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Life in the wasteland is never predictable.

Generations of radioactive fallout have twisted the natural order. Strange new creatures fill new roles. Flesh eating ghouls hunt in packs, and are hunted in turn by yao guai or others. Radroaches devour the abundant carrion, and feed a slew of new biomes and hierarchies. Mankind finds itself low on an irradiated food chain. Yet people adapt, finding crops that can grow in the harshest of nuclear winter.

Though man always proves to be his own apex predator. Slaver lords and raider gangs steal even crumbs. Petty warlords battle over petty kingdoms. Bloodthirsty emperors and self-styled presidents come and go. All living on the blood of the weak and unfortunate. Yet factions rise up to oppose the lawless and cruel, fighting for those who cannot.

Lurking like a gatorclaw beneath a polluted river, wonders and horrors of the past slumber. More than miraculous medicine, advanced robotics, and cutting edge sciences that blur the line between truth and fiction, the legacy of the old world is the atom. A singular control of nuclear fire that can be harnessed for good or ill. Fortunately for the charred husk of the world that remains, the tools of Armageddon sleep, along with the monsters and miracles of the old world.

Despite all the conditions to the contrary, and an ineffable unpredictability, life in the wasteland goes on.

****

Through the magnification of his scope, Rowan scanned the stretch of broken highway by his mountain home.

His perch was at the top of a large pile of stone slabs, broken off the mountain in times long past. Tough scrub and mutated ferns struggled through the cracks in the scabbed earth. Rowan liked the spot not only due to elevation, but also because it afforded him a good view of the leaves. Saplings fed on nutrient rich packets of soil among the crags, cleansed by centuries of purifying rain. New growth sprouted on old husks too, stubborn oaks and good old North American maple trees coming back to life, trying to bring back a green that was not irradiated bugs.

Mother nature, even full of poison, was quick to reclaim the works of man.

At his flank, a winding switchback path led up to the young man's small fort. The length of the road was a series of defensive bulwarks. Hardened turret emplacements and concrete blockhouses made each stretch of the meandering road a killbox covered from multiple angles.

Watching over the mighty front gate was a salvaged tank turret. The twin-linked cannons was installed with an autoloading mechanism that was fed from a buried magazine in the gatehouse. A mark seven defensive module and ballistics targeting chip gave the repurposed heavy tank armament deadly accuracy. Though the stock army vehicle was not equipped with one, Rowan had welded a machine gun turret loaded with incendiary ammunition to the commander's cupola. The extra tracer fire helped paint smaller targets to aid the targeting chip of the cannons strike small targets precisely.

Was it overkill? Surprisingly not.

Many concerted and well-armed incursions had attempted to breach Rowan's little slice of wasteland. Raider gangs always hated bastions of safety and civility for one reason or another. And super mutants needed no reason at all.

The young man had been feeling antsy lately. Nagging anxiety plucked at his nerves. The sort that he had learned not to ignore. It had been more than a week since his last run in with one of the local gangs. The Red Razors especially had been unusually quiet. A longstanding blood feud smoldered between Rowan and the mechanically inclined raider gang.

Rowan regarded the Razor's use of technology as... Offensive.

Even his own robotic companion, Lana, expressed similar sentiment. Her personality was usually reserved. Yet even the taciturn bot, with her cold hunter-killer subroutines, indulged in excessive force against the Razor's twisted creations.

Dwelling on the bitter struggle made the former vault dweller's armored fingers tighten on the grip of his weapon. Taking a deep breath, the sound distorted through his helmet, Rowan held the air in his lungs and counted to four. Releasing the breath slowly, he eased his grip, shifted his gun higher, and panned his view from right to left.

On top of his custom energy weapon, was a suite of modular optics. Beetle black lenses peaked out from beneath a trio of blocky housings. From night vision to infrared, and even recon functionality. Through hard-connections linked to his armor, the scopes fed their information directly to Rowan's heads up display without needing to physically look through them. Remote controlled mortars were slaved to Rowan's power armor, augmented by the Pip-Boy on the young man's arm. The flexible functions of the portable computer never ceased to impress, able to talk to military hardware with no trouble at all.

For a flesh and blood man, crouching near motionless on top of a rock would have cramped muscle and strained tendon. Rowan simply locked the legs of his power armor in place and relaxed into the padding. It was easy to forget his own limits when the young man had spent more time in the wastes as a walking armored battalion than not. Without the protective suit and a fusion reactor on his back, Rowan's life would have ended many battles ago.

His skin was ceramic and tempered alloy. His joints were not fragile bone and tendon, but hydraulics. His balance was perfect with gyroscopic aid. His servos purred with well-oiled advanced polymer parts gliding without friction. Electrical fiber muscle bundles contracted with easy breath. His heart beat with the song of molecules combining in nuclear fusion. The warmth his reactor was a reassuring heat leeching into his back. Direct interface plugs along Rowan's spine made control of his armor, and reaction times while wearing it nigh superhuman.

While his attention was focused on vigilance, the rest of his mind was free to wander, lingering on the old world blues of his Vault-Tec mandated education. A consistent theme was exonerating the ideals that honored consumption, not conservation.

It was overcast, as usual. Long shadows, little more than dark patches of grey, rippled across the old world trucks and cars too far gone even to be used as scrap. Where the freeways of the United States once thrummed with millions of tons of cargo as capillaries of an industrialized society, pumping goods and people through the heart of the nation, they were now clogged with the plaque of an age too in love with its own decadence.

On the edge of his sensor nets, the variable zoom recon scope was Rowan's most useful gadget for scouting. Motion caught his eye through the optic. Zeroing in on a sliver of hide and spines bobbing over scorched derelicts, the young man lay in wait for the trespasser to reveal themselves. He did not need to pause for long.

The being revealed itself to be a deathclaw making its way down the highway, weaving between derelict cars.

In most regions of the North American continent, they were the kings of the wastes. Hide that could absorb bullets and energy fire. An overdeveloped muscular system gave the beasts the speed to close the distance, and the strength to rip any potential prey to shreds. Their size, coupled with their agility had spelled the end of innumerable wastelanders. Even seasoned mercenaries underestimated the sneaking ability of a ten-foot tall blender with twelve inch long talons.

Hyper-aggressive, packs of deathclaws would claim areas as territory and guard them fiercely. Any family unit meant babies, eggs, or both. For all the might of the alpha males, the nesting mothers would defend their clutch with a fatalistic drive. And the females only grew wiser, and deadlier with age and experience. On their own, even baby deathclaws could kill a full grown human. And without adults to lead them, they instinctively stayed close to one another and ambushed aggressors in a gang of ravenous tooth and talon.

On one of his outings to observe them in the wild, he had watched the carnivores employ different hunting tactics for each situation. Things like molerats, or radstags, they would simply outrun the creatures and bear them down, often decapitating or just jumping onto the target, crushing with mass alone. For more dangerous prey, such as yao guai, or giant radscorpions, Rowan had witnessed the reptilian hunters move with nimble purpose, stalking unseen towards their target. Once within pouncing distance, the deathclaw would strike with berserk fury, overwhelming their foe with brutal swipes of their primary killing tools.

In the steps between cover, a triangular tracking pip appeared in Rowan's vision above the deathclaw's head. Panning his weapon to follow the distant target, he took in quick snapshots of the predator. With the cars as reference the young man noted the wasteland predator to be rather small.

"Is it just a juvenile fresh from a nest?" Rowan muttered to himself. It was a bad habit. A reclusive nature in a desolate wasteland was not a good mental health combination. Rambling to Lana always helped keep his mind in order. She was never impatient or judgemental. "Migrating maybe? Pushed out of its territory by humans or another pack? It's not moving like its hunting."

In most other circumstances, the young man would have let the creature of the wastes pass peacefully on its way.

Until he saw the backpack and other items festooned with Brotherhood of Steel iconography he did not recognize. Increasing the magnification of his optic, he could make out more detail. The deathclaw was adorned with numerous oddities. It had dusky cloth draped around its waist, hanging from its shoulders, and partly across what appeared to be a traveling pack. Rowan had heard tell of the hated Enclave using technology to brainwash deathclaws to do their bidding. Although he could not see anything on the bipedal reptile's head, cybernetics could be easily hidden.

Even in power armor, the deathclaw was far too dangerous to approach. And he could not just ask the creature what it was doing after all. Alarm crept up his neck as he considered the ramifications of a deathclaw with weaponry. There were many explanations for the anomalous creature. None of them great. The Brotherhood's enemies outnumbered its allies by a thousand fold. And in Rowan's personal experience, the bad had a similar ratio to good out in the wasteland.

As the young man was weighing his options, the deathclaw was getting awfully close to one of the many traps he had dotted along the length of road.

A common sight among the thousands of miles of broken concrete and asphalt were pieces of industrial machinery. From tractors and combines, to towering cargo haulers and of course, old army hardware. Old world America had been rife with militarization. And that legacy remained, left to rust with all the other opulent land cruisers. Held in the long metal forks of an old digging bot, was a shipping container that Rowan had made into a cage of sorts, to come down like a deadfall trap.

The bait was a canvas duffel bag fluffed up with junk to make it appear full. They were a sure sign of good loot without feeling overt. Rowan had once tried using a nylon bag, yet even starving raiders had walked by the cheaper replacement without noticing it. To attract animals, there was a partly opened can of meat stew. An irresistible delicacy. Once within sight, the deathclaw's interest was piqued.

Fascinated, the former vault dweller watched the wasteland hunter circle the bag and raise its head to sniff the air. The predator paused, and cocked its head to listen, then moved and repeated its actions. The animals had excellent noses and hearing, but could not see nearly as well. After satisfying its safety, the beast stepped within range. Using his Pip-Boy, Rowan activated the lifter remotely.

The cargo container came down with a slam, landing the creature squarely in the confines of a multi-ton metal box.

With a self-satisfied smile, the trapper stood up from his rocky lookout. Then elation turned to panic as the deathclaw began carving through the solid steel bars.

Cursing and fumbling for his small crossbow, Rowan put a hasty trio of tranquilizer darts into the back of the raging beast. The curated radscorpion venom did its work quickly. Near instantaneously crippling a stampeding deathclaw was a very useful hunting and self-defense weapon. His first version, made from surgical tubing and a toy car did its job, but was slow. An automatic air piston magazine attached to a polymer frame eliminated that issue.

Within the jaws of the deadfall, the deathclaw reached back and yanked out the bolts with a roar that vibrated the trap. Before it could resume tearing free, the deathclaw teetered for a moment, desperately fighting the toxin and finally fell.

Rowan let air he did not know he had been holding whistle through his teeth before keying his radio.

"Lana, get one of the bots down to the cage trap on the highway. I caught a big one."

"Right away, sir." Lana's synthetic voice crackled through the radio.

****

With a furrowed brow, the seasoned wastelander regarded the unconscious creature the same way he would a mini nuke with a Christmas bow on it. It was a risk bringing the deathclaw back to his home if someone was tracking its whereabouts.

Rowan's little fortress was a remodeled Red Rocket gas station. One of the ground level garages was a workshop that he had converted for use. Which made it easy for the container with the deathclaw in it to be put up against the cargo door of the shop.

Rowan had entered the container with his armor on, and his gun at the ready.

Closer examination revealed the deathclaw to be female. Rather surprising with her relatively small frame. She was quite pale in color, though not albino, lacking the pink hue. Creams and strips of white adorned the tough hide.

Her belly was a chalky bronze. Streaks of white faded along the deathclaw's limbs, weaving through the thicker hide. Tan and grey adorned the hunched back. Ivory protrusions of bone, designed to make it impossible for an attacker to climb on the predator's back, marched in serried ranks. A pair of immense, forward curving horns sprouted from the deathclaw's head. Aside from her size, she appeared on the surface no different than other examples of the hulking reptile that could be found stalking the wastes.

Rowan once had the immense misfortune of encountering a glowing deathclaw. That had been an insane time of his life. Trekking through the vast, blighted expanse of an irradiated hellscape, having narrowly escaped an army of slavers. He had fought the neon green monstrosity during a radstorm no less. Every bolt of lightning caused his Geiger counter to have a minor stroke. Pyroclastic flow had pulled his metal shod feet into the mud. His weight worked against him as the storm raged. It had been in his earlier days, with only a salvaged suit of power armor made of cobbled together T-60 and T-51 to keep himself safe.

It had been like fighting a shard of the apocalypse, coalesced into fangs, teeth, and raw killing power. Even in his armor, Rowan had felt the invisible fire of radiation prickling his insides with its sickly heat. He shuddered to recall that fight. It had chased him to a broken skyscraper, sunken into the hungry earth. Only by the narrowest margin had he overcome the goliath, and cast its broken body from the heights of the concrete shell of the old world.

Even though the female before him was younger, if Rowan was any judge of deathclaw age based on horn structure, she was heavily scarred. A long, and violent personal history had been stitched into the creature like fields of razor wire. Even as her old injuries told a story, the contorted tissue only deepened the mystery. There were marks that were to be expected, long, raking furrows, the edges of which formed puckered trenches. Tooth and claw leaving their impressions. But bullet holes too? Dots lined some of the wounds. The kind that field stitches or medical staples would leave. Even the telltale spiderweb burn of plasma impacts were present, marching in a row up a calf. Looking at her, Rowan felt a particular spot on his own chest throb in sympathy.

On one of the long, humanoid arms was a peculiar red coloration. Wrapping around the forearm was a winding serpent tattoo. It was entrancing in its menace. The intricately depicted scales appeared to undulate with the slightest motion. As Rowan followed the winding path of the serpent's tail, he saw its head had been replaced by a wicked ram skull. Fangs and a forked tongue adorned the hellish representation. The body curled possessively around the deathclaw's limb.

Who had put it there? And why?

The more he saw, the more the young man was confused. Shaking his head, Rowan credited the oddity of the deathclaw to the greater mystery and focused.

Several belts circled the deathclaw's waist. Tools, a canteen, and grenades adorned the bandoliers. Ballistic weave was draped about the deathclaws hips and shoulders, embroidered in fading brotherhood logos. Hanging from a hip harness was a pair of deathclaw sized metal gauntlets that had microfusion cells attached to them. With great care, keeping his plasma rifle pointed at her, Rowan stripped the explosives, weapons, and pack from the sedated female and exited the cage.

Then the young man left for a minute to remove the encumbering garment and returned to take stock of the deathclaws possessions. Whilst he nearly lived every waking moment in his armor, there were tasks that required fine motor control to perform. Like rifling through a pack taken from a sleeping deathclaw.

Without his armor, he was just a lanky human. Underneath was just a plain white shirt, dark pants, and simple work boots. The only other thing on his person was a Pip-Boy. A lifetime spent underground gave him an ashen complexion. Wearing his power armor as much as he did was little help. Though wasteland sun was hardly healthy. Dirty blond hair hung over alert brown eyes. Baby fat in his face had been stripped away years ago, yet there was a softness around his eyes that the wasteland had not yet buried, and a mournfulness in his cheeks that life had ingrained its lessons deeply.

Rowan glanced at the sleeping deathclaw, then took a seat on a swivel stool with the possessions of the reptilian biped spread out on a work table. Numerous gadgets in various states of assembly rested on the bench. A Enclave eyebot sat with its guts of wires and circuits laid out, a fatal screwdriver driven deep into its central control casing. Perhaps left there out of spite. Cables snaked into the bot and connected to a terminal and radio assembly, currently powered off. There were stacks of technical manuals, some closed, and others open, weighted down with spare wrenches.

The entire space had been put through serious retrofitting. The grey concrete was smooth, and the ceiling fixtures new. Long, fluorescent workshop lights gave the garage a crisp illumination. Power conduits gave current to the many hungry terminals, stations, lathe, and drill press. Tools of nearly every size and description adorned the walls. Some made, most looted, and all nicked with use, yet cared for. Powered and manual, nearly every wall was crammed full of hanging implements.

An armorer's workbench and an industrial furnace sat against the far wall. Though it was dark, the furnace had seen a lot of use, its mouth blackened by soot and carbon residue. A barrel full of quenching water and oil were right beside the electric power hammer. Dings and scratches adorned the pneumatic press. From the jaws of numerous vices and vigilant calipers, several sets of power armor had been manufactured from scratch. Although spacious, the garage did not have enough room to fit the larger fabricators Rowan needed for machining the more advanced parts. They were located downstairs in the deeper reaches of his mountain home.

While there was a power armor station in the workshop, it was occupied by a mostly bare frame. Rowan used it for fitting new pieces, and sometimes for painting old ones. An airbrush station leaned against a shelf full of paint cans. Pages and poster inserts from old hot rod magazines were posted all around the shelf, with detailing tape hanging from hooks. The nozzle of the sprayer was a bright polished silver with a jug of paint thinner nearby. A layered patina of many colors stained the outside of the airbrush reservoir.

Rowan sat at the center of it all, tackling this latest problem with calm logic, trying to solve it like a faulty servo.

After careful examination of the various bits of survival gear, navigation implements, and weapons, Rowan almost believed he was looking at a Brotherhood of Steel knight sent on a long mission. Though he found no caps. Only a heaping stack of United States currency and a sack of soda can tabs. Someone had clearly gone through a lot of effort to dress the deathclaw up in all the trappings of the Brotherhood.

"But to what end? Why? I can't let her hurt the Brotherhood." Rowan once more spoke aloud to himself. "Did they reverse engineer the Enclave controllers? Make it into something like beta wave tech? Where did they send her?" He swiveled in his chair and froze.

The deathclaw was wide awake and standing. Its eyes were fixed on Rowan. And she looked pissed. Even with her smaller size, the wasteland carnivore still had about a foot in stature and several hundred pounds of muscle on him. A hiss filled the space like a steam engine.

"Woah, easy. Easy, girl. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just need to make sure you're not booby-trapped." Rowan held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. Though he held little hope that the creature could understand his words or calming tone.

"Releassse me at once, human." The deathclaw maintained an unwavering glare.

"Holy mother of nukes, you can fucking talk!" Rowan leaned forward on his stool. A deathclaw could sometimes stun smaller creatures with powerful shouts and he had heard that some specimens could parrot words with their robust throats. Though they were supposed to be incapable of real human speech. And of non-human intelligence for that matter.

The deathclaw let out a long, very exasperated hiss, covering her face with a hand.

"Of course I can talk, you sssavage. By the eldersss. Are all humans in the wastesss this sheltered or ssstupid! In the past week alone I've run into a talking dog. Talking mushroomsss. Even a talking molerat." In agitation, her sibilant accent shined through as the deathclaw gestured angrily. Some of her sisters had rather masculine voices, and through a few generations and a bit of training her versatile vocal cords, the female had resonant contralto timbre. A slightly higher pitch at least made sure humans did not mix her up with a male.

"Okay, so why does a deathclaw have Brotherhood tech? I've never seen this chapter's symbol before." Rowan pointed to the solid blue geared blade symbol on the female's traveling garb.

"I have that gear, because I am Brotherhood. Now, if you know of us, you should know the consequences of asssssaulting and detaining a Paladin." A forked tongue flickered with her imperious command.

"There's no way you're Brotherhood. No way. I appreciate the strength of Maxson's leadership, but he's rather harsh when it comes to non-humans. Even ones that talk. I'm an honorary knight, so don't try to trick me." Rowan lifted his chin and puffed his chest out.

"I've met a few honorary knights. They were always instated to make sssome political move. Never real fightersss. The coastal chapter alwaysss had it easy. Gallivanting about. Getting to be picky about who they recruited. We had to struggle. We had to square our shoulders and adapt. We were the ones who broke the back of the super mutant army time and time again." Her voice rang out like a warcry. A declaration of might and glory won through battle.

"If you're not with the reformed east and west Brotherhood under Maxson, then where are you from?" Light-headed, Rowan feebly asked.

Her gaze locked onto his like an assaultron beam.

"I am Paladin Lord Katya, of the Midwestern Brotherhood. Devil sssquad demolitionsss and ssstealth ssspecialist. Great-grandaughter of the Mother, wisest matriarch." Katya slammed a palm into her chest, honoring her lineage along with her brothers and sisters of steel. An accusatory claw jabbed the air as she turned the interrogation around on her kidnapper. "Where did a sssavage like yourself get power armor? And what chapter would be incompetent enough to take in a wastelander with so little sssense?" Katya's words dripped with sizzling scorn.

"Well... Uh, you're the one in the cage, so I'm asking the questions."

"You mean the cage I picked ten minutes ago?" Katya opened the cage with a flippantly casual push. The unlocked and unlatched cage door squealed open on old hinges and the deathclaw emerged to stand at her full height. Crossing her arms and tail lashing the floor in agitation, she waited for his answer.

"Oh," He deadpanned. "Uh, I mean you no harm?" Rowan sat very still, so as to not make any moves that could be seen as aggressive.

"If that was an attempt at persuasion, then you failed." She chided.

"Sorry about the... Tranquilizing and capturing you... Thing. I really wasn't going to... Uh, hurt you?" Rowan's mind was racing faster than a raider on a mentats bender.

"Mhm." She deadpanned, resisting the urge to run her tongue over her teeth.

Exhaling and summoning every ounce of his bravery to try and bluff himself into thinking he knew what he was doing, Rowan stood up and tried not to think about how he was in a small space with an angry, talking deathclaw without his armor on.

"Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Rowan, and I'm glad to meet you, Paladin Katya." He made sure to include her honorific, knowing the importance that Paladins played in any Brotherhood hierarchy. With a fist to his heart, he returned the Brotherhood salute, thinking better of offering a handshake.

Although Katya wished to remain angry, this human was one of the very few since leaving the Midwest who had not either ran away screaming, or shot at her. A few weeks ago, she had an opportunity to trade. However the wandering man had simply been too high on Jet to realize she was not a hallucination.

"I suppossse I should forgive one lapse in judgment. Your indessscretion is excused, knight. Just make sure you're more careful in the future." She chided again.

Rowan breathed a little easier as his own disembowelment seemed much less likely. It was still a little hard to swallow, but the young man was nothing, if not adaptable.

"Since you're here, I would be shirking my duties as a host if I didn't offer you a hot meal, and a tour of my home. Shall we discuss things over dinner?" Everyone liked good food, Rowan hoped.

Though neither would admit it, both were burningly curious about the other. Katya was furiously thinking of an excuse to stay and interrogate the seasoned wastelander, while Rowan was floored to actually be talking with an intelligent deathclaw.

"If you're trying to make up for shooting me, then it might be a ssstart." Still suspicious, she was allured at the idea of a warm food. Katya maintained her aloofness until she got a better grasp of what kind of person Rowan was. And the idea of another night spent roasting radroach on a spit was repulsive.

Rowan held out an arm and led the way through one of the other doors in the garage. Though he sheepishly averted his focus as Katya made a show of collecting her things back into her bag and rearming herself.

The converted Red Rocket gas station of Rowan's home, was just big enough to have a small diner built into its front before the war. It had been refurbished, with most of the old booths ripped out and recycled. A large round table occupied the oval space, sitting at the center of the natural light the wide windows afforded. Late evening sun poured in. Well-tended ferns in pots dotted the perimeter. However, the bar and bar stools remained, and the kitchen had been rebuilt to accommodate top-quality pre-war appliances.

Though he enjoyed nice meals, Rowan lacked both skill and motivation in the cooking department. In his adventuring days, he had mostly eaten warmed up canned goods and the meatiest wasteland creature he could cook over a campfire.

Being a gentlemen, Rowan pulled up a seat for his new lady friend and sat down across from her. Though the chair creaked under her weight, it held. Katya was secretly testing to see if the wastelander was competent enough to make decent furniture. The deathclaw set her pack on the floor beside herself, thick tail curled protectively around the bag.

"Bertrand!" Rowan called out. "Mr. Handys are fantastic cooks." When the young man had found the chef holotape for Bertrand, he had nearly jumped for joy.

"You have robotic workersss?" She raised a brow.

"Oh yes, Bertrand is a premium domestic Mr. Handy. He's got butler, chef, and farmer routines. Ever since I found that One-Hundred Flamethrower Recipes book, his barbecue has been fantastic. Between him, a pair of construction bots, and Lana, most of my home runs itself. I converted one of the garages into a robotic workbench area. From there it was a simple matter of time, material, and those builder bots."

"The robots you can find in the Midwessst are quite different. Most of them have been destroyed, but there was a ssslight homicidal issue. And not all of them got the kill signal when the Brotherhood destroyed their command and control." Though it had been a few generations ago, the Midwest still held a bit of a grudge against machines.

Rowan nodded in understanding. Many human tribals had longstanding taboos against technology for many reasons. It was easy for parts of mankind to revert, believing that it was better to forsake everything that went into the end of the world and the society that had ended it.

Quick to answer his creator's call, Bertrand hovered to the table.

"Sir, there appears to be a deathclaw in the house." His accent was set to posh, and the metal butler wavered in uncertainty.

"Bertrand, this is Paladin Katya. There was a slight mix up, but she is our guest. And we'd like to have dinner." Rowan put heavy emphasis on the 'guest' part.

"Of course, sir! Guests, how lovely!" The Mr. Handy turned a bit and bobbed downward in a bow his chassis accommodated. "Allow me to offer my deepest and most sincere apologies, mum. I can get you a menu, or my to-order functions include a wide range of dish combinations." Rotating his limbs, Bertrand clicked his pincer and spun his buzz saw hand in readiness.

"A thick cut brahmin steak, please. Medium rare." Katya rubbed her chin thoughtfully. She considered her request, and then remembered Rowan shooting her with tranquilizer bolts. "With some Cram stir-fry as a side."

"Might I recommend a lovely red wine reduction to go with your side?" Bertrand chirped.

The Paladin had heard of some Mr. Handy personalities erring on the side of snobbish, but she quite enjoyed the novelty of being given the five-star treatment.

"Hm, I trust your recommendation, Bertrand." Katya had no idea what a reduction was, yet remembered reading somewhere that red wine went well with red meat. Though she would never admit it, Katya was always jealous of her squad leader being invited to all the officer dinners. It was not as though the deathclaw was treated poorly or fed table scraps. Practicality ruled the Brotherhood. And it was less for the food, more for the prestige. One of her blood sisters had shared similar sentiments. Though it was to show off her newly dyed fur. Which had looked stunning, to be fair.

"Very well. And what can I get you started with to drink?" The Mr. Handy continued.

"Just some ice water for now." Katya flicked her tongue, scenting the mild odor of burning fuel from the robot's jet.

"My pleasure, ma'am. Coming right up!" Bertrand exclaimed, one of his pincers reached behind his chassis and placed a chef's hat comically on top of his torso. Katya raised a brow, wondering where he had been keeping it.

"Just get me the same, Bertrand." Rowan called out after the excitable robot.

"Of course, sir!" The Mr. Handy responded, already lighting the gas range and preparing a cast iron skillet.

"So, what are you doing this far from home, Paladin? Chicago is a long walk from here." Rowan set his elbows on the table, curiosity making it difficult to even sit still.

"Many of our knightsss and paladins set off on long missions. Not everyone comes back. But every time we have one of our errant members return, they always do so with priceless relics or knowledge of the old world. I'm also on a long pilgrimage to uncover the ancient roads acrossss the rocky mountains. And to see if any of our old Brotherhood chapterss remain." Katya offered, then countered with a question of her own.

"How do you get your power?" She began, having been examining everything within sight since she had woken up.

"Fusion reactors. I made due with solar power for a long time before I came across the schematics. I can get you a copy, of course. I've turned in piles of blueprints to the Brotherhood. It was a godsend when I first got it. But the fifth copy was a bit redundant." Rowan was quite proud of the bit of wasteland he had brought light to.

"Fusion reactorsss? That's advanced stuff. If you're just an honorary knight, where did you learn your skills?" Katya clicked her claws over the gauntlets hanging from her hip in a compulsive gesture.

"I was a mechanic back in my vault, and I've had plenty of practice out here." His voice was a bit distant with nostalgia stained sorrow.

"You're a vault dweller? Which one are you from?" Tech hunter training kicked in, and her eyes darted to the young man's wrist. Sure enough, the telltale Pip-Boy gave him away. It was a later generation model, slimmer and blended with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Well, it's not really there anymore. And I didn't keep my jumpsuit. Never liked blue and yellow." Rowan pointedly avoided eye contact and Katya did not press him.

"Why are you out here on your own then? I'm sure with your knowledge, one of the big cities would pay you well." She reasoned.

"I have a good surplus of food and water, so I'm fairly well off in terms of money. I converted one of the garages into a guest bedroom. Sometimes traveling merchants need to stay the night, so I get plenty of opportunity to trade without need to trek all the way to a settlement. My place is the only safe spot in a very long stretch of one of the major caravan routes."

Folding his arms over his chest, Rowan shook his head.

"I spent a few years doing the adventurer thing. Saw the sights. Killed some monsters and wasteland warlords. Found some treasure. Realized that the future is what we make of it. I know I'm just one man. But I'm not really interested in the settlement founding thing. I never had the patience to babysit adults and all their problems. I just wanted to make a difference in my own way."

Katya nodded in understanding. She remembered other members of her squad complaining about tribal communities under their protection whining incessantly for help with the most mundane tasks. It did not take someone in power armor to find a lost brahmin.

"From the teachings of our most venerated elder, 'A scalpel can be deadlier than a hammer'. He perfected our squad level tacticsss. The warrior sssaved the Midwestern Brotherhood more than once."

"In the Midwest, aren't there mostly hairy deathclaws?" Katya's appearance had been nagging at Rowan since first seeing her. The dangers presented by the wildlife of the wastes was equal to their variety. Radiation did funny things to species.

Katya was impressed by Rowan's knowledge and perception.

"A lot of my brothers and sisters have fur. Though sometimes we'll pop out more reptilian. Mother did... Ah, enjoy her flings." Katya chuckled, recalling how deathclaw and human alike had gathered to watch the fireworks of that particular relationship spat.

"I didn't know deathclaws could have such different offspring within a family group. I've heard of hairy deathclaws, but never seen one."

"Oh, I had fur for a little bit. A scribe once dropped a vial of Forced Evolutionary Virus. A tiny bit got on me and all my hair fell out. Then I started changing colors. The scribes were excited to see if I could turn invisible. Since we were originally derived from chameleon stock. Although I can blend in better, I can't actually turn invisible. My sssisters were all very jealous though. A win overall in my book." Concentrating, her pale hide darkened a bit, becoming more of a slate that would camouflage her well in many areas of the wasteland.

"How do you know so much about deathclaws?" Katya asked, letting her skin return to its natural color.

"At the nearby city, there's this..." Rowan considered using the word 'nutjob'. "Well let's call her a wildlife enthusiast. She offered me a very generous sum of caps if I would help her complete her book on 'Fantastic Wasteland Creatures, And Where To Find Them'. I have a copy if you're interested. One of the chapters is, of course, about deathclaws. I chased this rumor about a mercenary outpost that had been annihilated by a demon with eyes made of fire that could walk through walls and cut a man in half."

"Hm, you ran into a matriarch, didn't you?" Katya could already guess where the story was going. There was only one thing that could drive such a powerful deathclaw to assault a human stronghold.

"Yeah, it was a crazy fight. Sorry, uh, for... Killing..." He trailed off awkwardly.

Katya held up a claw to forestall the man from babbling apologies. She had been raised with human children, and had picked up many mannerisms, and could easily read social cues from the other species.

"You don't need to be sorry for killing wild deathclaws. In my travels, I've come to understand that my lineage is the exception, rather than the rule." The more she had traveled, the more Katya came to understand how large the world really was. Literal centuries of blood and death were soaked into the land. And it would be centuries more before her personal race could rise higher than the feral broods that populated the land.

"Well, after the fight, I found that the mercs had been hired to steal a bunch of eggs. I... Felt bad. I'd killed this living creature only looking for its babies. In all the fighting, only one of the eggs survived. I took it and brought it to a nest that I knew. And... They didn't attack me. Several just watched from the cliffs and I just... Put the egg back in one of their nests. An alpha came up and sniffed me over a few times and afterwards he just watched until I left. But they didn't chase me. From then on, I've only killed deathclaws in self-defense."

Tapping her gauntlets thoughtfully, Katya nodded sagely. The tale resonated with her.

"The greatessst warrior of our chapter is the one who saved my matriarch. There was a group of humans, known as the beastlords, that could control animals with a psychic mutation. They were a brief, but ferocious foe, with armies of insects and animals. Assaulting settlements and even taking a large town hostage. The Brotherhood thought they were controlling the deathclaws too, until the warrior was sent on the mission to assault the beastlord stronghold. In the depths of the dungeons, he came across the matriarch. Caged. Even her babies were fighting and dying to save her. So she made a vow, that if the warrior would free her, and by proxy her children, they would join the Brotherhood."

"How was she able to convince the warrior that she was telling the truth?" Leaning forward, Rowan hung on Katya's every word. He was obviously eager to learn anything he could.

"Well, the story goes that it was the fire in her eyes. That, and when they opened her prison, she ran off and single-handedly slaughtered the emperor of the beastlords and all of his personal guards. The warrior escorted the matriarch back to the Brotherhood bunker and the elders at the time discussed her proposal personally. They accepted her offer, along with the mother and her brood as recruitsss." The Paladin turned her arm over and regarded the crimson tattoo with fondness.

"I've never heard of a chapter that accepted anything other than humans, no offense." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Rowan nearly bit his tongue. Fortunately, Katya merely shrugged.

"There are extenuating circumstances when it comes to differences in ideology, it's true. The Brotherhood's history is not all Nuka-Cola and sunshine. There are sssome sects within our ranks that would have forbidden all non-humans, and even tribal humans for that matter, as recruits. Even if it meant the destruction of the Brotherhood. My chapter, fortunately, is ruled by more level heads. Its what led to the division between the old elders of the west coast, and those sent east across the mountains."

Katya shook her head at the futility of engaging in racial quarreling with omnicidal robots knocking down the door. She was no fool though, realizing that many chapters outside the Midwest would never accept her even in the face of Armageddon. Enlightenment, and equality were luxuries for peacetime. The Paladin Lord had earned her rank through deeds alone. And although she hoped to be judged by her actions, death did not discriminate between human or deathclaw.

"We were also in the middle of a war on an ever increasing scale. The clash with the super mutant army, the Reavers, and then the robotic forces of the Calculator immediately after forced my chapter to accept certain levels of survival. The robots were like an army of the undead, whose only goal was the destruction of every living thing."

A bright gout of flame erupted from the kitchen. Katya lifted her snout and caught the mouth-watering allure of roasting steak.

"The Calculator?" Rowan asked.

"Sorry, many regard the events, as well as the existence of Vault Zero to be non-canon." Katya waved an apologetic claw.

"Non what?" Rowan arched a brow.

"Old world phrase. Means fake." She explained, as if it was clearly evident.

"Ah, I see." He in fact, did not.

"In the end, a surgical strike against the heart of the machine menace, the Calculator, was mounted. By the warrior no less. It was a mass of brains, linked together in computer network meant to direct its army of robots to rebuild after the bombs. Things had gone horribly wrong. The brains were riddled with dementia, paranoia, and degenerative disorders caused by radiation leaks. Confronted with the monstrosity, the warrior felt that it was best to destroy the Calculator and halt its armies from causing any more death." Katya shuddered to imagine being nothing but a brain in a jar. Unable to move or feel.

"The Brotherhood, destroying something like that. Did anyone disagree?" Though he did not know the Paladin well enough, Rowan had similar experience with techno-biological gestalts going wrong.

"Oh yes. The decision has been a matter of great debate for nearly a century. By his own account, the Calculator had become something that could not be reasoned with. No bargain would sway it. No amount of repairs could fix the fundamental flaws in its programming. Every brain of its gestalt were little more than lobotomized mush. Useless except for more processing power for the Calculator, and only further twisting its corrupted logic."

"What other option did he have?" Rowan had a mild, understanding tone. The former vault dweller knew that there were never clear cut resolutions to such decisions.

"Well, near the Calculator was a brain extraction device, and he could have sacrificed himself to attempt to wrest control of the Calculator to the Brotherhood. Corners had been cut in the life support for its brains. Though apparently it tried to argue that a single healthy brain could have sssalvaged the network." Katya was careful to not let her bias show too much, curious on how Rowan would respond.

"That doesn't sound like a very sure thing." Rowan said with clear disdain.

[Katya liked that.]

"Exactly right." She agreed.

Right on time, Bertrand returned with a platter full of food and drinks to the table. He set a pair of plates and cups of water, ice clinking against the glass, in front of both diners. Aromatic steam wafted from a classy spread of steak, and cubed Cram stir-fry lightly drizzled with red wine sauce.

"Please, let me know if the steak done to your liking. And if you would like sauce, or perhaps salt?" The posh tone was intrinsic to his functions. Bertrand gave his limbs a spin and gestured askance with a buzz saw hand and patiently waited for the verdict on his presentation.

The Paladin Lord was no brahmin humping savage, and conducted herself with grace befitting her station. With a single razor sharp talon, she carved off a hunk of steak with an easy flick. Skewering the morsel with the same digit, she then popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Unable to hold back, Katya moaned heartily as elegantly prepared meat exploded in flavor on her tongue. The outer sear was beautiful, encrusted with a salted mixture, giving way to a wonderful medium rare. Her jaws filled with rich juices as her taste buds swam in an ocean of the cut's robust, savory profile. When Rowan had brought up flamethrower cooking, the Paladin had worried that she would be eating steak more burnt, than cooked, and was pleasantly surprised.

"It's... It's amazing." Katya answered, already helping herself to another slice. The corners of her mouth turned up in a toothy smile.

"I'm glad it's pleasing to your palette, miss Katya. Do not hesitate to ask for anything at all!" The butler bot tipped his chef hat and zipped away to bustle about in the kitchen.

Rowan cut himself a bit of steak with knife and fork, relaxing a little further at seeing his guest enjoying her meal.

For a time, they were both quiet, collecting their thoughts and savoring the warm food. At least until Katya took a drink. Fortunately, she had the advantage of thumbs and easily lifted the glass. There was still a bit of suspicion not entirely dispelled and her forked tongue flickered over the water. Believing it to be free of poison, she took a hearty gulp of the refreshing beverage.

"You're full of surprises, Rowan. You have to tell me your purification techniques. This is... Well it's the best water I've ever had." Katya said, intrigued to find delicious tasting water quite the novel concept.

"Reverse osmosis. By forcing the water through special filter membranes, it gets out everything that isn't water on a chemical level. It just takes a lot of power. But I think it's worth it." Rowan nodded proudly.

"You don't waste this on dish washing or lawn care, do you?" Katya leveled an accusatory stare over the rim of her cup.

"No, no. I only use this water for drinking or bottled for trading. I've got industrial purifiers for crops and plumbing." Rowan had almost completely forgotten that Katya was a talking, sentient deathclaw. She was sharply intelligent. A trained operative through and through. The harsh realities of a militant organization meant that the smart survived. The strong and clever endured to lay their clutch, and shaped the generations that followed.

Katya began to feel that she was getting the measure of the human sitting across from her. Though she had some suspicions still.

"So, being from a vault, and with so much of your kit relying on advanced gear, was it hard starting out?" Even completely unarmed, her claws were the deadliest close combat weapons in all the wastes, and could not imagine having to rely on something as difficult to maintain as energy weapons and power armor. While Katya could wield neither staples of Brotherhood knights, she knew how to judge when someone was bluffing about them.

Rowan heaved a heavy sigh.

"You have no idea. All of my expertise was in laser weapons. The first thing I had to defend myself was a nine millimeter pistol. It's kind of embarrassing how long it took me to figure out you had to pack magazines. I mean, I was a mechanic. Not some security goon." Rowan took another bite of his own steak.

"What, you didn't think they just came with bullets already in them, did you?" Katya stifled a laugh and leisurely skewed hunks of Cram. The red wine gave the processed meat a much needed sweetness that balanced out the salt and preservatives of the canned protein. Rowan finished chewing and took a swig of water before continuing.

"It was kind of hard to concentrate when radroaches were trying very hard to chew my feet off. With the strength enhancement of my armor, I learned how to swing a blade quickly." With an indignant wave, Rowan gestured to his boots. "God, I had no idea what I was doing with that stupid thing. Sold it as soon as I could and bought all the microfusion cells I could carry." Rowan made a finger gun and sighted down an invisible barrel off to his side. "It wasn't until later that I learned about bullet drop. Lasers are only affected by gravity and the rotation of the earth for goodness' sake."

Katya chuckled at his ranting.

"When I found my first laser pistol, I was very happy. I used that poor gun until it was more duct tape than anything else. Unfortunately I didn't keep my first suit of power armor. I found it rusting near a crashed Vertibird. Just half a suit of old T-forty-five. One leg. One arm. And no helmet. But boy did it help." No slouch in inquisitiveness, Rowan turned the conversation back on his guest.

"Your bullet resistant cloth is impressive. I've tinkered with under-layers using ballistic fiber. Since you have some protection, have you ever thought of improving it?"

Bertrand hovered over with a glass pitcher and topped off both diner's glasses.

Now it was Katya's turn to sigh.

"Yesss, in retrospect, it was kind of stupid of me to leave my armor behind. I thought that traveling light would be best." Her hand moved under the table and fiddled with the embroidered waist cloth, rubbing the embroidered winged blade and gears.

Rowan nodded in understanding.

"I learned the weight lesson the hard way too. Typewriters and desk fans get heavy." He still got giddy over certain pieces of junk for their specific components whenever he found them, even though he had a fair stockpile of material. Especially duct tape. Lots of duct tape. He could never have too much duct tape. It was a bit unhealthy.

"I'm sorry, but why on earth would you carry around typewriters and desk fans?" A bit incredulously, Katya's brow knitted together.

"To any machinist, screws are worth their weight in gold, okay?" He saw the disbelief in her expression. "Don't judge me. I stripped a lot of ruins around my vault for parts and just collected them in this abandoned shack until I got an army infantry transport running." That had been one of his favorite projects.

"Oh? You have a working vehicle. That's rare outside the Brotherhood." Katya inwardly cringed, reminded of yet another luxury she had taken for granted.

Rowan shrugged, casually brushing off the technical miracle in the wasteland.

"It was important at the time. Really helped lugging around my power armor and junk. Since it was just me, I crammed a lot of stuff in there. It was my base of operations until I settled on this place and got to work. Couldn't farm anything on a truck. It was also a safe place to sleep at night. Most folks look at it and see just another burnt out husk. When Lana first joined me, it was nice to finally have someone to watch my back. Even though my carrier wasn't big enough for a robot workbench, there was usually a nearby settlement that did."

An idea occurred to the young man, and he pondered it over his own mouthful of Cram stir-fry.

"I could help you make another set of armor before you leave, since you don't have any caps. It might make it easier to identify you to other Brotherhood chapters. Avoid friendly fire." Rowan carefully skirted around his own blunder from earlier.

"Ugh, why is scrip and pull tabs only recognized in the Midwest? Stupid wasteland currency." Although it was not as though the Paladin had had many chances to spend her funds since leaving her bunker, it was still galling not being able to cash in her livelihood. Preferably into an imaginary hotel or resort where she could live in the lap of luxury for a few years. A girl could dream after all. "Although I appreciate the offer, I'm not sure if that would be a good idea. Wouldn't it make me more conspicuous? And threatening for that matter."

Rowan considered this.

"Deathclaws are already... Y'know, fearsome. It's up to you. Things might get hot regardless of what you're wearing, but at least you'll have something other than your skin to catch bullets. Funny enough, you're not the first traveling Brotherhood member I've helped. I'm a well known stop with the local chapter. So rather than pay me... You... Wouldn't happen to want to go on a little scavenging trip with me, would you?" He ventured, sheepishly hoping she would say yes.

"First dinner, and now a date? We've just met, Rowan. You're quite forward." Katya teased.

The young man spluttered like a scribe, green around the gills, asking out the knight he had a secret crush on. As Bertrand returned to collect their empty dishes, Rowan quickly recovered his composure.

"It's already rather late, so how about I give you that tour I promised tomorrow? And since you've been on traveling for a while, would you like to wash off the dirt of the road? I know most Brotherhood bunkers are outfitted with good facilities. I have those industrial purifiers, so water's no problem." He offered.

For the first time since meeting, Katya's professional facade faltered.

"Please, that would be wonderful. I never knew how much I'd miss regular bathing." Katya shifted uncomfortably in her seat, certain that there was fallout in places it really did not belong.

Rowan gave a sympathetic laugh. One of the fastest ways into a visiting Brotherhood knight or paladin's heart was the prospect of indoor plumbing. He stood and walked to the side of the diner they had emerged from earlier.

"Like I said, I keep a guest room ready in case of visitors. I'll show you." He tilted his head to indicated the way.

Slinging her pack over one shoulder, Katya followed her host through the workshop they had been in earlier, into the next garage over that Rowan had converted into his guestroom. He had discreetly gotten Lana to remove the cargo cage from his workshop earlier with his Pip-Boy. The Red Rocket stop had three such areas, with one set aside for travelers seeking shelter, one for his above ground crafting area, and one to house and maintain his infantry fighting vehicle. The majority of his home was located underground, built into the mountain. Rowan had never felt comfortable sleeping under the open sky, being vault born.

The guest room may as well have been a resort by wasteland standards. A good deal of interior design work had gone into making the space feel livable. It was a far cry from the spartan barracks most Brotherhood members lived in. For one thing, a thick area rug kept the occupants feet off the cold concrete floor. It was situated under a generous, full sized bed, nightstand with an alarm clock, and wardrobe. A steamer trunk for belongings sat at the foot of the bed. All the furniture was a dark, polished oak. A ceiling fan gave off a soft, yellow light, and a combination heater and air conditioning unit was hooked up to the Red Rocket's main power for temperature control comfort. There was even a little two-tier bookshelf with some magazines, and a Nuka-Cola lamp.

About a quarter of the room was hidden by a standing divider. Staggered wood panels had a parchment finish with tree motifs in a black woodcut style. If nothing else, Vault-Tec knew how to program decorations into its Pip-Boy building features. And of course, the garage door could be opened in case a visiting merchant had a pack animal they did not want out of reach.

Rowan reached out and flicked on the light switch as the sun faded. He stepped off to the aside and

"Please, make yourself comfortable. The shower is on the other side of that divider there, and it should be plenty big enough. There's soap, towels, and a sink too. If you need anything, Bertrand will be floating around, doing his thing. I'll have breakfast ready in the morning. Oh-eight-hundred sound alright?"

"This is all... Very generous of you, Rowan." Katya said it, and she meant it. The Paladin was staggered by the treatment she had received. Sure, he had shot her, but he had been the first one to apologize for it. Why did she feel guilty? Or so grateful for that matter. Making her good food and offering a bed was expected from a simple honorary member of the Brotherhood owed to a blood and bone born sister of Steel.

"It's the least I can do." Rowan waved a hand dismissively. "Goodnight, Paladin Katya." He said, dipping his head.

"Goodnight, Rowan." She answered, her deep feminine tone a bit fuzzy around the edges. Rowan smiled in return, and closed the door behind himself.

Katya waited a bit, looking around the room for any hidden traps or cameras, testing the doors to make sure they could not lock her in. She was warming up to Rowan, but her special ops training needed to be satisfied. Once she was sure she was not going to have a land mine go off in her sleep, she set her pack down on the steamer trunk and stripped off her belts and traveling garb. Even with her hands, the oversized buckles were designed for her. Even though her journey had been mostly horrible, privacy was something she had come to value, and although she was in as stranger's home, Katya was comfortable getting naked in the seclusion offered by the visitors room. Not all of her brothers and sisters had taken to wearing clothing, but she had.

Pacing around the side of the room divider, she found Rowan was true to his word. A large shower head was set high up the wall, and a drain worked into the floor with a small concrete lip to keep the water from splashing everywhere. A shockingly clean toilet and free standing sink were set nearby. With a mirror too. On a tiny shelf above the sink was a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a few bars of soap. Even fluffy white towels on a rack, just as promised.

She turned the knob for hot, hearing the pipes grumble loudly before a spray positively erupted from the chrome fixture. Excellent water pressure, she thought to herself. Katya held her hand underneath the stream, relishing the cold, wondering if the dial for hot water was just for show. She did not have to wait for long as the liquid soon became scalding, steam quickly filling the space. With a bit of fiddling, she adjusted her shower to a balanced warm, and dove right in.

For a few blissful minutes, she let the water wash away mile after mile of grime and caked on dirt. Closing her eyes, she let the steam clean out the dust from her nose, filling her snout with cleansing moisture. Like pure rain, the water cascaded down her face, neck, back, and legs. It dripped from her claws, and tail while she wiggled her toes. Soap was a little harder for her to use, but she did not mind. The hot water alone was enough to get the worst of the junk from the more sensitive hide of her joints. Radioactive dust had been her only companion on the long road so long it was hard to remember what good company felt like. An unfamiliar ache pulled at her heart, that the comfort of the water helped to soothe.

Since she did not know when the next opportunity to bathe would come, she basked in it for a time. With a talon, she groomed herself of the more stubborn clods of dirt. She was no stranger to long missions, but usually had a sister, or at least squadmates to help clean the more hard to reach places. Being smaller and more flexible at least made her life easier in that regard.

After having spent entirely too long bathing, she turned off the shower and grabbed a towel to dry off. Lots of practice had her hold the soft, easily punctured towel with her knuckles and ran it up and down her chest and limbs. Taking yet more time to bask in the lingering steam, Katya's muscles gradually unknotted themselves. When downgraded from soaking wet to merely damp, she hung the towel back on its rack and wandered to the bed. Experimentally, she pushed her palm against the mattress. It was firm. Katya was relieved. Too soft would have made it difficult to sleep after so many nights with nothing but a hide bedroll.

Katya sat, stretching her arms and straining her tail to stand at full attention, before laying down. The deathclaw curled her thick tail up and over her leg and hugged it between her thighs.

In his own room, Rowan ran through the day's events for the tenth time.

Both drifted off to sleep, thinking of the other.

****

Katya was awoken by the morning light. Through a window panel in the garage door, an unusually clear ray of sun speared straight into her eyes. With a despondent groan, she tried to stave off the grindstone of dawn. Her mind roused slowly, like it was packed in cotton. All about her was warmth and comfort. A shroud she was not eager to relinquish. Taking her sweet time, the deathclaw uncoiled herself from her sleeping ball. A quick glance at the time made sure she could wake up at her leisure.

Yawning so wide her jaw popped, Katya sat up on the bed and stretched a bit. She was mildly sore, her tendons protesting from not having moved in so long. She had slept so deeply, it was without tossing or turning so her limbs had settled. A nice, long, hot shower had practically caused her to melt into the firm mattress. Without the cold, rocky ground beneath a thin bedroll to fill her joints with cement, it was the good kind of stiff. Straining her knees and wiggling her toes, she raised her arms and did the same with her fingers.

With her blood flowing better, Katya stood.

After refreshing in the bathroom and checking herself over in the mirror, Katya debated what to wear. The Paladin could not just march out naked. She had her decency after all. Carefully weighing out what kind of image she wanted to present, Katya of course buckled on her bullet proof sarong, and her power fist gauntlets hung on its holster. But she felt comfortable leaving off her traveling shroud and pack.

Whether she was aware of it or not, Katya had curated her appearance to show off her assets as she saw them. The battle skirt was lifted in the back to let her thick, shapely tail swing free. And a split on the front showed off a whole lot of leg while she walked in the spirit of the best femme fatales. The Paladin was usually more lax on missions, yet years of competition with her deathclaw sisters always made her present her best. That meant fluffing up her hips and tail.

Walking through the workshop, Katya snooped as much as she could without rousing suspicion from her host. She perused a few manuals that were laying open and flipped through a tall stack of diagrams. Some she recognized, and others were too advanced. However, all the technical achievements Rowan had mentioned in casual passing convinced the Paladin that the garage was just a front. Where were the robotics plans? The chemical formulas for synthesizing the raw material from salvaged ingredients? Many components haphazardly stacked around looked too new to have been salvaged, which meant Rowan had to have machining equipment on site.

Reaffirming her convictions that it was worth her time to stick around, she continued into the diner. If she had known Rowan was going to make it so easy to poke around, Katya would have done it earlier.

Hearing the door open, Rowan looked up with the corners of his mouth curling upward.

He was sitting with his Pip-Boy up on the table, listening to one of the many free radio stations. A tall radio antennae gave him decent reception for the various djs that had cropped up over the years. In his off-hand, an iced Nuka-Cola bottle dripped condensation onto his fingers. Rowan had been casually sipping on the caffeinated drink to get going.

"Good morning, Katya. You have perfect timing. Breakfast should be ready in just a minute." He welcomed the deathclaw with all the affirmation he would any other guest.

"Morning... Rowan," She spilled furtively, taken aback by his informal greeting. Though she tried not to be flustered, the young man's warm attitude thawed the lingering icy fingers of worry Katya had to his intention.

Bertrand hovered over right as Katya sat down, folding her tail up into her lap.

"I am very happy to extend you a warm and welcome morning, miss Katya. I hope this morning fare is to your liking. Master Rowan was insistent, and I have been dying to break out some finer ingredients!" Just like the previous day, Bertrand got to show off his culinary programming. And the Mr. Handy was positively buzzing to perform his stewardly duties. His polished chrome shell seemed especially bright.

Rather than individual plates, Bertrand unloaded a trio of platters stacked with food. Steam wafted from a fluffy stack of radscorpion egg omelettes, followed by a golden-brown pile of tato-hash, and a pyramid of razorgrain toast. Two glass pitchers, one with ice water, and another with mutfruit juice joined the platters. Though not specifically omnivorous, deathclaws were able to eat just about anything. They could slay anything. Take down any prey. Assuming there was prey to be had. Intrigued, Katya considered her options, and picked up a slice of bread.

There was a peculiar yellow mass atop her toast that Katya regarded with suspicion. It was gelatinous, yet runny. A truly bizarre hexagonal structure was suspended in the golden goop. Pinching the toast between her fingers, she lifted the bread slab and sniffed it. The aroma was pure sweetness. And strong too. So flowery, Katya was reminded of a time she found a sealed perfume sample in a magazine. The scent was what she imagined the old world gardens had smelled like.

"Fresh honeycomb. It's good. I promise." Rowan reassured the deathclaw, helping himself to a fluffy omelette and some hash.

Her forked tongue flickered out, testing the substance. She wanted to make sure that it was edible. To her, it was just a good sized bite, so she made the mistake of popping a whole slice, honey and all, into her mouth. A sweetness unlike anything the Paladin had experienced washed over her. She had tasted sugar bombs and other old world confections, more preservatives and led acetate than anything else. Her tongue swam through a river of golden wonderland. Sticky, syrupy goodness filled her mouth to the brim. Katya grossly underestimated just how filling the honey was, comb and all. Once she bit down on the wax structure things just got messier. Chewing on the comb, her maw was nearly bursting with rough toast and natural sugar. Katya covered the front of her toothy mouth with a claw as she squealed in sensory overload.

Working through the panoply of flavor, it took her a minute to swallow the large bite. She licked her lips several times over to clean off every stray, sticky drop of honey. Her thick tail brushed across the checker tiled floor in glee.

"We certainly didn't have luxury like this back in my bunker. I mean, wow, talk about sweet. Where did you buy this from?" Katya asked, reflecting on how decadent the morsel was. The question came out a lot more disdainful than she meant it to.

[Rowan disliked that.]

Rowan frowned. He did not enjoy the implication that he was out and about living on easy street. He had a particular aversion to his accomplishments being belittled. Katya saw her host's mouth turn down in a frown. The wasteland was a harsh teacher, and cut its lessons deep. The lines that pulled taut at the expression showed just how much those lessons had sank into Rowan.

"I didn't buy it. No, I had to hunt a long way for a domesticable strain of honey bee that wasn't hideously mutated. Then I had to had to make sure there was enough of a garden and wild flowers to maintain a healthy population." His tone was flat, and analytical.

"I didn't... Aw shit, I'm bad at this. It's really... Really good. Didn't mean to say that you... Didn't... Fuck." Studying her claws, she desperately stumbled through the most half-assed apology she had ever given. And she, along with Devil squad had given more than their fair share of disingenuous excuses.

"It's okay, Katya, I'm used to it." He gave her a smile that was a mile of broken glass.

"No, it's not okay. I'm sorry." The deathclaw's tail wrapped around the chair leg in furtive shame. She felt bad for insulting Rowan. She had not meant to so devalue the incredible work he had done.

"I collected the honey earlier this morning!" Chirped Bertrand, oblivious to the atmosphere. The Mr. Handy had floated over to see if the food was good. The robot's unflinchingly positive attitude defused the tension. "The bees absolutely love me, m'yes. Whenever I come get some of the fruits of their labors, they always buzz so loudly. I dare say they take great pride in being so diligent. I know I would be. Ha! I would be. Unintentional comedy is the best. When the virgin queens are ready for their flights this year I'll be eager to see if they can branch out and mix with some of the wild hives."

"Bees have queens? I've only ever seen giant wasps, and you don't want to know how those reproduce." Katya gave a haphazard deathclaw grin and almost sighed in relief when the human across from her poured himself a glass of mutfruit juice and relaxed a little. When he saw her glance his way, Rowan had a gentler tug at his lips.

"Oh yes, madam! There's one leader of the whole swarm. A single fertile female that lays all their eggs." Bertrand carried on a bit more before zipping off to clean.

For a few stretched out minutes, the two ate in silence. As Katya efficiently polished off her third omelette, she realized that Rowan had probably instructed his robotic chef to make plenty of extra. Without being intrusive, he had made sure that his unusually large guest had more than enough to eat to be satisfied. Whenever she saw her human companions eat so little in comparison, she had always felt bad asking for more. And this insular individual had without knowing it, spared her of that discomfort.

"So, why go through all this trouble? With bees and everything. I'm sure you could just get some farms to tithe you some crop in exchange for water, medicine, or protection." With another slice of toast, Katya bit of chunks more slowly, savoring the experience a bit more.

"Because one day, I hope we won't have to be soldiers anymore. I hope the world can be more than just a wasteland." His voice was solemn and heartfelt. The young man took a sip of his juice and rubbed a spot on his chest.

"Do you think that'll ever happen?" Katya was once again, enthralled by her curiosity.

"We probably won't live to see it. Worth finding out though." The lanky young man stood. "Well, I did promise you a tour of my home. And I don't know about you, but I ate a bit too much to be comfortably traveling. So how about we postpone the salvage trip until tomorrow?" Bouncing back quickly, Rowan cheerfully made the offer. He was not going to let anything bring him down. He was determined to impress this esteemed member of the Brotherhood, even if she was not human.

"That's fine by me. I'm in no hurry if you're not." Licking her claws of every possible trace of honey, the tip of her tail undulated, glad she had not ruined the morning.

"Follow me." Rowan held out an arm to indicate the way, leaving the mostly empty platters and pitchers for Bertrand to clear away.

Through a door set at the back of diner, Rowan lead his guest into the Red Rocket's storeroom. It was a bit of a squeeze, but Katya's small frame made human sized entries manageable. Once upon a time, the back room had been full of inventory, stuffed to the brim with car parts, oil, and racks of tires. Virtually all of it had been cannibalized by Rowan at one point or another. Raw material was precious, and the corpse of the old world was a carrion feast over two hundred years in the making. What remained was little more than a stack of cardboard boxes, decayed and sagging into one another. They were rife with dark mold that had calcified after the moisture which had sustained the growth was dried up. A threadbare metal desk with a dark terminal was pushed against one wall, its storage full of useless spreadsheets and numbers and work orders that were little more than digital fingerprints of nameless ghosts long gone.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Rowan waited for Katya to join him in the middle of the mostly empty room and fiddled with his Pip-Boy. The Paladin swiveled her head around, trying to discern where the entrance to the rest of his home was. A glint of metal caught her attention, a shine on the back of Rowan's neck of all things. Peaking just above the collar of his shirt was the glint of metal. She had not noticed it before, yet standing right behind him now, the burnished surgical steel was obvious. Cybernetics was not something that was available to just anyone. Only the Brotherhood and a techno-cult had access to medical apparatus for such enhancements.

Then the whole floor began to sink and Katya's deductions were interrupted. Only a very faint mechanical whir could be heard. Other than that, the lift was utterly silent. Faded crimson walls became solid concrete. It was a relatively short ride. No more than a few seconds. The platform did not have to go very far. Fifteen or so feet down by her reckoning. At the bottom, large clamps engaged into the false floor of the lift.

There was an indentation in the concrete. An imposing door, well worthy of many other top of the line fortifications. A blast with enough force to breach the portal would also demolish the entire Red Rocket station. Since it was Rowan that sent the signal to open, the door began to open as soon as the lift clamps engaged. Locking bolts slid out of their interwoven brackets in a dizzying geometric pattern. Nigh-impervious steel panels folded into each other, then withdrew into slots. Beyond the threshold of the door was a crackling blue energy barrier that shut down automatically at Rowan's approach.

Rowan could barely remember the last time he had the joy of showing someone his deeper sanctuary. It had been a member of the Brotherhood, an older woman and her squad. He could not recall her name, but she had been kind, and appreciative of the shelter Rowan had provided.

As soon as Katya was through the portal, the lift began its ascent. The titanic block of cement swallowed up the light, and the door slid closed with metallic bell chimes. The way out was now sealed by a foot of heat resistant alloy, a particle field, and metric tons of lead-lined concrete. In another's company, she may have worried, yet something about the young man's demeanor put her at ease. The more Katya considered it, the more she believed that Rowan was the kind of person who was just bad at lying. A bit withdrawn, perhaps, but like the sort of scribe that once you got them talking about something they were interested in, were sometimes too honest for their own good.

All the construction was noticeably new. The walls were quite clean, not aged and stained with rust or hard water deposits. Metal support struts lined the short hall just beyond the door at regular intervals. Strips of lighting recessed into the floor cast their illumination up the plain walls of the entryway.

The first room they came to was actually quite ostentatious. Beyond the short foyer, was a cavernous opening, dominated by a swimming pool. A walkway skirted the edges of the recreational reservoir. The side the pair stood at was wide and even had a lounge area with a table and reclining beach chairs. Steps trimmed in brass led down into the pool, small disturbances in the water lapping at the edges. Because of the size of the space, a large support column was set in the middle of the rectangular divot. An assembly of copper pipes wrapped around the plain concrete pillar, disguising both the buttress, and making the pipes that supplied the water and pumps that cleaned and circulated it into a decorative fountain along the way. Rowan had picked up so many pointless building designs and blueprints along with the useful ones, he had plenty to choose from.

"Why do you have a ssswimming pool under your house?" Incredulous, Katya walked to the edge and dipped a toe in and splashed a bit of water. With the lighting coming up through the bottom of the pool, the whole are had an underground cavern vibe. She guessed that Rowan was probably most comfortable that way, having been raised in a vault.

"This area was excavated first as a kind of a staging area for the rest of the bunker. And after everything was finished and the rock and dirt hauled out, there was just a big empty space. I had a bunch, and I mean, a bunch, of concrete leftover, so I was looking through the Vault-Tec catalogue and noticed the swimming pool. You know their old saying. 'Better living, underground.' So I went with it." He could not keep the massive grin off his face.

Katya had in fact seen that exact slogan plastered over many billboards across the ruins of America.

"Okay, fuck anyone who's never thought about having their own swimming pool." Katya suspiciously pointed at the rippling surface. "This isn't just for show, right? Can you actually swim in this?"

"I never make anything that's just for show." Rowan proudly boasted.

"I'll be inspecting this. For... Scientific reasons." She bluffed.

"I'm not one to stand in the way of science." The young man was quick to bounce back. "So, that way," He said, pointing to the left. "Is utilities. Power, water, a med-bay, and where I keep the protectron builders. If you'll follow me this way, I'll show you the good stuff." Still wearing his joy loud and proud on his face, Rowan walked off to the right, Katya's anticipation growing. It was so strange to be seeing something new in the wastes. No one built anything that was really their own. Sure there were towns, but almost always built on the scorched bones laid long ago.

The cement and metal archways that connected the corridors and rooms together were generously sized, needing to be large enough for Rowan to walk around freely in his power armor after all. So Katya never once had to duck or crouch uncomfortably. Electrical conduits, brass or copper pipes, and slim air vents formed the circulatory system of Rowan's underground home. Neatly ordered cables supplied power from the fusion reactors, while huge industrial purifiers tapped into the aquifer beneath the mountain, feeding their output to the bunker and the surface farms.

Being a Paladin Lord meant Katya had been sent on dangerous missions with heavy emphasis on stealth, sabotage, and assassination. Devil squad was infamous for their precision and brutal efficiency. The bulk of the Brotherhood's heavy lifting was done by the tried and true tactical teams of knights. With solid technical knowledge, it was this core of knights that identified and salvaged the gear and equipment that kept the chapter strong. So when Devil was sent to retrieve something, it usually meant trouble. The application of so much non-militarized engineering was interesting to Katya.

The deathclaw was deep in thought as she followed Rowan into the next room over. She kept her eyes open, running through the catalogue of training in her mind and checking it against what tech had been displayed. So engrossed, she almost bumped into the smaller human as he had stopped and turned.

"Oh, hey Lana." Rowan beamed to someone behind Katya.

The Paladin Lord turned, surprised that a robot was able to sneak up on her. Usually only a fellow deathclaw was talented enough to do that. Katya was expecting perhaps a house maid, or maybe a protectron. Something tame, like Bertrand.

What she saw instead was a hunter-killer assaultron with sleek, matte black titanium alloy plating. If an army assaultron was a an American muscle car, then Lana was a stealth bomber. She did not roll, pace, or plod along stiffly, she stalked in smooth, flowing strides. Her legs were long, riddled with servos and actuators that visibly contracted with her movement. Fragile lower bodies were a weakness of the assaultron frame, but the trade off was absolute blistering speed. Sheaves of thinner, layered plate kept her profile slim.

Lana's right arm ended in an articulated metal hand with eight pneumatic fingers that could individually move for fine object manipulation, or come together in a rending vice, able to exert metric tons of pressure. Just for good measure, the hand could either be electrified, or the wrist-mounted flamethrower used. Her left armament was not the bulky minigun found on sentry bots and the like, instead a pair of .308 automatic combat rifles fed via a belt that wrapped from around her left shoulder. Lower rate of fire. Much more stopping power. And of course mounted on Lana's right shoulder was a grenade launcher that could lob cluster bombs as needed depending on the battlefield situation.

Though her deadliest asset, was an experimental stealth module that allowed her to turn completely invisible.

Four red eyes swept Katya up and down. The Paladin leaned back and had her right hand on the gauntlets hanging in their holster. Even though Lana was just a robot, Katya could sense the assaultron assessing her as a threat.

"Good morning. This is our Brotherhood guest, Paladin Lord Katya of the Midwestern chapter. Miss Katya, this is my good friend, and bodyguard, Lana." Rowan introduced the murder-bot with easy familiarity.

"Good morning, sir." The hunter-killer addressed her master first, before turning to the deathclaw. "Pleased to meet you, miss Katya. I apologize for my master's indiscretion when it comes to shooting friendlies with tranquilizers. He's gotten me too." Lana gave a short bow, her claw spinning between configurations.

The surprises never ceased. Judging by her appearance, Katya expected Lana to have a synthetic voice composed of knives and death. Instead, the womanly tone was deliberate, and taciturn.

"One time. One time I shot you with a hunting rifle." Rowan threw his hands up in defeat.

"Twice," She corrected him flatly.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one." Katya laughed politely. With the history of her chapter, it was only a facade. The Paladin found the robot deeply unnerving. "It's nice to... Meet you, Lana." She managed.

Lana gave another bow, and evaporated into invisibility. Seeing the air ripple, Katya took another step back, this time bumping full into Rowan with her tail.

"Woah!" The human called out and grabbed Katya around the middle reflexively to keep himself from falling over. Looking down at the soft human hands on her sides, she froze so he could regain his balance.

"Sorry," She said, heated embarrassment flushing through her. As he let go of her, it occurred to Katya how gently he had latched onto her, even to arrest a fall.

"You're fine. Lana was never given much, uh... Social programming. I'm surprised she even showed herself at all. She's usually pretty shy around strangers." Unaware of Katya's spiking heart rate, Rowan turned and continued on his original path. Taking a moment to collect her senses, Katya followed once again.

"This is my armory, weapons workshop, and library all rolled into one." He swept his arms out to indicate the space positively festooned with collectibles and gear.

In his journeys, Rowan had gathered countless artifacts from across the wasteland. His armory was in many ways a museum, and brightly lit compared to the halls. One wall was entirely composed of glass cases and weapon racks. There was a Riot shotgun from the Divide. A gauss rifle painted in winter camouflage from the battle of Anchorage. An Enclave pattern heavy incinerator. He had pistols blessed by tribal leaders. Exotic energy weapons that ran from experimental cutting edge tech sat next to cobbled together emitters. A strange long barrelled automatic leaned against a dispenser from the Sierra Madre itself. A Radium rifle from a distant island known as Far Harbor. And of course, many Brotherhood relics. There was a copy of the codex, flags from a few different chapters, and a sampling of laser weapons. He even had a New California Republic flag straight from Shady Sands.

Though of course, that was just pieces that Rowan had kept to remember.

The other side had a reloading and weapon bench. Bins of lead, steel, copper, and plastic scrap marched up to the ceiling in neatly arranged cubicles. Cushioned stands with tiered cradles stood in easy reach of the workbenches for maintenance and repairs of Rowan's custom weapons.

In one corner was a relaxation area with a pair of long blue couches and a low oak coffee table. Even a grand piano of all things, was tucked into a brick alcove. Katya commented on this particular sight.

"A piano? Really? And I thought the pool was excessive." Katya, having an inquisitive nature, had driven many of her teacher's mad with her endless inquiries into the old world. Though she was no expert historian, she had reasonable understanding of pre-war art and culture. To her, it was like studying an alien species. One whose reasons and motivations were as incomprehensible as they were numerous. Their sheer enamor with creation and destruction bordered on insanity. And that made them fascinating to try and understand.

Rowan patted the oversized instrument.

"Back in the vault, there was just an old standing piano. And I always wanted to learn how to play. But it broke before I could learn. There was only one man who knew how to play. The old bastard got drunk and decided that if he wasn't going to be the one playing it, then no one could. Fixing it was my pet project for years, even though it was a lost cause. I couldn't replace some of the parts. I could make the strings and just tuned them by listening, but almost all the hammers were busted and I could never figure out something that worked as well."

"Sssooo can you play it?" Katya hopefully prodded.

Rowan snorted.

"No. I'm actually really terrible. I can't keep time and I miss a lot of notes." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle and fiddled with the metronome atop the instrument. The young man passed the piano and set a hand on the numerous bookshelves crammed with actual books. Hundreds of pre-war tomes that had managed to survive the onslaught of nuclear fire and the years of exposure to the elements afterward.

Katya was quite interested in the man's propensity towards collecting things. She was no stranger to scavenging herself. Whenever she or her squad were sent on missions, they would strip the dead of anything and everything valuable. But that always went back to the quartermasters to keep their chapter stocked up on everything useful, and to make sure the squad stayed equipped with top of the line gear.

"I once had the pleasure of meeting a very peculiar member of the Brotherhood. He called himself the Storyteller." Rowan began, his fingertips trailing along the spines of the books.

"You met the Storyteller!" Katya exclaimed. "He's a Brotherhood legend! One of the greatest scribes who ever lived. What was he like?"

"Well, he wore this old suit of power armor. Fit him perfectly. And he had a story for everything. I mean everything. Nuka-cola. All the different powers of the wastes. And a lot of Brotherhood history I never knew. He kind of inspired me to start my book collection. You can't save the future by pretending the mistakes of the past never happened. After I met the Storyteller, I started keeping every intact book I found. It's possible that some of these are the last copies in existence. Knowledge is so precious. If you want to keep history from repeating, you have to learn from it. You can't learn from it if there's no record of it."

"Very wise." Complimenting the Brotherhood outsider felt natural. He was so confident in his information, it was hard to believe that Katya was not addressing a master scribe who had seen it all.

For a time, Katya wandered around while Rowan was lost reminiscing. All the souvenir weapons and artifacts had plaques with names and places. Like prayer beads from a pilgrimage, the items told a story of discovery and danger that marched a circuitous path up and down the North American continent.

One display case caught Katya's eye. Inside was a massive tri-barrel rotary autocannon. At one point it looked to have been mounted on an anti-air vehicle, yet had a trigger assembly and handle rigged up for someone to wield. Likely with power armor judging by the box magazine and twenty-five millimeter shells in the links. Most striking was the name etched into the gun shield. 'Salvation', it read. Looking more closely, Katya discerned the hand-painted winged blade and gears above the receiver, and she was left to wonder where her host had gotten the weapon.

Coming to his senses, Rowan continued his tour. Beyond the armory was a hallway that branched left and right.

"Over there is my bedroom." Rowan pointed to the left. "But over here," He walked to the right through a wide arch. "Is one of my biggest achievements. My power armor workshop."

Enshrined in a larger than life stand, Rowan's personal armor was center stage. As if his own set was a culmination of everything that had come before. Wrapping around the perimeter of the room were different suits, each in their own workstation. Overhead spotlights formed cylinders of glow where the separate armor stood. The young man threw his arms open to indicate the whole concrete cavern.

"When I finally got out of my vault, this is what I wanted. My own collection. A snapshot of the history and development of the greatest advancement in infantry combat technology."

"I've alwaysss been interested in power armor." Back in her chapter, the knights and scribes had never taken her seriously when Katya had said she was curious to learn. She was just a deathclaw, after all. The small amount of training she had been given in the name of technological reclamation only whetted her appetite for more.

[Rowan liked that.]

"Would you be interested in hearing a bit of that history?" Rowan offered.

"Well, you're clearly an expert. I've heard some of the development record that lead to my chapter's power armor. We might have had a few of the older suits, but they're long gone."

"Then it's only right we start at the beginning." Even if he had wanted to, Rowan would have been unable to hide the joy that split his lips or the extra spring in his step. He walked to the first suit on the left and placed a hand on the centuries old plate. While far from pristine, the collector had gone through a fair bit of work to refurbish the armor.

"The T-Forty-Five. Production was rushed on these bad boys, but there's no denying the classics. The very first ones came from a time before they figured out fusion cores. In the days of the great war, that was the biggest hurdle the engineers had to overcome. Power supply. They say the more restricted you are, the more creative you get. And I hate to agree with that. In some cases it's true though. I can't think of anything much more restrictive than having to figure out cold fusion to get something to work. These were crude, little more than riveted plate steel, but having a foot soldier walk around able to take a missile to the face and respond with a heavy weapons team worth of firepower on his hip was a game changer."

Being polite, Katya did not touch the armor, only looking closely at the blocky yet practical welds and rivets. Wasting no time, Rowan moved on to the next set, rattling off all his vast knowledge purely from memory and passion.

"The Forty-Five saw a lot of brutal use, sure, but it was the T-Fifty-One that made it to mass production. This was more cutting edge. It used modern vehicle plating composition. Better materials and the same fusion reactor principles meant better power to weight ratios with the lighter polymers. They steered away from blockier designs and went with sleeker, more sloped parts to better deflect rather than absorb, increasing effective thickness of the plate through angling."

A common visible distinction in the silhouette of the different models of power armor was the shoulders. Different design philosophies were clearest between the two earliest models. The curved shoulders of the T-51 were very aesthetically appealing to Katya.

"This is what won the battle of Anchorage." The Paladin stated firmly. Rowan was not the only student. It was essential that all members of the Brotherhood knew their roots.

"Exactly right. It became an iconic symbol of America's dominant military force. While tanks all around the world were running out of fuel as the oil dried up, the United States kept marching. Although they didn't stop there." The power armor enthusiast left the T-51 in its stand and moved on to the next.

"While it didn't have the same operational life as the others, it's the T-Sixty that set the benchmark. They went back and took the lessons learned through development as well as data gathered through actual combat and applied it here. Better in almost every way than either the Forty-Five, or the Fifty-One, the T-Sixty was meant to replace both of them. Mass production was underway and some domestic divisions were getting acquainted with it when the bombs fell." The suit in question was painted in glorious Brotherhood iconagraphy.

"I remember pictures of thissss. I always thought it looked nice. But to see T-Sixty in person is a real treat." Katya looked the armor up and down, interested to see what other chapters had adopted, and wondering about the color choice of the rank markings in red as opposed to the blue symbols on her skirt. It looked strong, refined, like a heavy tank shaped into a man.

"This set was actually a gift when I was formally inducted into the Brotherhood. It's a classic. I use it sometimes for formal occasions. Maxson's got all the chapters using it now. Really helped him win over some of 'em from what I've heard. I haven't met the man. But from what I hear, he's driven."

"You mentioned a Maxson before. Before I left the Midwest there was talk of transmissions from chapters to the east. It's... Right that a Maxson takes up the mantle again. My people were exiled because of our difference in ideology. If someone is strong enough, steel enough, then he might be worth following." Katya pondered the past, and the future as she looked backwards and forwards through time, feeling that the life of the Brotherhood somehow ran parallel to the power armor that was so intrinsic to their operations. She wondered what that future would bring.

A small exhibit pointedly underlined her uncertainty. Rowan gestured to a small break in the line of suits where several posters and diagrams adorned the wall.

"There are numerous designs that never went anywhere, either due to time constraints or because they were abandoned as production took precedent over innovation. Like the excavator set, designed for mining, or the ultracite armor that never got off the ground because ultracite was a dead end. Literally and figuratively. Raiders or tribals will sometimes make their own power armor as well, but they're usually little more than junk welded to a frame." Shaking his head in disdain at the many poor excuses for walking scrap heaps that raiders employed, Rowan moved on.

"Research on the T-Sixty was finished before the war, with mass production just getting off the ground. In that brief period between production of the T-Sixty and the bombs, was testing for the experimental series, known as the X-Zero-One."

Katya followed the passionate man to the largest suit on display.

"The history of power armor development of the later iterations is shrouded in convoluted design evolutions and contradictions." Rowan rapped a knuckle against the segmented chest panels of the X-01.

"What do you mean?" As soon as the question was out of her mouth, Katya's brow furrowed as she looked on down the line at the coming suits.

"The development of the earlier models, from the forty-five, to the fifty-one, and to the T-sixty right before the bombs fell is fairly easy to follow. Minor variances with the numerical upgrades in each familial set of power armor, but with clear improvements and distinction in design between the three. It's all the experimental, and black box stuff that gets muddled. Every West-Tek facility I've managed to find all had serious compartmentalization. Many teams worked in total secrecy, even within the same building. All trying to make different breakthroughs at the same time. I found records of the X-Oh-Two being worked on, but it was long gone before I could get to the prototype."

Katya became impressively confused as she looked at the next set of armor.

"The Midwestern armor kind of looks like this. The horns are so small though. Less cabling, and it looks like the breathing portion lacks redundancy. The mark two's have better overlapping protection as well. Mother's blood, who designed this? I remember the Enclave being defeated by some wasteland champion with the aid of the Brotherhood, but my goodness." She said, walking up to the matte black, and very puny looking suit.

"This is the Enclave 'black devil' mark one. Looks an awful lot like the X-Zero-One designs. Despite the 'black devil' models being purportedly researched and developed in secret after the war based off the T-Fifty-One. As well as the X series that was made even further down the line. Yet, you can rarely find pieces of the X-Zero-One armor in pre-war military facilities and even an amusement park, I hear. And then we have the advanced power armor much more closely resembling the again, supposedly, later developed mark two and X series respectively. Not to mention they improved the servos, at the expense of pneumatics. So it's easier to move, but there's so little strength enhancement, it makes it much more difficult to field heavy weapons troopers."

"But why does this set seem so inferior to the X-Zero-One?" She asked, her head starting to spin.

"Because it is. The Enclave wanted something better than anyone else. They had research and development facilities that no one else could have had access to, and in my opinion, it's ironic that the Enclave put so much time and effort into making something better, when really all they did was take a few huge steps backwards, made something they thought was the best thing ever. When in reality it ended up being just a fancier looking suit of T-Fity-One, and called it a day. Also apparently they accidentally killed a lot of people testing it, and usually just gloss over that fact for 'morale purposes'. The X series outclasses even the best of their armor."

Three Enclave sets of armor formed the end of Rowan's collection, and he moved to the middle one. The armor had curious protrusions on the shoulder, arms, and a slightly larger power pack.

"There's only two things that the Enclave did that actually improved on some original concepts, That was the tesla, and the hellfire. Now there are three different things you can do with the concepts of tesla. There's the kind where all you do is essentially taze anything that touches you. The kind that absorbs or reflects energy based projectiles and lasers. And the kind that increased the damage output of the user's energy weaponry. The last of which they never used. Once again though, the Enclave had to take big steps back, so they could retread their ground and call it a success. Their versions of the tesla armor cut so many corners for the sake of cost, that they sacrificed durability and protection. It was still power armor, but for all the expensive workarounds for problems that had already been solved, it was about equal in terms of user survivability to T-Forty-Five."

The last suit was slightly more impressive to Katya.

"The only decent thing I could say, would be the Enclave's commitment to being as evil as they could. The hellfire armor, while only ever issued to a single group of soldiers, at least has good protection. Especially against radiation, and fire. Which was a necessity, rather than a conscious improvement." Rowan's disdain was obvious.

"Your power armor collection is... Impressive."

Coming from a Paladin Lord of a chapter of the Brotherhood whose war never really ended, it was a high compliment.

"I'm not going to be winning any arm wrestling contests with super mutants. That's where power armor comes in. It's... Kind of my thing. Robotics wasn't a hobby of mine until I met Lana. Back in my vault, I studied every bit of nuclear physics I could get my hands on. So, when I finally got out into the wastes on my own, one of the first things I did was find an abandoned frame and get to tinkering." Rowan at last moved to his masterpiece. His customized power armor stood as testament to a man dedicated to his craft. "I started with a set of X-Oh-One. I had to scour a lot of military bases for the schematics to come up with mine. It looks a lot more like Enclave armor than I'd like, but I ripped off the tesla coil design from them initially. Then I improved it. I went through a halluva lot of duct tape and wonderglue I can tell you that."

Rowan nearly bit his tongue, realizing that he was rambling. It was always an anxiety of his that whenever he got excitedly talking about something he was passionate about. His tongue ran off without his consent. He reflected on glazed over eyes of settlers and traders whilst trying to explain basic generators and water purifiers. Glancing fearfully, he saw Katya eagerly examining his armor in detail. Her tail even waved sedately to and fro.

"So other than looking flashy, what does it do?"

"What does it do, my discerning dear? What doesn't it do?" Rowan rattled off the endearment without realizing Katya's colors became quite a bit brighter in response. "It took a lot of searching, but I found earlier iterations of the tesla armor. For the sake of manufacturing cost, they removed the capacitors from the legs, most from the arms, and drastically decreased the power supply. With some of that Zero-One tech and knowledge of the advanced series that ran parallel, I took those original designs and iterated on them. Maximized capacitor efficiency, distribution, and seriously increased power flow to the weapons. Between some Guns and Bullets, and a few Tesla Science magazines, I've picked up very useful tricks."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rowan broached a subject furtively.

"The frame is custom too. It has interface ports that link to the base of my neck and spine. Lets me have much better control and the armor is a lot more responsive. When you're moving in power armor, you just kind of suggest to it how you want to move. The servos sense your motions and help with that. With my cybernetic interface, I bypass that. I can move the armor like it was my own body."

"Where did you get the cybernetics? Was it your vault?" The Paladin jumped on the tidbit like a raider with a hit of jet.

"That's... A long story. But not important right now." Rowan evaded the question, pretending to ignore the surreptitious look the Paladin was angling his way. "Anyway, on top of the X series legs I've got overdrive servos. Fun little bit of tech that lets me really book it, even in full armor. The helmet links directly with the scope on my rifle. that lets me cycle through infrared, night vision, and recon modes. Very handy. And of course the torso and arms have that modified enclave tesla design, and a medic pump that automatically administers stimpacks. Lastly the backpack has the improved fusion reactor, and the plasma core feeding into my guns."

"Wouldn't that drain your cores rather quickly?" Katya rubbed her chin with a knuckle.

"Understanding nuclear physics clued me in on how to better wire my armor. Just a few bits of tuning and some reinforced material increases life expectancy by nearly three times. I can go more than a month without needing a new core. And that's with heavy fighting. Everything does serve a purpose. To utilize all the extra capacitors I did have to modify my weapons too. Definitely worth the headache." Rowan was so desperately hopeful that he was not boring Katya. He tried to hide it, yet secretly he was doing his best to impress the Paladin.

"Where did you get so many off-brand parts?" Reminiscing on her squadmates getting into many long arguments about modifying their guns. Often the disagreements would be rendered moot as neither would be able to find the attachments they were looking for to prove their point.

"Oh, I used heaps of mods. Though it crashed my systems quite a bit. The best mods are usually incompatible without a lot of work arounds. That and the old world was kind of obsessed with guns. Really obsessed. Take my plasma rifle, for instance. I've refined the extra energy to just shy of a factor of three." Rowan took the weapon off its rack and handed the massive rifle off its rack, grunting under the weight of the thing, and placed in in Katya's palms.

At first, she just stood there dumbfounded. Even though her claws prevented her from firing it, Rowan still trusted her enough to let her hold an item that obviously meant a great deal to him. Though she hesitated, the deathclaw was not about to waste the opportunity, appraising the changes done as he discussed them.

"While modifying energy weapons, you'll run into sequential roadblocks. The rate of fire can be enhanced with accelerators, and improved injectors, as well as lengthening the barrel to get more accuracy and cycling rates. The electro-magnets for improving the speed of the bolts are limited by your power supply. That's pretty standard stuff. Overcharging the capacitor is tricky, but with enough gold and circuits it's not impossible. The first major roadblock you'll run into is the superconductors not dumping enough heat to keep up with all the extra plasma. When you're burning through a standard cartridge worth of bolts, the heat builds up faster than the cooler can keep up with."

"If you're overcharging it, then you don't want to use something that will draw off your current." Katya concluded.

"With a diamond heat sink under the coolant fan, I solved both of those problems." Positively glowing in satisfaction, Rowan pointed to a silver plated accessory right where he said it would be.

"Holy shit. So if you solve heat, and mag dumping isn't an issue... Ammunition?" Katya turned the weapon back over, yet saw no specific changes to the receiver where the cartridge was slotted.

"That's right. You're very sharp, miss Katya, even for a member of the Brotherhood." It was not meant as an insult in the slightest. Very few people, even among the rigorous Brotherhood of Steel had the knowledge and hands on experience to keep up with Rowan. It was something that normally distanced the young man from his peers.

"Thanks, though to be fair, I think FEV exposure at a young age helped." The sarcasm burst forth before she could stop it. However, if she was being honest it was only halfway sarcastic.

"Hah! Some good things came from the old world at least. Even if only on accident. Once the systems for delivering plasma are optimized, rate of fire, speed of the projectiles, then you become limited by how much how can sling downrange. I can still plug plasma cartridges into it, but by linking it to the plasma core I've got on the back of my armor, I've got about ten-thousand rounds without needing to reload. I'll take backups with me on really long excursions, but I can just recharge it whenever I dock my armor here."

"Two cores? Isn't that dangerous? And if the plasma cores are anything like fusion cores, then they sound expensive." Katya's mind was reeling with the list of material cost for producing everything the vault dweller was talking about. In the Midwest, it seemed like supplies were always scarce. Devil squad was usually well off, but not everyone was skilled or lucky like they were.

"Surprisingly not. I found out about it in a Tesla magazine. All about plasma weaponry. It was tucked into the recipes that came with the reloading bench. Anything with enough yield to rupture the casing on the power packs would actually vaporize me. Which, would obviously be redundant. It works with my tesla rifle too." Rowan affectionately patted a bright yellow hunk of metal festooned with wiring on the rack above the empty foam cradle that had held the rifle Katya was holding.

"What on earth is a tesla rifle? You really like this tesla stuff, don't you." Delicately, Katya returned the massive energy weapon to the safety of its home.

"I think it was originally either an industrial cutting tool, or possibly a robotic weapon. All I know for certain is that it's a gun that shoots lightning." Looking over his arsenal, Rowan's mind flitted through memories of their construction like a skipping film reel.

"I'm sorry you said it shoots lightning? That's badass." Katya blurted, and the vault dweller puffed out his chest with pride.

"It's actually a helluva lot easier to make and maintain than the plasma. I found the plans for it one day and built it out of curiosity. By checking it against the robot arm version, I figured out how to increase the charge and yield. Its got a big capacitor right in the middle, and conducting coils all wrapped around the forks of the barrel. It's pretty efficient too. With just some microfusion cells, you get way more potential damage than a laser rifle."

"And it uses the same energy supply?"

"Yep. Made a connector that snaps right into the stock of either gun."

Katya was quiet for a time, taking in the stockpile of weapons and technology and all it represented. She thought of the sum total of Rowan's earnings and holdings. The more she saw, the more certain that there was even more to be had. The Paladin was confident that what the vault dweller had openly shared was only a small portion of his wealth.

"Rowan," She began tentatively. "Can I ask you sssomething?"

"Yeah, of course." He replied with a quieter tone.

"You say you're a member of the Brotherhood of Steel. I believe that. I do. What I want to know, is why? Why, when you have all this, all to yourself? You're clearly self-sufficient here. You'd never have to leave if you didn't want to. Why involve yourself in our struggles at all?"

Heaving a fifty-pound sigh, Rowan's first response did not reassure her.

"Let's sit down." Leading the way back to his multi-purpose room, he took a place on one of the couches, splaying out across the cushions. Katya sank into the other suede sofa, never once letting her eyes off the man. Rowan stared at something far distant past the solid concrete walls of his personal bunker.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying futilely to start. The young man rose from his place, wordlessly paced over to a cabinet that was actually a fridge. Bottles clinking, he pulled out two cold Nuka-Colas, popped the caps on his belt, and tossed the little metal discs into a bowl. Only once he gave Katya a bottle, took a sip of his own beverage, and sat back down did he begin.

"I know the Brotherhood isn't perfect. Maybe one day the NCR, or some other new nation will rise up to bring peace. Yet the Brotherhood have always been the ones to take on the monsters. The heroes and chosen always seem to drift into their path. Even if they're not the ones to pull the trigger, they're there. The Master. Shepherd that followed. The Enclave twice." Rowan gestured at Katya. "The Calculator. And I hear there's a major operation underway in Massachusetts. Did you ever hear about Appalachia, and the Scorched?"

"West Virginia, right? Wasn't that place nuked a couple dozen times? Let me guess, something crawled out of the bombs and the Brotherhood were the only ones who could deal with it?" Beads of condensation drip onto Katya's claws as she took a sip of the flat soda, the sugar and caffeine refreshing. She took her time with the second, swirling the ancient beverage around her tongue.

"There's some dispute over the details because the records are fragmentary, but that's the gist of it, yeah. I've seen a lot of little kingdoms and groups flying old world flags. Funny enough, it always seems to be the Brotherhood who swoop in and save the day, or give critical aid to the heroes in all those wasteland stories you hear." Rowan took a drought of his own Nuka-Cola. “I guess what I'm trying to say, is that for all I've seen, the Brotherhood were the ones to put the mission before their own self-interest."

Katya was no fool. In fact, she was as clever as her claws were sharp. She knew there was more to Rowan than he was letting on. Just as she was certain there were layers to his stocks, there was more to the human too. It seemed to be a theme with him. What lay beneath his armor and mysterious cybernetics? Who was the vault dweller who claimed no vault as his home? Curiouser and curiouser, the deathclaw found herself drawn to him like a giant wasp to an electric fence.

And she had her own beliefs.

“We protect those who cannot protect themselves. First and foremost that comes down to technology. Anyone can pull a trigger. No matter how big the gun is. If they're not responsible enough to realize they shouldn't play with dangerous toys, then they're little more than hatchlings with hand grenades. I think the Brotherhood is at its best when its protecting people. And we do that best with control over the technology that they would use to destroy themselves. There's unimaginable things left behind by the old world."

“You and I both know that nukes are not always the most dangerous things someone can find."

Katya nodded. She had scars to prove Rowan's point.

“I think some members forget that we shouldn't hoard technology for its own sake. In the end it's to keep the world safe. To give the little towns and villages a chance to grow."

Wanting to inject at least a little levity into the heavy atmosphere, Rowan chuckled.

“If you'd met some of the settlers I have, you'd know they need all the help they can get."

“Let me guessss, the kind that would use a mini-nuke to go fishing." The Paladin flicked her tongue in derision.

“Or to hold up their nightstand!" Rowan laughed heartily.

The duo settled naturally into their seats and discussion. They covered a hundred topics, from places and people, to wasteland cuisine. Their conversation made the hours melt away with casual ease. Until, before either of them knew it, the sun had set, as both laughed and yawned simultaneously. As before, they bid one another a good night, and drifted off with thoughts of the other.

****

"We should be back before sundown, Lana." Rowan spoke to his assaultron from the back hatch of his infantry fighting vehicle. The engine of the metal behemoth rumbled faintly. Being all electric the armored transport was quiet in its operation, unlike its diesel ancestors.

"Of course, sir." The assaultron hunter-killer replied with unflappable poise. She stepped back and hit the button to close the garage door that normally housed Rowan's transport, segmented slats falling back into place, chains rattling. He gave her a smile before she was out of sight and got back to the controls.

Katya did a circuit around the perimeter of the mountain shelf that Rowan's home rested on while she waited on him to bring his transport around. They wisely had a lighter breakfast that morning. A tall pole with a Brotherhood and American flag stood proudly in the mild wind. Rope banging against the hollow metal elicited a rhythmic ding as the canvas flags rustled in the dawning light.

Most of the Red Rocket's parking lot had been broken up and recycled into foundations for protective walls. In their place were crop squares. Neatly ordered rows of razorgrain, mutfruit, tatos, and corn. Bags of fertilizer leaned against the walls of a wooden gardener's shed. Irrigated with recycled water, the soil was mostly free of contaminants, and by extension, the food too. Katya watched Bertrand float peaceably about, pruning a mutfruit tree here and there. He was even humming to himself.

The Paladin stood well clear of the grinding tires of the heavy transport as Rowan pulled it up to his front gate. His construction bots had spent time repairing one road in and out of the gas station. If there was one material in abundance, it was old asphalt, rubber, and cement. With a practiced hand, he threw the vehicle into park. With a skip in his step, the young man bounded from the driver's seat to the back. Popping open the hatch, Rowan grabbed a welded handle and leaned at an exaggerated angle.

"After you, ma'am." He said with a flourish and a bow.

“Does that actually… Hm," She began, about to ask if the tank turret on top of the gate really functioned, then realized who she was talking to. Rowan glanced up to the imposing defense and nodded.

“Absolutely it does. I don't get why more people don't use stuff like it. I know some bunkers get by on being hidden. And y'know, safeguarding technology. Some is too dangerous to use. But some of it is just... Upscaled. And even then, just because someone understands the principle, doesn't mean they have the means to execute it. Take the Citadel in Washington. I've been through D.C. in the past. There's wrecked tanks all over the place." Rowan was still mid rant as Katya climbed aboard. He closed the hatch behind her, pounding his fist into the bright red button.

Inside the vehicle was actually quite comfortable. With the division between the driver and the troop section removed, there was space to move around. There was padded seating, a fold out cooking stove, workbench, and lots of spare compartments for storage. Compact power armor transport struts were set beside the entry ramp as well. Currently these were being used to hold Rowan's suit. However, even Katya was able to squeeze herself around and onto the stuffed seating still bolted to one interior wall. She watched with great interest as Rowan sat in the driver's seat in front of a bank of monitors. Cameras set behind several inches of bullet-proof glass gave a wide, if grainy, view.

"I've studied holotapes about American industrialization for wartime efforts. The sheer quantity of... Well everything was mind-boggling. I'm talking artillery and tank shells by the tens of millions. Tanks by the million. Power Armor by the million. Planes by the hundreds of thousands. Steel alone by some estimates had almost reached a billion metric tons. Staggering stuff. All you need is a sharp bit of metal and maybe a working gun when all you're fighting are ghouls or critters. So all those goods just sat there up until recently when something like governments finally started needing them again."

As he talked, rattling off facts like he had memorized the holotape, Rowan easily steered the armored troop carrier down the switchback road and out onto the main highway. Smoothly weaving the transport with a practiced hand, he flipped different overhead switches and worked the gears on the descent. Katya enjoyed the luxury of putting her feet up while traveling. She was no stranger to either by foot or vehicle, but preferred the latter.

"Just take something apart. Y'know what I mean?" Rowan flippantly remarked. Then, almost bit his tongue as he realized he had been rambling again. He shrunk in his seat, shoulders hunching as he prepared for the inevitable response.

"I understand where you're coming from, but I have to disagree. Some people don't want to learn or even try to understand. I've met tribals who may as well have gone back to the stone ages. Believed that flashlights were powered by ghosts and that wind turbines were the devil's work. As for the local chapter, all I can say is they probably have an elder that's resistant to change. They see the way technology is supposed to be used, and is unwilling to innovate with it, even if there are clear, practical reasons for doing so." Shifting a bit in her seat, Katya actually put her feet up, laying an arm across the top of the cushions and stretching her legs out, letting her tail dangle.

Though he could glance back for only a second, Rowan perked back up.

"Do you think there's any merit in some of those tribal's decisions? Would some things be better off forgotten?" The young man wondered what the deathclaw's answer would be.

"Forgetting something exists, doesn't make it go away. There's plenty that can be learned from certain tribes. Some aspects of that life have meaning. I think valuing what precious little is left of our world is important. Science should be tempered by reason. That doesn't mean some of 'em aren't just backwards dumb fucks."

Katya chuckled and covered her face with a claw as she recalled a particular instance.

"I remember this one time, we were posted out to watch this bridge. Middle of fucking nowhere. This was not an important bridge. At all. In any way. But command was insistent that sssssomeone be sssent to watch it for a few days. Devil Squad was four people." Katya held up the fingers on one claw and ticked them off as she spoke. "There was me, my half-brother, Kiev. Our heavy-weapons trooper, Torch. And our leader, Rook."

"We were bored out of our ssskulls almost the whole time. On the second day, Kiev is on third shift when he wakes everyone up. There was finally someone going acrosssss the bridge. We all get ready. Turns out to be harmless enough. Some trader and his brahmin just goin' along. Nothin' too suspicious there. He gets across the bridge to our side and we all get ready to go back to sleep, when Kiev asks what the fuck the guy is doing. So we all look down, and the dude has pulled off to the side of the road, and is in fact, fucking his brahmin."

"No way." Rowan was horrified, and horrifyingly curious at the same time.

"Pulls his pants down, humps the shit outta his brahmin, pulls them back up, and keeps going. Just like that."

"Just... Needed to fuck his brahmin real quick."

"Maybe bessy was just mooooovin' a little slow." The Paladin roared with laughter.

"Ugh, that was terrible!" Rowan groaned while Katya's mirth settled into cackling.

"That does not come close to one of my personal favorites." The Paladin settled deeper into her seat as she prepared for her tale.

"Okay, so, in Devil squad, Torch was super afraid of radroaches and she had a particular thing against going to the bathroom outside. She would always find a lady's room if she could. Kiev and I had found these special grenades, y'see. They're what gave us the idea. This was a multi-stage plan. First thing we did, was make sure she drank a whole lot along the way to our mission. Simple recon and return. We bought a bunch of Nuka-Cola before we set out. The second thing we did was replace all her grenades with the confetti bombs we had found." It was difficult for the Paladin to talk and not burst into laughter again.

"What's a confetti bomb?" Back in his vault, Rowan had seen confetti poppers during birthday parties, but never something as aggressively festive as a confetti bomb.

"It looks like a regular grenade, but as soon as you pull the pin, it explodes with confetti. Shit just goes everywhere." Katya's digits fluttered, imitating the hundreds of colored strips of paper that overwhelmed any soul caught in the belligerent joy of the dreaded devices.

"Are you telling me she's used grenades to kill radroaches?" Was Rowan's next logical jump.

"Oh yeah. She hated them. She's dropped grenades into holes, toilets, you name it. She did not know the meaning of excessive force. And if she couldn't use explosives, she'd use her heavy flamer. As soon as we got to the mission area, this old factory, she ran off to pee. I waited just a second, snuck into the bathroom, then threw a baby radroach over top of the stall and fuckin' booked it. Oh how she ssscreeeeamed. We heard the confetti bombs go off. Boom!" Katya clapped her palms together. "We were jussst dyin'. Fallin' on the floor. At least until we heard this loud crash, right? Not just sssomeone in power armor going at mach five through a bathroom stall, and also something that sounded like a ceiling collapsing. Theeeen we heard the roaches."

"Oh shit."

"Oh shit was right. There was a nest. The bathroom was wall to wall roaches. They were everywhere."

"Ugh!" Rowan shuddered at the thought, resolving to try and make some of the pests into roadkill as he drove just to alleviate the creepy crawly sensation in his calves.

"By the time we ran in, Torch had grabbed her flamer, and was going to town. She was just a tornado of screaming, cursing, kicking, and had not put her armor all the way back on, so her butt was still hangin' out. We had to fight our way out and drag Torch along so she didn't burn down the place while we were still inside. The floor was nothin' but bugs. Had to wade through 'em to get through the door."

"Fuuuuuck that's nasty."

"But! No pun intended. It doesn't end there."

"What else could have happened?"

"Well, unknown to us, the general at the time, Hass, and his whole convoy was going through the area. By that point, the place was an absssolute bonfire. Y'could spot it for miles around. So he rolls up, dismounts, and there's me, Kiev, and Rook, up to our knees in radroach guts from where we ran through the bugs. Meanwhile, Torch still has 'er ass hangin' out of 'er armor, tossing molotovs and shooting any radroach trying to get away. So General Hass walks up to us. We're standing there, saluting, with Torch still doin' 'er thing. The general looks at the fire, to Torch, to us. Looks us up and down, and asked what was going on. Rook says that there was an infestation. 'How bad?' The general asks. And all three of answer in perfect unison, 'really bad'. General Hass does one more look around, and finally asks, 'What's that popping sound?'"

"Oh... Oh fuck it wasn't the radroaches was it?"

"Yuuuup! There were that many. And Rook says the general that that's exactly what the popping sound was. Oh, the look on the general's face was priceless. I have never seen a man go from angry, to confused, to disgusted beyond all reason in such a short span. Oh and y'could smell 'em cookin' too." Katya wrinkled her nose. Her blood brother, Kiev, enjoyed the taste of grilled radroach. After that encounter even he had lost some of his appreciation for the dish.

"How were there that many?"

"Well, y'sssee, in the Midwest, there's not just little ones. They get big. Reeeaaallly big. And the big ones can be a bonfire all on their own. They'll take over whole buildings as nests. Though we didn't find anything useful, we accidentally incinerated the nest a few of our trackers had been hunting down.

"Torch never believed usss when we told her that we didn't plan it that way. Pure coincidence. I asssssure you."

****

"So there I am, sitting with this typewriter after listening to this guy rant for about half an hour straight about how if I didn't get it working he'd drag me in front of the overseer. And very calmly, I say 'Sir, this has no paper in it'." Rowan dropped the punchline.

"No!" Decried Katya. "After all that, he just hadn't put paper in the thing?"

Rowan parked his infantry fighting vehicle, flipped a series of switches to turn on the top turret, and swiveled in his seat to face Katya.

"Yep. He just just stops right then and there. Picks up his typewriter, and walks out of the shop." Shaking his head, Rowan could only chuckle at recalling when dealing with unruly vault denizens was the worst of his troubles.

"I've seen some quartermasters and technicians put up with some really silly requests before. I don't think I could handle it. Someone would push the wrong button in me and they'd end up with a wrench to the head."

Standing up, Rowan rolled his shoulders and worked his neck to loosen up after the drive.

"Well, we're here. It's just an office building, but it should have plenty of what we're looking for. It's been on my to-do list for a while." He stated while smacking the button to open the back and lower the ramp of his vehicle. Politely sliding by him, Katya emerged into the unseasonably clear day and stretched. Her joints popped in a most pleasing way as her tail waved. Even her jaw crunched a bit as she yawned.

"Give me just a second to get in my armor and I'll be right there." He called down. Ever studious, Katya realized this was the first time she had seen Rowan in his much vaunted power armor. She had not watched him load up his suit before they had set off. Turning expectantly, the Paladin observed her companion.

When the human pulled off his shirt and tossed it into a rumpled heap on the nearby seat, Katya was disappointed she could not get a clear view. She was interested if she could see more of his cybernetics. Rowan turned the crank beneath the large cores slotted into the fusion powered backpack. The frame flowered open and the vault dweller stepped into the embrace of his armor with familiar ease. Once his limbs were nestled into the cushioned depths, the suit folded in around him. Interface cables connected to the sockets on his spine. Finally, the eye lenses of his modified X-series power armor lit up a bright electric blue. After pulling his tesla rifle off its rack, he walked down the ramp.

Moving in power armor was something that took a bit of training. With so much extra muscle, it was easy for someone inexperienced to hurt themselves by accidentally putting too much into their movements. Because of the sensitivity, most users adopted very exaggerated motions. Yet Katya saw none of this. She only saw how easily Rowan moved in his cumbersome armor. The Paladin had seen even veteran users trip over themselves or fail miserably attempting anything more complicated than jogging. Yet this honorary Brotherhood member strolled up to Katya as if he had been born wearing the armor.

Even with an extra foot of height, he was still a head shorter than Katya.

"Shall we?" Though his voice was distorted through the speakers of his helmet, Rowan's words had a definite ease. He was in his element.

"Lead the way."

They were situated on the highway by a tall square building. The kind that could be found across America by the hundreds. It was such a ubiquitous template, from the gated off parking area to the windowless concrete facade, that Katya was almost certain that she had been there before. A section of the wall that surrounded the lot had fallen inward, whether through the ravages of the elements or by design. The office resided on the corner of a small industrial block, a ditch full of toxic slurry bubbled in a sort of moat around the perimeter.

Rowan leapt the gap of rubble that had been the bridge over the irrigation ditch and moved up to the gap in the wall. Right on his heels, Katya cleared the moat and crouched down to peer around him. Far across the lot of rusting hulks, there was a pair of raiders at the entrance to the building. Each was covered in the heavy rusted metal armor of the Red Razors. They were a good fifty yards off, well outside the effective range of Rowan's tesla rifle.

"We've got company. Looks like a pair of Red Razors scavengers." Rowan turned to his new friend. "I mean I can shoot from here, but uh... I don't really have a gun that... Do you want... I mean I assume..."

"You don't have a me-sized gun. I gotcha. Let me get my pack." From the depths of her travel bag, Katya pulled out what looked like an overly thick arrow. With a deft twist, the whole thing telescoped out to an impressive six feet. A narrow leaf head affixed one end while the other end was just tapered for smooth flight.

Katya stood to her full height, cocking her arm back with the javelin hoisted into an overhead grip, using her body to aim. The Paladin swept her right side forward, following through with a twist to propel her spear at whistling speed. Through mass and velocity, the projectile impaled the raider and pinned him to a wall behind where the hapless man had been standing.

"Nice toss. You nailed him. To the wall in fact." The armored man gave his compliments

"Thank you. I'm not able to use guns, so I took a lot of throwing lessons."

At the death of his partner, the raider hunkered down behind the low wall in front of the door to the building, screaming obscenities as his unseen assailants. Rowan peered down his scope and scoffed.

"Damn, the other one took cover. Can't get a clean shot."

"Wait here. I'll take care of it right quick." Crouching down onto all fours, the deathclaw was not done showing off. Moving sinuously, the Paladin was silent as death. Even at a brisk, ground eating pace, she made not a sound.

Katya moved like a shadow, flitting unseen between obstacles until she was behind the raider. The man was furtively glancing over the top of his cover, hugging a Chinese assault rifle close to his chest. Breathing raggedly through a mask of burlap and twisted tubing, the raider muttered to himself insanely. Likely high on psycho, judging by the oversized needle sticking out of his thigh. She paced right up the steps, reached a single talon out, hooking her digit through the pin on a grenade that dangled from the raider's belt. A bit of pickpocketing know how opened many doors and a light touch let her pull the pin. She heard the ping, and ghosted around the corner of the steps out of sight.

And out of the blast radius.

With a whump that echoed off the building, the lower half of the Red Razor was turned into red mist while his upper body was launched into the awning to smack wetly off the covering. Fragments of welded raider armor and grisly chunks of its former occupant were scattered over the area. Katya stood up and waved an all clear to Rowan. Striding briskly up to the building, the young man joined his deadly companion.

"That was incredible! I knew deathclaws could be quite sneaky, but to see it in practice does not do it justice. You may as well have been invisible. It was worth it to watch that raider explode. You know, I might feel bad about killing raiders if they didn't decorate with guts." He said, watching Katya retrieve her spear.

"Thank you. I'm known to be something of a psychotic prankster from time to time." She laughed. "I don't know, who do you think is worse, raiders? Or super mutants?" She wiped her weapon off on the filthy pant leg of her kill.

"Ugh, tough. They're both cannibals." Rowan gave a shrug of sloped plating and wires.

"I have to go with super mutants being worse, then. At least raiders generally die when you shoot them in the head." Katya nudged a bloody chunk of her second kill with a foot. The body part was unidentifiable, but it did roll over to reveal a stained, yet intact, grenade. She wiped it off too and added it to her arsenal.

"Alright, points for raiders, for dying easier." A terminal was mounted on the wall beside the doors. Rowan pulled out the keyboard and made quick work of the simple password.

"Oh, you haven't fought robots like I have. We're talking riot control robots the size of a bus. After the Calculator was destroyed, all the deactivated bots were just hanging out in the area. It's not too much work to hotwire 'em. Reset them to default and set yourself up in its friend or foe database."

"I think I'm good with never running into one of those, thank you." He remarked as they both heard the electronic lock on the door disengage. "Speaking of which, these places usually have a bot or two. Let me disable 'em, if you don't mind. They're good for circuit boards and copper."

"Of course." She nodded in agreement. He was going to make her a fresh set of armor after all. She knew her form was hard to fit and took a lot to cover. If all Rowan was asking in return was a little help on a single field excursion, she was not going to complain.

Based on the simple block template of many business offices, the reception area was dominated by a wide desk that was buried beneath a pile of wooden beams. Doors dotted the perimeter, leading to different parts of the building that were easily identified. Bathrooms on one side. Front end office on the other. Separate stairwell. And the back which no doubt led to cubicles or other pre-war trappings. The ceiling of the reception area had collapsed, with the upper floors of the building open like a gutted animal.

In the lobby, all was quiet. All except for a faint shuffling of feet dragging against wood. As soon as the doors were opened, a half-blind ghoul jerked its head to face the first living souls to intrude in over two hundred years. Its head snapped back as it howled an inhuman wail. A dinner bell to signify a feeding frenzy as spittle flew from the creature's unhinged jaw and necrotizing tongue. From the upper levels a veritable horde of ghouls flung themselves down at the duo. Even as bodies thumped into the ground with muffled thuds and cracking bone, they were already scrabbling towards the pair.

Katya braced herself to meet the tide of leathery flesh and snapping jaws.

A loud clack sounded above the cries of the ferals. Then lightning shattered the ranks of the undead. Blinding blue bolts sheared limbs and heads from torsos. Entire ghouls were torn to pieces as the energy arced from target to target. Booming cracks splintered the air and Katya's nose was plugged with ionized particles.

Rowan's single shot felled the first ranks of ghouls. As they stumbled to climb over their fallen, his tesla rifle put them down faster than they could approach. The capacitors on his armor buzzed with life as his weapon was overcharged to let him loose a series of bolts at full power. The weakness of any energy weapon was dissipation in atmosphere. With enemies so close, the projections of the tesla rifle hit their targets in effect instantly. Though they roared and grasped, twenty walking abominations were freed from their torment in less than three heartbeats. When hit, some were dissolved into blue ash, a pulpy blend of goop as the water in their cells was turned into flash plasma and steam from the lightning.

A side door opened and more ghouls poured forth. Rowan held down the trigger to give his tesla rifle a buildup of current. When he let go, a wave of hissing bolts poured from the super-conducting struts of his weapon. The blast was not a single discharge, but rather a stream that dragged on for several seconds. Rowan conducted the destruction like a maestro with a lightning rod for a baton, directing the torrent through the pack. Claws of forked plasma raked across the horde. The blazing surge cut through mummified bodies like paper.

One ghoul among the tumult stubbornly refused to die. A bloated, calcified hulk of tumors and growths. For all its twisted strength, the oversized abomination was paralyzed as muscle rupturing electricity made it twitch and spasm uncontrollably. It never stood a chance as bolts of lightning thudded into it over and over, keeping it locked in place. Any ghoul that still walked or crawled met their end as the cascading tesla bolts sought out targets through the path of least resistance. Entry and exit wounds ripped chunks out of the monster. Blackened, fist-sized holes gouged from the creature adorned its mangled form. Empty eye sockets poured smoke where the water filled orbs had been boiled from its head and brain cooked. Twitching, the bloated, irradiated mummy toppled back with a crash.

Rowan lowered his rifle with a whir of servos and hydraulics. His helmet displayed that the connection to his weapon was good, and that the capacitors were already back up to full after a moment.

"You're not too shabby, Rowan. Your talent with energy weapons is impressive." She had a professional admiration growing within. The last of Katya doubts were defeated as surely as the mob of ghouls after seeing the display. Anyone could pick up a weapon. To face down the horrors of the world and have the will to pull a trigger was the mark of a warrior. When she looked to the man, clad in steel, a flutter filled her stomach. An unfamiliar quiver that distracted the Paladin for a moment.

"It was hard in my early days out of the vault. But it has definitely paid its dues. We're mostly after desk fans, typewriters, clipboards, and any glue or duct tape you can find. Any globes, cameras or clocks are good too. I'm stocked pretty well on just regular steel, cloth, and leather. Ideally this place'll have a security area. Some bullet proof vests will be good for ballistic fiber. I'll need gears and aluminum too, but we'll get that from the junk I mentioned."

"That shouldn't be too hard in a place like this." She blinked away the nagging dip in her stomach and straightened her posture, reminding herself to be vigilant.

"Speaking of security, I bet its probably over here." More metal then man, Rowan's footfalls were heavy and accompanied by the hum of oiled servos. On the right side of the lobby was a room just visible behind filthy glass permeated with wire. Beside the large pane was a locked door. Rowan clamped his rifle to his thigh and crouched down, bobby pin and screwdriver in his metal fingers. Just jiggling the pins a few times, he could tell it was not going to be easy.

"Ugh, this lock is tough."

"Rowan. Rowan, hun?"

"What's up?" He asked, surprised at the term of endearment.

"Take a few steps to your right." Katya was trying quite hard not to laugh.

Though confused, Rowan moved, wondering if she wanted a shot at the lock. She had done an impressive job picking the cage. Rowan was curious to watch how the deathclaw would do it. With a quick step and a front kick that could snap a behemoth spine, the half-rotten wooden door was torn from its hinges, landing in a splintered mess.

"Oh. You make a persuasive argument." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle and stepped over the ruined threshold.

"Don't worry, that's not nearly as a bad as the time one of my squadmates spent half an hour trying to open a door without noticing that one of the windows was broken." Katya peered in around the frame. There was not much to the side room. A gutted terminal sat on a decrepit metal desk. The gun rack was empty, and the locked cage was mostly torn apart as well. However, Rowan did scoop up the clipboard and though they were empty, about a dozen ammo pouches sat on the shelves of the small lockup. He threw the spoils into a duffel bag and they carried on.

The duo moved down a hall past the lobby. Rowan opened a maintenance closet door, and immediately slammed it shut.

"Nope. There's not enough bleach in the world. I don't care how much wonderglue is in there."

Wrinkling her nose at the back draft, Katya could only cover her snout and nod in agreement. Briskly carrying on to the end of the hall, they emerged into a wide open space of nothing but desks, thin plyboard walls, and decrepit ceiling tiles. Sunlight diffused into the space through a few holes bored all the way from the roof several stories above them. Small green shrubs dug their roots stubbornly into the cracked foundation, greedily occupying the beams of light where it fell. Thankfully the pair were not greeted by any more ghouls.

"In these offices there's almost always... Aha!" Rowan remarked, walking over to a stack of wooden crates in the corner. There was even a wheeled dolly whose plastic and rubber construction had survived the end of the world. He set the largest empty crate onto the dolly, tossing his looted bag into it, and pushed the ensemble to the closest set of cubicles. Gleefully, Rowan chucked a fan and another clipboard into the box.

Not willing to sit idly by like a dead weight, Katya went to the next cubicle with a new appreciation for the treasures that could be extracted from what she normally considered trash. She grabbed a clock and gave it an underhanded toss into the crate, landing at the bottom with a gratifying clunk.

"You were raised in a vault, yes, Rowan? I think you're strong, despite that." Katya spoke. Rowan looked up from the filling cabinet he was rummaging through.

"What do you mean?"

"If children are raised too soft, it spoils them. That's the issue with a lot of settlers and vault dwellers. I think a lot of humans coddle their young. Maybe in a gentler world that would be okay." Katya threw a roll of duct tape and a typewriter into the crate.

"But we don't live in a gentle world." He finished for her. Through the lens of his helmet's display, he watched the deathclaw move to the next cubicle in line.

"I think the best mission payoff I ever had was when I rescued a bunch of initiates." On the desk, there was a picture frame next to the dead terminal. It was too old to make out anything other than old smudges from the past. Even though the frame held nothing of value, Katya was still careful not to disturb it. In a moment of nostalgia, she examined the tattoo on her arm instead. The snake had been Kiev's idea. The ram skull was Rook's. The idea of matching tattoos in the first place belonged to Torch.

"Devil squad was the closest. We saw the distress flares and caught the SOS they broadcasted. They were out on a training mission. Their leader, the oldest at fourteen, had been injured and they were cornered." She paused to toss another typewriter into the container. "They were smart though. They retreated to a basement in an old factory and had turned the long hallway to it into a killbox. They had two young deathclaws with them. It was by working together, humans and deathclaws, that they held out until we got there."

Rowan finished his cubicle, moved the dolly up, and went into the next.

"All six of them were Brotherhood born and raised. Either that or rescued from the wastes before superstition and radiation could warp their minds. Without hesitation, they fell back on their training. When stealth and avoidance failed, they retreated with their wounded to a defensible position. From there, they signalled for help, and hunkered down. It was textbook, and it saved their lives." There was only another clock to be had, then the deathclaw moved on. She recited her telling in her best Brotherhood briefing tone, channeling her inner Maxson.

"'A scalpel can be deadlier than a sledgehammer if used with precision.'" Katya said, quoting the Brotherhood codex. We cut through those raiders like a blowtorch through paper." The Paladin added a cutting gesture to emphasize her point. Rowan chuckled at the visual he imagined, adding yet more junk to the crate. "When deathclaws are young, complex ideas are more difficult to understand. But since they're raised together, young deathclaws are taught that their squad is their pack. A pack is sacred to a deathclaw. Harming ones packmate is a concept that doesn't exist to hatchlings or juveniles."

"The human pup had taken on a squad leader role when her elder was incapacitated. With her Brotherhood coat, and helmet that was two sizes too big, she reminded me of how the world does not care about things like age, or race. But she could handle her laser rifle. And there was steel in her eyes. A shine. I saw that same look in all of them. They were hard, from their lives and training, but the experience had tempered them." Oddly, the Paladin felt better after telling her story. Though he had been quiet, just having an attentive listener was soothing to Katya. Habitually, she tapped the gauntlets on her hip.

"Many people underestimate kids. Adults can get inflexible. Set in their ways. Younger people can adapt to anything, and most lose that as they grow up." Rowan punctuated his point by dumping two armfulls of clipboards into their junk collector.

"It was a good mission. We were successful, a hundred percent. Clear objective. Brothers and sisters cheered. Drinks were had." Opening a desk drawer, Katya could not help but laugh. "Speaking of drinks, I think whoever worked at this spot had their own problems. There's gotta be a dozen empty vodka bottles in here."

"For some people, overtime is akin to murder I guess." He remarked with yet another desk fan. Katya joined him with several more items. Giving his companion a long look, Rowan asked something that he had suspected for a while.

"Katya, why did you set off on your own? Really?"

Now it was the Paladin's turn to heave a long, pained sigh.

"Devil squad was only four members. There was me. My half-brothers, Kiev. He was our bruiser. He shared my love of reading, actually. Our heavy weapons expert, Torch. She could work a fifty-cal like a paintbrush. And our leader, Rook. In all the Brotherhood, I have never met a deadlier man. Strangely enough, he was our medic too. Rook got promoted to general. We were all really happy for him, but Kiev wanted to join Dagger squad, and Torch wanted to stay with special ops. So I was left on my own. I don't blame them for wanting to do their own thing. Not one bit. I was happy that they all got what they wanted, but it made me realize there was a whole wasteland out there." The deathclaw rubbed her tattoo as Rowan leaned on the crate.

"Like I sssaid, many of our members would set out on long journey's for one reason or another. I went out hoping to establish contact with another chapter. And I guess I was hopeless enough to believe they wouldn't judge me for not being human. I don't really know what I was hoping to find. I was just too restless to stay put."

"I'm glad you did. I wouldn't have had the chance to meet you. Besides, just think of it like a vacation. You don't want the Brotherhood to be a job and end up like vodka desk over there." Hoping he was not overstepping himself, Rowan reached out and placed a metal palm on the wrist Katya was rubbing.

"Thanks, Rowan. I'm glad I got a chance to meet you. It's made the journey worthwhile." Feeling a peculier tickle in her chest, the Paladin quickly changed the subject and Rowan respectfully removed his contact. "Is this going to be enough? Or do we need a second trip?" She looked to the overflowing crate. They had done a fair job stripping the room of the items Rowan had mentioned to look for.

"This is more than plenty. I should be able to make you a very nice setup. Thank you for joining me, Katya. These trips are normally such a chore."

"Thank you for bringing me along, Rowan. It's... Kind of nice to be my own boss. To decide what I do and when I do it."

The pair continued to make pleasant small talk as they exited the building, guiding their loot wagon between obstacles. Though they nearly forfeited their hard work to the steps just outside. Together they jumped over the toxic trench with the crate between them without losing a single item. Rowan shoved the wooden box into the back of the vehicle and exited his power armor.

"What..." Katya blurted before she could stop herself, seeing Rowan from the front without his shirt on. Marring the left side of his chest was a horrific mishmash of tissue, warped surgical marks, and angry disfigurements where bone saws had gone through skin, and muscle. She had seen plenty of combat injuries. She herself had suffered many. Most of it was just over a lifetime of battle. The man clearly had endured terrible trials.

"Oh, sorry," Rowan muttered, casting his eyes down and hurriedly finding his shirt.

"No, no, no! Don't be sorry. Please, I understand. I have a lot of scars too. So I get wanting to remain covered." Trying her best to impart sympathy, Katya raised a claw with her palm up. "May I see it?" As soon as the silly blurt was out of her mouth, she realized both what a blatant innuendo, and how in so many words, she wanted to let him know that it was okay to have scars. It was a gesture she always sought from others. Among her brothers and sisters most marks were the sign of a long life. Those won in battle were to be celebrated, but not all. Though hesitant, and unwilling to look her in the eye, Rowan lifted his shirt.

"How did this happen?" Katya actually gasped. She reached out and felt along the massive knot with the flat of her claw. Only able to stand so much exposure, the human turned around. She was further taken by surprise when she saw Rowan's naked back. On either side of his spine was a line of winding, ropey defects, and near the middle was a horizontal defacement that looked as though Rowan had been snapped in two. They were old, blended in with his skin tone. Burnished metal vertebrae ran from his lower back all the way to his neck. The flesh around the cybernetics was well-cared for, showing no sign of infection or inflamed union. Sockets interrupted the path of jointed surgical steel near the top and bottom.

"I'll tell it. If you don't mind a long story." Hesitantly, he stole a glance at the deathclaw before making his way to the driver's seat.

"I've been taking a lot of the conversation for myself. It's only fair. I want to know, Rowan." Katya took her previous spot. Collecting himself, the human started up the armored transport and got them underway. Cranking the controls, he turned their lumbering steed and off they went.

"They were known, as the Collective. They were a mixture of pre-war scientists and high ranking military officials. They were obsessed with war, technology, and how war drove the advancement of the human race. They believed that war was an elevated state of existence, and that by pushing the bounds of it, they pushed humanity. The Collective is where I ran into Lana. Without her, I wouldn't have made it out, let alone stop those psychopaths."

"That's... Wow." The Brotherhood's codex and archives were rife with cautionary lessons that started in a way that seemed awfully familiar in that moment.

"I know sometimes the Brotherhood can be a little too possessive over technology. I know some chapters are selfish, that they hold back things that could really help people. After seeing just how much terror, damage, and pain that the misuse of science can bring, I understand why some see them as villains." Rowan spoke quietly, but the Paladin was able to hear him just fine.

"That's the story of my whole chapter. And I'm sure many others."

He nodded wearily.

"My power armor is what made me a target. Given enough of a concentrated EMP burst, you can even knock out the stuff that's been hardened against it. The Collective had a lot of traps. I had gone north, following a lead about a working arms factory and an automated train I had picked up over the radio. I walked right into it. Stepped on a magnetic plate and next thing I know, my armor's totally locked up. I was... Out of it for a long time. Their base was hidden way up in what used to be Canada. Next thing I know, I'm waking up for orientation in nothing but a surgical gown."

"That was how they controlled their human soldiers. They would take out their hearts, replace them with mechanical ones that were rigged up to their network. If you misbehaved. If you tried to escape. If you disobeyed orders. Even once. They could turn you off. Like flipping a switch." Unintentionally, Rowan underpinned his own words by using a switch to engage different gears as they went up an incline in the highway. "But our hearts were also our incentive. If you played along. Were a good little toy soldier for them, they would give you back your real heart, and they might let you go. They had this huge room full of 'em. A whole warehouse lined front to back with hearts all hooked up to oxygenated fluid and kept beating with electrodes. What they didn't tell us was that only the champion of the winners got to go free."

"The Collective, despite their name, were divided into little factions. Individuals that each commanded their own little army of toy soldiers, and robots. There was this massive scoreboard, showing which one was in the lead. That was the whole point. Their wargames. Because that's all they were to the Collective. Games. They had these underground domes. Huge open spaces. Miles of tunnels and chokepoints that could be fought over time and time again. Live ammo was forbidden. You had to use special rounds or charge packs that only stunned."

"Out of the batch of new recruits, I was picked up by Sobek. They all had chosen names after gods of war from the old world. Ares, Montu, Shiva, Innana, Mars, Tyr, Athena, and Sobek."

"By the mother, what arrogance. They thought of themselves as gods, didn't they?" Katya spat.

"They were a bit touched in the head. The Collective was where I first ran into the Brotherhood of Steel. It was my power armor that made me such easy prey and it made the Brotherhood targets too. They even had captured Enclave soldiers. There were hundreds under the Collective's control. Many were biding their time. Playing along. Waiting for the right moment to strike. That's where I met Paladin Vudu. I was the opportunity she was looking for. She knew it was just a matter of finding which of the war gods were willing to cheat. Sobek liked me. He had hand picked me to do his dirty work. Vudu had been planning for years. The more Sobek got me to do his dirty work, the more insider knowledge I would get."

"Did they put the cybernetics in you too?"

"Oh. That." Rowan tried not to wince at the memory. "There was this time I was fighting... Well. Doesn't really matter. I got run over by a tank. Broke my spine. So... I, uh, needed a replacement. Lana hauled me to a medical Ms. Nanny, and found me a cybernetic spine. I don't know what she went through to get it. Or even where. By the time she made it back to me, she was a total wreck. I Had to replace everything but her head. Vudu had almost written me off as a loss, and I can't exactly blame her. The spine helped me a lot. Gave me an edge. It let me directly connect to my power armor. After I had recovered I was able to fix Lana up."

"You mentioned that's where you met... Lana. Did you have to hack her or anything?"

"Sobek assigned her to me. All the toy soldiers were given a robot of some kind. Even if it was just an eyebot. Most lost theirs to 'accidental' instances of friendly fire since they were paranoid. The Collective was so sure of their control, that there was no spying equipment or anything in 'em. The bots were easier to shutdown than the toy soldiers. At first I was suspicious of her too. After... A lot of time fighting together, I just grew to trust her. For a while I had become like the other toy soldiers. Just hollow. Fighting only to live another day. Then she said she would be sad if I had died. It was the only time she ever talked about her feelings with me. Like, emotion type feelings. I figured she had a personality, like some Mr. Gutsy models did. She had a full variable response emotional matrix. She was just always quiet about it."

"So, with an ambitious member of the Collective, I had my foot in the door. By doing shady shit for Sobek, cheating to slant the war games in his favor, I found what Vudu had suspected for a long time. Turns out there was a backdoor passage into the transplant room."

"It took me a while to get everything I needed. Guns, ammo, upgrades for my armor and Lana. And getting Lana the codes to get there and make the medic bots to put my heart back. But we would only have one shot. Sobek turned off the security for the back hallway only because he sent Lana and I to go sabotage something. That would be our chance." Rowan casually glossed over months spent in trenches, of living war every waking moment of every day to the crushing weight of artillery, assaults, defenses, final stands, and a taste of battle so void of meaning as to atrophy the very notion of a soldier's sacrifice being the end, and not the means.

"Vudu had been in communication with the other Brotherhood of Steel members scattered through the different factions. She had them ready to cause a huge distraction that would give me the chance to get my heart back and kill the Collective in their cradle. She knew it was going to be a last hurrah. I think... I think she and the other brothers and sisters who had been there a while knew there was no getting out. Vudu did something, right before I left that final time. She smiled. Not like in the months of fighting. Her usual smile was this tight thing. Just pulling her lips back from her teeth. No, a real one. Once upon a time, she would say, a soldier's true dream is to see the end of war."

"That gun in your house..."

"Salvation. Yeah, it was hers. Getting live shells for that cannon was its own undertaking." Rowan took a breath to steady himself. "Just as planned, I got my heart back. No more switch. No more toy soldier. But I had a choice. I couldn't get anyone their hearts back without codes from the Collective. Each one was a single-time use. So I could leave the Collective on their own to keep running their war games, enslaving people as they saw fit, maybe come back later. Maybe not. I could escape. Just leave. Lana had stolen the key to the outer gates. Or, I could end them. Destroy everything. Kill the Collective, and get everyone back their hearts. No choice at all."

"I got to the nest housing the Collective's real bodies. It was right above the hearts. I threatened them. Told them to let everyone go or I would kill 'em. They surprised me. They asked me to join them. Join the Collective. Have my own army. Never have to worry about hunger or thirst, or fear ever again. I would never have done it. Not in a million years. Just the idea that they so firmly believed in what they were selling... Just... The blindness."

"The Collective was so sure of their hypothesis, that they were willing to stake their, and everyone else's lives on it. They were completely defenseless. There was nothing in there that could have hurt me. I just walked through the forcefield like it wasn't even there. There was a failsafe. In the case that the toy soldiers all staged a mass revolt, took control of the heart room, and breached the inner sanctum, any interruption in the life support of the cradles would terminate every heart. Conveniently, they left that part out."

"They... Designed it that way?"

"The Collective was the definition of arrogant. They were so certain that if anyone was ever clever enough to 'win' their heart back, that they would have been enlightened by war. I tried. I really did. I tried everything, to convince them that what they were doing was wrong. That their mad experiment was flawed, and that people weren't meant to live that way. Maybe a more charismatic man would have been able to convince them. I blew them apart in their life support cradles. Vudu and her squad knew full well what success on my part meant. But they all went along with it anyway."

Rowan was deathly quiet for a while. Katya was no mind reader, but she knew exactly where he was. He was back on that battlefield. Fighting. Warring. Standing with the comrades he had doomed to die.

"Rowan, hey." Katya spoke softly, breaking his trance. When she spoke, she saw the whites of his knuckles ease off the steering wheel.

"Before I left to confront them, Vudu gave me all of their holotags and directions to their bunker. As well as a bunch of logs from all of them. They knew... And of course, the Collective had one last trick up their sleeves. A little goodbye gift. If everything flat-lined. Everything. Them. The hearts. Their entire underground facility was rigged to destroy itself. They wanted a guarantee that nothing would ever interrupt their games. So they banked on a geothermic power supply. Not nuclear. But that reactor's magma pumps could be reversed, and the whole place flooded with lava, and sealed forever. If they didn't win, they wanted to be sure no one else would either."

"All that technology... Destroyed." The Paladin Lord wished the revelation was surprising.

"I learned about it after I had made my choice, so it was all pointless in the end. Vudu and the others had been gathering what blueprints and salvageable data and documents they could. Nothing that would save the wasteland, but they did capture some of the breakthroughs in cybernetics. That helped her chapter a lot. They're the ones that made me an honorary member."

"Nothing about their pod-cradle things or how they lived that long?"

Rowan shook his head.

"Nothing. They made sure it was buried with them. I downloaded a few blueprints into my Pip-Boy, but that's it. The Auto-Doc with only the basic features. A few parts for Lana. Some weapon mods. Extended magazines and some grips. That's... All."

****

Rowan had been silent for some time, focused on driving and obviously lost in thought. Sensing his mood, Katya did not press him. She relaxed, and enjoyed the cozy ride back to his home. Before she knew it, he was pulling through the gate they had left out of earlier that morning. Even though he killed the engine, his hands rested on the wheel for a pensive moment.

"Katya,"

The tone of Rowan's voice made her head tilt. There was solemnity there, but also a fleeting hope. Indecision tinted his words with a sorrowful spirit. He spun in his seat, intently studying the floor.

"Yeah?" She asked, wondering what had him so wound up. She was a Paladin Lord, and had been trained to watch for signs of subterfuge. And she also knew when an idea was trying to burrow out of a soldier's mind.

"Can I show you something?" The question came out in a rush. Rowan even appeared to breathe easier once he had finally dug the words from his mouth.

"What is it?" Katya had been curious about the young man before. What could he be hiding after readily showing her so much else? What could compare to his arsenal of weapons and armor? His killer robots? What other secrets lurked below his mountain fortress?

"I can't really describe it very well. It's a special place I have in my bunker. I've actually never shown it to anyone else." He glanced up, then just as quickly looked away.

Rowan had not led her astray thus far, and if he wanted to murder her, there had been many better opportunities.

"You're not going to kill me and wear my skin around, are you?"

"What the fuck?" The absurdity of the question got a smile out of the dreary man. "Where did that come from?"

"Hey, some humans are weird." She joked. Worthwhile to lift the mood.

Down again into Rowan's home they went. Along the way, the master of the house asked his hunter-killer to unload the spoils of the successful excursion. Katya regarded the assaultron in a new light as they passed the robot on the way to the lift. The deathclaw dropped off her pack and her shroud along the way. Once down, they went left at the pool, instead of right towards the suite. Though not before the Paladin indulged in the idea of having a lovely dip in the pool. But that would come later.

Rowan's secret, was simple. Yet its substance was everything to the contrary.

Situated in a room tucked beyond a nondescript door right by his purifiers, was a small hydroponics farm. Katya guessed its nature, just by the huge numbers of pipes going through the walls. Beyond that threshold was something she never could have prepared for, even if Rowan had told her. Her jaw fell open, stunned truly speechless. Color, the likes of which no pre-war magazine or postcard could ever have captured overwhelmed her.

Flowers.

Real flowers.

Living, breathing, growing, blooming, explosions of vibrancy.

Water gurgled as it flowed through the numerous pipes, cascading down like a miniature aqueduct. Cutouts in the pipe cradled permeable growing containers. A terminal glowed in the corner, connected to a complex pumping station that fed nutrients through a series of tubing connected to each pod. Bright white and pink plant lights glowed in alternating sets above each row of pipes.

She gazed around in wonder like a hatchling.

Lilies of purple, white, and blushing pink curl back akin to hollow-points. Snapdragons sprout in clusters, tiny blooms weaving a panoply of mixed hues through generations of breeding. A lilac bush greedily occupies its own corner of the room, each sprig trying to crowd towards the light like purple fireworks. One row of the pipes held bluebonnet so bright it was closer to turquoise. And there were roses in such abundance. A dizzying display of species from climbing, to tree, and even miniature.

Roses... Scarlet blooms, redder than a dozen sanguine sunsets and bloody sunrises.

"A lot of different people thought of a lot of different ways life would go on after the bombs fell. Making plants that could survive the nuclear winter and the radiation that would follow was pretty low on the priority list. No real scientist back then would even think about saving flowers. It was seen as 'hippy work'. A few universities picked it up as graduate thesis projects, meant to preserve seeds from a variety of north american flora." From a table, Rowan picked up a pair of garden snips and began clipping roses. Katya's heart nearly stopped when she heard the snik.

"Here," Rowan said casually, handing her one of the flowers. The deathclaw cradled the bloom with the seriousness of a living egg.

Then he gave her another.

Then another.

Until a dozen red roses were piled into her claws.

"They aren't quite ready to survive outside yet. But they're getting there. A few more generations and I think some of the snapdragons and roses will be ready to go." He casually remarked, setting the snips back down and making a mental note to trim the lilac bush later.

In all her years, nothing had trained the Paladin for how beautiful they were. She had seen wasteland flowers a few times. They were always sickly, diseased things. Leaking puss or spewing toxic fumes.

"Rowan, I... I don't... Know what to sssay." Katya held the flowers as if they were a book without a spine. Cradling them in an open palm, she used the very tip of her other claw to trace and move through the folds, fearing any moment that the blossoms would fall apart and the petals scatter into nothing. She gazed within the creased velum of the petals and saw colors she had scarcely imagined. No picture did them justice.

Not the depth, the slender stems, or the frangible petals, held her in such a trance.

It was the smell.

With the touch of the flowers like a whisper on her tactile senses, she closed her eyes and inhaled. There was the odor of the fertilizer, the tang of clean water, but wafting through it all, was the unfiltered scent of rose, lilac, and lilies. Most of all, she followed the fragrant rose. Even as she inhaled, it took her breath away. Chasing the feeling it evoked, Katya swam through the bouquet her keen nose picked up. And once she found it, her eyes snapped open with a start, and her jaw parted ever so slightly.

They smelled the way she imagined love did.

And for the first time in her life, the Paladin Lord stood in awe of something that had been made, rather than destroyed. She was dumbfounded at how a feeling as strong as love, could be invoked by the sight, feel, and aroma, of a flower.

"Some days, when life gets to be too much, I come in here." Rowan spun, thinking on the varied nutrients each plant needed to grow, and how he was glad to finally share his secret. The room was a little crowded with both of them, but he did not mind. "Once, I was given a memory. The power armor I got, back at the Collective had been worn by someone who was there. They must have had cybernetics too, because I didn't see it until I got my spine." He tapped the back of his neck. "They watched the bombs fall. They watched the world end. They watched it die. What they saw... What I saw through their eyes..."

Katya braced herself, her gaze widening as she clutched the dozen blooms to her chest. The vault dweller cupped a flower that still had not yet blossomed, its shy petals still furled.

"I saw things as they had been. I saw the green that's slowly coming back in places. There were houses and white picket fences, and all that. I remember being taught about the old world American dream. Never took it seriously until it was there in front of me. And I saw the flowers. It's why I looked for the seeds to cultivate them. I hope that, maybe one day, these flowers will grow somewhere that people gather again. That their beauty will make someone in the future happy. When the world is better. I'm just one man. But I can plant something. Watch it grow. Help it. Protect it. Living should be than just surviving."

For one beat of her heart, Katya was there. There was a park. Children laughing and playing. The sky was blue and the air was clean. And everywhere, flowers. The very flowers she was holding. Although the daydream was just that, the afterimage was seared into her mind like a flashbang from paradise.

"Sssooo... This conversation has gotten rather heavy. And I think now would be a good time to go swimming, if you're okay with that." She said, rotating on a heel and darting out of the room. As the Paladin hurried away, she hoped she had not come across as rude. Although the smell of the garden faded as soon as she was out the door, her gifts kept her company.

Rowan gave a low chuckle. He could not help but notice the way Katya protected the roses he had given her. The main felt calm while breathing in the aroma of his hydroponics and was glad he had decided to show it to his guest. Even other visiting members of the Brotherhood were not shown the secret room. Why did he trust Katya with it? He mulled over his feelings, able to parse through the daily static because of the tranquility he felt in his garden. Then it just clicked. She put him at ease the same way his garden did.

Wondering what to do with these emotions, Rowan casually followed his new friend.

On one side of the pool sat a pair of beach chairs and a wrought iron table. Katya set her flowers onto the white wooden slats of a chair with the utmost care and began to strip. Her claws worked the oversized buckles of her bandoliers, holster, and skirt. One piece after another she lifted away her equipment and piled it on the table.

Now naked, the deathclaw took the few paces to get to the rounded concrete edge of the pool and dipped a foot in the water. Wisps of steam ghosted off the water's surface. After testing the temperature once, she just dove straight in. Rowan came just in time to witness his guest gracefully slide into the water. Though her bulk sent waves lapping against the sides, Katya herself barely made a splash. She propelled herself forward. Her entire body got into it, undulating in a sinuous ripple from nose to tail.

"It'sss like a giant bath. The temperature isss ssso good. This is amazing." She kept her snout just above the waterline, and felt the warmth threatening to melt her away. "I would do this every day if I could." Paddling with just her legs and tail, she swam around the center pillar covered in pipes. On her way back, she saw the blonde Rowan taking off his own shirt.

"W-w-what are you doing?" She stumbled, pausing. Because of the depth of the pool, Katya just barely touched the bottom with her body fully stretched out, only just peaking above the water.

"Well, you mentioned going for a swim. I though I'd join you." The young man casually remarked, kicking off his boots and shimmying out of his pants. Katya tried to pretend she was not intently watching. Wearing only his dark boxers and Pip-Boy, Rowan jumped into the underground pool. He surfaced with a gasp and shook the water out of his eyes, treading in place.

"The water won't hurt your cybernetics?" She asked, a bit concerned that maybe he was just trying to show off.

"Don't worry, I'm quite waterproof." Rowan responded with a reassuring smile.

They both played rather coy, with the human rubbing the dirt away while the deathclaw went along the perimeter of the pool. After she did a few laps, Katya slowed. Then once she had spent a few minutes just floating along on her belly, Katya turned over onto her back. Too lost in her relaxing, she did not realize that her feminine bits were on prominent display. Rowan, being a warm-blooded male, definitely noticed. Distracted, he bumped right into her side. Taken by surprise he latched onto the female.

"Sorry, sorry." He said.

"You're okay. You can... Stay there, if you want, that is. I don't mind." She clumsily responded, rubbing her thighs together and slowing to drift with her tail.

The temperature had done its work on Rowan too. Holding on to Katya, he let himself float freely, just allowing his limbs to rest. The human was just letting instinct take over. He felt an affection for Katya that he did not quite know how to express. When they bumped into one another, and he clung to her, it was quite agreeable. He did not want to let go. In fact, he wanted to do more. He wanted to touch her more. With not much to lose, he climbed up a bit onto her belly.

Katya had no idea how she had gotten into the position. As soon as the weight of him became quite comfortable indeed, maybe a little too pleasant, she was aware of how close Rowan sat to her crotch. Although she was very shy about them. About the whole situation. About being naked and vulnerable. Katya leaned ever so slightly into the touch. She simply let him explore. Floating along with his warm presence atop her was cozy. As though she was in a bed of water with a weighted blanket.

He had already clambered on top of her, and was curious about what she felt like. He wondered how she liked to be touched. It was small at first. He poked her in the side and traced along her sternum. Katya's love of bathing regularly had kept her hide in fairly good condition, aside from the scars she had earned in battle. Those marks were fascinating to Rowan. His fingertips followed a long indent that went from her ribs down to the middle of her belly.

Suddenly his feathery touch ghosted along a particular spot below her ribs and Katya giggled as she shook a bit.

"Hah! Oh! Don't touch there, no, no, no. That tickles." She begged, pretending she was not intently watched every move the man made.

"I didn't know deathclaws were ticklish." He teased with a grin.

Rowan felt a keen pit within himself. A crater made from loneliness. That dizzying ache compelled him to explore further. He found his hands and eyes drifting a little further south. Katya squirmed as alarmingly talented fingers performed an intimate ballet, following the line of her lower waist. And dangerously close to a rising warmth between her legs that had nothing to do with the pool.

"I hope I'm not being too forward, but I think you're very attractive, Katya."

A small moan escaped her muzzle.

"Do you make a habit of flattering your guests? Becausssse that's a ssstrange thing to say to a deathclaw."

"I can't help but appreciate beautiful things.

"Beauty is a strong word. I'm far from perfect. Even for a deathclaw." Katya tried to protest, fighting against insecurity. No male had ever given her attention like what Rowan was doing. She was always the one to flirt, and often put off members of her own species with her intelligence. But not Rowan.

"Perfect things aren't beautiful. Beauty is made and earned just like everything else. There is no perfect flower, I've learned. You have to prune them. The stems branch and split." His fingers traced more of her scars. "Their colors are brighter because of it."

"Are you coming on to me, Rowan?" Katya asked, surprised with how out of breath she was.

"Is that okay?" The young man responded. His fingers slowed in their dance, rubbing circles in the hollow of the join between her belly and pelvis. Releasing a sound that was half caught between a moan at the touch, and a whine as Rowan stopped just short of where she knew he was venturing. However, once put to the test, she hesitated for a moment.

"I didn't tell you to ssstop." Katya mumbled.

Rowan's hands made the jump to her thighs, coaxing them open. Gasping, the female gradually spread her legs and invited the man further. Her heart quickened as his digits trailed back up to her center, then went down... Down...

** Beeeep! Beeeep! Beeeep!**

A klaxon wailed. Red emergency lights flashed.

Rowan's head snapped up, and his hands left the hot and bothered deathclaw. He turned the dial on his Pip-Boy to his radio even as he swam to the pool's edge and heaved himself out of the water, feet slapping against the concrete. Dripping wet, he gave himself a quick once over with his shirt and struggled into his pants. Lana told him one thing over the radio, and it was all he needed to know.

Startled, Katya splashed in fright and followed Rowan out of the oversized bath as the alarm continued to blare. Rowan threw her a towel off the other lounge chair.

"What's going on!" She shouted over the warbling siren.

With a few button presses, Rowan turned off the alarm as he continued to pat himself down.

"Henry's finally decided to come out and play." The vault dweller growled, gazing at the front door to his bunker with a seething glare.

"Who?" The Paladin wondered while she toweled off.

"Gang boss. Leads the Red Razors. He's been trying to take over this stretch of highway to extort caravans for months. I think he finally got tired of hiding while I killed his men. He must have had scouts watching my place, waiting for me to leave."

"Why didn't you just go kill him?" The Paladin Lord inquired, having performed dozens of successful assassination missions.

"I tried a couple different times. He got really paranoid. Kept hiring goons to crew the outposts he would hide at. Whenever he got wind of me coming, he'd bug out. Never had the guts to fight me." Rowan derided the man with every ounce of ire he could muster. The feud between him and the Red Razors only dragged on as long as it had because of Henry.

"Typical bandit scum." She cursed.

Every honest man, woman, and even deathclaw had a hatred for the blood-sucking bottom feeders of the wasteland. Katya and Rowan both armored up and readied themselves, meeting at the front of his mountain home. Katya had her gauntlets on and charged, and grenades at the ready. Rowan had leapt into his power armor and grabbed his guns on the fly.

Making sure to close the gate behind them, Rowan sprinted down the road. He had spent a long time curating the area, and knew it very well. Even in power armor, his knew exactly where small dirt paths cut across the foliage through the winding asphalt street. The Red Razors had launched their attack as soon as they heard that Rowan was away. The sun hung lazily in the western horizon.

A scouting trio had been cut to pieces by Rowan's perimeter turrets. They had been the unfortunate souls to set off the alarm. The raiders had thought to ascend straight up the mountain, but as soon as they had climbed over the barrier of the first switchback, four heavy laser guns set in one of the many concrete blockhouses opened up. Perforated and smoking, the three were sprawled in the trees between the segments of road. Repeated raider attacks was ironically the reason Rowan had such elaborate defenses in place.

Katya kept pace with him all the way to stand with him on top of the blockhouse.

Rowan had armed himself with both of his custom weapons. Using the optics of his plasma rifle, he looked down the highway where the Red Razors were approaching. There were dozens of heavily armed and armored raiders making their way in a disorganized mob. Many reconfigured robots were mixed in from a variety of lines. All chopped up and put back together in the trademark Red Razor fashion. A great deal of emphasis was put on barbed wire and actual razor blades welded to their armor.

"Do we have a plan?" Katya asked, assessing the situation for herself.

"Yeah, kill 'em all. We can't let the turrets do all the work. Henry will just send his men in to die, and run away again. Look for a guy in really shitty looking power armor. That'll be Henry." Rowan panned his scope around. At least some of the raiders were smart enough to move from cover to cover, making getting a headcount difficult. No doubt they had heard the death of their scouting party.

"Okay, it looks like the first wave is almost in range." Rowan looked over and Katya was gone. "Wait, what?" He asked the empty air.

Looking back through his scope, he searched for his wayward companion. The young man only spotted the deathclaw because he knew what to look for. The muted tones of her hide made her blend in with the rocky slope of the mountain that ran along the interstate. He watched the Paladin Lord slide right up to the disorganized column of raiders. Rowan had trouble following her movements even with his sight trained right on her. He held his breath as a Red Razor got within arms reach of Katya and still did not see her.

Katya stood, and decapitated the man with a practiced swipe. The headless body took one more step, and fell ignominiously to the hallowed earth. It happened so fast, the woman who had been walking at the dead man's side only looked when the dull thud of his corpse alerted her. She looked just as Katya got within reach.

Normally, a power fist operated with pneumatic force. However, the Midwestern brotherhood chapter had access to the line of power fists retrofitted from the ground up by a third party company before the war for military use. The 'Big Frigger' brand utilized kinetic energy storage. The kind normally used in army super sledges. In addition to all this extra power, it was deathclaw sized. Known and rightly feared as apex predators, a wild deathclaw's bare hands could rip through even the heaviest of armor.

The ends of each gauntlet were open, allowing her natural claw to do what it did best. The finger of each glove was an advanced metal composite mesh that conducted power from microfusion cells embedded in the thick forearm plating. Spikes sprouted from each knuckle and ribbed cabling snaked under plates that protected the back of the user's hands. The real magic happened when the kinetic force storage in her gauntlets gave her swipes that extra punch. With her claws energized, Katya could very nearly cleave through tank plating in a single swing.

When she hit a normal human with the combination, the poor raider crumpled like wet paper wrapped in rusty metal.

Only when the second body was added to the pile did someone at last notice. Several of the raiders shouted in panic at the sight of a deathclaw. Every wastlander would have. Weaving with all the natural speed and agility of her species coupled with her small frame, Katya threaded through the force faster than they could react effectively, striking targets of opportunity.

There was room to move, and Katya got to stretch her legs. On a full tilt sprint the deathclaw covered the breadth of the highway in two steps, then vaulted over a derelict car. Her left claw gave an underhanded toss, a pair of grenades bouncing into a thicket of raiders trying to track their guns her way. Another three raiders were added to Katya's tally, blasted to pieces from her deadly presents. On the other side of the car was a Red Razor who had made the poor decision to hide there. Katya took his face off even as she used him to cushion her fall. Executing a combat roll, she launched herself clear of the raider column, breaking contact to assault from an angle of her choice.

More Red Razors and a few of their pet bots gave chase to see if they could shoot the deathclaw as she re-positioned. What they were not expecting were the additional fragmentation grenades the Paladin had left in her wake. Dull whumps sent bodies to pieces, and road debris pinged off rusted metal hulks.

It all happened in a flash. Rowan sat in awe of her skill for a few seconds, standing there like a novice. He could not waste time gawking while she did all the work. Hoping to draw their attention and give Katya a good distraction, Rowan leapt from the road's edge, crashing into the outlet to the highway like a meteor of steel and fury. Heavy footfalls carried the man up to the rock promontory where he had spotted Katya the first time.

"Henry!" He called out, boosting the speakers of his helmet to their maximum volume. Amplified, his voice carried across the highway. "Come out and fight me, you coward!"

It worked well, and the attacking mob surged towards him. A dozen howling bandits opened up with their guns. Henry had armed his posse with every last cap he could scrape together in a bid to oust Rowan from his stronghold. Lead sparked and pinged off unyielding steel. In the end, they were still just raiders, the Chosen of Sobek was not some meek settler with nothing but a pipe pistol to his name. The young man jumped down from his perch and advanced to meet the tide.

His tesla rifle charged with an angry hum. The core spun and lit with a crackling blue glow. The massive capacitors that sprouted from Rowan's armored shoulders and backpack buzzed with life, feeding their power into his weapon. A sizzling bolt of energized blue lightning shot forth with murderous intent.

In an instant, the bolt arced between three bandits. Two of them were turned to ash, their weapons clattering to the highway. The third had a hole blown into his chest, and then caught on fire. A precise second later, Rowan's weapon was recharged and fired again, this time ripping through a pair of modified securitrons. Overloaded, the pair exploded, reduced to junk in an instant. The Red Razors were forced to scatter or fall. At a little further distance away, several bandits tried to take cover. Rowan aimed his shots just past them. The bolts of lightning rebounded off the ground and sought the nearest target, frying the hapless men.

Despite the imposing numbers of hostiles, Rowan had the home field advantage.

And lots of military grade explosives.

He switched to his plasma rifle, and through his cybernetic connection, flicked the setting to engage a special laser targeting device among the cluster of optics on the gun. With it, he painted a few Red Razors that were hiding behind a large truck, and another bunch covering behind the concrete barricade bisecting the highway.

Whistling overhead, a volley of mortar shells slammed into the groups. Shockwaves sent bodies tumbling like leaves before a gale. A few survivors struggled to their feet and were ripped to shreds by super heated plasma bolts for their efforts. Rowan stomped down the highway, popping heads with bone crunching green arrows. His armor dampeners made his oversized plasma rifle recoilless. The accelerators on the weapon buzzed as current visibly discharged from the capacitors on his shoulders.

Even though the defenders were only two, pandemonium reigned. The Red Razors assumed they were under assault from all sides by a much larger force.

However heavily armed Rowan was, Katya was still a finely honed killing machine. One born and raised in a military environment. Being the runt of her litter, she did not have the same imposing stature some of her brothers and sisters had. What she did have, was a ludicrous amount of agility and intelligence. Not through brute strength, but by being quicker, and cleverer than any opponent, Katya had risen through the Brotherhood's ranks to earn her prestigious title. She had trained for years with men and woman who had gone toe to toe with feral deathclaws unarmed. Through rigorous drills, Katya honed her lethal skills with a combination of Brotherhood combat doctrine and martial art forms passed down through sacred instruction manuals.

A few raiders not overwhelmed by the hulking man shooting lightning and plasma bolts at them turned their attention to Katya. Bullets aimed her way hit only air as with inhuman grace, the Paladin weaved and dodged, throwing off the already poor aim of the raiders. She had done battle with towering pacification robots and flying suicide drones. She cleaved through the raiders and their pet hunks of scrap with ease. In her chapter, the automatons would have been good for target practice and little else.

One raider, having taken a huge hit of jet, turned quickly enough and managed to get in a jab with her assaultron sword towards the deathclaw.

Catching her assailant's wrist with her right hand, Katya tore through the woman's chest with a swipe from her free hand, removing the raider's entire other arm and shoulder in the process. Killed so quickly, the raider's drug addled brain wondered why everything had gone dark. A quick twist snapped the wrist holding the blade, and Katya pulled the weapon from limp fingers. The Paladin got the sword into a firm grip and flicked the blade at the Mr. Gutsy closing the distance. The sword whistled, turning end over end four times before impaling the automaton through its torso. The bot went down in a shower of sparks, limbs flailing limply as its momentum carried it tumbling forward to crumple into the dirt.

In the seconds it had taken Katya to dispatch the two Red Razor members, another pair had enough time to react. She was already moving. One with an imposing combat shotgun held the trigger down and expended their entire drum mag. Though valiant, it was ultimately futile, as Katya used her shroud like a shield. The ballistic fiber easily caught the few hunks of lead buckshot thrown her way. The Raider tried to protect themselves with the gun, but the Paladin sliced the weapon into two with an off-handed swipe. Turning her follow up into an uppercut, she opened the raider from throat to groin for their trouble.

Audibly exerting himself, the other Red Razor used the death of his comrade to take a two-handed swing with a fire axe. Katya ducked under the blow, turned, and stabbed with straight fingers. She drove her claws straight through the side of the man's metal armor and her power fist went off. Microfusion cells converted electricity into pure kinetic force that exploded into a confined space, and messily cut the man in half just below the ribs. She felt the cloying gore splatter onto her legs and talons, yet had no time to rest.

A floating bot with three buzz saw arms careened towards Katya. One easy sidestep and the whirring weapons sailed by. Before it could try again, the Paladin lined up a haymaker and sent the hovering bot off like a comet. Her power fist ruptured its jet housing, and the thing blasted off into the mountainside a few hundred feet away. She had only a second to admire the puff of smoke before a genuine hazard presented itself.

Spotting a man leveling a rocket launcher, Katya had great motivation to move, weaving to get objects of cover between her and the explosive madman. She threw herself behind the concrete median. However, the shot did not come as she expected it would. Looking over her shoulder, Katya saw the man levitating in the air. His weapon sat on the ground, forgotten as he scrabbled at his throat. Eyes widened in panic as he kicked and flailed against whatever was holding him.

An eight-fingered metal claw materialized, and decapitated the man with a squeeze.

Disabling her cloaking field, Lana melted into view. Three glowing eyes fixed on Katya. In the thick of things, the Paladin could only nod in gratitude. The assaultron tersely returned the gesture and turned her attention to the nearest threats. The hunter-killer raised her other arm, and let loose long bursts from the large caliber assault rifles. From her flanking position, Lana tore through the Red Razors attempting to take shots at Rowan, still acting as a magnet for the raider's fire. The assaultron was brutally efficient, utilizing high cyclic rate of her guns to decimate each target. Her arm was wreathed in snarling muzzle flashes. Spent casings ejected in spurts, signaling another raider's end.

Advanced targeting algorithms designed to learn, and grow more accurate with longer exposure to battlefield conditions made Lana far deadlier than the typical army assaultron. One Red Razor combat bot with a rocket hammer arm and a sloping plow for a shield locked onto her and charged. She shifted her attention to the new threat. Heavy rounds impacted the shield and glanced off or were absorbed while the bot advanced on Lana. She simply shifted her fire and the rust stained automaton's legs were sheared off at the knee as the joints came apart before the howling gale of bullets. Even as it struggled on the highway to get back up, Lana dispatched it with another burst to its exposed head and torso.

Cycling the belt feed of her guns with a satisfied ratcheting clunk, Lana melted into invisibility once again and resumed her hunt.

Rowan was picking off survivors when the true menace emerged.

A sentry bot rumbled into view. It was almost too big to move down the road. Three other sentries worth of parts had been bolted, screwed, and welded to the abomination of tracks and guns. The thing was slow, like the churning teeth of an industrial waste shredder. Slabs of metal beaten into plows decorated each of its three legs like chevrons. It was an engine of pain. An avatar of razor wire and screeching metal as its torso rotated to face Rowan. It was the reason Henry of the Red Razors finally had the stones to try and kill Rowan once and for all.

Fearing neither man, or machine, the young man shouldered his rifle and pulled the trigger. Bolts of glowing plasma arced and poured off ablative plating in a rain of fury. Though resistant, protective parts were peeled back. Melting parts fell off the sentry bot as droplets of slag sizzled onto the asphalt. Rowan was determined to dissect the abhorrence through cleansing emerald fire piece by piece.

Its minigun responded in kind, a sheeting torrent of rounds poured from its one arm until the barrels glowed cherry red. Impacts and ricochets sparked and panged off Rowan's custom armor. The young man was not going to just stand there and tank bullets with his face. Strafing to the side, he moved smoothly to cover, letting an old pickup truck take the brunt of the punishment. Not once did his own aggressive sustained counter fire relent. Beyond the smoking impacts, he spotted a man in power armor that made Rowan want to vomit.

It was rude, crude, and offensive to the eyes and Rowan's sensibilities as a collector. It was definitely Henry in the poor excuse of bent rebar and rusty metal blades he called armor. The man was yelling something lost beneath the din of energy weapon impacts and angrily gesturing with his assault rifle. The sentry's minigun ceased, and it opened up with its other weapon.

Missile impacts tore through the area and even with his might, the young man was forced to move. His armor could take a few direct impacts, but not many. He felt the concussive force, and did not falter. The bot's torso rotated to slam hundreds of pounds of lead and ordinance at him. Skeletal cars were sent tumbling and a dozen new craters were added to the battlefield. Every four missiles, the bot was forced to pause and cycle fresh ones into its arm.

Rowan grew tired of the whole charade and made sure he and Katya had enough clearance before he marked the target for his big gun. He waited for the pause as the automaton reloaded and used the recon scope of his rifle to tag the offense to his senses. Far up the mountain, the prodigious tank turret laboriously brought itself to bear on its salvaged turret ring assembly.

Henry, being the clever rat he was, felt his gut tingling and was screaming for the monster to move. Rowan clenched his teeth in frustration. If his enemy knew the turret was in play, no doubt he would try to run again. The vault dweller needed the bodyguard's end to be decisive and on his terms.

A javelin sailed through the air, and pierced through the bot's hip joint. The point of the spear punctured the cable housings to one of its legs, and stopped its movement as two wheeled feet were not enough to shift its bulk in time. Henry twisted and fired his assault rifle from the hip in Katya's direction. But his aim was lousy, and it was already too late.

A pair of kinetic shells made the air scream with their supersonic passage. Treetops were rocked by the shockwave. One went wide, kicking a crater into the asphalt behind the sentry. Clouds of debris and huge chunks of road were thrown up. But the other was spot on, ripping through the bot's center mass and tearing off its rocket launcher arm. A shower of fragmented pieces scattered from the impact in a mural of destruction rendered in vacuum tubes and circuitry. A massive rent was punched through the torso where the shell's passage had bent plates irrevocably inward, as though a great beast of shrieking velocity had torn a hunk from the abomination of a bot.

Though stunned for a moment, the sentry bot recovered and lifted its remaining arm to resume its assault. Neither Henry or his toy heard the clink of the grenade landing squarely between the legs of the sentry. With a dull whump and a loud hiss, the acid grenade went off. Though Rowan was a formidable warrior, Katya had come from a land where killing robots had been refined for maximum effect and efficiency. The acid peeled apart the layers of the sentry bot in seconds, the whole thing teetering, then sagging into its hollowed out base. The legs curled inward like a dying arachnid as its lights finally dimmed.

A hefty splash of acid chewed through Henry's back. His primitive power armor was no match for the molecular corrosive. Screaming, the man fell.

Rowan felt no hurry as he approached. The Red Razor leader was not going to get away. Not this time.

"It's over, Henry." Rowan declared, and observed.

"You're scum, you fucking goody-goody." With a gravelly rasp, the older gang boss spat blood into his helmet. Dragging himself forward, Henry tried to reach his gun. Toes with talons that could gut a full-grown brahmin slammed down onto the rifle. With a disdainful kick, Katya sent the weapon skidding backwards to rest far out of the dying man's grasp. Struggling, he pulled off his head protection and let it clatter to the side. A single baleful, bloodshot eye glared up at the Paladin, the other having been lost in his fight to take control of the Red Razors. A regime that had lasted until that day.

Katya turned her snout up at the garbage on the highway and went to stand by Rowan's side.

"Of course you have a pet deathclaw." The gang boss rolled onto his back with a groan and a clatter of disintegrating armor, staring at the sky. Henry had lived long enough to earn the gray that shot through his hair. An impressive feat, if the blood feud with Rowan had not gone so south. It was very like the man to take Katya's presence as the fault of some unseen, divine force stacking the deck against him. Her existence was just another kick in the balls for a man who preyed on the weak and that firmly believed the wasteland owed him something.

"I'm scum!?" Rowan almost rose to the bait, feeling an anger kindle within him at the gall of the dying man. Then he realized that there was no reasoning with animals. "Tell yourself whatever lie makes dying easier. You always were a special kind of coward. Think of how much time of mine you've wasted. And all for what?"

"All for this." Henry lifted a handheld detonator to his chest and pulled the trigger. The slagged remains of the sentry bot began to glow. Then the man laughed. A mad, blood-curdling cackle that devolved into a hacking rasp.

Unsure of what was about to transpire, Katya yelped and put as much distance between herself and the alarming display. She only had a second before she was rendered deaf and the world went white as the sentry bot detonated. The crazed raider had rigged multiple fusion cores into a massive bomb. Just as a last obscene gesture to Rowan in case the old gang boss failed in his mission. The Paladin was bowled over and her world did cartwheels as the concussive force cast her down.

Another mushroom cloud left its mark on a scarred land.

Ears and eyes throbbing like she had headbutted a grenade bouquet of flashbangs, Katya struggled to regain her senses. Once, twice, she tried to stand, only to stumble as her tail did one thing and her feet did another.

"Rowan!" She called out. Her companion did not answer. The third time she managed to stand, and fought off the encroaching haze around her vision. Holding out her arms for balance, Katya looked around and spotted her friend. Stumbling forward, she was confronted with a terrible sight.

Rowan was down on one knee, one palm on the ground, the other to his chest. He had thrown his armored bulk between the deathclaw and the bomb. Katya saw the thick, angry hunks of shrapnel sticking out of the armored plate. Several splinters protruded from the forearm he had put up to protect his face. Even so, one of the eye lenses of his helmet was cracked, with only one blue lens remaining lit. Scores of silvery streaks dotted his armored bulk where fragments had dug trenches through the metal and paint. Rowan had his fist around the largest piece, lodged deep in his chest through to his left lung.

His breathing was very shallow.

"By the mother. Rowan, Rowan sweetie, stay with me. What can I do? What do you need?" She spilled in a panic. There was no training that could prepare someone for watching their companions get hurt.

"Just... Help me... Get back... Home. Have... Auto-Doc. Can... Fix." He panted, inhaling sharply in pain. The medic pump in the chest of his armor staved off the major trauma, but the shrapnel still needed to be taken out. Having received basic training in field medicine, Katya knew not to try and remove the foreign object. She heard the hiss as more emergency medicine was injected. His breathing eased a bit as the Med-X hit his blood.

"Okay, okay. Put your arm around me, and we'll get you home. Don't talk. Just take it slow." Katya ducked underneath Rowan's arm and propped up her battle brother. It was not the first time she had helped an injured squadmate in power armor.

Lana materialized and wordlessly took her place under Rowan's other arm. The assaultron had been chasing down the few stragglers when the sentry bot had gone off. She had sprinted back, assessed the situation, and done what the hunter-killer always did. Supporting Rowan through better and worse.

Katya felt a terrible guilt and gratitude gnawing on her. Because of him, she was virtually uninjured. A few bullets had grazed her, but nothing that even broke her thick hide. As tough as she was, Katya was certain that the hunk of metal that had managed to pierce power armor could have dealt serious injury to her. The Paladin had not realized the true goodness of her new friend. The man put himself forward as body shield without a moment of hesitation. Katya looked up the winding switchback of the mountain and winced at the long path ahead.

Together, the two women helped the injured man up the many twists and turns. Step by step. Rowan could walk, yet his vision swam drunkenly. Without help, he would have stumbled. Trying to move his chest and stomach as little as possible, he focused on keeping himself standing as straight as he could. Every breath seared his brain, even through the drugs keeping him conscious. It was not just the shrapnel that had injured him. The force from the blast had crippled his head and chest. His brain was an egg that had been viciously slammed back and forth in his skull. Mechanical instinct kept him climbing the incline. After a while, keeping his eyes open became difficult. So he closed them, wholly trusting Katya and Lana's guidance.

Though arduous, Rowan kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Losing himself in the trance and head trauma, he was not aware of getting back home until they suddenly stopped and he felt the drop from a descending elevator. With the end almost in reach, the still active part of his mind held onto that closeness.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he opened his eyes a crack to see the white tile floor of his med-bay. Exhaling, he exited his power armor. The cold rush of shock from internal bleeding replaced his blood with ice. The world went black for a moment, and though he was telling his body to move into the Auto-Doc, he was not sure if it was listening. A second that was not a second later, he was looking out at Katya and Lana from the cylindrical chamber. Though he could not speak, Rowan managed a bloody smile before the door of the Auto-Doc slid closed.

Katya let out a heavy sigh of relief and turned to face the other occupant of the tiny med-bay.

"Ssso... Lana, was it?" Katya could not help but be suspicious of the robot. She was just a little too intelligent for the deathclaw's taste and this was the first time they had been alone together.

"Yes, miss Katya? What can I do for you?" The assaultron was perfectly polite in inflection, even with a synthetic voice. Even as the robot addressed the deathclaw, she was cleaning Rowan's blood from the floor and the padded inside of his power armor with an alcohol soaked rag so it would not dry.

"Rowan did not program you." The deathclaw stated flatly.

"That is correct. I was built and configured by the Collective. When they captured Rowan, I was given to him as a companion and guide. It was part of their experimentation. Part of their war games. Every toy soldier got one." Dropping the stained rags into the trash, the automaton gave Katya her full attention.

"So, why did you help him escape? And why ssstay with him all this time?" Though the Paladin had more respect for the bot after the battle, she was still interested to know.

"Because he was kind to me." Lana answered simply, as if that alone was enough to explain her undying loyalty. The hunter-killer bowed. "If you'll excuse me, I just have a bit of cleanup to do after the fighting. The construction bots need to be set to task. Raiders always leave such a mess." Without further preamble, the assaultron walked out of the med-bay.

Taken aback by the candor, Katya opened and closed her mouth several times, searching for an answer. When nothing came forth, the Paladin was left standing on the cold, sterile floor. Her mind was overburdened, and for a while she simply looked around. There was a hospital bed, a few medicine cabinets, marked with the age-old red cross, the Auto-Doc, and little else. Only when a clump of clotted dirt and viscera dropped from her ankle did she realize how filthy she was.

With her companion safely recovering in the med-bay, Katya wandered over to the other side of the bunker. She hoped Rowan would not mind her using his bathroom suite. The Paladin was too tired to make her way back to her room. In truth, she just wanted to stay close by in case anything else happened. The bathroom was generous, with a clean porcelain toilet, sink, and a shower more than large enough for Katya's bulk. The light even turned on automatically. She let her clothes sit in a rumpled heap and put her gauntlets on top of the pile.

Even her claws could work the large lever for the shower. And soon an artificial waterfall cascaded off her bare tan hide. Steam filled the space as water pattered off the plastic curtain. Katya was certain that endless hot water would never get old. Just like the pool, she let her muscles unwind and just relaxed as the dirt and blood washed away. Being reminded of the pool made her femininity clench in sympathy of what had been lost. As the shower poured in a blissful stream, the Paladin reflected on the encounter from earlier.

What would have happened?

More importantly, what had she wanted to happen?

These question bothered the female. She had never met anyone like Rowan. Human or deathclaw. She did not want to dwell on what ifs. Instead, she spent more than an hour bathing. Her thoughts alternated between fantasizing about a land of make-believe where she could express how she felt about the young man, and realizing it would never happen. What happened in the pool must have just been a fluke, she told herself. Yet his hands had certainly been drifting somewhere she would have very much enjoyed being touched. Again, she squeezed her legs together as the underside of her tail clenched. No matter what her rational brain said, hormonal urging from her more delicate deathclaw bits knew only the physical attraction that went against all Brotherhood taboos.

Even after going back and forth, she reached no conclusion. Turning off the shower, she was relieved to have her sensitive nose cleansed by the steam and listened to the last of the water gurgle down the drain. Stepping out of the shower, she took a long, languid stretch. Shaking her joints loose, the deathclaw grabbed a towel off a convenient rack and mostly dried herself off. She was careful with the fluffy white thing. When she was a pup, she learned quickly that the soft items were often fragile.

There was a tiny linen closet with an adorable paired washer and dryer connected to the bathroom. The appliances of the old world were a constant reminder of what was long gone. The America of the past had made so many advances in the name of easing day-to-day life that in the wasteland were almost miraculous in their application. Katya laid her used towel on top of the machines and wondered what to do while she waited.

Assuaging her crazed physical urges with exploration, she decided to be nosy and look in Rowan's bedroom. She made sure to close the thick oak door behind her.

Most immediately striking was an enormous queen sized bed. Gray sheets and pillows were still rumpled from Rowan's use. She wondered why he had such a large bed, thinking that perhaps after coming from a vault where he was no doubt locked into tight quarters, yearned for the luxury of spacious living arrangements. She set her things on an empty spot on a table cluttered with textbooks and a few half-finished sketches. The first thing she did was go sit on the bed.

"Ah!" She squeaked as the ultra soft mattress nearly engulfed her entire rear end. Reflexively trying to stand back up, only to have sunk so deep her feet were no longer touching the floor. A bit startled, the deathclaw wrapped her tail under the frame and kept from falling backwards completely. Scooting her rear a bit, she patted the mattress and quite enjoyed Rowan's taste in sleeping arrangements. Katya could camp on the ground, yet was spoiled on Brotherhood bunks.

Though her efforts to avoid lingering on her host had her sitting in a room that was tinted with his fragrance. It was a light mixture of human male, motor oil, and ionized air. Pleasant, without being overbearing. The scent made her think of her flowers, forgotten in the wake of the attack and still laying by the pool. Trying not to linger on such things, Katya swiveled her head to take in her surroundings.

Rowan's bedroom was fairly impressive. The concrete walls were smooth, with the support struts worked into more decorative fluted patterns. Gentle light came from strip lighting overhead. Some maps and actual pre-war paintings hung in refurbished frames. There were two large steamer trunks at the foot of the oversized bed, the table Katya had set her things on and a leather office chair to match it. A small glass fronted fridge full of Nuka-Cola sat by a nightstand. Other than that, there was only a pair of low bookshelves with a couple knick knacks and a colorful selection of books and comics.

Planting her feet more carefully, she stood and paced over to the shelves. She ran a digit along the spines of the books. Based on the titles, they seemed to be recreational reads.

One caught the Paladin's attention.

"The Lusty Argonian Maid?" She read aloud. Curious, she pulled the first volume of what seemed to be a series from the shelf and sat back on the edge of Rowan's bed. She could not in good conscience sleep in a bed owned by someone else, but she could at least rest her tail for a minute and ease her troubled mind.

Cracking the book open to a random page, she read 'Act V, Scene X, continued.'

'Legs-Behind-Head: But sir, that cave is not for exploring!'

'Crantius Colto: Silly maid, any passage can be explored with enough lubrication.'

'Legs-Behind-Head: Mine is so tight however, master. It will take hours to spelunk!'

'Crantius Colto: Plenty of time, my sweet. Plenty of time.'

What followed was a thinly alluded and horribly lurid description of a master of a household engaging in anal sex with a seemingly reptilian humanoid creature in charge of housekeeping. Although Katya had a secret fascination with the subject matter, it was never something she would be brave enough to explore on her own. Although one of the reasons she bathed so regularly was to be prepared in case the opportunity ever presented itself to explore some... Non-traditional mating.

She wondered if Rowan liked...

Slamming the book shut in embarrassment, Katya felt her heart rate pick up and hot blood flushed her face.

When she went to stand up and return the book, her heel tapped an object tucked under the bed. Curiosity once again got the better of the deathclaw. Katya set aside the bizarre erotica and reached below. She pulled an innocuous looking plastic box from its hiding place and opened it. Inside she found a simple bottle labeled as coconut oil and a strange, rubbery tube. Katya had read of coconuts once. She pulled the top off the bottle and held it to her nostrils. She found the aroma very pleasing, tasting the underside of the cap. The peculiar earthiness and unique sweetness of it was delightful.

She closed the bottle and examined the other strange object. It was a cylinder of molded silicon. In her claw, she could feel how pliant in consistency the material was. On one side was a simple hole. She turned it over to look at the other side, noticing it mushrooming outward, like it had been squashed somehow. Staring back at her was a roughly anatomical representation of a pussy. Katya could not help but mentally note that the outer lips of the toy seemed to be shaped to resemble a plump reptilian slit, rather than the smooth labia of a human.

"What on earth..." The female spoke before quickly becoming tenfold more embarrassed as she realized what she was holding. Instantly her mind was filled with the image of Rowan sitting on the edge of his bed just as she was, using the fake pussy to pleasure himself. Shoving the toy back in its box and burying it beneath the bed, she was trying to do the same thing with her runaway brain. It seemed like his whole home was filled with landmines to tempt her into carnal relations with another species.

She felt a surge of warmth between her legs. Rubbing her thighs together, a growing heat kindled in her lower belly that traveled down to her slit. Another image flashed in her mind of Rowan using the toy, but because of the toy's scaly slit, imagined it was her pussy instead of the facsimile. Katya did not mean to get hot and bothered. She was a bit ashamed of herself for even thinking of such things while Rowan recovered from a shrapnel wound he had taken protecting her.

But then, what if she just... Relieved a little bit of stress while thinking of him? For him? Of him?

At once, she banished the thought.

Yet it crept right back. And she could not dissuade her imagination from tugging on primal, physical urges. The simple desire to not just have a toy between her legs, but a living, breathing, throbbing, rock hard male buried up to the hilt, twitching and moaning and...

Shaking her head, she crushed the wicked impulse with reality. There was no way Rowan found her attractive the same was she saw him. She did not have a human fetish or anything else so salacious. She was the youngest of a litter of seven. And the runt of it for that matter. Although the smallest, she was by leagues, the smartest. And sadly, it meant that was what she found attractive in a potential mate. It was just impossible to not think of the close encounter from earlier in the pool. Putting a claw between her legs, she found her mound was very hot.

How would he be inside her? Thrusting into her? She had only limited experience. Though not without lack of trying. Even not necessarily looking for a partner, or eggs, she still wanted to engage in a little casual mating. Yet she had been rebuffed by the few of her race she had clumsily tried to come onto. The one timid male she finally coerced had lasted about five thrusts and had finished himself on her belly. Most galling was that he had not even wanted to cuddle or try and give her any attention. Katya had thought the shy deathclaw was cute too. Adding more insult to unsatisfying sex.

Frustrated, she had confronted Kiev. She knew her half-brother Kiev chased a lot of tail back in their home bunker. The burly deathclaw and trusted squadmate had confided in her that what turned males off was her intelligence, size, and distinguished battle scars. All things she was very self-conscious about.

Many of her tail-less companions quite regularly had sex. Then again, human pregnancies were hard to achieve and only bore one, rarely two at a time. Deathclaws laid large clutches, and in a protected environment like a bunker, populations were easy to maintain. Whenever a human would comment on deathclaws being like animals, she could only think of all the times she had walked into the barracks, or bathroom, or shower, to find a pair of humans humping like there was no tomorrow. In her experience, her smaller Brothers and Sisters of Steel did not just have sex often, they did the deed sometimes for hours, at all hours, and in a variety of creative ways.

Even though her mind was advanced, easily to keep up with even the most savvy, her body was not always able to keep up. One of the trappings of higher intelligence was boredom, sadly. And, one of the easiest ways to alleviate boredom was masturbation. That was where her anatomy got in the way. She had learned over many years of hard work to be able to operate machinery and fulfill the necessary expectations of a Brotherhood Paladin, her claws were not conducive to stimulating herself. Her blood sisters and matriarchs were little help in explaining her urges or how to alleviate them.

Her closest female friend, Torch, the heavy weapons trooper of Devil squad was who ended up teaching her. Torch was the only one that Katya trusted to discuss feminine concerns. Once, on a long night of guard duty, sex became the subject. Her human friend had confided about a particularly saucy encounter, and Katya had asked what things were like for humans, talking about her own frustrations and Torch had offered to help. Katya had asked a thousand questions. All things she had been too long embarrassed to ask her mother or sisters about. The Paladin had drilled her friend on sex, masturbation, what was normal, what was not, and virtually every other query that had burned in her like smoldering coal since being told 'Just find a male and let him do the work'.

Only after vowing secrecy until death, Katya and her human friend had put on a show of masturbating for one another. That had been how the deathclaw had learned how easily she came, and was quite grateful for it. Neither physically touched the other, but it was the most erotic thing Katya had done in her life up to that point. Even back then, Katya had enjoyed soft things, and watching her human friend play with quite the supple looking mound, Katya realized it was no wonder humans had so much sex. The Paladin thought Torch's pink labia and little patch of hair was quite cute. It was small and watching the woman's fingers work between the puffy lips made Katya jealous of how easy humans could please themselves. Little wonder they mated like Rad rabbits.

Katya found the quiet, and the reclusive nature of Rowan's home to be... refreshing. She loved the Brotherhood dearly. That was her life. Her home. Her loyalty would always be to the Brotherhood. It was difficult not to chafe within the rigidity of strict personal conduct codes sometimes. Although the Midwestern branch was supportive of non-humans being members, a policy that existed nowhere else, they were not so tolerant of interspecies romance. Although she fully understood and agreed with why things were that way, she could not help but feel guilty relief that the feelings growing in her breast for Rowan was happening far from any bunker.

Indulging in a little fantasy would not hurt, she told herself. Rowan had a toy shaped like her feminine folds, so it was only fair for her to use something of his. What Katya preferred to do was find an object, ideally one like a pillow, or blanket, and squeeze it between her legs, gently stimulating herself until she climaxed.

So that was exactly what she did.

Reaching up to the top of the bed, she grabbed a nice fluffy pillow. Laying on her side, she sank deep into the cozy mattress. Spreading her legs, she locked the cushion against her mound. At first the bedding was cool in contrast to her heated mound. The temperature was nice for a moment, then warmed up to match. At least for Katya, her delicates were extraordinarily sensitive. She only needed to play with herself a little to climax. Yet another luxury of Rowan's bunker meant she could take her time and enjoy the plush pillow and even more sumptuous bed.

****

Stepping out of the Auto-Doc, Rowan rubbed his chest. A small red weal was all that told the story of his punctured lung and only the shadow of a headache remained of his crippled head.

Lana was there waiting for him with a fresh change of clothes.

"Thanks, Lana. You're the best." He said, taking the clean blue shirt and non-bloodstained pair of gray pants, then slipping into the freshly laundered garments. Rowan changed quickly, wanting to get out of his uncomfortable garments. The young man left off his socks and boots, having no intention of going out any time soon.

"Hey, Lana, do you know where Katya is?" He wanted to thank the Paladin for helping him finally putting an end to the Red Razors.

"Yes, sir. She is in your room, masturbating." Lana stated without a hint of sarcasm.

"Hrk! I -uh. I see. Thank you, Lana. That will be all." Rowan sputtered.

"Of course, sir." The every unflappable hunter-killer bowed and stalked out of the room to continue overseeing the cleanup and disposal of the raiders. She left Rowan alone with his thoughts.

In fact he was so lost in thought, that Rowan found suddenly himself standing at the threshold of his bedroom. While his mind was occupied with indecision, his feet were not so uncertain. Putting a hand on the doorknob to his room, Rowan contemplated what do to. He was thinking of a dozen things, yet nothing at all. Lana was never really wrong in her assessments... If a little blunt. Just then, he heard his bed creak a little and... Moaning?

His curiosity was too much.

With the greatest care, he opened the door just a hair.

Sure enough, he saw Katya laying on her side with a pillow stuck fast between her thighs. Her tail was languidly waving and twitching while she squeezed her legs together, grinding herself against the pillow. He watched her toes curl as she extended herself to change the angle of her grinding. The young man could not actually see anything around the bedding that she was becoming very well acquainted with. The idea unbidden rose within him how he wished it was not in the way. Feeling a jolt in his crotch, he reached a hand down and accidentally brushed the doorknob, giving it a little jiggle.

"Who's there?" Katya demanded, head shooting up from the bed and locking predatory eyes on the cracked door. Rowan knew he was caught and opened the door in as non-threatening a way as he could.

"Whoa, uh, hey, just me. Lana told me you were in here... Relaxing." Rowan saw recognition and relief cross over the deathclaw's face then watched her tail curl underneath her, the thick appendage completely covering her rear and... makeshift toy.

"Rowan! I... Sorry for intruding. I'm glad to see you're okay! I didn't think you'd be up and about so... quickly." Katya sat up and crossed her legs, still with the pillow hiding her shame.

"You're fine! You're more than fine. I wanted to thank you, actually. For helping me defend my home. For just... Helping me. I'll get started on your armor tomorrow." Rubbing the back of his neck, Rowan delivered what he hoped sounded like genuine gratitude. He came and sat on the edge of the bed.

Katya had almost completely forgotten the reason she had stuck around for more than a day.

"There's no rush. I've got nothing but time, really." She hugged the cushion.

"Nothing wrong with just taking a rest. Is that what you're doing with my pillow?" The tease in his voice was clear.

"It'sss... Comfortable this way. I like relaxing with a pillow between my legs. That'sss all." She muttered.

"I mean, if you were having... personal time, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just never thought that a deathclaw..." Rowan made a somewhat obscene gesture to imply Katya was rubbing something private.

"What? Didn't think I did that sort of thing? A girl'sss got needs too you know." She turned her nose up.

"So, you were masturbating."

Though Rowan was certain Katya could not blush, he was fairly certain that she would have caught on fire that second if she could have.

"I think any guy would be flattered to have a lady such as yourself using their bed for... Personal reasons." He stretched his arms carefully, carefully testing the raw muscle in his diaphragm.

"Hey, I found your... Toy that you keep hidden under the bed. Are you some kind of pervert? I mean... I'm not judging if you are."

As soon as Rowan realized what she was talking about, he laughed heartily until his injury throbbed a bit. Though he tried to play smooth, his ears turned a little red.

"You found that! One time I was scavenging and I came across this sex shop. Alllmost everything was looted. But I was desperate for something other than my hand and had heard about sex toys shaped like... Well, something realistic. There was only that one left from some fantasy line of toys." Though he mumbled a bit, he recovered and laid back on his bed, glancing Katya's way. "Though I bet it's nothing compared to the real thing."

"You don't find me strange? Or too small? Or too scarred?" Katya whined, studying the bed, unable to believe that this strange male she had a deep draw to could perhaps be attracted to her in turn.

"Not at all! I think you're beautiful." He blurted before he could think, sitting up sharp enough to wince. Her chameleon kicked in and her color got a lot more fluorescent. "I like to think of myself as a man who looks for beauty in the world. And I think I found that."

"Rowan," Katya tittered. "Are you coming on to me?"

"I've never met anyone like you. Human or otherwise." He said truthfully.

"I bet you say that to all the talking deathclaws. So you'd... With me?" She asked hesitantly. Maybe it was the brush with death. Maybe it was finding the sex toy, and her mind being opened to the possibility. Maybe the loneliness from such a long time without comrades. Or some combination thereof, but a lustfulness gripped the female. And just maybe, engaging in little casual sex would quench the fire in her loins. She would maybe have a chance to not be Paladin Lord Katya, questing for glorious accolades to gain in the name of her chapter, and just be Katya.

"I'd uh... Do my best. It would be my pleasure actually. Though I'm afraid I'm not that familiar with deathclaw anatomy. I'd love to learn, though." Although not the most sensual of pick up lines, it was the evident carnality of Rowan's speech that he meant every word exactly as he said them.

Katya tossed the pillow behind head and relaxed back into the ridiculously yielding mattress with its assortment of cushions. Then coyly spread her legs and rested a claw over her petals, keeping her treasure hidden.

"Well, allow me to teach you." She giggled, as much as a deathclaw could.

"With such a beautiful specimen, how can I resist?" Rowan said, climbing up onto the bed. As he crawled forward, the young man began laying kisses up the smooth underside of her tail. The scent of soap and hint of freshly washed hide teased his nose. Shivering at the sultry brush of his lips, she spread herself wider, beckoning him to raise higher. His hands worked up her legs in a way he hoped was sensual. One of her claws stayed loosely covering her mound, teasing him with the barest hint of the prize between her splayed digits. Though much of her was scarred, her inner bits were supple. His roving hands massaged her thighs, tracing up to her hips and even ghosting across her lower belly. The touch sent fluttering pulses through her feminine core.

Her tongue flicked anxiously as she noted his fixation with what she was hiding. Reluctantly, she moved her claw. Whining in embarrassment, she covered her face with a pillow, too shy to look at Rowan as she lay bare with a horny human male touching her more intimately than anyone ever had before. As soon as she hid herself behind her fluffy barricade, Katya realized it was the same pillow she had moments prior been using as a dildo. So, she got a nice snout full of her own, intoxicating hormones.

Many human customs had rubbed off on the deathclaw. One of which was clothing, and concepts like nudity, and modesty. However, she had never known vulnerability the likes of which she was experiencing. His hands roved across her belly and back down her hips again. Fingertips played along the lines of her scars as he straddled her tail.

"You don't... Mind my marks? I know they're not... Pretty..." Katya whined in the back of her throat, too embarrassed to look at Rowan.

"They're pretty to me." He said with a warm smile, feeling the small bump of a mark in a very intimate place along the join of her hip and thigh. The wandering caresses traced a lifetime of battle and found her to be all the more exotic and alluring because of them. "And I think you're especially pretty down here."

The deathclaw's sex was normally just a barely noticeable slit that outwardly matched the tan and creme coloring of her belly and tail. Her mound was still puffy with arousal from her earlier self-service. A sliver of pink peaked between the tight lips of her vulva. She had always fantasized about being treated and pampered as a lover. Now, laying on her back, her body open in a wonderfully effeminate way was more than she could have idealized. Rowan was smaller than her and she actually found it rather cute. Out of his armor the human was lean, yet his frame made him quite comfortable on top of her. It tickled her protective urges. She wanted to pay him back for saving her.

Rowan was not a virgin. The young man had more than one hormone drunk liaison back in his vault. And even a few in the Collective. But that had been years prior. Neither had touched a member of the opposite sex in intimacy in such a long time it seemed like another lifetime, let alone done something so scandalous. His fingers found her slit and began exploring, rubbing the outer folds. He was surprised by the softness he found. Pulling her petals apart, he stared, enraptured by the bloom of color that was her pink and rosy insides. A glossy sheen of feminine honey made her pussy glisten, and soon coated Rowan's digits.

Katya moaned throatily behind her pillow at the contact. He pushed his fingertips deeper. Near the top of her pussy, nestled protectively in a hood of wet velvet was something firm. He massaged under the covering and pulled back her clit's hood, exposing the erect nub to his more direct touch. Katya gasped when his fingers found her bundle of nerves.

"Oooh! Sssensitive. Sensssitive." She pleaded, blindly waving a claw for mercy.

"Sorry," He said with a chuckle, moving more slowly. With two fingers he ran along in inner labia right on either side of her nub. Then he pulled back and pet along the aroused outer petals. Rowan could tell exactly how much she was enjoying it because of her wetness. Her pussy was practically overflowing, letting his digits glide through the creases of her deathclaw pussy with the greatest ease. Working his lover, Rowan made sure he touched every other place before returning to her nub, moving in a circuit up, down, then in and up. He would give just her hood one long lingering stroke before returning to the rest of her pussy.

Katya's nerves sang until she was gyrating her hips and moaning despondently every time he grazed the bundle at the zenith of her sex. It was and was not a tease as he dipped closer and closer until finally, his off hand opened her up, exposing her soaking wet clit to his direct ministrations once again.

Katya was gifted with a responsive pussy. Her tender bits were very vulnerable. Usually all it took was pressing her lower lips into something soft and yielding, working her thighs to get her to reach orgasm. When the female was especially horny, she would shimmy her hips until her pleasure aid was worked between her plump labia to rub against her buried nub. Yet, even with a makeshift sex toy wedged between the folds of her cunny, she only ever rarely managed to touch the nerve-rich hood. Nothing she had done compared to the deftness and exquisiteness of her lover's fingers. To her, his skin was as soft and delicate as silk. The way his digits wrapped around her clit and explored her pussy was simply sublime. He rubbed her outer lips and she shyly felt her flower becoming more and more plumped with arousal. When he pulled those outer lips of hers apart and rubbed along the inner labia, she felt how shamefully wet she was when the air tickled her.

With one hand, he had her lower lips splayed wide apart. With the other, he fit his talented fingers around her engorged clit and began working it. He circled, pushed, pulled, rubbed, and ever so lightly pinched. Katya writhed and bucked her hips up in response to her most private place being stimulated. It felt as though a battery was attached to her feminine bits as lightning seared through her nerves. With her love button bared and lavished with attention, she came very quickly. Girly juices flowed freely down Katya's thighs and onto the sheets below. Whimpering, she strained her legs far apart, eagerly rearing her mound up into the silken touch of her lover, his reassuring weight on her tail.

With cruelly unrelenting focus, Rowan worked his fingertips faster and faster, alternating between stroking little circles and squeezing the puffed up bud. Like a wave being overtaken by a tsunami, Katya's orgasm crested, fell, then rose again as the deathclaw came again right on the heels of the first. Katya's mouth hung open in a quiet cry, feebly warbling as her mind went white. All that existed was the molten orgasmic glow that made her womb clench in aching need. She was certain that her egg chamber was tying itself in knots as her human lover made her cum again and again.

As climax coursed through the female, making her blood sing, the human slowed his ministrations for a moment and then resumed with greater speed and pressure. Even though her clit was already slippery with her juices, Rowan kept her vulva parted and nub under assault. Almost laughing, as his deathclaw lover lifted him up just with her thighs, Rowan followed his instincts and pushed a finger into her slick hole. Katya immediately seized up at the intrusion. Just as quickly, the velvet folds of love tunnel sucked the digit deeper. Having something to cum around was incredible.

The young man explored her insides just as ravenously as he had her outsides. He pushed his finger as deep as he could get it, reaching to find the secret, special places he knew females had tucked away. It was also a chance for him to find out how tight she was. The answer was tight enough to nearly cut off circulation just to his finger.

"This is way too much fun." He grinned, pressing erogenous buttons Katya did not know she had. Rowan knew he found the really good spots when she lifted him off the bed. Rowan thought it was provocative that he was able to make her cum so hard and easily. No matter what, she was still a deathclaw, the mightiest apex predator of the wasteland. Being able to make one reach such heights of ecstasy was intoxicating. Though he only had a human nose, he could detect the heady aroma of Katya's juices. It was thickly sweet and just a bit musky. It intermingled wonderfully with the soap from her recent shower.

Only when her pussy was swollen with over-stimulation did she beg him to finally stop. Her mound glistened with wetness. She was drenched, panting in anticipation as she knew things were just beginning.

All but launching himself off the bed, Rowan hastily shucked his pants and freed his raging hardon. Peaking over her pillow, Katya was not expecting to be impressed with human cock. She had seen plenty of humans mating, yet had never laid eyes on someone so well-endowed.

"Wow, you're... Packing quite the heavy weapon there." Katya died a little inside upon realizing what idiocy just came out of her. She covered her face in complete shame, cheeks shifting into a pink glow. Despite her chagrin, the female still spread her legs and moaned as Rowan resumed his place on her tail.

"You're okay with me like this? You don't want to mount me? Or anything else?" Katya asked, staying on her back and shuddering from afterglow. She was perfectly content with either, so long as her aching chalice was filled.

"I think you'd be very sexy bent over, but I'm still a bit sore. So stay just like that. I mean, we're not doing cowgirl anytime soon." Rowan remarked, rock hard length in hand.

"Cowgirl?" She peaked over her pillow once again.

"Oh, uh, you on top of me. You're kind bigger... Than... Me..." Rowan trailed off, realizing that a human woman probably would not take kindly to his blurt.

The sex position clicked in her mind, having seen a human female once bouncing feverishly on her lover's cock.

"Heh, I am bigger than you, aren't I?" Katya wiggled her hips and flicked her tongue demurely. A sudden swell in her heart made her pull the male closer with her knees.

Rowan remembered exactly what kind of woman he was riding and realized that deathclaw sexual dimorphism heavily skewed females to be much larger than males. In most wild packs, only the alpha was allowed to mate with the fertile members of the group. Katya's insecurity about her size suddenly made a lot more sense. While Rowan was an average sized human, Katya was virtually a runt by deathclaw standards. Ironically, his size made her feel feminine. It also made him realize how trusting she was being. There was no way he could have physically coerced her into sex. If she did not want him on top of her, nothing would have kept him there.

But she did want him there. Katya wanted the intimacy of a lover's embrace. She wanted to feel him in the way she only could as a female. With their bodies locked in a carnal dance that boiled their essence down to its simplest formula.

The head of his manhood slid into the channel of Katya's sex. Rubbing his tool between her buxom petals, Rowan pushed down into the soaking wet female. His reason turned off as his manhood was engulfed in a furnace. Raw deathclaw pussy was indescribably tight. The inner walls did not want to yield without a fight. Katya acutely felt his thighs shaking around her tail even as she was overwhelmed at the incredible stretch in her loins. With plentiful foreplay, her cunny was engorged with her juices, and parted only because she was slick enough. Her slit was split wide by a tool far larger and harder than anything she had ever dared put inside herself.

And it was the most wonderful sensation.

Her love tunnel strained around the sudden girth. She clenched reflexively, inner walls pulsing and massaging the intruding length. Rowan did not wait, thrusting himself deeper inch by inch, and simply pushed until he was fully hilted inside the trembling female. His groin mashed into Katya's petals as the pair became connected at the root. Between Katya's diminutive size and Rowan's generously endowed manhood, the two fit quite well together. He reached places inside her that she did not know existed. She found her tongue lolling out of her mouth in drooling pleasure.

"A-a-are you okay? You're trembling. Are you sure you're not too injured for this?" Her voice quavered as her heart went wild in her chest.

"Oh, believe me, I'm more than okay. Hngh! You're just... So tight. You feel incredible." Rowan was nearly biting his tongue at the onslaught to his senses. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to cum right then and there. As he spoke, Katya felt the huge tool within her twitch. She realized that he was shaking out of pleasure and her tunnel tightened even further at the idea that she felt so good for him.

Because he felt amazing inside of her. Deathclaw cocks were longer, but slimmer. The human maleness plugging her from entrance to womb was more girthy, much firmer, and was touching deeper places even as his natural curve made sure his tip had grinded along the sweet spot his fingers had been pushing earlier on the way in.

The human's cock once hilted was seated into the most comfortable place for the deathclaw female. Snugly resting right up against but not slamming into the entrance to her egg chamber. Her womanhood felt every inch, the human's rock hard length rubbing her silken walls. Normal deathclaw mating involved speed and efficiency over quality. And they certainly did not have limbs capable of heavy petting. So even though proportionately, Rowan splayed her pussy into a lewd O, her nethers were designed to take a brutal pounding.

Which was fortunate, because as soon as he pulled back just a little, suckling petals gliding along his length, Rowan completely lost himself. Katya was not the only one overcome by pleasure. Once he had started, the young man knew in his gut he would not be able to stop until he had finished. Rather than fight his climax, he leaned into it. The sheer intensity of having sex with her did more to stave off Rowan long enough to make a decent showing of himself. His fists grasped at the deathclaw's chest and belly. Obscene squelches filled the bedroom as the human did his level best to permanently pound Katya's imprint into his bed.

"Katya I... I... Can't..." He panted, unable to stop himself if he wanted.

"Yesss, don't stop. Give it all to me." She gyrated her hips a bit then rocked them to meet his thrusts. Katya threw aside her pillow to watch. She wanted to see his cock plowing her. His rhythm built to a fever pitch, slamming almost his entire length in an out, Katya's suckling depths squelching under Rowan's carnal assault. Their hips slapped together, and the young man was lost to ecstasy.

"Ah!" She cried out when a particularly vigorous thrust rammed the head of his tool into that sweet spot again. As Rowan sheathed himself with all the strength he could muster, pushing desperately against her mound to get as deep as he could, Katya came again. With the human's crotch nearly riding right onto her nub with every thrust he mashed the deathclaw's love button as he mating pressed the female. Her orgasm pushed the young man over the edge and his legs locked around her thick tail.

Katya trembled as the male throbbed, then exploded within her. Rowan's mind went blank except for knowing he was on her, in her, and melted into their union. The initial wave of cum splashed right against the smooth muscle of her cervix. Loudly squealing this time, Katya's insides milked the maleness within. When scorching seed spilled into her chalice, she knew fulfillment. It was so heavy, and thickly comforting, that she at last understood why so many of her sisters got as hot and bothered as they did for having a fat cock shoved into their drooling cunts. Even as the dirty thought intruded, she considered that such a comparison did not fit with the soothing luxury she felt with a belly full of Rowan's cum.

Love-making. That's what her friend had called it. There was a good firm rut, and a nice creampie that followed. And sure, that satisfied the physical desire for mating, but Katya knew a deeper satisfaction in that moment. One that bubbled from the place in her heart that was warmed along with her womb. Another contended coo warbled from the deathclaw female. Normally she eschewed such animalistic sounds, yet she had no words to express the emotion that swelled within her breast.

The onslaught on her whole anatomy left the female a trembling mess of mixed juices.

Rowan collapsed onto her belly, and almost immediately regretted it, his wound protesting.

"Are... You okay?" Katya panted in concern.

The human straightened, still buried within the sexiest deathclaw in all the wasteland.

"I'm sorry. I got... Carried away. You just felt so good. I didn't hurt you, did I?" He winced, putting a hand to the ache in his lung.

"You didn't hurt me at all! That was just... Intense. Intense in a really good way. I should be the one asking you if I hurt you." Katya was fit, toned, and with powerful pelvic muscles her cunny massaged his length. In fact, her plush walls were so wonderful, that his cock stopped softening.

"Was that better than your toy?" She asked breathlessly.

"You... Have no idea."

"So what does that coconut oil feel like? Is it nice?" Still not realizing what she was doing, Katya thought it a perfectly innocuous question to ask, laying her head back into the pile of cushions on the headboard.

"Do you wanna find out?" He said, giving a long, lazy thrust of his tool.

"You're... Still hard? Was... I really that good?" She tilted her head down, insides twinging in anticipation of another round.

"Ngh!" She cried as his member popped free of her sex, a string of juices connecting the two together. Even though his legs were shaking, he dismounted his lover for a moment. Rowan reached under his bed, popped open his secret stash and grabbed the bottle of coconut oil. Opening the bottle, he poured a generous handful of the multi-purpose oil and slathered it over Katya's lower lips and his own length. Though she did not need it, the solution was pleasant, the cool liquid soaking into her inflamed sex.

As he rubbed her down, Rowan looked at her tan pussy and to the even more delicate pink rosebud below.

"You know, this stuff is really good for anal sex." He remarked, talented fingers once again working up the underside of her tail. In her hornier moments, she yearned for anal stimulation. It was just so hard to find a toy that was the right consistency. When Rowan's fingertips brushed her tailhole, she nearly jumped. Just his fingertip made a tight circle, gently pressing in on the ring of muscle. He watched and felt Katya squirming beneath him. Grinning to himself, he concluded that he had found her weakness.

"Oooh, I've always wanted to try-" Katya snapped her muzzle shut, realizing what was about to slip through in her sex-addled brain.

Rowan shuddered in the best way as his cock jumped at the remark. Horny enough for ten men, a libidinous idea entered the young man's head and he brought a trailing finger to push her rosebud, noticing her resistance softening.

"No! No, not... Ah!" She actually squeaked feebly as her very stimulated sex made her hesitate long enough for Rowan to not only smear her pucker with the fragrant oil, but begin working the nerves of of tailhole with his talented fingers. Though she protested, Katya kept her legs open, leaving her inviting sex on display for him.

"That's... It's dirty there." Katya whined. Although she had always fantasized about it, one thing she had always lacked was a good lube. With the coconut oil saturating her rosebud, she felt her depths in a new way. The sensation of her hole salved with rich oil was like having her pucker stuffed with wet velvet.

"You like to bathe so much though. I bet you're squeaky clean back here."

Katya's colors shifted a bit and she covered her eyes with her palms, shaking her head.

"How did you know I keep back there clean that way! Did you watch me..." She accused, peaking at him between her claws as his fingers made her gasp once more.

"Well, I didn't before, but now I do." Rowan slipped a single digit past her pucker into the yielding confines beyond.

"Does this feel good?" Rowan asked, knowing the answer from just feeling the hole trying to drag just his finger further in. Too embarrassed to say anything, she just nodded. When he wiggled his digit, feeling how shockingly tight, yet also very soft her butt was, Katya let out a distinctly feminine cry of pleasure. She had only ever rubbed herself there, never actually penetrated with anything. Without thinking, she bucked her hips up, wanting more. Rowan's whole finger sank into her. Katya moaned throatily. She always imagined it would feel good to have a lover that was willing to play with her in such a way, and reality did not disappoint.

"Yeah... But, I mean... Is that something you... Like... Too?" She asked, timid as a juvenile with her first kill. Tongue hanging loosely out of her jaws, her eye glazed over in ecstasy. She let out one long moan.

Rowan glanced over at the erotica book still sitting on the bed.

"It might be. Though I had no idea deathclaws liked anal as well."

Katya gyrated her hips, she could not help it. Rowan enjoyed the ring of muscle clenching and relaxing while he got to feel further inside. Pressing down on the wall that served as a barrier between her passage and the delicate bits he prodded, Rowan was intrigued to find just past the ring of muscle was very pliable and yielding.

"Ssssays the man with booksss about ssstrange lizard women taking it up the ass." She replied. "Admit you're just a deviant who likesss doing unsavory things to woman of other speciesss." Katya teased, looking down at Rowan with mischievous eyes as her accent peaked through.

"Oh, I'm the deviant? You said you wanted to know." He countered. Rowan pulled his one digit back, and pushed a second one in. It was almost hypnotizing to watch his two fingers open up Katya's other hole. Even the slightest movement was enough to get the Deathclaw gasping. Making small, slow circles with his fingers as he pushed them in and out of her rosebud, Rowan got to explore leisurely. And gradually, she loosened until his fingers were gliding into her, rather than struggling.

The female moaned despondently as her partner removed his fingers. Soon they became whines of anticipation.

Straddling the thick, muscular base of his lover's tail, Rowan took his cock in hand and aimed it down. As much as she wanted to hide her face behind a pillow again, Katya could not tear her eyes away from watching the thick cock rub her ass. Slowly, slowly, and slower still, he let his weight bear him down. He felt the guarded ring of muscle giving in to his tool. Eventually he put enough force into it that she flowered open beneath him, opening reluctantly around the head of his cock. Once he felt Katya's rear at the widest part of his tip, he eased back. He had spread a very liberal amount of lube all over her insides and his cock. So all he had to do was pry her open. The teasing nature of it was almost too much for him to handle. Instinct told him to just bury himself up to the hilt, yet he had to content himself with only using her ass to work part of his cock.

The tight ring of her ass was a fleshy vice that stroked up and down his length as he thrust deeper bit by bit.

Shuddering, Katya had to restrain herself from pushing up and taking the whole thing. Picking up the pace, Rowan felt his kinky deathclaw's butt steadily relaxing. Every thrust of the head helped him gauge how well he was loosening her up. He watched clear fluid leak continuously from her puffy reptilian sex. Her chalice was literally overflowing from the thrill of the taboo sex act. If he had any doubts that she was turned on, they were dispelled by the sight of her naughty feminine bits. Keeping a steady pace and pressure, her aroused and eagerly clenching tailhole suddenly gave way and a few inches sank in. He froze, cock lodged only a third of the way in her ass yet already feeling like he was going to burst.

Katya trilled in absolute bliss. She never could have imagined the pleasure of the 'stretching' feeling she had read about could possibly feel as good as it did. Her lover had done such a good job warming her up, that only pleasure radiated from her tail. Nectar gushed from her honey pot, making her whole lower belly and mound glisten with fresh wetness.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" He asked, desperately rubbing his idle hands on either side of her tail base.

"No, no, no!" She reassured him. "It's just a lot. I've never felt something so amazing. Please, more. I want all of you inside me. Inside..." He watched her flush red face, chameleon nature giving away her true feelings. "Inside my ass. Just go slow. It's a lot of stimulation. And actually could you... Touch me up here too?" She said, tapping one claw beside her scaly slit.

"You're so wet, how could I resist?"

A droplet of female arousal actually welled up from the bottom of her slit. Rowan traced his fingertips down to collected the fluid and slipped two digits into her pussy. Her sopping hole squelched a bit as his digits sank through their mixed juices. Her cunny was still very warm from the best kind of friction. Curling down, he rubbed the walls of her sex from every angle. With cock on one side, and fingers on the other, he gave the lining a nice gentle squeeze. Though she groaned in what may have seemed like discomfort, Rowan was intimately able to tell just how much she enjoyed have that spot touched by how her pussy clamped down tight enough for her hole almost wink as though she were in heat.

Just as slowly as he had worked her loose enough to penetrate, he sank all the way to the hilt. As he pushed his cock flush with her rear, he felt himself through her pussy, the shape of his cock stretching her insides. The tight ring worked his shaft even as the head of Rowan's tool was buried into squishier depths. His thighs squeezed her muscular tail. Katya panted and moaned, unable to hold back her squirming any longer as Roland played the nerves of every pleasurable part of her body and kinky fantasy in her brain like a rapturous symphony.

"I can't believe you talked me into thisss." She whined. Rowan, balls-deep in her ass, gave his hips a wiggle.

"I'm so glad you talked me into thisss." Katya moaned as he began thrusting just an inch at a time. He built his rhythm with superhuman patience until Rowan had the deathclaw at his mercy, begging him for it.

"Please, fuck my ass. Don't tease."

In response, Rowan sank his cock all the way back into her ass and pressed, feeling her insides open up. Katya gasped, feeling the head of his cock pressing into her womb from the back. It felt so delightful she could not help but squirm in pleasure.

"This is nice." She said, letting herself relax back into the bed, utterly consumed by the warm glow from her nethers. Her ass felt incredible, radiating pleasure as the nerves were massaged by a fat tool putting pressure on all the right spots. She moaned aloud when he sank the entirety of that delicious cock inside her. Her backside was so warm and full. Still she wanted more.

Katya lifted her legs and spread them wide until Rowan was riding the cushion of her thighs, crotch and tail. Digging his knees in for leverage, he pulled his fingers out of her cunny with a wet pop. Groaning, Rowan wanted better leverage to ram his aching rod into slick velvet insides. Once properly situated, he obliged. Grasping her hips and digging the balls of his feet into the mattress he really started thrusting. Just like when he finally hilted himself into her sex, he could not hold himself back the second time either.

Having already came once, he was able to last a bit longer on their second round even though he was already worked up from getting Katya's ass stretched and warmed up enough to take his length without hurting her. So, he gave her a firm pounding. His hips slapped against her as her pucker was accompanied by both of them moaning in unabashed pleasure.

Her legs twitched and she thrust back as her intestines were rearranged. She wanted to be sore. She wanted to be pounded until she was left walking funny. Every time his root slapped her vulnerable backside, her ass throbbed in the most delightful ache that made her tail shiver. The jolt traveled through her egg chamber as his tip speared into her womb and made it feel as though her ass was directly connected to her nub.

Katya knew how tight her tailhole was, and how she had never had anything so large there. Every thrust of Rowan's cock had his manhood forcing her looser. Having something so big and fast pumping her virgin ass with Rowan's not insignificant pelvic strength had her completely at his mercy. She quivered and quaked before the relentless onslaught, her ass unable to stop the intruder from ravishing her private and tender depths. Compared to her cunny, her ass was not designed to take such a pounding. Her walls back there were more tender. Cocks were not meant to do such things to a girl's butt. This only served to heighten Katya's pleasure.

Katya felt him twitch inside her and knew what was about to happen. She clenched down in anticipation. She also lifted her legs, tilting her rear to better receive the gift of male essence. She threw her head back and nearly embedded her horns into Rowan's pillow as her tongue fell from her open jaw.

For the second time, Rowan's orgasm hit him like an atom bomb. All he knew was that he needed to spill his seed into the wonderful, lovely, amazing, sexy female that had wanted this just as badly as him.

Her backside grew warm as her insides were saturated with cum. It was so gratifyingly depraved. Thick, hot cum began filling her insides. She felt his cock pulse and throb as the fluid splash even further than where he was already locked into her. Panting in exertion, they stayed that way for a time as Rowan's body pumped her rear full of cum like there was no tomorrow. Every ounce of seed he had poured into his lover. Years of pent up frustration all came out in one glorious finale.

When he finally pulled out of her ass, she was not willing to let go easily. Clenching down the whole way his cock was wrung dry of every last drop before finally popping out. Even though she was definitely sore back there, the thorough pounding her insides had taken felt so amazingly satisfying. She never even knew that her egg chamber could be massaged from the back. Rowan sat back on Katya's tail, admiring what a mess he had made before sliding off onto the bed beside her.

For a solid couple of minutes, the two lovers panted together. Both of them were swimming in a sea of disbelief that not only did they have sex, but that it had been more amazing than anything they had ever felt before. No words passed between them. Nothing in their vocabularies could express their feelings in that moment.

Rowan settled in under Katya's right arm, cuddling up into her warm side. He had a leg draped over her thigh, and his arm reached across to settle on her belly.

"Mmm... This is nice. Cuddling is something I could very much get used to." She hummed contentedly to herself. Her mind was fuzzy around the edges in a way that her heart told her was good and proper. The well-exerted male mumbled something that tickled her side.

"Rowan, sweetheart, are you comfortable?" She asked.

When he didn't answer, she looked down and saw he was fast asleep.

Laughing lightly so as not to disturb him, Katya settled into her lover's embrace.

****

Life in the wasteland is never predictable. It is fraught with peril around every corner, past every door, and through every crosshair.

Its inhabitants look for many things. From the basics of survival, to spiritual guidance.

These two found in one another the rarest, and most valuable thing in all the open wastes.

Companionship.

Welcome, gentle reader, to the end of the story!

I'm so glad you took the time to join me on this little journey.

Let me start by saying, I fucking love Fallout. I absolutely positively beyond a shadow of a doubt, love Fallout. Back in 2001, I got Fallout: Tactics. It was my first Fallout game. Strange, I know. A part of Companionship is definitely meant as an homage. That game forever cemented my love for both the Brotherhood of Steel, and deathclaws. I'm biased. I know it. Don't care. I will always side with the Brotherhood and I always try to get pet deathclaws. No shame. They're iconic of the Fallout franchise, and yes, (in my head) my characters always stuck their dick in one. And yes, the deathclaws always loved it.

Confession time: I only played bits and pieces of the original Fallout 1 and 2. I was very young, and if memory serves by the time I got them I was balls deep in Knights of the Old Republic. Anyway. Positively played the absolute shit out of 3 and New Vegas. NV by a dozen miles has the best main story and by far best DLC. I remember being genuinely challenged by Dead Money, unlike anything that had ever been thrown at me in 3, and not since Tactics had I enjoyed such a difficult thing in a Fallout. It was thrilling, and survival mode in NV opened my eyes to all the survival aspects of Fallout.

Old World Blues was the wackiness and insanity of the Fallout franchise distilled into one crazy injection of pure Saturnite into the veins. Though my least favorite of the bunch, finding the tale of the Survivalist in Dead Hearts was fantastic. Then there was Lonesome Road. Oooohhhh Lonesome Road. Ulysses is hands down my favorite Fallout antagonist. Like, ever. Of any entry.

(By all the gods of gaming why did 76 have to be such a fiery train wreck? I really wanted to like it. And I tried. Found it hilarious that the Brotherhood were haphazardly painted as the kinda bad guys, then ended up being the ones who died trying to save the world. Again.)

I know 4 was far from perfect. While the story overall had issues, when I first saw the Prydwyn, my fucking Brotherhood of Steel heart did some jumping jacks and a back flip while saluting and screaming Ad Victoriam! Maxson's speech. Everything!

Ahem, getting off topic.

My favorite thing out of Fallout 4, were the companions. Now, there is a special place in my heart for the Mother from Tactics (and possibly place in my pants) Boon from NV (I told my wife about him and her jaw hit the floor) and Fawkes from 3 (Because when the vanilla game for the Xbox 360 came out he was the only good karma fucking companion even though he was only available at the very end of the blasted game). But after playing through 4 as many times as I did, I was absolutely floored by the deep, personal relationships and backstories of Nick, Codsworth, Curie, Hancock, Danse, and curiously enough... Ada.

It's such a silly thing in retrospect, but Lana's inspiration came from this particularly long hiatus I took from playing 4. I beat the shit outta the game, got all 4 endings, and achievement hunted until that 100% settlement happiness thing drove me nuts. I played all vanilla, then when I finally had the urge to go back, I bought and installed all the updates and DLCs at once. This included Automoton.

Now, having beaten so much of the stuff to death, I was kind of doing my own thing, without regard for karma. Really rather neutral overall. But I did not want to hear any companions nagging me about this or that (I love you guys, I really do, but you could be needy and sometimes I needed my space) so when I came across Ada, she unintentionally clicked as the perfect companion for that play-through. She had a rough sense of right and wrong, but never imposed that on my avatar. She never judged me for doing or not doing drugs. About saving settlements or massacring raiders. So that was definitely what inspired Lana.

As for Katya... Well, like I said, Tactics was my first Fallout game, and for that, has a special place for me as a gamer. (Lore continuity and contradictions be damned) And I was pondering the place characters end up once you're done with the main story, once you've beaten the DLC, seen the sights, finished your bobblehead collection...

What's left once you've conquered your little corner of the wasteland? You as a player, can just put down the controller. But what about that character?

That little question is what spawned this explosion of words that originally started with a guy just meeting and having sex with a talking deathclaw. If you're interesting in seeing a spin-off sequel following Rowan's earlier days of excursions through the wastes or dealings with the Collective, let me know in the comments.

So if you're still with me, thank you again, gentle reader. May your fusion cores be plentiful, your companions loyal, and your aim steady.

Ad Victoriam!