Standard disclaimer: None of the places, etc. in this story are mine, but are instead the property of Bethesda Game Studios. Bright and the rest of the Raiders, and the Enclave kid, are original characters; the remaining characters such as Murphy, Barrett, Jeanette, etc. are also the property of Bethesda Game Studios. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

Author's note: This is the third-longest story I've ever written, and by far the longest piece I've ever posted; it took me over a year to write this. I think its quality is rather uneven, but with Fallout: New Vegas scheduled to come out in a month or so, I really wanted to get it up as soon as possible. Be warned: this fic is rated M for a reason. It deals extensively with life in the Raiders, and that's about as unpleasant a subject as you'd expect. There are elements of this story that were uncomfortable for me to write; my beta assures me that I did a good job handling them and working them in, but I don't know. Samantha (my female Lone Wanderer) and Charon put in an appearance toward the end, but the bulk of this fic revolves around Murphy and Bright. Bright is, of course, the dreaded "original female character," but I'm fairly certain she's not a Mary Sue. ;) If anyone can think of an answer to the dilemma Samantha poses at the end, feel free to post it in the reviews; I honestly couldn't come up with a good answer, but perhaps I just wasn't thinking "outside the box" enough.

As always, my deepest thanks to my beta, LadyKate. She truly went above and beyond the call of duty in betaing this fic—let alone that this fic is in a fandom she doesn't even follow. Thanks again, LK.

"The sleep of Reason breeds monsters."

-Goya

"In the year 2077, after millennia of armed conflict, the destructive nature of man could sustain itself no longer. The world was plunged into an abyss of nuclear fire and radiation. But it was not, as some had predicted, the end of the world. Instead, the apocalypse was simply the prologue to another bloody chapter of human history. For man had succeeded in destroying the world—but war…War never changes."

-Intro to Fallout 3

"I was spawned in a ditch by a mother who left me there
Naked and cold and too hungry to cry
I never blamed her; I'm sure she left hoping
That I'd have the good sense to die."

-"Aldonza," Man of La Mancha

Her name was Bright, or at least that was what she called herself at the moment, and she had been staking the place out for weeks. She knew that there were two ghouls living in the abandoned subway station: a big one called Barrett and a smaller one called Murphy, but only Barrett was a fighter. That meant that only he had to be removed, which was just fine by her; her business was with the smaller one, and if he died, then she had just wasted all her effort.

She slipped into the Northwest Seneca Station at dusk, along with the encroaching night. Staying close to the walls and hugging the shadows, she crept up on the entrance to the ghouls' hideout, marked with two oil can fires that cast a pool of flickering light over the dirty floor of the subway. Not too smart, Bright thought, running one hand over her shaven head and checking the two "wings" of her Fallen Angel hairstyle. Not only did the light mark the entrance to their living space, but it made it that much easier to sneak up on them; to someone standing in the pool of light, it would be difficult to see anything in the darkness beyond. She crouched on the floor just beyond the edge of the light and waited, fiddling with her combat knife or checking the straps to her Blastmaster Armor. She was not nervous; she had done such things many times before, and had a pretty good idea how it would go and what would happen. All she had to do was be patient, and almost uniquely among her gang, Bright could "do" patient.

After some length of time, the door swung open, and the bigger ghoul stepped out. "Just having a smoke, Murphy," he called over his shoulder, and walked to the edge of the firelight. Stupid, stupid, thought Bright in a kind of ecstasy. She slid even closer as he fumbled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. This is going to be easy.

In her left hand she held a chunk of rubble; now she tossed it across the darkened interior of the station. It landed on the other side of the pool of light with an audible rattle, and Barret swung that way, startled. He took his shotgun from his back.

"Hello? Is there someone there?" he demanded, turning his back toward her. He raised his weapon. "Come out if you…haaaaa…." His words trailed off in a long sigh as Bright crept up behind him, put her hand on his shoulder, and slid her knife in between the chinks in the side of his Combat Armor. She had been aiming for a kidney and she found it; she felt the ghoul go limp almost instantly and blood gushed out over her hand. She was already stepping away from him by the time he hit the ground. Now things get interesting….

The gravelly voice of the other one called from inside the room, "Barrett?" Pause. Bright took her hunting rifle from her back and checked the load. "Barrett, you okay out there?" She heard footsteps approaching the door. "Barrett, are you—"

"Surprise, asshole!" Bright kicked the door open and it slammed back against the wall hard enough to send chips of concrete flying. S he lunged through the opening, raising her hunting rifle right into the face of the other ghoul. His decayed eyes widened in terror behind his glasses and he staggered back a step, fumbling for the 10-mm submachine gun he carried at his belt. "Hands up, pusbag, or I'll blow your brains out! Up against the wall! Now! Now!"

Shaking, the ghoul raised his hands to his head. He backed away as Bright advanced on him, step by step, until he fetched up against the wall. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice trembling. "Wh-where's Barrett?"

"All you need to know is he ain't here and he won't be any time soon. Lay your gun on the floor—Slowly! No sudden moves! Slide it over to me. That's it," she said as he did so, and she put her foot on it. "Be a good little zombie." She gave her nastiest smile, and the ghoul whimpered.

"Wh-what do you want? T-tell me what you want and—and I'll give it to you, I swear, j-just don't hurt me," he moaned.

"You know what I want, you fuckin meatsack!" Bright screamed at him, and she jammed the hunting rifle in his face. He yelped and cowered back. She could see tears of fear in his eyes, magnified behind his glasses. "I want Ultrajet, you reeking pile of rot, and you better give it to me or you'll join your friend out there. Come on! All the Ultrajet you've got, now!"

"Ul-Ultraj-jet?" he stammered. "I d—I don't know what you mean, I—"

"Don't play dumb with me!" She cocked the gun, and he screamed. "Everybody knows you got a Jet lab down here, and everybody knows you're makin the good stuff. I want everything you've got, now, or I start takin body parts. Get it!"

"Okay, okay!" The ghoul was sobbing now, tears running down his cheeks. "It's—" He gulped. "It's over in-in the footlocker, I j—I just need to—please don't hurt me, please," he wept. Bright smiled her cruel grin again.

"Go," she said and motioned with her gun. "Like I said. No sudden moves. Keep your hands where I can see 'em."

She drove the ghoul at gunpoint over to the footlocker against the far wall. He knelt to open it, scrubbing at his leaking eyes with one arm. Bright pressed the muzzle of her gun to the back of his neck and he froze.

"What—what a-are you—"

"I don't know what you've got in that footlocker there," she sneered. "Could be Jet. Could be a frag grenade, or a pistol, or some other neat little toy that you could grab just by mistake, like. I don't like mistakes. So, just to make sure there aren't any, I'll be keepin a real…close…watch." She emphasized each word by poking him with the gun. "Don't worry. If you ain't thinkin bad thoughts, then you got nothin to be afraid of. Get the Jet."

Carefully, his body stiff with tension, Murphy unlocked the footlocker. His hands were shaking so much it took him three tries to do it. Bright peered over his shoulder with interest as he raised the lid. The inside of the locker was a jumble of contents: scrap metal, a few coffee cups and some old prewar clipboards, a prewar glass pitcher, a couple of baseballs, and what looked like a whole set of pool balls complete with cue and triangle.

"Damn, you got a lotta worthless shit in there, zombie," she observed. "How come you and the other one collect so much crap? You startin a junk store down here too?"

Murphy didn't reply. With trembling hands he lifted out a bundle of cloth and set it down to one side of him. Bright raised an eyebrow.

"That's it?"

"Th-that's it," he confessed. "All—that's all I've got right now."

"Okay. Close the lid, then unwrap the bundle. Slowly, so I can see." Bright kept the barrel of her rifle pressed to his neck as he did so. Four Jet inhalers lay nestled in the cloth. Bright spat, though she was secretly elated; she hadn't expected there to be even that much. Murphy flinched as the spittle struck the concrete beside him.

"Only four?" she snarled.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he cried. "It—It t-takes a l-long time to make, and I need—I need ingredients, and th-they're hard to find, and—"

"Ah, shut your hole, zombie," she sneered. "Okay, wrap it back up and pass it back to me. Put it on the ground behind you—yeah, that's good. Then put your hands back on your head." Carefully, keeping the gun poised against his neck, she reached down with one hand and picked up the bundle, tucking it into her armor. She backed up toward the door as he knelt there, bending down to retrieve the 10-mm submachine gun from the floor. "Hell, you dumb shit zombie, this ain't even loaded. What the fuck didja think you was gonna do with it?"

Murphy said nothing, only continued to tremble.

Poised in the door, with her weapon pointed at him, she said, "Okay. Stand up and turn around, to face me. Keep your hands up."

Sniffing, Murphy did as he was told. He was still crying. "Wh-what did you do to Barrett?" he asked. Bright showed all her teeth.

"Something that I'm not gonna do to you if you keep bein good like you are. Keep that in mind." She regarded him. "Okay, you done good, zombie, so as a reward, you get to live. As a further reward…." She paused, and her grin broadened. "I'm gonna come back and visit you from time to time. What do you think about that?"

"No," he whispered, shaking. Bright raised her gun.

"Wrong answer, zombie. That's not a word I like to hear. Now here's how it's going to work. Listen carefully, 'cause I don't like to repeat myself: I want Ultrajet. You've got Ultrajet. So you'll make Ultrajet for me and I'll come here and take it from you. Got it?"

"I—I—"

"Got it?"

"Y-yes." He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Good. See, you learn real quick. Not bad considerin your brains are probably all rotted to shit." She pondered for a moment. "This is all you got right now?"

"Yes," he whispered again.

"Okay. When are you gonna have more?"

She studied him carefully as she asked this. He hesitated for a brief second, then replied, "A—a week. A week from now."

"A week? Bullshit!" She sighted along her rifle.

"I can't help it!" he wailed "It has to—the, the Abraxo and Jet have to be purified, and then I have to m-melt down the Sugar Bombs, and that t-takes a long time, and th-then it has to be st-strained and, and, and—"

Bright sighed theatrically. "All right, all right, just shut up already, you stinking sack of crap." She lowered her gun a fraction. "Okay. I'll be back then. And if I come back in a week and find there's nothing here for me—I'm gonna put some extra holes in that swiss-cheese face of yours." She smiled again, sharklike. "Have a nice day."

As she backed out of the door, she watched Murphy sag with relief; the ghoul's knees folded and he sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands. She stopped to retrieve Barrett's assault rifle and ammo from his corpse, and then faded back into the gloom of the subway station. I'll be back, zombie…you better believe it.

It was full dark when Bright got back to the concrete-block structure that her gang of Raiders had claimed as their own. Formerly a power substation, it had a staircase in the floor leading down to a drainage tunnel underneath with a couple of subsidiary rooms. The legend that Bright had heard was that the very first Raider gang ever to take this station had claimed it from two or three Chinese ghouls left over from the war; their shredded, desiccated bodies had been nailed to the wall opposite the substation door. Bright gave them a sarcastic nod as she crossed the room to the opening down to the understation. At the touch of a button, the metal flooring folded back to reveal stairs, and Bright descended.

The reek hit her in the face even before she stepped off the bottom step: a powerful stench of rotten food and flesh, shit, piss, blood and vomit, all mixed together into an almost suffocating miasma that was enough to turn even the strongest stomach. Bright paid it no heed. She had been a Raider for as long as she could remember; the reek of Raider dens was as familiar to her as her own name—more so, in fact. She breathed in deeply, waiting for the stench to fade, and then looked around.

Every surface of the den was caked with filth and grime, literally inches deep in places: the refuse of old food and shit and human waste that had been walked on, sat on, slept on until it formed a rock-hard crust over the original concrete floor. Bottles full and empty were scattered everywhere, along with chems. Bright reached down and scooped up a half-full whiskey bottle, its surface bleared with grease; she took a gulp, feeling the burn, then tossed it back down. It shattered, and the fragments crunched under Bright's sandals. An oil-drum fire crackled at the midpoint of the passage, with hunks of molerat or Brahmin roasting over it; the glare of battery-operated lighting splashed along the walls, casting harsh and unlovely shadows. Two or three—perhaps four—people were fucking on a couple mattresses to the left of the door; Bright recognized Jacko, Daisy and Feather, and thought she saw Wrench somewhere in there too. She walked past them. A bit further up the passage a leering circle of Raiders were crouched around a captive Wastelander, or what was left of him. Her? It was still alive, from the sounds it made, but there wasn't much left there. Ribbon raised her head as Bright passed, giving a nasty grin.

"Hey Bright, look what we got." She pulled back to reveal the thing chained to the red-soaked mattress. It was still squirming. "Wanna play?" Blood had spattered over Ribbon's neck and her arms were soaked with it. Her Sadist Armor was stained bright red and sporting a new pair of severed hands hanging at its belt. Bright shook her head.

"Nah. You already did all the fun stuff. Where's Chains?"

"He's up there, with Crystal. They been goin at it all night."

"What's he been doin? Psycho?"

"Nah. We're outta Psycho again. Med-X, I think."

Bright breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. Psycho would have been bad; even Buff-out wasn't as bad as Psycho. Med-X , she could handle.

"Got it. Thanks for the tip."

"Funny you should put it that way," said Ribbon, grinning, and brought her knife down into the red thing with a squishy thud. A high-pitched, wordless shriek rang out. "Sure you don't wanna play?"

"Ask me earlier next time," Bright said, and passed on. A flicker-memory of Barrett, the ghoul she had killed, passed through her mind. It would have been nice to bring him back alive to play with. Or the other one, Murphy. It was clean there, where they were. Didn't stink. Not like here. Murphy seemed nice, for a zombie. Easy to scare. It was her experience that the ones who were easy to scare were usually nice, or was that the other way around?

Catching the sounds of someone stealthily approaching her to her left, she slammed her elbow out; it made contact with something soft. There was a choked cry, and she glanced over to see Smooth, doubled over and coughing. "Back the fuck off, Smooth," she snarled.

Smooth managed to straighten up, still choking a bit. He was missing an eye, and when he smiled, he revealed that his teeth were almost black. "Can't blame a guy for tryin. Come on,baby, what do ya say?"

"Maybe later," she amended. Smooth's shoulders were broad, and his skin felt good, she remembered. His teeth ain't so hot, but his tongue… Plus he always had a lot of Med-X, which was her favorite. "I gotta talk to Chains."

"I'll be waitin here when you get back, baby," Smooth smirked. Bright continued on up the passage.

The far end of the passage was decorated with three torsos hanging on hooks from the ceiling: two male and one female, all clad in Raider armor. They were hung right under a sewer grate, so during the daytime, they were illuminated in a shaft of sunlight; now, however, the sunlight had been replaced by the cruel glow of battery-operated lamplight. Bright's eyes rested on the female. Petal, she thought. Or is it? She tried to remember how long ago her friend had been strung up, and couldn't do it; it had been a while ago, though, and the body looked fresher than that. The blood pooled beneath it didn't seem to have dried all the way yet. Another whiskey bottle was resting on some piping at the side of the wall, this one almost all full. She snagged it, swallowed again, feeling the alcohol spread through her, and put it back this time. It might be Chains's, she thought dimly, and it was best to leave Chains's stuff alone.

There were two doors on opposite sides of the passage; Bright took the left one. The interior of the small room was dim. A low frame bed crouched against the back wall, the mattress perhaps slightly cleaner than the other ones to be found in the den; a tall light hooked up to a generator was at one end of the bed, but the light was off. Chains had a few feeble pretensions to education, and several ruined books lay scattered about the room, as covered with filth as everything else in the lair. Chains himself lay on the bed in nothing but his underwear; his Painspike armor was heaped at the foot of the bed. He was staring dreamily at the ceiling. Crystal, likewise unclad, lay curled around him; Chains had one hand in her hair, where it moved lazily. Bright recognized the distance in his eyes. Med-X, definitely, she thought.

"Hey, baby," Crystal invited, raising her head. She was very beautiful; she looked like the girls Bright had seen sometimes on the battered billboards on her few trips into the DC ruins. She was probably the prettiest girl in the gang, which also meant that she was the meanest; not only did she have to defend herself from guys like Smooth, but from girls who were jealous and wanted to spoil that beauty with knives or fire. Bright had always liked her. "Room for one more," Crystal invited now.

Crystal was pretty, and another time Bright might have agreed…but not with Chains. She didn't like it with Chains. "I don't feel like it. I—"

Chains turned his eyes toward her. "Whaddaya mean you don't feel like it?" Though the words might have been angry, they lacked heat; Bright knew it was still safe.

"I got something for ya," she said instead, and reached into her armor. She took out one of the inhalers and handed it to him. Chains fumbled, and almost dropped it; Crystal caught it and put it in his hand. Chains lazily raised it to his face.

"Jet?" he exclaimed. "Shit. We got tons of this shit lyin around—"

"Just try it," she urged him, smiling.

Chains scowled at her, but raised the inhaler to his mouth. He took a puff—and his eyes widened.

"Ho—ly. This is some good shit, yo," he averred. "What is this?"

"Ultrajet," Bright said, with a smirk. She enjoyed watching Chains's eyes widen.

"Fuckin' no way."

"Honey, let me try," Crystal said, sitting up. Chains slapped her hands away.

"Keep your goddamn hands to yourself. Or rather, myself," he added with a smirk. Crystal sat back, sullenness spreading over her pretty face. Chains pushed himself up, grabbing one of Crystal's hands and moving it to his groin. "Where'd you get this shit?" he asked as Crystal's fingers slid inside his shorts.

Bright smiled. "Found it."

"Where'd ya find it?" His eyes were still dreamy, and his breath was starting to come short as Crystal squeezed and released, but the words were sharper this time.

"A girl's got to have some secrets."

Chains stopped and pushed Crystal away. "Don't nobody in this gang got secrets unless I say they got secrets, babe." His brows furrowed. Bright took a step back uneasily.

"Hey, now, honey, don't—" Chains's fist caught her on the left side of her face, sending her reeling. She staggered back a step, disoriented, only to feel a hand clamp over her wrist; Chains yanked her back toward him, hard enough to bring her to her knees. His other hand knotted in her hair, ripping at her scalp; she gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out. Chains shook her.

"Where'd you get it, bitch?"

"I fuckin made it, okay!" she shouted. Over his shoulder she could see that bitch Crystal watching her. Crystal shook her head. Bright snarled at her.

"Bullshit," Chains snarled. "You couldn't make piss if I gave you a bucket."

"I did so! It—" Her mind raced as she frantically tried to remember what Murphy had said. "It takes Sugar Bombs, Abraxo and Jet, and—and they have to be melted together and purified, and –"

The grip on her hair loosened, and she fell backward, catching herself on her hands and breathing hard. Her eyes were streaming. Chains was frowning at her.

"Where the fuck did you learn to do something like that?"

"None of your fuckin business," she snarled sullenly. "You messed up my goddamn hair, Chains." She could feel that the high fans of her Fallen Angel hairstyle were crumpled and coming down around her ears.

"Sorry, baby," Chains said, frowning still. There was something new in his eyes as he looked at her though. Respect, Bright thought. Then his expression hardened again. "Show me how to do it."

"Why should I fuckin' show you?" she shot back. "You hit me and wrecked my hair. I'm not showin you nothing." Chains's face tightened and he started to reach for the gun at the side of the bed. Bright laughed. "Yeah, go ahead and fuckin shoot me, asshole. Then you won't have any Ultrajet at all."

He stopped, visibly considering that, then relaxed. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry, baby," he repeated. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Will you please show me?"

"Nuh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "I said I'm not showin you and I'm not. But I can make more," she added hastily, as Chains's expression started to grow thunderous again. "And I will. For a price."

Chains's eyes narrowed, considering. Crystal was watching them both very closely. "How much more?"

"As much as you want," she promised recklessly. "Just give me what I want."

"I'm gonna want lots," Chains warned her. "You know what we could do with this shit?" His eyes lit up as he stared at the inhaler. "If all of us guys was wired up on this Ultrajet shit, we could…we could—we could clear out the Flash Memorial Field gang, take out the Bed and Breakfast guys, we could—hell, we could own this section of the Wastes!"

"I can make lots. It'll take time," she warned, "but I can do it. But I'm not makin anything until I get what I want."

"What do you want?" Chains asked. "Just say it and it's yours."

Bright paused to consider, frowning. She hadn't thought that far. After a moment, she came up with some things. "I want the other room." She pointed across the hall. "That room's mine, and nobody gets to go in it but me."

"Done," Chains said at once.

"And I want first pick of all the stuff we scav. Second pick," she amended with a hasty glance at Chains. "You get first pick."

"Damn straight, and don't you forget it," Chains said flatly.

"And I want a mattress for my room," she added. "A clean one. And a—a footlocker. With a lock that locks. So that nobody can go in my stuff while I'm not there. And I want to be able to call dibs on any prisoners we bring in," she added with a nasty grin, thinking of the red, squirming thing Ribbon had been tormenting, of Barrett, the ghoul she had stabbed earlier, of Murphy and how he had sniveled and wept when she had threatened him. "All that'll do for a start. I might think of more stuff later."

Chains's eyes narrowed again. "You're askin an awful lot of stuff for only givin me one inhaler," he said suspiciously.

Bright pulled out the other inhalers she had taken from Murphy and put them in his hand.

"There ya go. Three more, just like the first one," she told him. "And there'll be more to come. Promise. Just give me what I ask for."

Chains considered a bit more, then nodded. "Okay. You got it, baby. Just keep the Ultrajet comin, and it's all yours. Course, if you don't…" He smacked one hand into the other savagely. Bright paid him no heed; she was busy savoring the naked envy on Crystal's face.

"Don't worry," she snorted. Then gasped as Chains reached out and grabbed her by the wrist again, dragging her close. His other hand closed on the back of her head, and he forced her lips to his in a rough kiss. Bright struggled to pull away, finally breaking free to the sound of Chains's laughter. He still held her wrist, and now he dragged her onto the bed. She sprawled, her knees still on the floor, her upper body pressed down with a hand on the back of her neck.

"Damn you, Chains," she spat, struggling. Chains laughed again.

"You and Crystal. I seen the two of you givin each other looks. Now I wanna see you gettin friendly with each other. Do it."

Bright couldn't move, but she rolled her eyes to take in the other woman. Crystal regarded her for a moment, then smiled seductively. "Whaddaya say, baby?"

Crystal was really pretty, Bright reflected, and it wouldn't be the first time. Maybe when I have my own room I'll let her come in it sometimes, she thought. Just me and her. The thought of just the two of them together, with no one else around, was strangely inviting. "Okay," she said. "Let me up, and I will."

The pressure on the back of her neck released, and Chains let her up, still laughing. Bright began to undo the straps on her armor. It fell to the floor with a clank as Crystal took Bright in her arms, and as they kissed, Bright did her best to shut out the feel of Chains's eyes on the two of them.