten what she was, so why was he acting like she was just another human? “Take it. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t freeze yourself to keep a cannibal warm, kid,” Dixon called.

“I’m fine,” Glory answered. “Unlike him, I’m actually wearing a shirt.”

Needles accepted the jacket quickly, slipping it on and snuggling into the worn, baggy fabric, almost as if he were embarrassed. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Dixon, leaning heavily on Wilkes’ side, nodded towards the far end of town, presumably towards the mayor’s longhouse. “Let’s go, kids.”

Wilkes and Needles helped Dixon limp to what had to have been the largest building in the settlement, before the others had all burned down, making it impossible for Glory to know for sure. Just as Dixon had warned, Glory noticed a scattering of small holes, no more than a few millimeters across, spread all over the outside of the building.

Just to be safe, Glory scanned the construction, relieved when the scan turned up a less than 1% chance of structural failure.

Wilkes set Dixon down in a large, plush-looking chair inside the building; one of the only pieces of furniture that hadn’t been ransacked and thrown around. Meanwhile, Needles went to work clearing a space in the middle of the room, picking up stray pieces of furniture and setting them out of the way. Glory moved to help him, only to stop when she looked up.

A large chimney had been built into the ceiling, fully open to the sky. Glory could barely keep herself from gaping at the ridiculous structural decision; it did little but funnel hot air outside the building at night, after all, and allowed a large splash of sun to seep inside during the day.

“Yeah, I know,” Dixon said, noticing what she was staring at. “Never could understand it. Mayor had a fire going jus’ about all day.”

Glory trailed her gaze downward from the chimney. Directly beneath it, a table had been overturned. Glory righted it and set it aside, revealing a fire pit sunken into the floor. At least that explained the chimney. Sort of.

Wilkes, lacking anything else to do, shooed Glory away from the fire pit, back towards the overturned furniture, and began working on starting a fire. Glory obeyed the silent command, and hoped that they could work quickly. The last thing their little group needed was to freeze.

Or, well, the other three would freeze. At worst, Glory’s joints might lock up a little, but that would just raise more questions as to why she wasn’t freezing like the others.

Luckily, her concerns proved to be unfounded, as Wilkes had a crackling fire in the pit within a few seconds. Wilkes fed it a bit more kindling, and they watched as the fire grew a little larger. The rush of warmth was tangible throughout the room, and Needles let out a soft sigh of relief, inching closer to the heat source. Similarly, Wilkes held out their hands to be warmed. Even Dixon shuffled his chair a little closer, and relaxed minutely as icy muscles thawed, though his sour glare remained firmly in place.

Glory stared across the fire at him awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. Father had only ever discussed grief in the most abstract terms. Glory knew how to offer stilted condolences and little else, and she knew those would not be helpful in this situation.

“Can’t believe they’re gone,” Dixon whispered.

Glory dared to glance over at him. “Did you know the mayor well?”

“Worked for ‘im for almost fifteen years. Can’t say I knew ‘im well, though. He liked to keep to ‘imself.”

That didn’t make much sense. Humans tended to bond automatically, even without realizing it. How could the mayor have kept separate for so long?

But, most of what Glory knew about humans came from Father’s own nihilistic and borderline-misanthropic observations, so she did her best to ‘take them with a grain of salt’, as the saying goes. So, maybe he was just wrong.

“Did he have any family?” Glory asked.

“A daughter. She must’ve been taken, too.” He hung his head, glaring at the ground.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she finally settled on.

He snorted harshly, though seemingly not at Glory herself. “I went in there, didn’t I? I wasn’t here when those bastards dragged all my people off, to be slaves, or… sacrifices for cultists, or… whatever muties do with the good folk they kidnap.”

“They didn’t kidnap all of them,” Glory pointed out. “Some were executed. Mostly the elderly, I would assume, though I didn’t—”

Dixon interrupted her speech with a nasty sneer and shoved himself to his feet, a pained grimace barely overtaking his features before he stormed off towards the far side of the longhouse.

“Dixon, wait!” Needles called, stumbling to his feet to follow the man. “Your ribs!”

“I’ll be fine,” the Marshal spat.

“You need to rest!”

Wilkes turned back to stare at Glory, head cocked.

Glory blinked. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked.

They nodded, as if it was supposed to be obvious.

“…Oh.”

The low rumble of Needles’ voice trailed back to the group, and Glory looked up to see Dixon aggressively knocking Needles hands away where the healer tried to check on his wounds.

“Fuckin’ fine!” Dixon shouted. “Just keep yer hands off me!”

“I’m trying to help—”

“Don’t.” Dixon held up a hand. “Just… don’t. I owe you one, so I’m not gonna shoot ya today, but if you piss me off too much, I might just off ya this evenin’.” He stalked back to the fire and slumped back down in his chair with a groan, turning eyes that glinted with equal parts exhaustion and anger towards Glory. “Word of warnin’, girl; don’t ever try to be helpful again. You fuckin’ suck at it.”

Glory swallowed. “I’m… sorry.”

He waved his hand again and took a swig out of a bottle he hadn’t had before. He must’ve found it somewhere on the far side of the room. “Don’t apologize, just… don’t.”

Needles returned to the fire, sinking down onto his knees beside Glory. “And I thought the fallen made for difficult patients.”

“That supposed to be a joke, cannibal boy?” Dixon sneered.

“Only in the loosest sense.” Needles stared into the fire, expression halfway between pensive and annoyed.

After a tense moment of vicious glaring, Dixon softened minutely, and let out a raspy, mirthless chuckle. “Guess you’ve got more balls’n I gave you credit for.”

Needles looked surprised by the compliment. “…Thank you?”

“Wh—Is it serious?” Glory asked.

Dixon and Needles both turned to her, brows furrowed in confusion. “Is what serious?” Dixon asked.

Glory nodded to Needles. “Barring serious medical complications, the average human male only has two testicles. If there’s more, it could be a sign of—” Glory fell silent when she noticed the shaking of Needles’ shoulders. “…Are you all right? It’s— I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

But, Glory realized abruptly that he was not shaking in fear or sadness, but rather in laughter. A loud, raspy bark escaped him, trailing off into wheezes, only to interrupt himself with a loud gasp for air and start the cycle all over again.

Bewildered, Glory looked to Dixon, who appeared to be chuckling to himself. Not as hard as Needles, certainly, but enough to be noticeable.

“What?” Glory demanded. “What did I say?”

Her question just made the two men laugh harder. Even mysterious, silent Wilkes appeared to be shaking with mirth.

Needles listed to the side and fell into Glory’s lap, shoulders trembling as he gasped for breath between raspy giggles. Not knowing what else to do, Glory lowered one of her hands to rest on his head.

She’d intended for it to be comforting; she’d seen that before, in some of Father’s old-world films. She was just as gentle as she always was in dealing with humans, but the mere touch of her fingertips caused Needles to freeze as though he’d been spotted by some kind of predator, his laughter strangling in his chest.

Glory looked down at him, alarmed to see a thin sheen of cold sweat having broken out across his forehead. Even Dixon looked worried, a small frown tugging at his lips.

Glory removed her hand, and Needles almost immediately sat up and shuffled a few centimeters away, as if Glory had burned him. She stared down at her hands, half-expecting to find them red-hot, or… something damaging. Leaking corrosive fluid, perhaps. But, no, they were just her hands.

Perhaps he wasn’t as accepting of her true nature as she’d assumed. Though, at least he hadn’t told either of the others, so she supposed she could accept a bit of discomfort when it came to physical contact.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, earning a tense nod and nothing else.

“Right,” Dixon said, voice slightly too loud in the now-deafening silence. He either didn’t notice the contrast, or didn’t care. “My turn to ask questions, citadel girl.” He looked to Glory. “You’re not from Reza; I can tell. Next closest city is Angel City, and that’s way over on the coast. So why’d you come out here? Why join a caravan to trek across seven hundred miles of desert?”

“Dixon,” Needles interrupted. “Not your place.”

Dixon held a hand up. “No, cannibal boy. I think it’s time we got a few answers.”

Glory took a deep breath, staring at the floor between her feet. “My father was… a very controlling man.” Not a lie, at all. “He originally came from Anthem city, up in Manitoba. At some point, he managed to escape into the mountains, where I grew up. That’s probably where I got my accent.”

“What about your mother?” Dixon asked, voice surprisingly much softer than it had been before.

Glory shook her head. “I never met her. I assume she must’ve passed shortly after I was born.”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Glory shrugged. “It is difficult to miss someone you never truly met in the first place.”

“Why did you come south?” Needles asked. He looked utterly enthralled, despite his earlier protests and the fact that Glory didn’t think her story was terribly interesting.

“Let me guess,” Dixon said before Glory could answer, taking another swig of… whatever was in his bottle. “He didn’t approve of you dating someone, so you ran away to be with your sweetheart.”

Glory blinked, confused. “That’s… specific. Do you meet many people who run away for juvenile romantic aspirations?”

“Well, they gotta have some reason to run out into the wasteland without anythin’ even approachin’ a plan. Can’t be for the weather. Or the scenery. Or the people.”

Glory shook her head. “Well, no. I ran away because…” She could feel her face twitching, her lips pulling down into a frown. Damn emotion simulation subroutines. However empty existence might have been, it was so much easier when she hadn’t truly felt anything. “I just had to get away,” she admitted in a low voice.

“Yeah.” Dixon’s voice was just as soft as it had been earlier. “I get that.”

“Did you run away from home, too?” Glory asked.

He laughed humorlessly. “No home to run away from. My parents were killed when I was a kid. My aunt Hazel, who raised me after they died, passed when I was ‘bout eighteen. Wandered the space outside Reza for ‘bout a year ‘ntil I ended up on the Benefactors’ doorstep with nowhere else to go.”

“You willingly surrendered to a citadel?” Needles asked disbelievingly, sharing Glory’s sentiment.

Dixon laughed again, equally humorlessly. His left hand flew to his right wrist, where Glory could just see a hint of scarred skin peeking out from under his sleeve. “I was nineteen, all alone, with no real plan or ambition. Stupid me, I bought all the citadel propaganda ‘bout givin’ their citizens purpose. Plus, the safety, security, an’ three square meals really appealed to scrawny little me.”

“What happened?” Glory asked.

He smirked, curling his left hand into a fist. “Oh, no. You only tell us half the story ‘bout your escape, you only get half o’ mine.” He took another drink of his liquor, then held it out towards Glory and Needles. “Drink?”

Glory stared at the bottle, trying to read the worn, centuries-old label through Dixon’s gloved fingers. He misunderstood her silence, however, and smirked lightly. “It ain’t gonna bite you, kid.”

“I think I’ll pass this time,” Glory sniffed delicately. She was, technically, capable of imbibing small amounts of food or drink. But she’d really rather not have to deal with voiding her system later, so she refused.

“Suit yourself, kid,” Dixon snorted. He turned to shake the bottle at Needles instead. “How ‘bout you, cannibal boy?”

“You’re offering me a drink?”

Dixon shrugged and nodded towards Glory. “Figure she’s right. You did save our lives. Don’t get me wrong; I’m still watchin’ you. But, I guess one drink can’t hurt.” He shook the bottle again, which Needles accepted tentatively.

Needles eyed the bottle for a moment before knocking his head back and taking a swig just like Dixon did, only to tear the bottle away with a sputter-gasp.

“This is disgusting!” he yelped.

Dixon cackled. “It’s good for ya, kid. Puts hair on your chest.”

“Last thing I need in this weather is hair on my chest!” Despite his disgust and protests, Needles took another swig, which was met with marginally less sputtering than the first. He then turned to Wilkes and offered the bottle, to which the masked figure shook their head.

They all sat in relative silence for a while, until the air temperature began to rise sharply, indicating that sunrise had come. And with it, the desert’s infamous heat. Wilkes leaned forward to snuff out the fire, leaving a splash of sunlight on the longhouse’s floor where the chimney allowed light to leak through.

“Should get some sleep,” Dixon mumbled, his eyes already drooping. “Lots to do this evening.”

“Only if your ribs are doing better,” Needles protested.

Dixon ignored him, pushing slowly to his feet and moving to stagger towards the back of the building, pausing just long enough to turn to the rest of them. “I’m gonna take the mayor’s bed. Injured man gets first pick. The rest of y’all…” He waved his hand dismissively. “Eh. I really don’t care.” He turned to continue on.

Glory stretched her legs out in front of her. She didn’t strictly need to sleep, but she could enter a power preservation mode. Her batteries shouldn’t run out for quite a while yet, but she supposed that every little bit helps.

“I noticed some smaller cots back there as well,” Needles said. “There should be enough for all of us.”

Wilkes shook their head, nodding towards the door and patting one of their holstered revolvers.

“Good idea,” Glory agreed.

“But… you need to rest, too,” Needles protested.

Wilkes shook their head determinedly.

Needles sighed. “Fine. Just… be careful. Wake us if anything happens.”

Wilkes nodded.

Glory and Needles trekked towards the back of the longhouse, where Dixon had indeed claimed the largest, most comfortable-looking bed. His boots and jackets lay haphazardly abandoned by the side of the bed, his hat drawn down over his face. “Quiet, all y’all,” he grumbled, barely intelligible.

And, just as Needles had said, there were four other cots on the other side; much smaller than the apparent mayor’s bed, but they would suffice. Glory wasn’t sure what they would have been used for, but at that point, she didn’t really care.

She removed her boots as well and climbed onto the cot, sinking into the blankets. They were threadbare and scratchy compared to Father’s compound, but she had no right to complain after running away.

Needles let out a long, satisfied groan of his own when he sank down into his own cot. Glory couldn’t blame him; after however long of sleeping in a cave, even a lumpy mattress would no doubt have been paradise.

“Good night, Dixon,” Glory chirped, earning an annoyed grunt from the master bed. Mildly amused, she rolled over, shut her eyes, and let herself fall into a power-saving stasis.