As much as Dixon might’ve liked to keep on walking until they hit the mines, the reality of daytime eventually forced them into taking shelter in an abandoned two-story house when sunrise loomed just over the horizon.

Even so, as they gathered sleeping bags and mattresses in the middle of the building, Dixon could see Needles lurking near the exterior walls, staring vacantly out into the wasteland. Even as the sun rose and his eyes no doubt began to hurt from the painfully bright light.

“Kid!” Dixon called. “You should get some sleep.”

Normally, he’d have some stronger words in store—something along the lines of “you get your ass to sleep right this second and don’t even think about getting up before sunset”. But he recognized that kind of hopeless terror in the kid’s gaze. And, maybe it was soft of him, but Dixon couldn’t bring himself to be too harsh.

But, Gray Hawk backed him up, calling, “Needles! I know you’re worried about her, but you’ll be no help exhausted.”

Needles said nothing for a long few seconds, and Dixon figured he wouldn’t listen, mentally preparing to have to force the kid to lie down and rest. But then, Needles pushed away and shuffled over to join them, collapsing on a mattress next to Centauri.

The fingers on his right hand flexed and twitched, fidgeting in midair. “I miss the chess set she found,” he mumbled. “Chess always helped me relax.”

“You don’t need chess right now,” Dixon said. “You need sleep.”

Needles breathed shallowly before nodding, pulling off his goggles before flopping over. His shoulders shook lightly for a few minutes before he stilled, breathing evening out as he drifted off, quicker than Dixon had been expecting. He must’ve been real exhausted.

Centauri and Wilkes followed soon after, leaving Dixon and Gray Hawk the last ones awake.

Some part of Dixon’s brain—the part that sounded suspiciously like Tommy, and didn’t that make a sour knot form in the pit of his stomach?—recognized how hypocritical it was of them, bullying Needles into sleeping while they stayed up and gossiped.

The rest of his brain didn’t really care all that much. Besides, at least Dixon could acknowledge that he needed sleep. He felt pretty certain that Needles wouldn’t stayed up all day if he could get away from it.

Dixon turned to Gray Hawk, and found the other man counting out a line of .22 bullets, examining them all over before slipping them into a leather pouch at his hip. He glanced up and caught Dixon’s gaze, and nodded.

“Just counting, or…?” Dixon said, not entirely sure what he was asking.

Gray Hawk’s lips twitched lightly. “Eh… sort of. Old habit, I guess.” He finished with the last of the bullets. “We should get some sleep, too.”

“I know.” But Dixon couldn’t quite ignore the question bubbling at the back of his mind, and cleared his throat softly. “Back at Rustpike, at dinner… I asked you why the muties took you.”

Gray Hawk froze partway through his counting of another row of bullets, quirking his eyebrows at Dixon. ”You did.”

“And you promised to talk about it later.”

Gray Hawk’s lips twitched again. “I did, didn’t I?”

Dixon leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. “Does now count as later? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m damn curious.”

“We really should be getting some sleep.”

Dixon just gazed evenly at the other man.

Gray Hawk sighed harshly, shaking his head. “Fine.” He paused, lips screwed up thoughtfully, before he began. “I was a… technologist in Reza City, for about a decade. I finally managed to run away when I was twenty-seven, and I swore I’d never go back.”

Dixon’s brows arched, and he couldn’t quite suppress his smile, despite there not really being anything to smile about. “You’re not gonna believe this. I lived in Reza too, for a couple years.”

Gray Hawk’s eyes widened. “Really? When?”

“Oh, ages ago. I was about nineteen when I ended up outside the walls. Nothin’ else to keep me away, so why not? Safety an’ security sounded like a pretty good deal.” His smile faded. “I only stayed ‘bout a year an’ a half. Security sector. I hated it. Finally snuck out with a trek out to Angel City. I ‘fell’ outta the transport. ‘Far as the Benefactors know, I died en route.”

Gray Hawk looked darkly amused. “And they believed that?”

Dixon shrugged. “They’ve got bigger issues’n one security sector kid going missing on a transport.” He nodded to Gray Hawk. “All right, your turn. How’d you end up there?”

“Similar to you, really,” Gray Hawk said. “I ran away from home as a young man. Stumbled accidentally into the dead man’s walk. By the time I staggered back out, I was practically a skeleton.”

Dixon winced. “Ouch.”

The dead man’s walk was, from what Dixon had heard, a particularly inhospitable stretch of desert right to the northeast of Reza. A little slice of the Mexico Death Border, if you will. Nothing lived there—not even jittermice, which had no trouble adapting to the rest of the badlands.

People died there. Lots of ‘em. And stumbling into the dead man’s walk on accident was just about every nomad’s worst nightmare, since it meant you only had a couple of days before either dehydration, hyperthermia, or hypothermia got you, depending on the time of day.

Gazing at Gray Hawk, Dixon tried to imagine him as a young, inexperienced kid, staggering into the dead man’s walk without a clue or a shred of hope. It made something in Dixon’s gut twist.

“Luckily,” Gray Hawk continued, “a transport found me.” He snorted. “Luckily. Right.” He shook his head. “They brought me back to Reza, dropped me in a detention room in the north bloc for the overseer to deal with.”

“The transport actually stopped for you?” Dixon asked in disbelief. As far as he knew, they stopped for nothing.

“Well…” Gray Hawk shifted awkwardly in place. “I think they were after my cargo, and I just got taken along for the ride.”

“Cargo?”

He fidgeted some more. “I may have… stolenfrommyfatherbeforeIleft.”

Dixon quirked a brow. “Try again, please? Slower, this time.”

Gray Hawk sighed. “I stole from my father before I left. He was a scavenger, and he and his friends had just found this big haul from an old military bunker that somehow no one had gotten into yet. Brought back a lot of good things—computer parts, scrap metal, and books. The books were too heavy, and you can find scrap metal all over the badlands. But the computer parts caught my attention.” He frowned lightly. “There was a chip in with the others… I don’t know. Something about it just seemed different. Special.” He shrugged. “I thought it might buy me safety someplace else.”

“And instead, the Benefactors got their hands on it,” Dixon finished.

Gray Hawk nodded. “I don’t know whether to be angry at myself or not. If I didn’t have it with me, they probably never would’ve stopped, and I would have died out there. But I have no idea what was on that chip.” He sighed with a frown. “The overseer made me a technologist. I was even fairly high on the social fidelity rank before I left. But I never got to look at that chip I’d brought in. The overseer had it labeled ‘proscribed’ and sent to the top of the tower.”

Dixon hummed thoughtfully at that. At the center of each of the citadels was a massive tower, stretching high above the rest of the city like an obelisk. The top of the tower was where the Benefactors themselves lived, supposedly.

Not that Dixon would know. Or anyone, for that matter. No one had ever met a Benefactor in person before.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked.

Gray Hawk sighed. “I just… couldn’t do it anymore. The days where I wanted to be free and think for myself again started to multiply, until it was all I could think about.” He smiled lightly. “My spouse-placement overheard me whispering about the outside in my sleep and reported me to the Corrective Division. I managed to slip away before I ‘disappeared’.”

Dixon chuckled roughly. “They never actually got around to placing me with anyone. I think I was too young.”

“Mine was a woman named Amanda.” Something close to wistfulness crossed Gray Hawk’s face. “I can’t say I loved her, but… I felt sorry for her. I knew it wasn’t her fault, her choosing to report me. I hope she didn’t get punished when I escaped.”

Dixon swallowed. “So… did you meet anyone else? After you escaped, I mean.”

Gray Hawk blinked confusedly for a moment before laughing. “Is that your incredibly awkward way of asking if I’d ever gotten married again?”

Dixon was grateful that his complexion didn’t exactly make it obvious when he was blushing. If he was as pale as Needles, he had a feeling he’d be sunburn-red right about then. “…Maybe.”

Gray Hawk’s smile softened as he seemed to be reminiscing. “Yes, I did. Vera. Chenoa’s mother.”

Dixon could’ve smacked himself. He had a daughter—of course he’d been married at some point! Or at least been with a woman.

Dixon never had been. Women had never interested him. Which worked out just fine, since most women he’d met had never seemed interested in him, either. Too intense and impatient, he’d been told.

“Sorry,” he croaked. “All these questions probably seem pretty invasive.”

Gray Hawk shrugged. “It’s nice to speak to someone about myself. It’s just a shame we have such troubles looming ahead, or I wouldn’t mind speaking some more.”

His words were like a splash of cold water on Dixon. Glory. Mutants. Mines. Of course. He had to focus.

“We should get some sleep,” he mumbled.

Gray Hawk nodded in agreement and lied down. Dixon followed suit, shut his eyes, and tried not to think about the way the corners of Gray Hawk’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“Dixon?” Gray Hawk whispered.

Dixon hummed an acknowledgement.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Dixon asked.

“For…” Gray Hawk sighed again, “everything.”

Dixon smiled lightly and rolled over. Despite his worries, sleep came fairly easily.

***

“What were you talking about last night?” Centauri asked suddenly, as he and Dixon worked to pack up the sleeping bags.

Dixon blinked rapidly at the kid. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard something as I was falling asleep. Talking, or… something.” He squinted at Dixon. “That was you two, right?”

Dixon sighed. “Yeah. We had a little chat.”

Centauri blinked at him a few times, dark eyes just about staring into Dixon’s soul. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Excuse me?” Dixon asked, unsure of where the comment had come from.

But Centauri looked unconcerned by the defensiveness in Dixon’s voice. “He deserves to be happy.”

“What, exactly, are you implying, kid?” Dixon asked.

Centauri rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not, I do have eyes. I’ve seen you two looking at each other.” He shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret back home that Gray Hawk admires men and women both. I’m assuming the same for you.”

“Not so much the women.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Centauri shifted his weight and leaned forward. “My point is… hurt him and I’ll cut off your balls.”

Dixon couldn’t suppress a snort. “’Preciate the warning.”

Oddly enough, it wasn’t the first time someone less than half his age gave him the shovel talk. Tommy’s little sister had been the one to give him the whole spiel back when they first met. She couldn’t have been much older than ten at the time, and despite his wicked temper as a young man, Dixon had been far too charmed to take any offense.

Rapid footsteps marched into the room, and they went back to work gathering up the sleeping bags, trying to act normal. Dixon dared to glance up at the source of the noise, and found a worried-looking Needles gazing intently at them.

“Gray Hawk says he may have found something that could help us,” he announced, before turning to stiffly stalk out of the room again.

Dixon and Centauri shared a confused look before they stood and moved to follow the healer out of the room. Up ahead, Needles rounded the corner that led to the back door.

Something inside Dixon twisted in discomfort, and a little voice at the back of his head that sounded a lot like his Administrator back in Reza started to whisper… concerns.

He loves Glory. He was a cultist. He knows their ways. What’s stopping him from going back to them and begging for her safety?

Dixon shoved the voice to the back of his head as best he could. Needles had given them no cause to suspect him. Sure, he’d been unusually withdrawn, but that was hardly surprising. And Dixon refused to jump on someone in mourning for not acting right.

Or, worse, for being born a mutant.

Dixon let out a slow, forceful breath as they rounded the corner to the backyard as well, and found Needles, Wilkes, and Gray Hawk waiting for them, crouched down behind a collapsed sandbag barricade someone had put up at some point over the past century.

“Get down!” Gray Hawk hissed, and they scrambled to obey. Dixon flopped down between Gray Hawk and Needles, peering over at the older man. “What is it?”

Gray Hawk nodded past the barricade with a frown, and handed his binoculars over to Dixon. Dixon obeyed the unspoken command, poking his head up above the barricade just far enough to look around.

At first, he couldn’t tell what Gray Hawk had been nodding towards. But then, his gaze focused in on some motion off in the distance. Dixon’s eyes squinted behind the binoculars as he tried to figure out exactly what he was looking at, when one of the shapes solidified into a humanoid figure, clad in a familiar set of creepy skin-robes that brushed the sandy ground with their every step.

Cultists.

Dixon counted one, two, three, four, five, six of them, though they seemed relatively spread out.

“What the hell are they doing out here?” Dixon hissed.

“Perimeter scouts, if I had to guess,” Needles whispered. “They’re sent out to, well, scout the area. If they don’t return and report back in a set time limit, the entire sanctuary is put on high alert until the elders find out what happened.”

Dixon handed the binoculars back to Gray Hawk, already going over ideas in his head. “That’s gotta be our way in.”

Needles blinked rapidly at him with a frown. “Didn’t you just hear me? If we kill them, the entire—”

“Who said anything about killing them?” Dixon interrupted.

Needles’ frown only grew. “Wh—”

Dixon turned to Gray Hawk. “What’d’ya say we go have a talk with those cultists? See if they wouldn’t be willing to give us directions to their lair.”

Gray Hawk snorted, but didn’t seem outright dismissive. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Dixon smirked. “Possibly.” He reached for his rifle.

***

Five of them against six cultists in the dead of night. In a fair fight, it would’ve been a tough-as-nails fight. But the law of the wasteland said, he who catches his opponent by surprise almost always emerges victorious.

And thank whatever god there is for the law of the wasteland, since the scuffle with the cultists was quick and smooth, and over in just a couple minutes. Gray Hawk had to knock one of the muties out with the butt of his rifle when the bastard went for Wilkes, but the rest of them were dealt with easy enough.

And now, with the five alert cultists on their knees gazing hatefully up at him, the sixth lying limply at his feet, Dixon smiled down at the probable leader. At least, judging by how the others deferred to his orders during the fight.

“You think you’ve won?” he spat, hawking a gob of blood at Dixon’s boots. “You’re nothing. The purifier will end all of you heretics. Then we will take our rightful place as the new rulers of the citadels.”

Dixon quirked a brow. “Interesting plan. Tell me, what’re you plannin’ to do ‘bout the Benefactors?”

“The tyrants’ rule,” he spat again for emphasis, “has come to an end.”

“Vitruvius,” one of his companions protested.

Vitruvius ignored her. “The purifier possesses a mighty weapon, the likes of which you can’t even imagine.”

“Vitruvius!” the woman hissed.

Vitruvius finally seemed to realize he’d said too much, but it was too late. Dixon raised his other eyebrow with a smirk. “Well… thanks for the tip, pal.”

Vitruvius growled at him. Actually growled, like an animal. Whether that was something all muties could do, or just a talent of this particular mutie, Dixon didn’t know. Not that it really mattered.

A click from Dixon’s right drew his attention, and he turned to face Gray Hawk, raising his weapon threateningly. “Enough time wasting. They’re not going to tell us anything more.”

Vitruvius pulled back his lips in a snarl. “You may think you’ve won, but I—”

“Where is it?” Needles interrupted.

Dixon looked over sharply. “Needles?”

The healer’s voice was as soft and gentle as it always was, but there was an underlying steel that Dixon hadn’t ever heard before.

Vitruvius sneered up at Needles, apparently not recognizing him as an ex-comrade. “And what are you, ugly little thing? Did the heretics drag you out of some crevice out of pity? Are you their amusement? Do they find glee in how hideous you are?”

Dixon inhaled sharply, his grip on his rifle tightening. But beside him, Needles seemed completely unaffected by the insult. Except for the slowly-growing tension, but that had remained steady ever since they’d managed to capture the cultists.

“You know nothing,” Needles finally hissed. Dixon actually looked over, and found him trembling, hands balled into fists, the reedy muscles on his arms flexed in sharp contrast. “What has the purifier told you about the android he recovered?”

Vitruvius’ expression fell. “How did you—”

“The android was ours,” Needles gritted. “I’d like her back.”

Vitruvius scoffed. “I don’t know where you managed to find an Iron Graveyard around here, or how you re-activated it, but it belongs to the purifier now. He’ll not easily give up the key to his plans.”

“Vitruvius!” the woman in his group hissed again, and Vitruvius clicked his mouth shut. Too late.

Goddamn, was Dixon glad they hadn’t gagged him.

“One last question before I allow my associate to put a hole between your blind eyes,” Needles said, voice so low it was practically a purr.

Vitruvius bared his teeth at the comment, but said nothing.

Needles continued, “Where is the sanctuary?”

Vitruvius barked a laugh. “You expect us to tell you?”

“No,” Needles admitted. “I was mostly wondering if your self-preservation instincts exceeded your blind loyalty to the purifier; a man of weak faith. A man who exiled his own children on supposition and hearsay.”

“Watch yourself!” the woman with Vitruvius, who kept yelling at him to shut up, finally snapped. “The purifier is a great icon of divinity—”

“He is an icon of sand and rot,” Needles interrupted. “A false prophet.”

“Heretic!” she shrieked.

“Blind, deluded fool,” Needles fired back.

Dixon watched the exchange for a few more moments before clearing his throat. “Is this gonna take much longer? Or can we just deal with ‘em and be done with it?”

Needles cleared his throat. “Do what you must. They’ve already told me all I needed to know.”

“No!” the woman spat. “I have said nothing!”

“You didn’t need to,” Needles said dismissively. “It’s clear in your body language—the way you squirm in the dirt like an insect, the way you seethe and glare at us, the way you were spread out when we attacked you. We’ll reach the mines by tomorrow. They’ll never see us coming.”

“B—But I never said—” The woman shut her own mouth, but it was too late. Just like Vitruvius, she’d given herself away.

Dixon turned to Gray Hawk. “Pick yer poison.”

“Just kill them already,” Gray Hawk sighed, pulling a handgun out of the holster at his hip and firing one shot into the woman’s forehead. Vitruvius yelped, but he was next, followed by the silent members of their little group.

Dixon turned to Needles, and found him scowling at the bodies, at the blood slowly pooling in the sand. He just looked angry and frustrated, but Dixon worried he might see some sadness and guilt mixed in there, too. Not that Dixon could really blame him. They’d been his people, once upon a time.

“You okay, kid?” Dixon asked.

Needles inhaled shakily. “Fine. I’m—I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look fine, Tommy’s voice said in Dixon’s head.

Behind him, though, Gray Hawk clearing his throat drew Dixon’s attention back to the situation at hand. He and Centauri had pulled the skin-robes off of Vitruvius’ lifeless corpse, and Gray Hawk was holding it up to his own shoulders, measuring…

Measuring the length?

“What are you doing?” Dixon asked.

Gray Hawk peered up at him, looking confused. “Measuring.”

“For what?”

“To take their robes.” Gray Hawk frowned in deeper confusion. “Wasn’t this your plan?”

“Wh—Stealing the dead cultists’ robes?” Dixon asked in disbelief. “No, that wasn’t my plan!”

“But you said—”

“I figured we might’ve been able to get some answers from them,” Dixon said. “Stupid, I know. But I didn’t—”

He paused, really thinking it over. What was wrong, technically, with borrowing the cultists robes? They were already dead; he stole clothes from dead opponents all the time.

Was it what they were made of? Well, the idea of wearing clothes made of human skin was a little… stomach-churning, but he’d dealt with worse.

Sighing, Dixon said, “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

Centauri held out one of the robes, as though he’d been planning this. Sneaky kid. Wilkes was already tugging the woman’s robes over their hazmat suit, somehow managing to fit all that bulky equipment under the tanned flesh.

Dixon gazed skeptically at his own skin-garment. In theory, it wasn’t any different from any type of leather. The scars, stitches, and tattoos were a bit grim, but it was easy enough to pretend they were just… creative decoration. Maybe. If you closed your eyes.

Groaning, Dixon tugged it on over his head. It was heavier than he was used to, and it fit him loosely, though he knew that was the design. Even with his hat, though, his head was practically swimming in the hood. No wonder the cultists walked around with only their mouths visible if this was how big the damn hoods all were.

Gray Hawk and Centauri followed suit, tugging their own grim garments on over their heads. Centauri grimaced as he tugged the hood back, shaking his head. “How do they stand this all day?”

“Practice, I’d guess,” Dixon said. In truth, he didn’t know. Nor did he particularly care.

He then turned to Needles, holding out the second-to-last robe for the healer to take. But Needles just stood there for a good few seconds, staring at the robe like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Kid?” Dixon asked. “What’s wrong?”

Needles didn’t answer.

“Needles!” Dixon called, louder this time.

Needles jumped. “Sorry, what?”

“You were someplace else,” Gray Hawk noted from somewhere behind Dixon.

Needles swallowed heavily, still staring at the robe. “I’m sorry. I just…” He sighed. “Neither my brother nor I ever obtained our own robes. We were too young.”

Dixon couldn’t keep his nose from wrinkling. “You mean… you wanted—”

“Of course not,” Needles snapped, far more forcefully than Dixon was used to. “I’m a healer, first and foremost. Ideally, Ghost would’ve been doing the skinning for me. But… I realize how… grisly you must see the practice.”

Dixon raised a brow at the phrasing. “‘Grisly’. Yeah, I’ll say.”

Needles shook his head. “Never mind.” He reached out to take the robe.

Dixon yanked it back momentarily. “Listen, Needles… is this gonna be a problem for you? Going up against yer… ex-religion, or whatever?”

Needles pursed his lips. “No. I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t—”

Needles reached out and grabbed the robe, pulling it on like the rest of them. Despite Dixon’s worries, though, it didn’t quite suit him. Not just literally, as in it didn’t fit him (though it definitely didn’t), but it just seemed wrong on him. Dixon tried to let that fact soothe his worries.

“We should move,” Needles said, his head hung low as he turned to march in the approximate direction of the mines.

Dixon turned to the rest of the group. Centauri and Wilkes strode forward to follow Needles without hesitation, but Gray Hawk wore a small frown and stepped closer to Dixon.

Softly, under his breath, he asked, “Are you sure he can be trusted?”

Dixon frowned. “I hope so.”

Gray Hawk’s own frown deepened. “I will watch him. If he moves to betray us, I’ll handle him. I will not hesitate.”

Dixon turned to Gray Hawk, surprised at the man’s candor.

Gray Hawk nodded to him. “I thought you deserved to know.”

With that, the older man broke away and moved to follow the rest of their group.

Silently, Dixon made a prayer to a god he didn’t believe in; that neither of his kids would do anything stupid to get themselves in trouble.

He just had to hope that was enough.