[hider=Continuation]
[img]http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/212/b/e/frp_banner___a_worm_s_heartii_by_aaronmk-d6g3ijm.png[/img]

The warmth of a fire burned at the side of Sweet Gin as she sat on the stool. Her body was beginning to catch up with her, the weight of exhaustion that bore at her after running for so long was beginning to lift. Though the dryness of mouth and throat had entrenched itself deep inside of her. A canteen of water lay near her which she drew from as the camp's smith worked the patch the gauge left in her arm from Vinny.

Running from back-side to front-side, the gauge left by the bullet was at most two-fingers wide. The metal had gnarled and bent into crude teeth that made a jagged edge. One which the smith worked on with a file, careful to not intrude on the cables and mechanics of the prosthetic that resided within, bound around each other. If anything, the damage was purely external, and the internal damage was artificial, as the android had confirmed during her duel with Vinny, and fighting through the ghouls to get back.

"So how exactly did you get by a ho'de of spit slobbin' meat bags as they?" he asked as he careful ran the coarse-tooth file across the edge of the hole, taking care to clean it up before he strapped anything to it, "I haven't eve' hea'd of anyone evading a h'ode like folks say ya put down."

"How big are they saying?" Sweet Gin asked.

"Oh, 'anges." the smith said, finishing with the file he nodded with earnest satisfaction that it had been cleaned up. He reached out for a pile of scrap in a series of soap boxes arranged to his side. Sweet Gin turned to watch as he put one of his large heavy arms into the containers.

The man was by no means ill-fed. Surely he had high standing given his weighty and plump figure. Well rounded he looked like he could barely fit through the doors of the towers, and all set upon peculiarly small legs. As well, working so close to an open fire was hot, and without his shirt he looked to be a few relatives short of the monsters Bancroft kept in his pits.

"I hea'd that you had b'ought the att'ahction of the entire east-side's population on you. C'ouse, by that point I imagine you had killed a few, and the men I heard it from had to b'uin them out to keep themselves from being eaten alive."

"I didn't bother to make a count." she said dryly.

"Mhmm..." the man nodded, "T'is a shame I imagine." he added, finding a pleasing plate and comparing it to Sweet Gin's arm. He rose his brows and gave himself a proud metaphorical pat on the back. It fit. Turning to his anvil he started work gently tapping the sheet to fit.

"I haven't eve' woiked on any ahm befoih." he started, "So excuse me if I'm perchance to oiugh."

"Well, ok then." said the android in a low uncertain voice as the man compared the plate to the curvature of her arm. Going between the anvil and her, checking and rechecking.

"You know, I imagine this is what the Docteh must feel." he mumbled nervously, "You know, opeh'ating on a live thing."

"Excuse me?" Sweet Gin said.

"Soi', did I offend?"

"I don't think you did b-"

"Well, good then." he interrupted nervously, relief washing him of his uncertainty from his fire-reddened face, "I thought that maybe... I don't know, I'm ai'mbling again."

Before Sweet Gin could repeat herself the metal flap that divided the smith's work-space from the rest of the encampment flashed open with a hollow clatter, letting in a trio of bent over and ragged men. Veterans of the city no doubt. At their head stood the dirty, long-haired shadow of Barston. His chapped lips curled up in an amused smile.

"We were tired of the gate." the young man said with a low chuckle as he looked up and down at Sweet Gin. His smile and the spark of his eyes shining a slight perverse twinkle as he passed down, and up Sweet Gin's breasts. Her coat hung on a loose nail of the side, leaving only the undershirt. She looked at him confused, before realizing perhaps that the shirt was perhaps a bit loose. Feeling a shot of discomfort at the fact she straightened up her posture, hoping to have corrected anything revealing.

The young prince laughed, a dry sort of cackle, "Don't worry, it's not like anything was showing." he cackled, "Though if I must compliment, I wouldn't mind seeing."

An inner mechanism clicked up to comply, but she caught it and denied it is function. After all, this certainly was not the sort of place.

"It isn't no matter," Barston huffed, "yours are too small for me."

"Barston." the smith said in a formalized tone as he fitted the plate to Sweet Gin's arm. He craned his eyes up to the dark and shadowed figure of the young man.

"Don't fret nothing, Smith." Barston Bancroft snorted, "I'm not in your workshop."

"I can see that." the smith, unironically identified as Smith, nodded.

"In any case, m'lord," the young prince said with dripping and venomous sarcasm, "May I step in for a moment."

Smith looked at him, and his two cronies behind him. Nodding slowly he said in a serious, no-shits tone: "I'd like your men to keep outside, my work space is already crowding."

"Fair enough." Barston bowed, turning to dismiss his followers before stepping through the corrugated gate, closing it softly behind him. Looking down at the seated Sweet Gin as she got the new plate adjusted to her fore-arm he smiled again.

"So this is the woman who did what our knights failed to accomplish." he said, "What mad tactic brought you to success?"

Sweet Gin shrugged. She really had no plan going in, and she still didn't know exactly what had happened, or how to put it into words. Barston mimed the shrug mockingly. "What's this?" he shrugged, "You have no idea?" he shrugged again.

Sweet Gin merely nodded and shrugged again, shifting about uncomfortably on her dusty stool. Smith obviously fixed the plate on tight enough it held its own as he leaned off the arm with no steel in hand. "Am I done?" she asked innocently.

"Ha'dly," Smith said, reaching for a strip of metal lying in the fire nearby with a pair of tongs, "I need to band it on. Tell me, can you feel this?" he added, pulling the band out and touching it to the back of her hand.

She only stared at him blankly as the red-hot bar lay on the back of her appendage. She could feel heat, albeit not on her hand. The light and warmth of the band radiated out, bathing her side in orange light.

"No." she said.

"Al'ieght." the large sweaty man grumbled, standing up, "'aise your a'm up then and I'll st'aeip it over.

"I hope whe'e eve' ya going," he added with a uncertain grumble, beginning to tug and tap at the android's arm with pliers and a hammer, "you may find someone who knows mo'e about you'eh type than I do."

Barston gave the scene an apathetic nod, appraising it no real value but that he should react in some way. His eyes quickly deciding to distract themselves, scanning the area. Bored.

He rose his brows as his sight fell on the table full of Sweet Gin's loot. Her new bulky rifle lay there, accompanied by the long curled razor and her other weapons. What interested the man more was the knife, as he walked over to the table and simply plucked it from the spoils. "I like this knife." he said with a chuckle, "I haven't ever seen one nearly so large." he added, holding it up. It was as nearly three-quarters as long as his fore-arm was, and sharper than his wit.

"Have you fought with knives before?" he asked.

"Well, running back..." Sweet Gin said nervously.

"Obviously." Barstone mumbled, scratching at the notches that ran along its back and picking off bits of rotting, moist flesh off its back.

"A'ight," Smith mumbled, "I think we'ie done he'ie."

Sweet Gin looked over at her raised arm. The metal band had been pulled over and wound around her arm. Overlapping it and crossing into a rough spiral before jutting off away from her on the outside. The metal still smoldered and throbbed with heat. The last tongues and traces of it dying with a harsh hiss as Barston poured a bucket of water over her arm. The metal tightening and constricting, what little sensory function she had certainly picking it up as the pressure was laid on.

Smith and Sweet Gin exchanged glances. "Done?" she asked.

"Done." Smith nodded, "Good look out there missy."

"Good, let's go." Barston cheered, clapping his hands together and giving them both a broad impatient smile.

***

The metal door clanged shut behind Sweet Gin as she stepped out of Smith's workshop. The plate that bound the patch to her arm still throbbing with a soft, gentle heat. The kind she felt underneath he jacket.

Hitching up her reloaded and repacked bag she looked at her guide. Flanked by his two goons. Barston looked upon the android, flat and dispassionate. "Are we ready." he said.

"I am." said Sweet Gin nervously, hiking up her pack higher on her back, "Are these two coming along?" she asked, looking at the two grizzled goons.

Barston shifted casually about on his feet to give the two a wayward look. "Indeed they are." he said softly, "These two go where I go and they're coming. If father wants to argue let him argue, but they're coming regardless. You got a problem?"

The android bit on her lip and shook her head. Barston smiled greedily, "Then we're good." he crooned, turning on his heels to march off down the hill. The android hopped off after the man.

"We're not going to take any roads." Barston said back to her as they weaved through the milling residents of the hill on their decent. Many stepped aside to let the noble pass before going on about their day. Barston didn't seem to care, not affording them any recognition. His lackeys hung off on his side, looking like vultures.

"It's a more direct route and we don't get to meddle in the winding mazes that are the suburbs." he continued, "As well, even if we've purged the area it would not surprise me to know if there are zombies hiding in those homes and apartments that line the buildings. I can expect it to be more difficult as it is long to try and fight through the roads."

"Alright." Sweet Gin said, rushing to keep up with the knights. Their pace was quick and they offered no hesitation.

"Once we hit the University you're going to need to keep a sharp eye," Barston continued unheeded, "The knights of old left behind some distant relatives of yours there to hold the area and they don't hesitate to kill.

"Even with the Hellfire's power apparently frying many other things as far out as the ruined hamlets of Leicester or Spencer those machines continue to operate. Our only good luck is that they can't see far. So don't take shots or make a noise. They'll detect you."

"Alright." Sweet Gin repeated nervously.

"And the lake beyond that," he said, "I don't know how you types fair with water or hellfire's residue. But don't drink it, or move through it.

"Afterward it's a clear enough shot through Logan to the airfield."

"What's a Logan?"

"Raider turf. You'll smell it before we get there."

***

Rising apartment buildings peeked out over the desolate and scorched tips of trees. Rising from where the gnarled claws scratched for the sky, inter-twining in webs that clattered in the soft, warm breeze that blew throughout the wasteland. A dryness that enveloped and preserved it.

Chords of dry sticks, timbers, and refuse littered the bed of the suburban forest as the group of four trudged west, away from the hill. Their foot steps a solemn drum on the dry sands and dirt of the ruins of Worcester. Dark figures in a darker place. None of them spoke as they trudged along. The knights and the guardian prince keeping their attention glued to the ruins that stood around them. Giving each collapsing house a wary glance, peering into, past the shadows that enveloped the ruins and decay inside for the sounds of movement.

Sweet Gin watched them with an absurd curiosity. A watcher of the watchers, she was not so much interested in the world around them as she was them. Bewildered by the care that they took in gauging their surroundings. It was all sort of magical, and strange. But brushing over her arm, and remembering the sniveling gnarling packs of ghouls that had pursued her earlier that day, or the day prior, she understood their concerns.

The knight's cloaks had been throw back, their arms resting on the makeshift hilts of scrap forged swords strapped to their belts. Though battered, what blade that appeared from the sheath looked gnarled and vicious. A mouth of teeth, ready to grind and tear just like the ghouls wished on anything that they could.

They were fighting fire with fire.

As well, she noticed at least some difference to their weapons that conflicted with Roose Bancroft's original, romantic approach. Strapped to their chests in battered and weathered holsters hung old-world fire-arms. Kept up in the best conditions as they could. Large revolvers, or automatic pistols as heavy as Sweet Gin's own gun. And all over top hard, boiled leather, reinforced with scratched and dented plates of steal. Or some manner of ceramic face.

She looked away from them again and back to the world around her. They were still in the woods, surrounded by sky scrapers and housing development. "So, Barston," she started softly. There was a tension and boredom she sought to cut and it edged on her. She hoped she could cut it, "tell me about your father..."

Barston Bancroft was slow and hesitant to answer. His attention too secured on his environment. "What about him." he said suddenly, in a low hushed voice.

"I don't know." she replied, "Why all of this?"

"I hazard that the old man likes you." the lord's son snickered, "An old man his age who has had so little pussy can certainly dream. But I guess he decided he couldn't keep you."

Well that was nice to know, "Well, not so much that..." she started, "But, this city?"

"Why not the city?" he replied quietly, "It's what he tells me. I think he feels he had no where else to start. And he talks about that Bancroft man."

"[i]That Bancroft man?[/i]" the android inquired.

"I'll let you in on something," Barston started, "My father was a man of no name, so he told me. When he left his vault, he wandered. Then learned of some George Bancroft. Hell if I know when, before I entered the world. But he talks about him, how the tower he calls home is a symbol to his achievement and should become one.

"But he's too lazy to grab it."

"He didn't seem very lazy." replied Sweet Gin, shocked.

Barston chuckled, "He is." he said with a soft sigh, "I imagine if he levered his resources, he could have had it in his life-time. But he refuses too. He wants 'more people to recognize his claim'. The ­ does it matter, he has all the living residents of Worcester who matter under his banner. And all because he killed the right men. He just has The Logans, but he won't do-."

"Is this why he left the vault then?" asked Sweet Gin.

"He doesn't talk of the Vault." Barston snorted, "He just taught me what he learned there."

"Not where it was at?"

"I imagine he wants to forget it." one of Barston's guards cut in unexpectedly. His voice was low and rumbling. Like thunder.

Barston nodded hesitantly, slow, in agreement. "His future is his own, so he says."

Barston's men were first out onto the residential street. Nothing moved as they strode out onto the cracked and broken asphalt. The wind sweeping down through the blasted out remains and empty houses creating a low whistling. An eerie moaning that dug coldly at all those in attendance. But it bode nothing. But crouching and huddled behind the splintered fence as she watched the man stand in the middle of the road between the collapsing walls of the two houses bode a cold omen for the android. Chased twice, she figured that rarely was the ruins ever this quiet.

Hand on the hilt of his crude sword the man turned on his heels, facing one way, and then the next. Then turning towards him he wove one heavy glove of his towards the rest, summoning them out onto the street. So far as he was concerned, it was safe.

"Now the synth cunt knows how hard it is to travel this city." cackled the other as they walked up into the road.

"Welcome to the Worm." sneered Barston, stealing a cautious, stern stare down the road.

The suburban neighborhood they stood in was a tight cluster of houses built of brick and vinyl plating. Low angled roofs had collapsed to been torn off, subjecting the interior to the harsh sunlight or choking them with piles of milky debris. On many, torn and falling awnings shaded glassless windows and smashed doors. Each home was orderly and evenly spaced between each other. The gnarled remains of picket fences or hedges remained, marking the divide between each unit of property; coupled with the same twisting hulks of trees that defined the sky-line.

Lining the road the meaty red hulks of rusting automobiles choked the side, creating a congested funnel that marched the entire length of the road up and down its lengths. Semi regular spaces had been left between each car. Sweet Gin figured that at the time their owners had to flea to avoid the curses that the Bancroft men spoke of their chariots were inoperable. "Stripped of their horses" Barston crooned.

"We'll follow this road to the end." Barston said in a hushed voice, "Meet with the east-west bisector and Boston Long. Afterwards, we're only half way there."

"If we're caught by ghouls?" Sweet Gin asked.

"Well you can show us your run or stand with us." Barston sneered, laughing.

The nature of Barston's insult feel deftly on Sweet Gin and she nodded, taking the suggestion seriously. Barston's company grinned and laughed softly under their breaths before turning to march south. Throwing a cautious, curious look behind her, the android followed with the haste of a young child.

The four kept on the road, navigating the twists and turns as it bent about between the abandoned homes that defined this region. Meeting a intersection were the path split further north or sharply south-west they stood and looked about themselves. Staring into the darkness of each abandoned home that dotted the road and looked to still bare support. Support enough to house hostility. They only moved out again when they felt comfortable, moving warily as they went. Sweet Gin analyzing them closely; watching them sneak.

Their voyages quickly did bring them out of the silent nesting of homes that made the suburban net and into a choked jungle of high-rising apartments and clustered old-world businesses. The mortar and cement of their construction burnt as black as the shadows that resided inside their spartan exteriors. Deep cracking spider-webbing leading up and flowing through the still-remaining glass that clung weakly in the frames.

As the slipped into the alleys where the ground caked itself with the slimy stubborn residue of an age's past each foot step echoed and amplified against the towering and crooked walls that bowed and knelt over them over head. A cavern of glass and steel. Fire escapes and the spindly wires of urban clothes lines sprawling down on them like stalactites in a cave. It was like passing through the throat of a great beast, and the experience visibly troubled the knights, their hands gently brushing to their hilts.

Sweet Gin copied them, her hands drifting to the side of her pistol strapped to her hip. Her eyes wide as she scanned the vicinity. Mice ran circles in her chest. She was racing inside and out. Breath drawn coarse.

"Looks like we've been through here." whispered one of the guards as they crept along.

"And I don't like it." Barston scowled, "There's something to it. A silence here.

"I dare say, we got some rottin' cocksuckers about."

"You think?" the other asked.

As if to answer him a groaning noise rolled down at them above. Flesh and steel grinding against brick. The four looked up just in time to see a mangy and ragged figure dive-bomb down at them. Its bony fingers extended in a rapid and excited grab as he snarled and snapped through the air. Disregarding gravity as he was launched the several stories to the delectable morsels that walked below.

Sweet Gin acted quick on training instinct and raised her handgun up to fire on the ghoul as it soared through the air. Its report echoed loud off of the walls and the flash briefly illuminating the darkened space as she fired, a bullet catching the inside of its leg. But even in her speed the guard it fell on was equally quick and in a flash he sword was unsheathed and sailing through the air in one long arc. It met the monster mid-swing and with a fleshy whistle cleaved through the ghoul's gut.

It fell at its side in two halves, collapsing with a met smack in the gutters and flipping head over guts. Red and black ichor bathed the cold slimy cement as the remains of the beast fell with a lazy thud. Low wet gurgled rumbling from its throat as it made its last enraged breath.

"Good swing, Sir Marshal!" one of Barston's escorts cheered. The grin on his bony face illuminating him as he casual retired his half-drawn sword to his sheath.

The man marked marshal, as skinny and badly tempered by the city as any other resident but with a messier mop of hair, kept his tongue as he stared down at the fallen ghoul. His face cold and attentive. "There's more coming." he grumbled low. And distantly high-pitched screams and roars echoed from the sepulcher din of the apartments about them.

"Shit!" Barston swore.

"It was the android's fire-arm!" the other guard shouted.

"No use arguing it, move!" Barston ordered, drawing his own blade. It was a long vicious sword, knocked and curved in every brutal way possible. Excitement and rage bubbled on his face as he looked out above him as the black, skeletal figures of amassing ghouls showed in the windows. The sound of bare feet smacking on cold cement and steal echoed about them as they ran out from underneath of the teetering apartments, breaking out into the middle of a wide-thoroughfare.

Sweet Gin turned to stop in the open, but intent on moving Barston reached out and grabbed her by the nape of her neck and yanking her back with him as she turned to fire on the amassing hordes dropping from the upper floors of the ruined structure. Either collapsing dead or crippled in the cement, or reeling from impact and shuffling after them with a rabid determination.

Sweet Gin was dragged between and over stalled automobiles to the far side of the road and a metal door was slammed shut behind them. Metal clanged and the door was sealed.

The android was dropped on her ass in the middle of the large, cold room. A dusty darkness hung around her as Barston and his companions flitted about the building. The only light to shed the darkness flowed from the windows, which were slowly becoming choked by ghouls as they pressed themselves against the glass.

"What are we doing?" she asked, looking up at Barston and his companions as they darted about.

"Are the rear doors locked?" Barston demanded, ignoring Sweet Gin completely.

"I just checked," shouted his guard from somewhere in the back, "still sealed tight!"

"Marshal!"

"Got it." sir Marshal's low gruff voice grumbled as he flipped over a box and throwing a bundle of disc-like objects to Barston.

"What are we doing?" Sweet Gin repeated again.

"Get back, synth." Barston growled as he tossed the pile to the ground. Hitting it, there was a soft beep. A familiar amber light glowed in front of the door as the mine clattered on the floor in front of it. The door itself beginning to shake violently as ghouls slammed and scratched at it.

Sweet Gin nervously backed herself up across the floor as the prince threw done mine after mine. Hastening behind the man as the trail grew long.

"What are we doing?" Sweet Gin said with a panicking waver. The mines weren't spelling good things to her.

"Unless you want to suck our cocks you'll get up off the floor and hand me your gun." Barston ordered crudely, stuffing the rest of the fragmentation mines in a satchel at his side, and holding out his hand.

And figuring now wasn't an opportune time for head the android scrambled up. The sight of the mines stirring her more than the alley had. Magnifying it past expanding combat instinct and into reluctance and fear with the flashing amber lights.

She hesitantly handed the man her pistol. He training it on the door with more route practice than any machine she had known. He compressed the trigger and fired off several bursts of fire. The bullets sparked and clashed off the metal lock on the door, but jimmied it enough it bolted and rattled at the growing force of ghouls behind it. The shots acted as a signal and Barston's heavy hand wrapped around Sweet Gin's shoulders and she was dragged forcefully back as the front door rattled more and more off of its hinges. Wheeling around into a backroom there called a scream of metal as the door was torn open, and soon after, an explosion.

Heat bellowed on the nap of Sweet Gin's neck and. She screamed in shock as the compressing blast chased her and the rest out the back door. Several more followed as the ghouls charged blindly forward through the track of explosives Barston had laid behind. The theater playing itself over in the android's conscious as she was released from Barston's grip. The doubled explosions of memory and present crashing with the force of a train as she wrapped her hands around her head and raced down the back alley with the rest of Barston's guards. The prince himself on her tail tossing mines out like disks.

Sweet Gin charged blindly a tense wreck. Eyes shut closed she didn't notice as she ran into the two other men. Their arms wrapping around her and spinning her about. The awkward uncomfortable shock of being handled snapping her out as Barston through out the last mine. His cap riding on the front of the blast-wind from the echoing explosions as they tore out of the narrow alley as he himself joined them in the middle of the road.

"Here's your gun back." he said coldly, tossing Sweet Gin's 10mm pistol at her and turning on his heels, sword drawn and raised as he waited for the shambling hordes to catch up.

The ghoul horde screamed in rage and fiery agony from the blackened and dusty cavern of the stripped store they had busted through. The frame where the back door had hung was splintered and shattered, hanging on a few loose timber as maimed and crippled ghouls sauntered and swayed beyond. Collapsing confused and stunned over wooden supports. Turning their milky eyes upwards and gurgling in spite as they tried to pull themselves forward.

Turning to see the mines work their intended purpose successfully was morbidly surreal and profound as the ghouls continued to move forward. Blinded by their own hunger and innate bestial spite. The explosives erupting upwards and outwards, sending the starved, naked, skeletal figures flying in sprawling arcs overhead. Whole limbs tore from their bodies and landing with indelicate thuds on the ground around them.

The clouds and shrapnel tore through their bodies and cut them down even more. Even a safe distance away the echoing explosions forced Sweet Gin to flinch and whimper under each roaring burst of cloud and metal.

As the front-most ghoul charged forward, his body dressed in blood caked armor he landed and tripped on the last mine. His torso flipped over his head as he cartwheeled and both his legs detached from his body at sickening angles, fanning blood in a low arcs through the warm dry air.

There was a dull silence after. The wind moaned down the street, brushing away the clouding smoke and dust. Weak shambling plodded in the midst of the debris and a handful of ghouls ran towards the four, their bodies pocked and torn by the shrapnel and fragments of the mines.

"Your heads and cocks are mine!" Barston jeered as he bound on the ghouls. Dropping his sword with a energetic force that cleaved through the front most ghoul, parting his skull in two and sending it into a tumble to Barston's feet. With a subtle snap of his wrist Barston turned the sword about and swung to his side, cutting through the gut of the nearby two. They reeled back clutching at their un-stitched stomachs.

"What the matter, afraid to see your own blood?" Barston laughed maniacally as he thrust his bloodied blade forward, skewering the last blabbering beast between his ribs and forcing him to the ground.

Sweet Gin could only stand to watch with a dark fascination. A fearful mouse squeaked inside her as it backed up against the bars of its cage at the display of martial ability.

"Marshal, how many would you say we slew here?"

"Too many." Sir Marshal said with a cold, if proud laugh, "Too many."

"Shame we can't collect every trophy." the prince laughed, standing in his circle of dropped ghouls.

Sweet Gin's ears were still ringing with an electrical hum as Barston made his way back to the group. Sheathing his sword with a satisfied grin. The rocking explosions still rocked against her tense skin as phantom feeling. She still felt the heat. And the smell of cordite and plastic was still strong in the air. Blowing out onto the street not as thinning, weak veils: but as a whole wall of sensory feedback. It was thick. Choking. The fumes of the explosives lingering in the back of her throat and causing it to itch.

"The bitch is scared!" Barston laughed. He clopped her on the shoulder with a heavy glove splashed with ghoul blood. Clenching his fingers and rubbing her shoulder.

Somehow, the grip made her tense up more. It wasn't friendly, it felt cold. A tough tease. She wheeled on Barston, her face twisted in an angry grimace. Barston stepped back, his hands held in the air. A mocking look of innocence lay plastered on him, dripping like wet paint, or the blood on his hands.

"No need to get mean." the prince crooned.

Sweet Gin glared at him from behind frowning eyes. She looked at his companions, and then at the ruins of the buildings and back at him. Her hands rose gently to her shoulders, caressing them gently. Assuring herself she was still whole. Still the same. Despite his unfriendly touch. Her eyes dropped down, silent.

"When you're out here you're going to need to deal with what frightens you." Marshal spoke up, "You're going to be burned, shot, stabbed, and blown up. Nothing cares where you're from, or who you are. It will kill you, brutally.

"So you either get brutal, or you get over your fear."

"The man has a point." Barston whispered, kneeling tentatively close to Sweet Gin. "And frankly, I want to live as much as you do, Synth. If I need to blow something up, I will. It's all part of the fight."

"People keep using that word..." Sweet Gin mumbled, "Live... What is it?"

"It doesn't matter, we're wasting time anyhow." the other unidentified knight said annoyed, "No doubt the rest of the neighborhood will be sweeping in to check it out. As well, Logan will no doubt we curious and sweep some of his bastards this way to see what they can pick apart. That explosion would have rolled across the entire city."

"And that bastard has a point." Barston conceded, but not without his own sting to the words. Holding out a gloved hand he continued invitingly, "So let's go, before we're turned into something's lunch and someone's barbecue."

Sweet Gin looked at his hand, and then him. She felt uneasy about it. But the propositions he made didn't sound very good to her. So apprehensively she held out her hand.

Barston's hand clenched tightly around her as he pulled her over and on her feet. With a quick swing and a pat on the ass she her running ahead, her cheeks glowing a bright red. He and his companions giggled softly as they moved along.

"We should pass to the next street over." Marshal grumbled, "And take that north several blocks. Logan's men I bet will move directly to the explosion, and if we detour we can evade the university and lake all together."

"I'm game." Barston snickered.

***

The door fell with a crunch. Collapsing to the floor with a soft thud, loaning admittance to the four who stepped through it portal. White light fell in around the four figures as they stepped through. The sun light reflecting off the edges of blades as they made entry. But the house only yielded silence. An empty, locked abode with only the dust to dance in its halls.

"Go away pigs!" read the far wall in fading flaking paint. The wall paper around it peeling back on the edges and around bullet holes. A skeleton of a man lying near by.

The four gave the heap of bones any attention as they weaved around it and marched through to the back of the house. This door was locked as well, but it collapsed all the same to a firm boot from Marshall. With a bang it landed and split on the wooden deck behind the house and the four could dart out into the apocalyptic afternoon outside. Sweet Gin close in tow.

The voyage west out of the city was turning into a maze of navigating houses due in part to wreckage and ruins barring any other way. Barricades of steel or automobiles lined the roads and between the houses. It created a perpetual maze that forced the knights and the synthetic woman they guided to take off beaten paths. Paths which more often than not slowed their progress. A trip that Barston hoped to have done by the later hours of the afternoon was beginning to march into the evening hours. Slow progress was eating at him, and his impatience and anger was showing with each house they broke into.

His already thin lips were sealed so tightly shut they disappeared into his mouth. A narrow frown splitting his face and a deep silent scowl became his new expression of choice. The prince had fallen silent in their march. His mouth only opening to whisper a silent angry curse as Marshal and the other knight worked to try and pick the lock on the doors before ramming them down with force.

All the while Sweet Gin felt they were being watched. Somewhere, some silent observer was taking note. It crawled up her spine like a cold rad roach. She shivered out of anxiety. The discomfort of the situation.

Barston's angered silence came to an end though, as advancing through the last house they spilled out in a backyard that had once been fenced. But the chain link had given away and rusted away. Opening up to a vast field of gnarled trees, and equally twisted grass. Brown and black checker boarded the field and the soft hills as they rolled along. The remains of wooden gazebos and other fixtures stood in the field, and in the distance a net of chain link, from whence rose a twisting pillar of black smoke.

"Logan's." Barston sneered, "The man thought he could do better than my father. Promised to burn it all.

"Some ambitious work he's done." the prince laughed.

"That's what a Logan is?"

"Who Logan is." Marshal corrected, "I had the displeasure of having to fight by his side for a while, until he went made. Even before then he wanted to burn it all. Purge everything by fire."

"And this is all it's given him." Barston said, "a field and a few drugged up jackasses who spend more time jacking each other off and getting high than they do trying to compete with my father. Logan is just as ambitious as he, but lazier."

"So why should I be concerned?" Sweet Gin asked.

"Because if he catches us, he'll set us on fire." said Barston.

***

That feeling of being watched persisted unshakably. Somehow, the sensation had not lifted. If anything, intensified. The same uncomfortable itch as the blocked and ruined streets and suburban neighborhoods lingered. It frightened the android as much as the clustered patches of char and ash did.

The checker-boarded patches of ash piles had increased in number to whole blankets of black and white over the browning and yellowing terrain. And the piles of burning had taken on some content. Piles of random furniture, wood, and bodies were piled up in many of the larger patches. Iron poles scorched at the base held up agonized and twisted human bodies. Their flesh peeled back to fleshy pinks and deep blacks as they were barbequed there on the spit

This new introduction in catastrophic damage had brought to Sweet Gin a new morbid wonder. Delaying at each trophy and showcase of severe burn damage to the physical form. And it wasn't just the bodies of humans that had been piled up, or staked into the earth. But animals forms as well. Either one headed, or two. Tails of claws. Some mouths with large jagged incisors. Creatures with immense claws. The surrealism of such destruction was as fascinating as it was terrifying. They were like statues made of charcoal. Pink, fleshy charcoal with a rank stench.

The fact the Sweet Gin was so childishly fascinated with the product of some great fire was worrisome to the men assigned to guide her. Each time she strayed or stalled to look at the cruel artwork posted about they impatiently grabbed her and pulled her along by the cold steel of her arm. "We need to keep moving." they constantly reminded her between gritted teeth.

They must obviously have felt that same creepy feeling as her.

Or maybe it was just the grotesque art work that was littering the remains of the park with greater ferocity. And once more, it continued to rise to a greater morbid climax.

Things looked as if they were coming to a maximum as the four came across a massive, burned oak. Strung up by chains, mutilated bodies hung caught in jagged meat hooks. There was no discretion in the display as ghoul and man hung side by side with their bodies violently mauled and burned. Women as well, and perhaps the remains of children. All of which deeply cut and eviscerated. Crisscrossing gashes of red lay painted across their chests in a violent patterning. Stars, X's, and O's.

"Bill's had a penchant for the dramatic." Marshall admired as they stepped up to the tree, "I see he hasn't forgotten his art."

"God, fuck Bill." the other man shivered, "I still can't forget what he did to that cat."

"You're just weak, Will." Barston taunted.

"You weren't there." Will snapped back, turning from the over kill hanging from the tree, "I've seen some shit." he muttered.

“What cat?” Sweet Gin asked innocently

And somewhere in the distance, something wound to life. A distorting chord that whirred and popped as it struggled to come to life. A bent up and twisted piano that slowly came to life. Before finally, [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDYNuD4CwlI]there was singing.[/url]

The four jumped to the ready as the music started. Above them, tucked in the stomach of a hanging body was a battered and bent up speaker. But it wasn't the only source. All around them the same song played through the air. "And now you're hearing it." grumbled Marshall.

A fiery roar bellowed from below. An overlooked stone structure burst into life and fire. The windows glowing orange as a stream of burst from a darkened door. A large steel clad figure bound out with tremendous force. Thick metal plates shone with the intensity of his flame. Arcing a heavy flame-thrower through the air, releasing a stream of burning liquid high into the air and smoldering the very air.

Several large tanks hung at his back, surrounded by thick olive-drab steel. The light of the vicious fire bested that of the sun. It was a great orange aura, basking everything in its deadly illumination. It glowed off every inch of his armored body like a mirror. And the black face plate of his welding mask helmet glowed with a malevolent orange as he glared up at them.

The flame thrower whooshed and popped as he taunted the four atop the hill. It was enough to tell Sweet Gin who had burned so much of this field.

"Ooo, so he must be the one who did all this." she murmured. She again felt fear, panic as she looked down at the gigantic beast of a man.

"Logan only did half." Marshall said. From behind them purred a machine roll.

"Bill the Butcher did the other half." he added, turning.

Sweet Gin followed Marshall's gaze to the bear of a man advancing up the hill. A bloodied and greasy chainsaw held firmly in his fists. He was considerably less dramatically armored. If anything thick steel plates decorated his right arm, the rest of his boiled leather outfit studded and infused with stray and random sheets of protective steel, or road signs. But what he lacked in protection he made up for in his heavy muscular body. He hulked over any man she had seen. And the scars and wounds of survival was testament to the fact that he didn't need much to survive.

As Bill made his way up, he looked up and down the four with a twisted smile. Scars and cracks scoured his face, making him look less of a man, and more of some nightmare from Boston proper. Sweet Gin's processes skipped beats looking at the disfiguring surgical scars that scoured his face. Hia nose was broken in several places, forehead recessed and cheeks ill-healed mats of flesh. His eyes looked to have a eerie light to them. His grin was highlighted with lips of sickly purple and yellow, chipping and peeling back. He looked diseased, yet he carried himself like was healthy. His hair grew thin on his head in ghoulish mats.

And he carried the chainsaw with as much comfort as his accomplice did his flame-thrower.

Logan's flamethrower spat like a dragon. And roared and screamed like a hundred ghouls.

"We can outrun Logan." Barston whispered in a low voice, "But not so much Bill."

"You proposing we evade Logan then and kill Bill?" Marshal said, gritting his teeth.

"The later is very difficult. But if the Android would like to, then she's perfectly invited."

"What?" Sweet Gin asked.

The android's polite inquiry was cut off as Bill let off with a booming primal yell. Raising the chainsaw over his shoulder as he blindly charged. Spittle trailing from his snarling mouth as he sprang forward with shocking speed.

Barston acted quick, grabbing Sweet Gin by the collar of her coat and dragging her to the side just as the beast's chainsaw swung to the side, slicing the air where they had been, and continuing to sweep through where Marshal and William had stood.

Cut off, both parties were on their own as they ducked and dodged out of the way of the heavy weapons. As soon as Marshall and William bolted off a long tongue of fire shot out towards them, licking the hill side with an arch of gold and red fire. Churning the air and producing sickening columns of black smoke.

Bill moved quick on his toes, twisting to the side and readjusting his weapon to make another pass as Sweet Gin and Barston sprinted down the hill.

"Damn it biitch!" Barstone screamed, "Just try and shoot the fucker and be done with it!"

"Well, alright!" Sweet Gin stuttered. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she grabbed for her holster. Her metal hands shook as she stepped and dodged from the wide swings of Bill. Her fingers clattered on the handle of the gun as she drew it out.

She skipped awkwardly down the hillside as she rose the hand-gun. Bringing it up as Bill turned aside from a large swing. The report was proud, loud, and familiar. The bullet striking Bill square in his left arm. The flesh tour open in blood, but he kept moving. Raising and lowering his colossal arm as if he hadn't felt it. He seemed to care little for the artificial injury and kept moving forward. Holding the chainsaw with as much practice and poise as he had before. Screaming and laughing hysterically as the blood dripped down his arm in a thick frothy stream.

Sweet Gin lined up for another shot. Firing until she emptied the chamber. The hammer clanged and crashed until it clicked clean. His size made it difficult to miss. But none made any damage. The rest ricocheted against his armor.

And above all this, the same song repeated.

"Fucking android!" Barston screamed as he dodged outside the arc of Bill's chainsaw arc, "You're supposed to shoot him in the head!"

"I'm trying!" cried a panicking Sweet Gin, reloading hastily as she ducked under a wide, heavy swing. At this close distance, the mutilated man looked even more horrifying. The details of his scars and his own burns coming to life with a better clarity. And the eerie glow of his eyes much more apparent. And mixed with the exhaust of the chainsaw the powerful rotting odor of his body.

VATS kicked in and came to life in Sweet Gin's vision. The hit chances being displayed alongside every point of his body, and moving dynamically to him.

Sweet Gin had to make a quick choice, and rose her her pistol to fire into his face. But the raider acted swiftly, dropping his saw as he rose a armored arm to shield his face. Stopping the fresh clip of bullets. Her breath was caught in a sharp gasp of horror.

Sweet Gin staggered back horrified as Bill swung into a counter. The Android just narrowly missing the brunt his mangled knuckles. The brush of his twisted fingers just inches from her face. He was terrifying. His ability to survive what she learned could kill many terrified her. Everything about him was beyond what she knew, and it was appalling in its feral nature.

 He lurched forward, lifting his chainsaw into the air as from behind Barston lunged with his sword. The rough unpolished metal caught the light of the sun as it rose over his head. He pulled all of his effort into the swift downward blow. The blade bit as the beast turned. Cutting deep into his arm and for once soliciting a fierce agonized scream as it cleaved flesh and muscle, tendon and bone.

The man's scream of pain was a deafening storm as Barston sword cut deep into his meaty arm catching within the bone. Barston fought to keep it in, to saw through the bone or take a deeper chunk off to force Bill to bleed out then and there. But Bill had better ideas. His fist roared through the air with a swift arcing ram. Catching the Prince's head in the middle of that fierce meaty swing. The hard rattling punch set him reeling onto the ground with a concussive crack, leaving the sword dug deep into Bill's arm.

Bill grunted and groaned like a bull. Anger and pain burning him from the inside out as he forgot about Sweet Gin, to turn on Barston. He tugged at his foe's blade. More than intent to tear it out and turn it around against him.

"Bancrofts." he sneered. His voice was low. Rumbling with an earthly force as the jagged scrap sword pulled from his own arm. He stood over Barston, his own blade in his enemy's hand.

Sweet Gin stood behind, horrified as the monster man bore over her escort out of town. And seeing him defenseless, and weakly stirring on the ground - blood caking half his face - she realized she needed to do something.

She holstered her pistol and shot for the large Bowie knife. As Bancroft's blade rose over Bill's head, rising to swing down into its owner's face, the android lunged. Firing herself straight into the back of the unaware beast about to cleave Barston Bancroft in two. And she rammed into his back with the force of a missile.

Bill reeled. Screamed shocked as the Android planted herself on his back. Winding her one arm around his shoulder and grabbing onto the armor on his chest. The other was drawn back, and plunged the crooked, curved blade into the under-side of his shoulder. Driving it deep into the side of his chest. And for a second time in this fight, Bill met pain. The wretched agonized scream were monstrous as Larry's knife dug between his ribs. With a twist she drew it out and hugged Bill tighter as he reached back to grab the Android.

Sweet Gin jabbed and twisted again. Cutting through his leather armor and into the flesh a second time. Going deeper, and forcing him to drop the sword. Bill got a grip on her arm, pulling her off and whipping her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat. With a thud she hit the ground and bounced. Her breath escaped like a candle is extinguished at the whim of a breath.

He reeled over them, billowing in pain. His movement become lethargic as he bled out. Sweet Gin lay next to Barston in the dirt, her cheeks resting on his dusty and mud-caked boots. Her sides hurt. Her body throbbed as she gasped for breath.

"Shoot him!" Barston pleaded, his voice croaking and chocked. as Bill struggled to coup with his injuries, "Shoot the cock sucker now!"

Sweet Gin couldn't speak, let alone breath as she weakly rolled in the dust, gasping for the air she so desperately needed. "I can't breath." she mouthed, but her words coming out in weak gasps. She tried to pull herself up, but gasping for breath she couldn't muster the energy and she slipped in the charred grass.

Barston was left to do the honors. His hands grabbing blindly for her pistol, managing to grope her side and rear as he sought the 10mm pistol. But finding it, he produced the gun and rose it. But it clicked on an empty chamber.

By now, Bill had staggered back. His eyes held firmly to the two on the ground. Drunkenly, he staggered forward. Grabbing weakly for whatever he could off the ground, and lifting the still purring chainsaw. With a laborious heave he lifted the machine up over his head, weakly balancing it as he stumbled forward.

The panic Sweet Gin felt was enough to jump-start her lungs. She sprung up, grabbing Barston and pulling him to the side as she rolled over him. Just as the chainsaw swung downwards and chewed into the baked soil. Dirt and rock was kicked into the air as the spinning chain dug deep into the hardened clay. The motor screamed and protested at the strain as it became steadily choked with grit and earth.

He struggled with the blade. But too weakened to yank it out. It dug deeper. Clogging more and more. The motor churned sickly and smoked heavily. He screamed and bellowed incomprehensibly at the weapon as he heaved over it. He was stuck, and he was unarmed. Sweet Gin had to take the moment.

She staggered up from the ground. Charging at him with her arm's outstretched and nails barred as she pounced. She landed on his wide shoulders, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Clinging to him like a cat as she screamed and bore into him. He fought back, reaching up his arms to yank her off.

But his efforts yielded more blood and agony as she knitted the sharp points of her not-so-temporary-anymore hands into him. "Where's you off switch!" she screamed, wrestling to keep a hold of the man.

Barston rolled on the ground, keeping away from Bill's massive feet as he trudged around. He fought hard to pull off the Android. But the more he fought the harder Sweet Gin held on. She kept digging, cutting through his shoulders until she found collar bone. Bill screamed and babbled, his pained efforts becoming weaker as more and more of his blood left his excited, mangled body; bathing the android.

Eventually, the giant collapsed. Falling first to his knees, staring blankly on. His heavy fingers fell from Sweet Gin's body. Moaning weakly he fell face-first into the dust, throwing the android for once off his body. He writhed and rolled weakly. Painstakingly trying to pull his mangled self up. But the blood that flowed from all too many holes was too heavy, and he lay withering.

Barston rolled and crawled on the ground, wiping the blood from the side of his head as he reached for his sword. Staggering as he reclaimed it. Bill lay motionless, taking a last breath as Sweet Gin pulled herself up. Her arms caked red as she staggered away from the giant's body.

"The Bancrofts send their regards." Barston sneered between broken teeth. His face was swelling quickly. He hung over the beast's body with his sword. "Cocksucker."

"Are you alright?" Sweet Gin asked.

"Never mind me," Barston growled as he bent down alongside Bill. He grunted as he heaved him over onto his back, "You got a pyro nutbuster to get off of Marshal and William's backs. Go!" he screamed, urging Sweet Gin away.

Down below, Logan with his flamethrower whipped himself from side-to-side as he herded Barston's compatriots about. They painfully avoided the man in tin. Stepping bag as flaming whips brushed through the air. Sweat beaded on their brows, and the visible signs of exhaustion snaked over them. And the long game of keep away had obviously begun to injure them, clutching his hand to his face Will kept cover a pink patch of burning flesh, as Sweet Gin neared it still looked as it seared and bubbled on his face, like it was still burning.

Sweet Gin stumbled forward, stiffly raising her handgun to meet Logan. Her sides were numb with a brutish dull pain that wrapped her back and sides. She ached from head to toe from the thrashing and beating imposed on her by Bill. Even though numb, she swore she could feel her limbs burn with the same agony as she held the gun up, running in range behind Logan. Centering the sights on the long and thrashing tube that ran out from his impressive tanks. Her voice cracked as she breathed out, pulling the trigger.

There was a hollow resigned click.

Shocked, Sweet Gin reeled back. Staring in resignation at the gun in her hands. Swearing under her breath she worked over the weapon, hitting what buttons and levers she could. The clip fell out with a hollow clatter on the ground. It was empty. She panicked, racing on her feet as Logan continued unaware. The deafening roar of his flame thrower as he swept it side to side too overbearing.

Patting into her pockets, she searched for an extra clip. She hoped she had one. She threw off her bag, throwing it to the ground alongside her as she tore through it. Finally finding one as beads of panicking nervous sweat poured down her face. She slid it back into place, the gun clicking around it and accepting the new rounds.

This time, the hammer did not fall on an empty chamber. With a bright flash a bullet exited the chamber, guided by the VATS-aided aiming as it found position on Logan's body. The system however failed to account for the man's over-armored shell. The bullet found a mark. But with a shrill hollow ping that sang out even above the roar of his dragon's breath sang off into the sky.

Sweet Gin continued firing on him regardless, emptying out her second clip on the pyro's body. His armor flashed and sang with the sound of light-weight bullets ricocheting off harmlessly. The subtle impact of each misplaced shot bringing him to a threatening pause. He turned like an angered bear, holding back his shoulders and throwing up his flamethrower. He flexed and shook as he screamed incomprehensible curses at the Android. His booming echoing voice roaring over the wasteland. Sweet Gin jumped back startled, taken back by his bellowing.

With a yelp Sweet Gin ducked as a stream of golden fire arced near her. Dropping to the ground she felt the hot tongue pass over her, singing the hairs of her head. Drops of hot fire dripping down from the main stream and falling across her back and legs. Hot fuel crawled across her as she threw off her outer coat. Burning embers crackled on her back and she rolled down the hill.

The burning pain complimented Bill's bruising well. Her whole body was beginning to throb and itch in some uncomfortable way. Behind her, a snake's trail of fire cut her off from Barston and any timely expectations of support. The very heat of the fire was absolute. Sweat soaking into her shirt as she pulled herself up.

The barrier went long and far, creating a solid line and drawing a wide arena, where in the middle stood Logan himself. A large over bearing figure, whose metal armor danced with the reflection of a thousand suns as the fires of his design burned around him. And now with a new play thing, he stomped slowly towards her. The mouth of his flamethrower dripping with fire.

“Oh... Hello.” the android said weakly, taking weak steps back as she looked for an escape. But there was none to take in the crawling wall of fire. And no response from the brutish man. His weapon hanging down at his waste. The noxious liquid that fueled it sliding out sluggishly in fiery drops.

"Synth!" screamed Marshall from outside the circle. She could hardly see the man as he ran along the edge of the fire, holding above his head her gear bag, and in his other the three small grenades. With a heave the grenades were thrown over the fire, landing with a scattered thud in the ashen ground, she flinched reflexively against them, tensing for an explosion.

But none came, and the imposing marching of Logan gave pause as he stopped to register. But no explosion came.

“What?” Sweet Gin screamed back, panicking. She felt something should have happened. And nothing happened. She itched with anticipation. Panicked with Logan continuing his advance. His flame-thrower dripping with anticipation. It wasn't hard to know what he intended.

“Deal with him!” Marshall shouted back. His head bobbed above the tongues of fire as he disappeared.

Sweet Gin turned back to face Logan. He grumbled low under his breath as he watched Sweet Gin's move. She swore she could hear the wet slathering of his tongue as he licked his lips under that dark metal mask of his.

Sweet Gin laughed nervously as she stepped to the side. Logan straightening his posture in a curious, bestial way. But as the android dove the man's posture dove to a charge, sweeping back his flame-thrower as the first plume of explosive flame welled at the mouth. Sweet Gin dove just as the fire licked her back as her adversary missed. Her hand outstretched for the closest grenade buried in the soot.

With a roll, she pulled it from the dirt and forced herself to her feet. Running as Logan circled around for her.

“How do these work!?” she shouted.

“VATS tutorial recording initiated. Peacemaker recognized: M70 Hand grenade detected. Running user t-” a recording began, but the droning voice was inundated by a second scream of a flame thrower, and Sweet Gin screaming.

“SHUT UP! I THINK I GET IT!” she bellowed at herself in excitement as she yanked out the pin. With a blind tossed, she pitched it towards Logan as she dropped to the floor, throwing up her arms as his fire swept past her again.

Seconds later the familiar thump of an explosive cut the stream and scream of the flame. Briefly heralding silence as Sweet Gin turned. But as the smoke and the cloud of dust cleared, she found to her panic that Logan still stood. Dazed, but unscathed from the explosion. He hobbled on his feet, before continuing his assault unphased. The Flamethrower lowered to cook the android on the ground, and she sprinted to her feet as fire cooked at her butt.

She sprinted again, racing the long flames that burst the air. She stumbled to the ground, sliding as she felt the heat of Logan's rage burn over her. Reaching out, she grabbed what she had dove for, one of the scattered grenades. She tossed it as she began to run again, Logan re-adjusting as the green egg soared into the air into his face.

With a loud guttural crack it exploded, crashing against his visor. The sharp cloud splintering the thick glass and rippling it with spiderweb cracks. He reeled back as Sweet Gin dove for the third and final grenade.

She turned to find Logan, enraged and armor mired bursting out through the cloud of shrapnal. A deep guttural scream pierced the day as he held to his side his flame-thrower. His charge was angry. It was desperate. And despite the metal shocking to Sweet Gin. The faint hints of fire burned deep inside the long metal nozzle of his flame thrower as he charged to put it into her side. There were to be no more games. No more failures. No more, as Sweet Gin slipped to the side, the green egg in her hand.

It disappeared inside with tight squeeze. She was inches away from his reach when she dove. He sneered angrily, pulling the trigger as to sweep her with fire before she got too far. There was a choke, a delay in the fire...

Sweet Gin landed just as Logan was turning. She spun around to watch, expecting him to be right on her tail as she tried to escape. But she turned to watch him not advance forward, but to be torn open.

Splitting open like a peeled banana, the flame-thrower erupted outward. Peeling back the steel as a pillowing bloom of dark smoke and bright oranges blossomed outwards. A massive peeling ripple of flame that tore back, ripping the gun to shreds and back-feeding into the heavy rubber tube, incinerating it then and there as it turned to smoke as the explosion continued to feed backward.

And the horrible pained scream, muffled by steel and iron as the flame reached the tank. The pounding, drumming “umph” of the tanks bursting downwards against the charred Earth and rocketing the soldier into the air. Catapulting a burning Logan several feet into the air as fire wrapped around his body, clothing him in a robe of fire as he careened with his own weight against the ground.

The sound of the crashing metal was intense as it was hallow and terrifying. But the screams of the man inside were more as the sounds of pure agony bellowed. The shrill cries of a man burning in his skin as between the plates plumes of fire crackled and burned. He sobbed and screamed in pained curses as he rolled helpless in the dirt. Pulling at himself. Yanking at his mask. He struggled to his feet, gripping like a blind child at the metal helmet and tearing it off, screaming at the sky as fire rose from inside the armor, cooking up his face.

There was no man under that metal. Only a blackening beast. His head was bald, his face encased in his own fire. Logan, the man who was turned to Sweet Gin, the incoherent babbling pleaded for mercy. But Sweet Gin could not help as she stood back in horror. Was this how it was when the Great Fire came? Men like him burning on the spot.

Resignation fell upon him, as engulfed in his own fire the body of Logan grew limp and he collapsed to the ground. What was left going up in black putrid smoke.

The fires crackled around her as Sweet Gin struggled to keep her balance. Logan, or what remained of him lay in a twisted smoldering heep just feet away. The embers of his demise burned everywhere. Caking the ground and singing the enamel of the android's arms. Embers that smoldered as she stood in a dazed silence, blinded by a vale of awe that numbed the pain racked onto her by Bill.

For this brief second, she was not burned. She was not bruised. She was merely victorious. A warm, hot feeling it was. Like the warmth of many great suns, it wrapped around her. An-

"Sweet Gin!" someone shouted from beyond the ring of fire that still burned. The flames were marching wider as the remaining blades of grass that resided there continued to burn. And to do so rapidly. The sticky chemicals that composed Logan's fire was not so apt to extinguish itself as the flames moved on their volition.

"Sweet gin!" the voice called again, and she realized it was Will. Hopping up and down he struggled to get a look through the chalky gray smoke and the orange heat, "Are you still there?"

"Never-mind that you stupid dip-" Marshall snapped over the flames, "She's there! We need to get her out!"

Out? Oh yes.

As quickly as it had fallen the veil burned away from her face and clarity returned - as well as the throbbing, numb pain that gripped her sides - and she saw the fires. They had not opened, and if anything only widened.

"Ah-" she stammered weakly under her breath. The all consuming heat and the growing, blistering wind that wound, bent, and twisted around her was sapping. A dry heat, fueled by the choking fires. She looked all around her, her head racing and every machine in her clanking and cluttering frantically as she fought to find a way out. But there was no clear exit.

"Stop standing there!" Marshall shouted, "You're going to need to brave it!"

"I-” she stuttered weakly.

"Come one, now!" Marshal said, "You'll need to do it now you fucking bitch, or burn alive!"

"Marshal," Sweet Gin sniffed, "I'm scared!"

"So what, suck it up and do it! Or else you'll no doubt be turned into slag! Do you want to be Logan now?"

The android afforded a look to the crumbled black and glowing-red mass of Logan and his armor. The fire that brewed from his tanks was leaking out and spreading as well, choking the already valuable unburned patches.

She had to take the chance. Against the protests of numerous corners of her head she crept towards the fire circle. Coming to its edge, where the heat was great. She felt the buffeting of the air being drawn in to feed the expanding inferno. The rays of warmth and burning spears.

"Alright..." she muttered weakly, dancing uneasily at the edge of the inferno.
[/hider]