"Put it down."

"What? I'm just—"

"Put it down."

Lawrence reached for Vincent. A hand beckoned for the scissors. Vincent glanced between his work in the mirror and then to Lawrence as the man inched closer. "I just need a trim."

"You ain't just butchering your hair, you're also hoggin' the bathroom," Lawrence said, rustling Vincent's thick mane.

"It's so poofy—And look at this!" Vincent snatched the paper off the counter and shoved it to Lawrence.

Lawrence blinked at the print; News Vegas, the light chronicle that circulated around the city, mysteriously appearing in the old-world newspaper boxes wherever they remained. Among recent headlines of the NCR-Legion war, advertisements for casino events, and something about an alleged Lake Mead "monster", Who Are They? stood out. Front and center in gossip columns of trash that hadn't changed in two-hundred-plus years was a gray, fuzzy photo of the two. Taken across the street of the Lucky 38 and through a dense crowd captured them leaving on a day neither remembered.

"I don't like it! They took a picture of me and now they're talking about us and now everyone will know who I am and what I look like!"

Lawrence crinkled the paper and tossed it on the counter. "It's a grainy photo. You can't even see our faces clearly."

"I don't want to be seen!" Vincent exclaimed to Lawrence as if he'd have any control over that. "I need to look more manly! Capable! Tough! Poofy hair isn't manly."

Lawrence stole the comb from Vincent. He brushed against the grain of Vincent's dense waves, raising thick locks as he imagined a better cut for the boy. "You trust me?"

Suspicious eyes squinted at Lawrence's reflection. Vincent's nervous hands wrung each other as he looked at his own face in the mirror then back to Lawrence. The ranger winked.

"Alright, but leave something to cover the scar."

Lawrence smiled the wide kind of smile that crinkled his eyes and deepened the laugh lines that Vincent loved so much. Scissors and comb went to work, occasionally he brought a razor into his arsenal, shearing off layer by layer of thick auburn hair and coating the boy's shirt in shimmering fuzz. The first time Vincent cut his hair off he imagined his mother would have had a heart attack if she could see it. Every time he'd protest its length, she'd always find some excuse not to cut it. It's too beautiful! It's so long! The boys will love it! Look at all the ways you can braid—Just thinking about it made him gag. Now, he had someone begging to cut his hair for one more throw of the dice he would never have predicted.

"How's that?"

Vincent spun around and squeezed Lawrence. Tools clamored on the counter before then returned the boy's hug tenfold. "I love it!"

Early morning on the strip was an acquired taste. Something about the sparse crowds, the flashy lights relinquishing their domain to the sun, and the glare off the millions of windows often exacerbated Vincent's routine headache—the inevitable ache was the very reason they ventured outside the comfort of the tower before noon.

Lawrence wheeled the bike down the shallow steps and to the invisible threshold created by securitrons keeping crowds that often gathered outside the Lucky 38. They were strangers who watched and waited like the two were some kind of oddity or maybe they just didn't believe the rumors and needed to see for themselves. By now, Lawrence had gotten used to the looks from those who were up at such a terrible hour. A rigid posture maximizing his height, hanging his hands off his belt as a subtle nod to the guns hanging at his side, and the glare off his sunglasses typically kept those strangers back, until now.

"Wait!" He called, jumping up from his post on the sidewalk and clutching the bag slung over his shoulder. Ratty overalls much too big for him flapped as he jogged to the two. Hot breaths plumed in the morning chill with every huff. "I have something for you."

Vincent stared at the simple thing. Twine seal wrapped around thin edges. Then, he spotted the exaggerated cursive elegantly labeling the bland paper—the intended recipient.

"They mentioned to look for the scar," the courier stated, proudly smiling as if he'd finally remembered something useful.

Vincent shot him a glare. "Who's 'they'?"

"Oh, um…" The courier's smile faded with a shrug. "Everyone, I suppose. You were in the paper." Vincent hummed, displeased, but holding his tongue. He pulled the twine loose. "Nice hair though."

"Thank you." Lawrence and Vincent spoke in unison.

Lawrence crossed his arms and turned to the boy sitting behind him. "I cut it."

"I grew it."

Tense silence pushed the courier away from the standoff. A brow arched over Lawrence's sunglasses, but Vincent was equally unrelenting. "You know why I left it long on top?" Lawrence asked, brushing fingers through Vincent's waves, then clutched his mane when the boy least expected it. "Something to hold on to."

Vincent scoffed. He batted away Lawrence's hand. "You're dirty."

"Is that a statement or a suggestion?"

Vincent pulled on his helmet. "Just drive."

"Well, hold on—what's the letter about?" Vincent splayed the paper out on the ranger's back. Quiet mumbles tickled Lawrence's ears as he peered over his shoulder. Vincent's interested hum forced the man to twist back a little farther. "The suspense is killing me."

"It's a business offer from someone named Clyde McCormick for a 'transportation' service so getting across the strip is easier for tourists."

"The McCormick Caravans owner?"

"I'm not sure, but it's something to check out," Vincent pondered. "Could be lucrative if he's legitimate. He's offering to meet at the Oasis Lounge in the Crystal Oasis if I'm interested in hearing more—Would you go with me?"

Lawrence shrugged, "I'm not really business inclined, but I can tell when someone's bullshittin' me."

"Exactly why I'd like you to come," Vincent agreed, folding the letter, and stuffing it into one of many pockets of his vest. "I'll buy you a drink and you can be my arm-candy too."

"And here I was, thinkin' I'm too old for a sugar daddy."

Each time he visited the old Mormon fort, something new caught his eye. More tents appeared within the walls while those left in the open parking lot diminished. Inside the once-was-a-museum, renovations continued. Exposed innards of old piping, electrical wires, and insulation stuffed between crosshatch beams waited to be removed, replaced, or destroyed entirely to make way for more space while the finished rooms were already occupied patients in need of intense care; refugees from recently annexed Legion territory, people caught in the crossfire of Freeside's conflict, or those in a different war entirely. It was money well spent for sure, but still felt like a single drop of water in the entirety of Lake Mead.

Julie hummed. Tilting her head obstructed the metal box's glow, but Vincent caught glimpses between the spikes of her mohawk. Glowing in slate blue and highlighting his own fascinating inner workings most never would see in their lifetime outside the NCR's metropolitan areas. "You have an abnormally thick cranial vault," she said, rather impressed by the boy's effortless advantage. "It's marginal though, not a defect, just something neat about you."

"That explains a lot," Lawrence muttered. Vincent shot the ranger a warning, but the man only smiled away the boy's threats.

Curiosity brought Vincent to his feet and joined the doctor at the glowing wall. He stood on his toes, steadied by Lawrence next to him. "The frontal bone took the most impact then it looks as though the bullet skidded across the coronal suture and barely grazed the parietal," she explained while an index finger guided their eyes along the path of impact, something so obvious it didn't need a professional eye to notice. "You've healed quite well."

"Why do you think I get these awful headaches?"

"I believe they may go away entirely at some point." Julie hummed then flicked the switches. The white screen turned gray then the buzzy overhead lights took over. "The headaches may just be a symptom of the meninges repairing itself."

"The men-menges?"

"It's essentially the sac that holds the brain and protects it and the nervous system from trauma," she explained, gleefully smiling as she often did sharing her medical knowledge.

"He got a thick one of those too?"

"Maybe," Julie chuckled. "Given the damage caused to your skull, Vincent, I don't doubt it was traumatized as well, but it's been some time since the incident, and you appear to be in full control of your mental and physical faculties."

"What about my eye?"

Julie sighed, crossing her arms and clutching her clipboard to her chest. The thick stack of paper notes she added to since the visit began. "Miosis can be caused by disease, chem use, trauma such as what happened to you. Your pupil is paralyzed so it won't adjust its shape like it used to—Fortunately, it's harmless by itself."

"I guess as long as I can see."

"That I don't doubt," she smiled. "You're in better shape than a lot of the people I see here—"

The siren muted Julie.

It was an airhorn from beyond the transitioning museum's walls that sent the whole place scrambling, sometimes for hours after it had quieted. Julie rushed out first, the two following behind caught only a glimpse of her from the main hall as she flew down the stairs into the chaos.

People stumbled outside, leaving little drops of blood on the pavement as they shook from the chilly touch of near death. Then came the cries. Anguished calls, fearful for their fate as they were carried between those kind enough to shoulder the extra weight. Far too many to count among the scrambling hoard of doctors and nurses ushering them into tents or setting them down where they stood. Medical jargon mouthed off too fast. Pained wails and cries echoed across the fort. A father screamed for his son among the mess until he saw the child on a stretcher taken to one of many tents while a King's man followed, burned and blackened by precise streaks as his cohorts carried to help.

A soldier crashed on the main entrance's steps; his singed uniform revealed a burn on his leg. Jittery like the two other men in uniforms whispering coarse words to their friend.

"What happened?" Lawrence met them at the bottom concrete steps. They a double-take at the ranger and scowls loosened as if they recognized the man.

"Goddamn Kings sho—"

"That's a lie!" Heavy stomps thudded all the way to the door as his glossy pompadour bounced atop his head. "You NCR thugs ambushed us!"

"Hold on!" Lawrence warned, steeping between opposing sides.

"No, I ain't need to hold on!" The king stood toe-to-toe with Lawrence, gawking up at him with wild eyes and flared nostrils. Clenched fists pumped at his side to the beat of his words. "My boys in there—"

"You aren't pickin' up where you left off here. Either of you," Lawrence declared. He looked to the soldiers, his glare whipping them to attention. "I want to know what happened."

"I do too," Vincent said, his arms crossed as eyes narrowed on the soldiers who had no bullet wounds and weren't burned as badly as those by-standers trickling into the Mormon Fort. "I've never seen any Kings or NCR soldiers sporting energy weapons."

The King's man scoffed. Dyed brows tightened his scowl as he exaggerated a shrug. "I don't know who was using what, I just know bullets and lasers went flying and people got hurt."

"The three of you should know better," Lawrence scolded the soldiers. Frowns gathered as they sputtered excuses.

"That's right!"

"You." Lawrence turned his disapproving scowl on the king. "I ain't takin' sides here. As far as I'm concerned, every one of you are responsible for those people getting' hurt."

"Let's hear what happened," Vincent suggested. He nodded to the King's man. "You first. What's your name?"

"Reggie," he stated proudly, straightening the slouch as arms came undone from his chest. "It was a 'round the corner, by the water pump. Me n' Ronny we're just hangin' out waitin' for Tapper's shift to get done. Next thing I know, lasers are flying. Bullets next! I see Tapper shootin' so me and Ronny join in."

"And where do they fit in?"

"I saw them firin' back!"

Vincent turned to the soldiers, "now's your turn."

"We were fired on first—"

"Bullets or lasers?"

"Lasers."

"Interesting…" Vincent took the ranger by his arm to the privacy inside the museum. "How likely is it that three privates get their hands on energy weapons just to graze a few Kings and hurt who knows how many people just standing nearby?"

"Only special forces use energy weapons and not often," Lawrence informed. He glanced back at the group. Three soldiers whose name tags he already committed to memory and a lone King's man in an outfit far too many of them wore to truly tell them apart. "And even then, they'd stand out like a sore thumb—power armor glintin' in the sunlight n' all. Not something you could miss."

"I doubt that this was an order from their superiors," Vincent said, waving away the notion with a hand. "But what if this was deliberate?

Brows furrowed over Lawrence's eyes. "Who would stage an attack to get a few knuckleheads to kill each other?"

"Either side," Vincent shrugged. "Some disgruntled NCR personnel looking for revenge or making a reason to fight. The same could be said about the Kings, or any local honestly."

"Locals with enough caps for energy weapons?" Lawrence shook his head. "Kings or NCR, yes, but I think we can scratch off the typical Freeside floater."

Vincent's gaze fell to the cracks in the old cement foundation. Energy weapons were deadly and precise in the right hands, not just any trigger happy bum. Lawrence was right though. No local in Freeside had the caps to scrape together to get something like that when any regular gun would do the trick. It would be somebody wealthy. Somebody who didn't like either side… "The Kings don't attack the locals, not unless that guy already has their own gun cocked."

"I wanna believe my own side ain't stupid enough to do something like this."

"I think there's ways to find out," Vincent said, a glint of hope reflected at the ranger.

Lawrence peered over the rims of his sunglasses. "What did you have in mind?"

—

"No!" The King's voice boomed over the music. A gospel of burning love came to a rude halt, revealing the graceless squeaks of rubber soles on stage. Lawrence sighed as he sunk further into his seat. The ranger's scowl deepened with every pause and so did the cybernetic dog nosing the man for affection—perhaps the only thing keeping the ranger from completely losing his patience. The King joined his crew on the stage. "Step. Step—Thrust." Collective ahs rounded the stage. "Break time. Y'all need to get yourselves together."

"Is this what they really do all day?" Lawrence muttered. The dog's expressive face smiled as he panted. Completely content as Lawrence combed through a thick black and brown coat. His tail wagged ferociously and soon Vincent couldn't resist him either. A mix of flesh-and-blood beast and robotic or cybernetic the affectionate hound. Set between two organic and perky ears, a glowing dome housed the dog's brain. Thick, transparent glass let all see the dog's innerworkings while the other half of him was that of a mechanical set of hind legs and smacked right on a steely thigh, a rough, scraped up emblem of chipping red paint made a familiar shape found on Legion banners.

"Find some new friends, Rex?" The King patted the dog's side. Hollow metal clanked as loving eyes rolled up to his master. "Good to see y'all found each other again. So, what can the King do for ya?"

"We just came from the Mormon fort," Vincent explained before Lawrence could. "There was a shootout and some of your men were wounded."

"Shootout?" Dark brows furrowed as the King leaned forward. His white suit crumpled, revealing tiny alterations of purple thread in the shoulders' seams. "How bad we talkin' and with who?"

"A few NCR soldiers," Lawrence admitted.

"But—" Vincent interjected, holding off the King's passionate words he was so generous with. "There's something odd about it. Nobody knows who fired first, but more importantly they were fired on by energy weapons."

"Energy weapons, huh? My boys don't care much for energy weapons." The King hummed one leaned back in his chair as if pushed by the weight of a realization. "Van Graffs…"

His mother often told him some old-world saying, "You can't see the forest through the trees". Typically, when he was upset about something, but she didn't have the energy to know the true reason nor console it. As he got older, he eventually found the wisdom in it, but now at this point in his life he applied it to something else. Delicate matters and ethical recourse he'd never imagined he would tackle one day—or hope to tackle. Retaliation in Freeside against NCR immigrants and soldiers, an impending refugee crisis as Legion fires continue to burn their way into Nevada, and the political intrigue among the casinos' hierarchy that made California's congress look like petty school-yard squabbles. Now, a new item was added to a long list labeled "Look Into": The Van Graffs.

Ideas and plans faded the further down the boulevard they rode. At the embassy, coddled by the safety of the strip and all its robot guards, none of Freeside's squalor, smell, or danger could be found. In the center of the courtyard, the flag hung still. The two-headed bear peeked out from behind smudge folds, observing the NCR's sweltering half-a-square mile of territory.

"Oh, no…" The M.P. at the gate fought back a smile beneath her dark shades. "Not you two again."

"Ma'am." Lawrence leaned against the fence, wearing a smile that warned he was about to ruin Jackie's day.

Her sunglasses slid down her nose. Chestnut eyes glanced between the odd-pair. "Well?"

"There was a shoot-out in Freeside. A few Kings and three privates. Civilians caught in the crossfire. No casualties I know of yet."

"I bet it was Reyes and his cronies." Jackie yanked off her shades. Her complexion reddened to match the light burn on her nose. "I am going to wring those idiots' necks."

"I don't think either side instigated it."

Jackie halted. Looking at Lawrence first, but then to Vincent who voiced that thought. "Why?"

"Both the Kings and the soldiers said energy weapons fired on them first," Vincent explained. "We talked to the King and he's suspicious it may have been the Van Graffs exciting things."

"Van Graffs? They're probably still—"

"Well, look who it is!"

A thunderous clap drew the trio to the senior ranger marching over. "Clint!" The rangers met each other with glee, as much as their masculinity allowed them too, Vincent suspected. There were pats on the back when in physical proximity. Strong handshakes but weak smiles. Verbal jabs about Clint's perpetual sunburn and Lawrence being a pain in the ass concluded the ritual.

"I was hoping to see you soon," Clint said.

"Why? What's goin' on?"

Clint looked at Jackie then Vincent, acknowledging them with a nod and a stiff half-smile. One second too long of silence turned Vincent to the M.P., "Jackie, can I talk to you more about what happened in Freeside?"

"I'm due for a break anyway."

Impatient silence festered between the two rangers as they watched one lieutenant M.P. and one civilian retreat into the shade of the embassy. The fountain in the center of the courtyard restarted its cycle. Water sprung up in misty columns, pluming like a great mushroom cloud and dousing the few that lingered in the midday sun with cool relief. "What's going on, Clint?"

"Did you go to Helios One?"

"No."

Clint hummed disapprovingly. He crossed his arms, exposing leathery forearms gleaming beneath a thin layer of sweat. "I was certain you would."

"We've… We've been a little busy with things lately."

"I still think you should."

Lawrence glanced at Clint from his peripherals. They always talked like this. Never face to face. It was always side to side. That wasn't the strange thing though. It was something in Clint's tone that bothered Lawrence. The same tone found somewhere around back in the secluded garden-in-progress at the Mormon Fort that Lawrence with more questions than answers, because Clint wasn't the type to beat around the bush.

"Clint." Lawrence defied their tradition and looked at Clint. Mahogany irises pierced his heavy brow and rusted face. Staunch just like the rest of him, something Lawrence always tried to emulate. Rarely did he ever spot anything other than confidence in the man and now, it seemed Clint was holding back. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

"I don't like the reports I've seen from Helios One."

"And you want me to look into it?"

"I trust you, Lawrence." He clasped his hands behind his back and broadened shoulders. The assertive stance Lawrence often saw before Clint would excuse himself. "I remember when I first met you." A smile broke through, creasing the pale, fines lines carved by harsh years. "A scrawny, lanky kid, couldn't shoot straight to save your life, but I saw it in you. The tenacity, loyalty, conviction—You proved me right when I saw your name on my list of recruits." He extended an open palm to Lawrence. Instinctively, he shook Clint's hand. A strong grip he learned to match as he got older and each time, he was taken seriously that much more. "I don't doubt your loyalty to the rangers, Lawrence, because I trust what I see."

"Right…"

—

Flung out in the middle of nowhere, just off the I-95 and south of Boulder City, sat the solar array of Helios One. Among the audience of solar panels that wrapped around the enormous plot of land, stood a tower. Tall enough to give anyone vertigo just looking up at its apex, but only if the reflection of the sun on its steel skeleton didn't blind you first.

"Well. Do we just walk in?"

Lawrence crossed his arms. A quiet hum tugged his throat as he stared at Helios One. An entourage of soldiers guarded the only entrance—two heavy steel doors. "Honestly, I didn't think this far."

Vincent leaned forward against Lawrence. Hot leather seats croaked with him. "What?"

"We could always wheel 'n deal. You've gotten pretty good at that." Vincent pulled back. The ranger chuckled as he twisted around to gauge the boy's response. "I'll just tell them you're a civilian contractor. Helios One isn't fully operational and it's no secret. So, let's pretend you're here to make it operational."

"What if they recognize me? Aren't I on some NCR list of people to be suspicious of or something?"

"The shit-list? No, I don't believe you are."

Vincent shrugged. "Alright let's try."

"Wait."

"What?"

Lawrence pulled Vincent back to him for a warm hug, not that either needed to be any warmer than the sun offered, but not something one could just turn down even as sweaty as both were. "Thanks for doing this."

"It's important to you," Vincent smiled. "So, it's important to me."

Gravel crackled under their boots, kicking dust on the cement foundation slowly being devoured by the desert. A wide expanse sat in all directions. The road they came from shimmered like water behind them. Ahead were steep drops and inclines forming the jagged mountains lost to a beige-blue haze. Weeds and dry brush littered the landscape in all shades of gold, herded by the Joshuas and taller prickly pears. Then there was the bleak, bland, concrete gray square plopped down in the middle of this quiet scene in the Nevada wilderness soaking up the heat like a sponge and simmering like a mirage, yet it was the last thing any soon to be heat-stroked, water-starved vagabond would hallucinate.

Curious eyes followed the two—one ranger and one civilian whose gender was the center of soldiers' hushed conversations. Typical chatter Vincent heard more often than he liked to admit, but at least they had the decency to keep somewhat quiet about it. Sometimes those onlookers like to voice their opinions, but it seemed to happen less since the ranger joined him.

Lawrence exchanged salutes with the senior guard. A plain woman donned in a beret as beige and bland as her fatigues. "Ranger Garrett."

"Lieutenant Haggerty," she announced. "Nobody mentioned you'd be coming. What's your business here, ranger?"

"Civilian escort." He adjusted the heavy duffel bag slung on his shoulders. "Part of the repair crew."

The lieutenant looked at Vincent, evaluating the boy through narrowed eyes. Unarmed, as far as the lieutenant and her charges could see. A Kevlar vest, patchwork lower-half of a jumpsuit, and dusty boots—inconspicuous or at least that's what Vincent aimed for.

"Hello!" He smiled, thrusting a friendly hand to the woman. "The name's Benjamin, Benjamin Dover. I'm here to get those solar panels working—you can call me Ben, by the way. I know I look young, but I've been working on delicate machinery since I could hold a wrench. I'm from the Boneyard and y'know it's a long way from home. I've never been this far east—"

"Ok!" Haggerty's eye's were bulging when she plucked her hand from Vincent.

"I hope you don't mind if I linger for a bit?" Lawrence asked, subtly nodding to the boy next to him. "It's been a long trip…"

Inside the misplaced concrete beast of a building, the warmth of Nevada's alleged fall was staved off at heavy steel doors. Soldiers wandered the halls, filling up the reception entrance like their own lounge. Beneath the chatter and comradery were daring card games, set to the radio's tunes between intermittent news reports. Lingering odors of sweat and steel violated the newcomers' noses. Reconstruction sat on either side of the repurposed hall. Supplies and tools scattered about during the worker's hiatus. Plaster dust coated linoleum floors. Peeling faux tile curled away in corners. Lawrence led Vincent through a maze under repairs and the only solace from the smell of one too many men cramped in the building. An abrupt stop brought them to a door. Lawrence stole a peek over both shoulders before shoving himself inside, yanking Vincent along with him into the closet.

"What's going on?"

Lawrence shut the door. "I saw him."

"The guy? The one you're looking for?"

"Yes. He's got the same… everything." Lawrence reached into his duster. Hands fumbled around before he pulled out a stray, folded piece of paper. Blue lines faded at creases softened from a long journey in the ranger's pocket. A solemn face of ink and graphite stared back at Vincent. Short dark hair, empty eyes and thick brows overhead a gaunt, prominent bone structure far too unique to confuse with anyone else. There was also a scar crossed his lips. Small, but noticeable. On the page's lines, Lawrence's detailed notes of the man's features, headed by blocky letters that, had Vincent not adored the ranger so much he might've giggled at, titled the portrait: Enemy Alpha.

"Does he know who you are?"

"No, he's never seen me up close and not without a helmet on."

"Then we have the upper-hand," Vincent said. "Maybe this is what Clint was hinting at?"

"Maybe…"

"I got the feeling he doesn't like me—not a complaint, just an observation," Vincent added. "Why wouldn't Clint outright tell you? Unless he didn't know the guy could be a potential spy?"

Lawrence shook his head. "From how he wasn't getting' to the point, I think he's assessing who he trusts right now—Me included."

"Then he is suspicious of espionage or something else going on within the army, or maybe the rangers." Lawrence turned away from Vincent. A hand rose to cover his mouth as his eyes unfocused. Slow steps disturbed the dust. The tiny room had quieted enough to hear the other's breaths, but Vincent was sure he could hear Lawrence's thoughts under that pensive expression. "You mentioned once that vagueness is what you have to work with sometimes. How much do you honestly trust Clint?"

"He's like a father to me," Lawrence declared. "He's how I became a ranger—I owe a lot to him. Small stuff don't bother Clint so he wanted me here for a reason."

"Let's poke around then," Vincent smiled, catching Lawrence's eye. He examined the inventory delegated to corroded shelving units. Making the best with what seemed to just be a junk-drawer scaled up to a closet, he snagged a formerly red tool box repainted with a fresh coat of dust. Metal rattled around inside as he pried open the rust-eaten latch. "Ought to look the part too—take my vest. I'm going to put some of my stuff in the toolbox in case I need it."

Lawrence shoved off the lumpy duffel bag. A grunt suspended it before carefully lowering the burden to a stained linoleum floor. "Think I can get away with followin' you around?"

"Just pretend you're my handler or something."

"I thought I already was with the way you tryin' to get killed at every turn."

Vincent shot the ranger a glare but he couldn't wear it long with the way Lawrence smiled after slinging teases like a winning pair of dice.

Clanks rang down the hall, bouncing off walls like a headache rattling in a skull and dodged by words of a minor dispute. Curious eyes glanced up from full hands of cards, books, magazines, and letters from home. Chatter paused only for a moment, unlike the radio that kept on, fighting the cacophony barreling down the hallway. And 'round the corner came the source of their irritation. "What do you mean you don't know who to report to?"

"Well, I just forgot the name."

"Where's that damn letter—" Lawrence patted his duster, searching for a letter he wouldn't find. "Took three goddamn days to get here—" the ranger grumbled between his personal-pat-down. "—and you don't know where to go."

"Oh, you lose that too? Or did a coyote eat for dessert after having the map for dinner?"

"If you're looking for the idiot in charge of getting the place up and running, he's on the second floor," a displeased soldier spoke up.

Lawrence looked up at the man, then the entire table of a poker game. The same soldier gestured to the hallway behind him. "Thank you. At least someone knows what they're doing."

"Hah!" Vincent scoffed as he followed Lawrence across the room, full toolbox clinking all the way. "Good, 'cause I sure as hell know you don't."

Lawrence paused in the doorway and jabbed Vincent. "Watch it short-stack. I'm your ride back home."

"Is that a threat?" Vincent planted fists on his hips, marching after the ranger who so rudely turned his back. "Are you threatening to leave me on the side of the road?" Vincent sauntered in the corridor after the trail of chuckles. "I will file a complaint with your CO."

"Do it—Need help spelling my name?"

"I'd be shocked if you could!"

Lawrence waved the boy along to the flight of stairs at the end of the hall. "Did you get a better look at him?" Vincent whispered as he rounded the stairwell corner.

"I did…"

Vincent reached for the ranger. Setting a palm on an exposed forearm and looked to Lawrence with an assuring gaze promised the man his due would be coming soon. Winding up a wide and squared stairwell, the second floor opened to chambers of machinery. Consoles and computers stuffed into every inch of the storehouse. Behemoth vents overhead sucked out hot air, swirling into the dark beyond the ceiling mess of pipes, wires, and dangling lights. A few people wandered the array of computers. Donned in grease and dust-smudged jumpsuits, they inspected long threads of wires and tubes branching off little ropes into consoles and towers, marked their clipboards and moved on to the rest, occasionally stopping to fix a mundane problem. However, tucked away in the corner, misplaced laughter rose over the static.

"Check it, dude."

"Stop messing with the buttons. We have no idea what those could do."

"Mr. Fantastic is in charge of this operation," the man retorted. Dressed in a dingy lab coat and unneeded sunglasses, a mediocre creature hunched over a panel of buttons.

"Who's in charge?" Vincent hollered over the machinery.

"What—" The man spun around. "I am in charge of getting this place up and running."

The quiet man next to him sighed. "He's just a part of the team here working to repair the solar array and get the output of the plant to usable levels."

"This operation relies on me!" Mr. Fantastic declared. An obscenely smug grin crossed his face as pointed to a frame on the wall. Vincent squinted the paper inside. A slightly off-kilter, child's drawing, he supposed, until his good eye unfortunately adjusted to read one-second of his life he'd never get back: theo-rectal degree in fisics. "I'm the only with a degree."

"I'm Ignacio, by the way. Are you a soldier too or?"

"We're here to help—"

"Here to steal my thunder!" Mr. Fantastic roared, rather melodramatically. He was met with blank stares until he turned around and back to playing with flashy buttons.

Ignacio peeled his glare off the strange man, turning for another room as he waved for the new additions to follow. Cluttered desks were shoved into corners while filing cabinets squeezed in between. Ambient whirring halted behind the door, yet the floors still rumbled against rubber soles. "I suppose no one briefed you on the operation status yet—The solar panels are operational, just a few are non-functioning which isn't crucial to generating power. The main issue is a technical problem with the mirror control systems—the doors won't open."

"Can't someone just climb up there and open them?"

Ignacio crossed his arms through a shrug. Black eyes glanced up in search of an earnest answer. "Not really. Not unless they can parachute on to the observation deck at the top of the tower. See—" Ignacio paused with a sigh. "He did something and woke up the old guard in the tower. Defense robots and sensor-triggered laser turrets keeping us from actually getting up to the tower. There's even turrets on the roof of the buildings too."

The corner desk creaked under the ranger's weight as he sat down, despite the mess of papers and odd parts here and there. "So, how'd that bonehead get hired?"

"Ugh." Ignacio rubbed his temples. "Thinking about anything that comes out of his mouth gives me a headache. I try to tune him out and focus on my work."

"I got another question. Ever seen a soldier around here, kind of gaunt in the face has a scar across his lips?"

"Yeah, he makes me uncomfortable," Ignacio admitted. "Something about him just… Rubs me the wrong way. I don't talk much with the NCR personnel here beyond what work needs to be done—Did he do something?"

"Potentially. Think anything suspicious is going on here?"

"Aside from Mr. Fantastic being hired rather than another credible scientist? No."

"The robots in the tower-building," Vincent interjected. "Nobody's cleared them out yet?"

"After the first attempt killed one of the soldiers, the lieutenant didn't want to risk more of her men. So, we're in here trying to break into a heavily protected network to give us control of the mirror—" Dread crept in Ignacio's expression as he peered over Vincent's head and out the small window in the door. "Oh no! What is he doing now?" Ignacio rushed for the door. Vincent slipped out of the way, wincing at the slamming door. Back in the fray, Ignacio's pleas were lost under the humming of engines nested one floor below. The scientists and maintenance people argued back and forth while the only sound mind among the crew attempted to put out a literal fire.

"Alright what's the plan now?"

Lawrence shook his head. Defeated shoulders slumped as he returned to the corner desk, this time claiming the chair and then some as he sprawled out. "I have no idea." Slow steps filled the silence as Vincent meandered to the ranger. An affectionate hand combed through Lawrence's dark mane, massaging out all ideas the ranger could possibly come up with in the few minutes they would have. "Obviously I can't approach him. I can't just assault someone in uniform…"

"I'm thinking about it too," Vincent promised. "Maybe ask around the command, be casual. Maybe go through his stuff if you're feeling daring."

"I just might."

"Don't get in trouble though," Vincent chuckled. "I can join you if you want company or be here if this is something you need to do by yourself."

Calm returned to the server room. Well, as calm as it could be. Faint smoke polluted the air, fogging the cramped chambers as a short-staffed crew worked away on a near hopeless endeavor. However, the smoke was a welcome change from someone's unwashed and lingering stench… The notorious Mr. Fantastic occupied himself with a collection of unlabeled buttons. Pressing one then waiting for a reaction before moving onto the next. Occasionally some ruckus between the walls and vents reignited his curiosity. He'd "ooh" and "ahh" at his discovery before loudly announcing the trigger to rattle the vents or steam the engines. Unbeknownst to the nuisance, his entertainment-machine had been unplugged long ago. Still, Ignacio watched the man closely as he went about his own work.

"I didn't catch your name," Ignacio said. Quick fingers flashed across a keyboard. "Is it Vincent, by any chance?"

Vincent paused. He glanced up to the man from the disorganized notes scrawled on scrap paper and half a clipboard. "Oh, um."

"I only ask because I've heard so much from my colleagues about a philanthropist who goes by Vincent—I'm with the Followers of the Apocalypse." Ignacio turned away from the terminal. The glowing screen reset itself. Ignacio's gentle eyes had observed Vincent when he thought the boy wouldn't notice. "I don't mean to draw attention to it, but the scar gave you away."

Tensed shoulders relaxed and he turned his back to the terminal set up. "Alright you got me." The faint glow of terminal screens cast a flattering light on the scientist's angular face.

"I'm curious why you're here." His voice matched his reserved and calm demeanor. He was disarming as well. Vincent caught an occasional smile from the man while they chatted between tasks.

"Just looking into the place." Vincent shrugged. He glanced up from his clipboard doodles to Lawrence. The unusually quiet ranger corralled himself to a corner of the room. Watching personnel go back and forth, he stopped a few passing soldiers, but some approached him and caught up from when they last met. And then he'd slouch back into his corner. Thinking, brooding...

"Does it have to do with Mr. House?"

"No." Vincent pushed off the consoles, turning his back to Lawrence who wouldn't have noticed anyway. "The soldier my friend asked you about, he's been looking for. He could be a Legion spy." Vincent's voice lowered to a whisper, "Please don't mention anything or do anything. It's really important."

Ignacio glanced to his terminal. A messy string of code populated the black screen. "Well, you're helping the Followers a lot right now; I won't screw that up—I'll help if you need."

"I appreciate that."

"Since you have a generous side," Ignacio continued. He turned his focus to a screen while his voice trailed away. Silence swelled between the two. His smile faded yet lips twitched and muttered to himself. Typing paused again. "Do you also have a sensible side as well?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been helping my organization because you like what we do—Because you want to help people in some way?"

"That's correct."

Ignacio's hasty fingers hovered above the keyboard. Dark eyes peered into Vincent's as if to search for an honest answer before the boy could speak. "Would you be willing to maybe help me?"

"With?"

"I have reasons to believe Helios One isn't just a solar array—It can be used as a weapon."

"A weapon?" Vincent inched closer to the scientist. Voices fell to a whisper once more. "How?"

"I've been digging into the files left behind—physical, digital—and I'm positive this place was used for covert weapons testing or creation. There's a codeword that keeps coming up. Archimedes. I've kept the NCR personnel in the dark about it and I can only hope no one else knows. It would also explain the Brotherhood's former occupation."

"How would we even know if it's real?"

"This isn't the primary control facility, if you haven't noticed."

Vincent's shoulders slouched at the sudden prospect of venturing into an old-world death trap that might actually kill them this time. "Of course… I'll see what I can do."

"Don't tell the ranger," Ignacio quickly added.

"I won't. I promise, but he is the only way to get in there without bringing in the rest of the army."

"He could find out—"

"Lawrence isn't the technical type—luddite n' all that," Vincent assured with a smile. "He's more than happy to shoot machines rather than peek in them."

Had Lawrence been thinking any harder, Vincent was certain smoke would come out of his ears. His face was set in a scowl over tightly crossed arms. His posture was more like a pouting child than a contemplating ranger. However, he still drew out a tender smile from the younger man observing him on the walk across the room.

"Hm?" Lawrence emerged from his trance when he finally noticed his unannounced company leaning on his shoulder. "I'm drawing blanks."

"Well, I found out something else…" Vincent said, purposefully trailing off as Lawrence looked to him. "This place could have maybe, possibly, been a weapons testing facility in another life."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Ignacio is with the Followers. He recognized me and decided to tell me because he needs to know for certain if it exists."

"And then what? Let's say that tower can sprout legs and stomp around the wasteland makin' people look at their ugly mugs in the giant mirror 'til they die of fright—What's he gonna to do?"

"If we can get into the tower facility, we can know for sure," Vincent explained. "If it is some kind of weapon, I want to know what it does before the NCR, House, Legion or anyone else finds out."

Lawrence stroked his beard. "I see what you're sayin'…"

"So, how do we tackle a security team of homicidal robots if we can't find their off switch?"

"I could get a hold of EMPs and a lot of aloe vera for the laser burns."

"It's a start." Vincent nodded decidedly. "You go get whatever we need, I'll stay here and make sure you-know-who doesn't get wise."

"Sounds good." Lawrence looked to his right then to his left coming to his feet. Two empty hallways and a dwindling team in the mechanical cavern was left once noon rolled around, so he took that opportunity to pull Vincent into a needy hug that wanted more comfort from the young man than could be given in such a place. Lawrence's reluctant departure and sparse words spoke more to Vincent than the ranger ever would.

Whether it was pride, ego, or shame that kept Lawrence from asking for help, Vincent wouldn't wait for the ranger to come around. He knew a certain Legionnaire protected by NCRA fatigues, probably stolen off a dead soldier, was one pound weighing down Lawrence's shoulders. While Lawrence had his hands tied by regulations, rules, and the pitfalls of bureaucracy, Vincent didn't. And, how fortunate would it be if, perhaps, that spy wound up in a confined space, bound, gagged, prevented from leaving until the ranger happened upon him?

While Ignacio was occupied with useless attempts to break through the security system, Vincent retrieved the toolbox and slipped out. His heart quickened to the speed of anxious thoughts. He needed somewhere small where he could get the upper-hand. Plenty of such rooms existed in the old building, and while that was an advantage it was also a nuisance. He scoured the maze of halls and rooms, eventually winding up in a secluded section of Helios One's operations, but also not too far from where he last spotted the suspected spy. It was another supply closet. The caved-in wall to the left of the door exposed the building's metal framework and all its delicate innards. Flipping of the switch sent sparks flying from a bundle of wires. Then the dim overhead light flickered on. Motes fluttered about his eyes. Shelves stocked a thick carpet of powdered bygone years. Nowhere anyone would want to be or go looking.

Perfect.

But once he lured the man in the room then what? He couldn't just brandish a gun and hope no one saw, and he couldn't use it. Another surge sent electrical shards spitting from. Spindles of wiring poured out the wall, overflowing on metal pipes and rebar support. He had an idea, but shook his head at the prospect of electrocuting himself instead of his target—Unless.

He spun around, closing the door then taking to a squat as he slapped the toolbox on the floor. He rummaged through loaded clips, his pistol, and all the junk he snatched while touring the facility unsupervised—it was a habit that came out in such places. Stuffed into the corner of the box, the black roll's cellulite surface gleamed. He flipped the switch off, hoping that alone was enough then opened the door for light to work with. Coiling the tape around dormant wires made a sure grip on power itself. Vincent turned the switch on once more. A quick touch at the tape job tested his reflexes as well as his weapon. No jolts to him, but the wires buzzed vibrantly, sending sparks each time he toggled the light switch.

Then came the issue of how to lure that Legionnaire into an obvious trap… He shut the door again. Left alone to his thoughts and a flickering light that reminded him of the uncooperative light socket in the speakeasy he grew up with. The ladies always had a way of coaxing out caps and so much more from the patrons—a skill he wished he learned, but his mother didn't like him being down there. Especially once men started asking if he was on the menu too. Still, he learned a good foundation from them that was further built upon after leaving home. How to talk to people. How to read them. Persuade them. And, once in a while he utilized the nuclear option. The sole reasons those young women in the brothel earned their pay. An abhorrent, appalling option that sent his skin crawling and stomach turning in protest. Something he always told himself he'd never do again after each time he had to use the terrible ploy.

No.

He shook his head, refusing to force himself back into that little box he loathed—Ignacio! Ignacio could help. He even offered—Except electrocuting and restraining a maybe-spy for the sole purpose of being interrogated by a ranger with revenge in mind wouldn't go over well with someone aligned to the humanitarian efforts of the Followers... A long sigh let a vacuum for anxiety seep back in. Yet his nuclear option got him out of bad situations a few times. This time it would be for more than him. A more important reason than stealing food, finding shelter, or getting out of trouble. A labor of love and preservation given a maybe-weapon hidden somewhere in Helios One… But more so for Lawrence. Then never again.

He had to question his sanity. If he truly was the man he believed himself to be or if he was merely a pretender. It didn't help when he looked in the mirror. Devolved into a miserable creature he hoped he left behind in Yucca Valley with just a little brush of his hair to hid the scar, smudges of black grease at the corners of his eyes, and without the flatness of his binder. He breathed easier without it, but it came at the ironic cost of wishing, for the first time in his life, that he had a bra available.

"Ugh!" He growled at the sight, retracting from the mirror like his reflection was a foul, putrid corpse. His heart fluttered in his throat as he gripped a dingy bathroom counter, thinking his knees would give out under him, and squeezed his eyes shut. Blood rushed from his brain. His gut dropped through the floor, leaving a cavernous pit all the way down. It was for Lawrence, he reminded himself. To ease the intangible weight slouching the ranger's back, and then never again. He played that holotape on repeat, over and over again until suffocating tidal waves diminished.

On the bright side, the sight cemented the fact he knew about himself long before anyone else—He was indeed supposed to be a man.

Venturing back into the hallway, he walked the way his mother said ladies ought to walk, smiled the way ladies ought to smile, held his shoulders back the way ladies ought to. And he felt like a giant wad of slime shaped vaguely human. Getting smiles back, mostly from the men soldiers, confirmed the ruse was working. But he hated the way their eyes stuck to his body like glue. He hated the strange feeling that came with suggestive "hellos". Wading through the hallways of Helios One like this felt more like a nightmare than reality. Then he spotted the one he was after. His target. His prey.

Alone in cramped barracks, the suspected Legionnaire hunched over his boots, swiping a bristle brush back and forth and loosening the Mojave Desert from his tread. "Oh, hello there!" Vincent leaned in the door, plastering a smile over the unpleasant turmoil he felt inside.

The soldier paused at the feminine lilt. He looked up to Vincent and promptly set his boots down, quickly stuffing blackened socks inside.. "Did you need something?"

"Well, yes. I need help," Vincent admitted, twiddling fingers the way he remembered the women back home did when feigning interest in some John's dull conversation. "There's a heavy shelf-thing in the way of a wall I need to get to—"

"Say no more," the man grinned, already jumping to his feet.

"Oh, thank you!" Vincent sighed in relief. "I'll show you where it's at."

The soldier followed him down the hall. Side-by-side, the stranger still bore an amicable smile for the alleged damsel in distress. His eyes, however, poked. Prodded. Touched. "I saw you earlier with that ranger—you some kind of maintenance crew?"

"I am!" Vincent said, an uncharacteristic upbeat in his words. "Here to help with the solar array and all that fun stuff."

"You might be here a while then," the soldier chuckled.

"Well, if that means seeing more of you…" Vincent shot a coy glance at the stranger. The soldier's lingering eyes fell below the face he ogled, unable to resist the precision of a few bobby pins that held the disguise's allure all together. "It's this room here—Oh, the lights went out again! Sorry…"

The soldier, risking life and limb, bravely ventured into the closet first. "No problem."

"I got a light in my toolbox somewhere…" Vincent scanned the empty hall for curious eyes. He rattled the toolbox, joining the stranger in the dark. "Ah! Here it is."

With a flip of the switch, lightning struck. Vincent slammed the door, hushing the heavy thud of the soldier's fall. He tossed aside the taped bundle of wire for stowed rope. Not even done sizzling yet, Vincent jumped on the man before he'd wake. Tying and knotting hands and feet as many times as necessary and then a little bit more. Lastly, a towel for a gag to top it off.

He looked over his work and breathed a sigh of relief. Done. It was finally done. Now he had to just wait for Lawrence… He collapsed on his butt, a cloud of dust blushing up under him. Shakes rattled his hands. The thrill of a hunt faded faster than the dysphoria he forced upon himself. He disheveled his hair, rustling wavy locks back into its preferred position, yet nothing quelled it. The securing comfort of the binder, nor ripping away the pins constricting the jumpsuit around his form couldn't undo the damage. He retreated to the safety of a dark corner. Rocking back and forth, consoling terrible thoughts and reminding himself why he had done it. For the man who loved him despite his most glaring and unforgivable flaw. For Lawrence.

The disgruntled soldier, bound and kept under control by threat of another electrocution glared at the boy the moment he woke up from the moment he left in search of Lawrence. Vincent excited the entire walk back to the closet, as though about to gift something extraordinary to Lawrence. Lawrence's jaw dropped as Vincent thought it might when he saw the Legionnaire.

"How? Why would you—" But his nostrils flared. His eyes widened and his face flushed red, turning to Vincent.

"What?" The boy mumbled. "I did this because you couldn't—"

"You put me in a bad situation!" Vincent's elation was turned inside out. Static closed in from his peripherals. The ranger's voice was unfamiliar. "Fuck."

"Is this him or not?"

"I think! I needed to know more, first. I can't just murder a man because he fits a vague description. Hell, he could be some kid out of Bumfuck-Nowhere, New California who just happens to look like the guy I'm after."

"How can you not know?" Vincent spat bitterly as if it would give him his dignity back. Any confidence evaporated under the ranger's scrutiny.

Lawrence turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. Silence crept into the closet. Vincent turned away from him too, but he could still hear Lawrence taking in a deep breath and holding it a couple seconds before exhaling and facing Vincent. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. But, did you stop to think what could have happened to you?"

Vincent's scowl unwound. "No." His voice was as weak as he felt. He came around, looking at Lawrence a sad pair of eyes he had only himself to blame for. "I just thought you'd be happy. I thought I'd help."

"I know why you did it, but I'm not always right," Lawrence shook his head. He reached for Vincent. A gentle hand parsed through short hairs around the boy's ears then cupped the curve of his head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Vince. What's done is done so let's keep movin' forward."

The reluctant audience member to a lover's quarrel sat unamused on the floor. Lawrence knelt in front of their captive. He was a gaunt and narrow man, wrung out thin by living on the unforgiving frontier. He bore the scars of a life dodging blows rather than delivering them. Raised, shiny patterns marred bits of flesh on the left side of his face. Remnants of burned-off markings that once signified his true identity, the people who bore him, and their customs. The scars though, those were given by the people who stole him young to strip away that life before being a loyal slave of Caesar. Lawrence had seen it countless times before on Legion fodder, even witnessing the act a handful of times. The burns were merciful. Only the initiates who agreed got their markings burned off. The ones that didn't, well they had nasty scars in the wake of a fileting knife.

Their eyes locked as Lawrence flipped open the notebook, parsing pages until he came to the one whose place he knew by memory and could find by touch. Vincent spotted some time ago, long before he ever realized who it was. Sketches of a smiling man guided by old polaroids secured under a film of tape. Age had blurred their features. A lack of color even more so.

Lawrence pulled the rag from the soldier's mouth. The man grimaced, licking parched lips only to find the after taste of oil. "What the hell are you doing, ranger?"

"You remember this man?"

The captive glanced at the photos for a disinterested second. Lawrence repeated his question with force this time. The supposed spy refused to cooperate of course. He must've relished in witnessing the composure beat into a ranger slowly eroding by the second. His façade was cracking too, however. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He leaned into Lawrence, holding the ranger's eyes and whispered, "I remember how much he enjoyed it when I raped him."

The ranger was a smear of colors by the time Vincent registered the hushed voice's words. Lawrence had their captive stuck in the corner. His fist wound back, again and again. Perfectly coordinated, as if time itself rewound to keep delivering the same whacking, cracking blow. Passing seconds felt like hours. Vincent stepped forward but hesitancy kept the distance between them wide. It eventually stopped and Lawrence stood up. His battered hand twitched at his side. His knuckles were burned and blackened. Their captive was still breathing. Still conscious. The whites of his eyes flashed, splitting the red painting his face.

"It is him… Right?" Vincent whispered. Lawrence's breaths were heavy, but not as labored as the man on the floor. He nodded instead of speaking. "What do we do now?"

"Use him as bait."

Out in the light of day, eyes struggled to adjust to the light. Gentle winds funneled through the valley. Dust devils twisted through the array of solar panels, threatening to nick glass and dirty receptors. Lawrence scouted the mechanical farm. Guards stuck to the outside of distant fences, patrolling for threats they'd never imagined were already inside. Vincent led the trio. Their hostage stuck close to Lawrence under threat of the pistol pressing into his side and no prospect of being spotted in such a huge facility—his face and dress had been since cleaned up. In a toilet bowl. At the center of the solar array was the tower but the small two-story structure implanted beneath all those long gleaming, steel girders and suspension cables was their destination.

Vincent opened the door. An inconspicuous thing no one would take as a gateway to certain death. Darkness stared back at them in a cool void. Lawrence pushed the captive along, "Go on, bait-boy, lead the way."

Reluctantly, the Legionnaire stepped into the abyss, guided by Lawrence's headlamp as daylight waned behind them. At the end of the short hallway, was a sturdy door one might find in a casino vault. Long bracers clamped it shut behind a gear-shaped mechanism. Rusted and tarnished without care, surely little could stand in the way.

"Once that door opens…" Lawrence's baritone voice reverberated through the barren hall, ricocheting off metal and hard concrete like a stray bullet until finally planting itself inside his captive's head. "You better run."

With a grating screech, the door yielded. Hinges moaned and creaked upon waking from a centuries long slumber. Old steel bones of the guards stirred on the other side. Lawrence's boot pushed the spy in once ancient lights flickered on for long awaited guests.

The Legionnaire hugged the wall. His head swung back and forth as wide eyes searched for lurking machines. Careful steps dared not rouse the unseen force. Some steps behind him, Lawrence clutched an EMP grenade, ready to push a little button to activate the time-delayed palm-sized beast. At his side, Vincent stayed close, arms stretched out to a sweaty grip on his pistol as he watched their captive.

Mechanical sentinels stirred, marching for the slightest movements of flesh and blood. The spy froze. His head slowly turned towards the thrums rising to a whine somewhere in the dark. He scrambled, rushing for anything he could find shelter under as sparks rain around him. Lasers bolted after the target. Lawrence hurled his grenades from behind the safety of a corner. One turret down and frenzied lighting illuminated the room for a brief second, revealing a catwalk stretched across an open basement.

Without hesitation, Lawrence dashed into the fray, dodging laser beams and lobbing grenades with precision. The synthetic garble of a sentry bot bellowed out from below. Vincent called after Lawrence. His gaze locked on the ranger's bouncing headlight as he dodged the two remaining turrets. He unleashed his clip on the distracted turret in his line of sight. Sparks frenzied in its nest, crawling across sleek housing giving enough light to perfect his aim. Shot after shot eroded its armor. Lasers whizzed past him. Shaving close enough to burn without touching. One last shot jolted hands left strumming with the pistol's kickbacks then a fiery explosion consumed the turret.

Calm returned to the facility. Echoes of blasts and whizzing bullets still rang in Vincent's ears and laser lights burned his irises. "Lawrence?" Vincent crept out from the corner and onto the catwalk. Several pockets of rooms descended below him, littered with desks, typical office equipment, and one stout sentry bot blasted to kingdom come.

Clanking steps spun Vincent around. To his relief, the ranger huffed as he climbed up the stairs. Unharmed and still whole. "You scared me!"

"I scared you?" Lawrence laughed. "Boy, you give me grey hairs. Look at this—it wasn't there last week."

"There isn't anything there, it's just a trick of the light." Lawrence scoffed at Vincent's remark, shaking his head with a smile that warned the younger man they'd be revisiting this topic later. "He's over there," Vincent added. "I think he got hit."

"Deserves it." Lawrence's steps clapped the concrete like an ominous warning for their captive hidden behind overturned desks.

The Legionnaire glared at the approaching ranger. "Get whatever it is you want over with." His limbs shook, huddled like a pathetic rat in a corner. Singed fatigues framed sore, glistening burns on sleeves and pants. Lawrence lunged for the man. Threads ripped under tension and a wince. "I am not who you think I am!"

"You ain't very convincin'."

"What did I do to you—"

Lawrence thrust fist in his side. "You should be burned alive just like you did to Marcus—Get up."

On the second floor, a tidy command center waited empty, devoid of its users for quite some time. Yet it still worked. Terminals and computer towers whirred and beeped. Flashed their lights like a secret code. The holographic table in the center illuminated a virtual scene with data and code none could imagine the meaning or purpose of. Various keys and buttons rounded its circular frame. Embedded in the scratched chrome, smaller screens lay blank, dormant until someone more knowledgeable would come along.

"I can't wait to hear about your trial," the soldier prattled on. "I wonder how many rangers have been dishonorably discharged?" Lawrence shoved him ahead, keeping his grip on the rope tied around their captive's wrists.

"Why would Caesar send a spy here anyway?" Vincent asked. He peeled away from the hologram and ventured on to the numerous displays stationed at every wall. The various screens and console models he'd never seen in the junkyard back home filled him with a sense of awe he hadn't had in years.

"I'm not a Legion—"

"If what you said is true—" Lawrence spoke over the captive, garnering a sharpening glare with each word. "Then they'd be interested too—I mean, the Brotherhood's occupation here is common knowledge. They go where the good stuff's at."

Vincent pressed a key. Screens lit up in a glaring white array. Pristine interfaces filled the glass, beaming back at him in all their precisely labeled and defined glory. "Well, the computers still work. Give me some time and maybe I'll figure… something out." Lawrence sauntered over to the boy. He leaned against a tower console, stealing discreet glances between Vincent and the soldier. "How are you going to get rid of him?"

The ranger hung his head and sighed. Anxious fingers stroked each other, feeling roughened pads across unworked skin. "I don't know. Put a bullet in his head and stuff him in a closet?" Tapping keys paused and Vincent glanced up. The moment he walked into the closet and laid eyes on that soldier, the ranger Vincent knew so well ebbed and flowed in a foggy cloud. "What?"

"Sorry, just thinking," Vincent shook his head. "This console controls the solar array and the mirror, so I can at least get that working."

Lawrence nodded and departed the boy with a pat on the shoulder. A vicious side to the man had emerged. Not one directed at Vincent, but still it was rather jarring. However, he caught a glimpse of it before in Nelson. Vincent couldn't blame Lawrence though. Fingers paused their keystrokes. No, he couldn't judge Lawrence on that. Not when he had done something worse to Benny. The only difference was Lawrence never saw how vicious his young lover could be. How duplicitous he was. And, how easy it had been to blend in at the Fort.

Had the ranger been there… Vincent shuddered to think what Lawrence would think of him.

"Lawrence," Vincent called. Lawrence paused investigative rounds of the room and circled back to the boy. "The mirrors work, and I disabled any remaining security forces…"

"But?" His curious brow arched as he leaned on the same console.

Vincent glanced at the captive stowed in the corner. A miserable and sulky expression twisted his swelling face. Vincent leaned to the ranger and whispered. "I found something else."

Lawrence weaved an arm around the boy and focused on the screen. Quiet lips muttered the words written in the file in Vincent's ear. One of many files Ignacio might have seen. One with enough information to confirm suspicions that led them down an even bigger rabbit hole dug two centuries ago. One after another; correspondence, schematics, projections. Everything ever written about an experimental weapon dubbed Archimedes.

"Well, shit. What can we do about it though? Is there a way to take it down, make it not work?"

"I don't know," Vincent sighed. "I could try and just delete the files, I guess. I have no idea what half of these even mean or…"

"Whatever keeps this out of anybody's hands," Lawrence urged. He squeezed the boy's shoulders, a subtle hint the ranger believed in him completely. A kiss on Vincent's cheek followed. He wished it were only that easy—as easy as Lawrence's kiss or encouragement. In reality, there would be something he could miss. Some minuscule thing that would give away the fact something insidious lay dormant in Helios One. Digging and digging through digital tombs. Typing until he was too aware of all the tendons in his hands and the strain on his wrists turned his joints solid. Staring at the screen that focused his eyes to tunnel vision. Weary, blinking far too often and not enough to soothe dry eyes.

Beyond the terminal, another kind of war waged. One where threats were glances and pithy comments were weapons. One where the ranger skirted a little further closer into enemy territory. Coaxing, goading the captive to do something, say something, give him any excuse to rough the man up again. He was quiet however, because that's what got under Lawrence's skin the most. He tested his restraints in plain sight. Huffed and sighed as if absolutely bored with his situation.

"It wasn't me."

"The hell you on about now?"

"I didn't kill that ranger. I was there, but it wasn't me."

Lawrence scoffed. "Aw, you really poked my conscience. Guess I just have to let you go now."

"Not even curious to know who did?" The soldier chuckled. "The NCR is full of hypocrites. You all tout your supposed morality, yet here you are… A ranger, torturing and accusing me of crimes I never committed without evidence."

"I haven't got to torturin' you yet."

"Lawrence." The ranger halted. Hesitant boots twitched in their place as he stared down the prospect of unleashing years of anguish on the man responsible for it. But he rejoined the boy at the terminal. "I was able to transfer the information left on this system to my pip-boy, but I can't get rid of the weapon itself."

"What do you mean?"

"From what I can understand, the tower doubled as a test weapon. It collects energy from the solar array as normal, but it has a secondary function that concentrates the energy, like a giant energy pistol."

"So, we'd have to steal the whole tower to guarantee no one gets this thing?" Vincent shrugged. Lawrence wrapped arms around him, completing an unprompted, but welcomed hug. "You did what you could, Vince. I guess we're done here."

Vincent led the quiet walk through the halls. Behind him, measured steps thudded against the floor and another pair scuffed along. Even without present threats, his heart still pounded. Mulling over what Lawrence would do as if that would really ease the tension that suffocated them in an already stuffy building. He looked back to Lawrence and the captive in his grips. Unflattering lights cast deep shadows across his face, hiding vibrant eyes under heavy brows. Crow's feet lurched out, grabbing at minor dips in a face he often thought so flawless. Cheeks were shallow beneath prominent bones, deepening the unseen laugh lines around his mouth that didn't smile. At the end of the line, Lawrence said, "Go outside. I rather you not be here right now."

"Wait!" The soldier shouted. "I'm not who he thinks I am. You can't let him kill me—this guy is crazy!"

Vincent took a step back then turned around entirely. He gripped the wheel of the door. Clammy, barely cooperative hands labored to open it. "Lawrence." Another turn confirmed it wasn't any lack of strength. Stuck. "I can't open it."

Lawrence's brows narrowed. His hold on the captive released, only to move north and wrap around his neck. Gags sputtered, barely escaping a narrowing airway. He squirmed, clawing at the ranger's sleeves and writhing in the stronger man's grip, but only when he went limp did Lawrence let go. The spy fell to his knees. Lawrence marched over the collapsed man. He gripped the wheel, grunting and grimacing as he pried the door open.

"Shit."

He pressed flat palms on the chilly metal door, resting the burden of his weight against it. Head hung as eyes stared at the floor. A timid voice spoke up in the silence. "Are we locked in here?"

Behind them, the Legion soldier stirred. Coughs and gasped choked out while lethargic hands tested their restraints. "Not forever," Lawrence declared. Muffled grunts tugged on the rope wound around the captive's hands.

A return to the control center wasn't the preferred place to be. Lawrence left him there, taking the spy to some other section. A heated interrogation funneled down the halls occasionally as Vincent stared at the same terminal, now in search of a way out. Shuffling poured into the doorway. He peeled away from the terminal screen, eyes stung and adjusted to the dim lights. "What are you doing?"

"Tying him to something so he don't disappear." Lawrence explained. He pulled the rope, winding it around and around then knotting until the gagged Legionnaire was held up only by the pipe he was bound to.

Tired eyes returned to the same screen he had stared at for the last hour and then another hour before an attempted departure. Brows were cemented in fear as he fought to keep his eyes open. Pressing the same key over and over, Vincent stared at the screen, the current issue only led to more fears hidden beneath the surface once it was too quiet. Black lines warped and distorted shapes the more he searched for their meaning. Vision blurred, only to be blinked away and come back minutes later. When his forehead nearly hit the keyboard for the second time, Lawrence pulled him away from the screen.

"Come here," Lawrence guided Vincent away from the console and back to his spot on the floor. With his back against the wall, he pulled Vincent to his lap.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know." Lawrence reached to his side, grabbing the neatly folded duster off his body armor. "It's been getting colder," he said, draping his duster over the two as far as it'd stretch. "So, I'd assume it's night outside."

"I couldn't find anything."

"We miss things when we're tired."

Lawrence's shirt became the luxurious sheets of their bed in Lucky 38. Fingertips glided over his chest that would be Vincent's pillow for the time being. The ranger's rich scent, the cologne barely masking stale cigarettes was oddly comforting. For the brief hypnogogic moments, Vincent had returned to their suite in the Lucky 38. Except he never shivered inside the comfort of the most luxurious room on the strip. "Lawrence, whatever you decide to do, I would never hold it against you. I couldn't without being a hypocrite."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"For… everything, I guess. Whatever you plan to do to him, or when the NCR's forces regroup to hold the dam. I can't blame you for being loyal to the NCR, but I also don't want to lose you."

Lawrence pulled him closer. Gentle sways rock Vincent but also lulled Lawrence's own anxieties bubbling beneath a manufactured veneer. Breaths soon steadied against his neck. Tense limbs hesitantly gave way in Lawrence's arms; the only place he truly wanted to be anymore. The lofty suite and all its luxuries would be nothing without Lawrence. Much like the mismatched threads holding buttons to his shirt or the patches in his jeans, the ranger held everything together.

Slamming steel jolted Vincent awake. The glinting of gun steel slapped any sleep that lingered out of his eyes. His frightened heart slowed once he saw he was on the right side of the gun this time.

"Stay here," Lawrence whispered. He rose slowly, shaking out stiff joints and pinpricks in his legs. He crossed the dim control center, noting their captive still in place and still agitated as a white glare flashed across the Legionnaire's eyes. Fogged floodlights blurred Lawrence's colors as he slipped into the haze. Careful steps whispered down the hall, quieting the farther he went until silence returned.

Vincent held his breath. He stared at the misty doorway, uncertain if it was a dream. An eerie feeling settled inside him, urging him to move. He flung Lawrence's duster over his shoulders then snagged his own pistol. Cold metal pressed against his palm, cementing him in reality and assuring Vincent this was no dream. Clouds poured from the overhead vents. Washing down like a soothing waterfall on hard concrete.

Hushed steps tapped on chilled concrete Echoing, funneling down the halls to challenge his senses. Vincent shoved himself into a recessed corridor. One of many hiding spots in the hallways meant to tame a mess of wires and pipes of varying thickness, now pulled Vincent into the dusty trap. Steps grew louder, harder. Only one.

"Vince?"

He sprang out.

"W-What are you doing in there? You are going to give me a heart attack—I think I got a new grey hair coming in..."

"Guess we're not in danger if you're concerned about your hair."

"What woke us up must have been the door unlocking, cause I got it open."

Squealing hinges mustered up a wince as the boy pushed it open. Far behind him in a distant room was Lawrence and a difficult decision to make. And soon, they quieted behind the last door. The cold of a fall twilight caressed his cheeks. Clean, cool air filled his lungs as he stared up at the sky. The glow of New Vegas outshined the natural light, but the far sun in the east threatened the city's reign in due time.

Sometime after the anxious pacing, he decided to plop down on the dirt, leaning on the heavy duffel bag brought along. But such relief was short lived, realizing how much time had passed since he left the ranger inside. Vincent abandoned his comfort on the ground and stood in front of the door again. He rested a palm on the cold handle, mulling over thoughts while the warmth of his hand was sucked away completely. Vincent shook his head, loosening any thoughts that warned him not to interrupt. He twisted the handle. One last warning ignited all the nerves across his body like a fiery wave.

Vincent flung open the door.

A ghostly apparition stared back at him. Once that figure stepped into the breaking light of day, did Vincent finally breath. "Are you alright? I was only going in to make sure—"

Lawrence slipped by him. Only a nod was his response. He slid down the wall, landing in a cloud of dust as a hand covered his eyes. Vincent joined him in silence. He took the ranger's hand and a responsive squeeze replied. As the morning light ascended, Lawrence's chill wandered away. A quiet, but not uncomfortable scene that brought about a sense of déjà vu pulled them back to the shores of Lake Las Vegas.

"I don't know what to do," Lawrence finally spoke, a small whisper above a gentle breeze. "I don't know if it's him now. I also don't know if I can live with what I want to do." He rested his head against the wall and stared up at the sky. The haze of distant lights fought with the dead of night. Just a faint strip of twilight, the same murky zone he now waded in its deepest parts and unsure if the sun would finally rise. "I owe you a whole lot of thanks, though. If you hadn't done what you did, I wouldn't have found this."

"What is that?" Vincent looked at Lawrence. The ranger pulled his hand from his duster. Caught between his fingers, a notepad. Thinned and dog-eared from its use, but not one of the ranger's.

Lawrence flipped the cardboard flap over, revealing the first page. Line after line of neatly written nonsense cluttered the first few pages. Numbers filled the margins here and there, but nothing about it seemed more than just scribbles. "A code. Like what we use to communicate on the radio so the Legion don't know what we're planning. They also use them for spies. I found it on him."

Vincent returned the piece of intrigue to Lawrence. His eyes remained focused on the notepad. Another bend in his road or perhaps a dead end for Lawrence's journey. No matter what he said or done, Vincent couldn't have turned him away. It was only fair. Vincent had his revenge and now it was Lawrence's turn.

"I'm going to hand him over to Clint."

Vincent finally exhaled, losing the absent-minded clutch he had on Lawrence's arm. "I'll be with you."

Venturing back into the maze of hallways and rooms just to get out of the gated facility and rounding the perimeter brought them to noon. A long meeting with Ignacio and then a few rangers stationed at the facility wrapped up their efforts. The spy would be held under those rangers' guard, and as soon as they'd return to the strip, Lawrence would tell Clint about the event as planned. From there, he wasn't sure what would happen, but that wasn't what Vincent asked. The real question was what would happen inside the ranger's head. A sullen expression after several interrogations while stuck in that stuffy control center left Lawrence's questions weaponized against him.

Vincent held the ranger's hand as they trekked back to the bike booted and stowed under desert broom, however something was amiss. "Lawrence," Vincent started. Their steps slowed and the two stopped entirely. "What's that?"

Shoved off on the northern fence of the solar array, colors danced, kicking up dirt and sand as they circled a drum. Purposeful steps picked up again, bringing them to the odd gathering of NCR uniforms lined along the fence.

"Oh, not these people again," Lawrence muttered. Singing came into earshot as eyes focused on familiar and wild patterns drawn on their skin. Every one of them donned a variety of sunglasses, each as unique as their wearer. Their sole audience was a band of peeved soldiers.

When she stopped, so did her people. Drums ceased as they looked at the two. "The great helpers, I'm-Vincent, That's-Lawrence return!" Sky-Watcher flung out her arms for a wide embrace at a distance. A chorus of elated voices joined in.

"You know these people?" Lieutenant Haggerty emerged from her band, marching towards Vincent and Lawrence. Huffing and puffing, flared nostrils and bloodshot eyes beat the two until she could get her hands on them. "I thought his name was Ben—"

"Yeah, we know 'em…" Lawrence shifted on his feet as hands settled on his belt.

She leaned to Lawrence. "They showed up late last night. We put the facility on lock-down cause we thought they were a Legion patrol. They disappeared and now they showed up a little after dawn."

"Look, they're harmless, just a little weird."

"They refuse to leave."

"Hold on," Vincent's sour look butted in between the lieutenant and ranger. Hands rose as he parted the crowd of soldiers. "Glad to see everyone still around and in good shape from the looks of it."

"And you as well, friend," Sky-Watcher grinned, removing the sunglasses curved to the shape of the number 2076.

"Mind if I ask why you're here?"

"The great basking of course!" Sky-Watcher announced. Another chorus of excitement rose and with that Lawrence couldn't sit back on the sidelines. "We watched from the hills, waiting for the sun to fill the tower with its light!"

"I don't suppose you'd be alright staying outside the fence?" Lawrence asked. "The NCR soldiers here aren't very welcoming to guests."

"Ah yes, we have encountered Grumpy-Bear-Men before," Sky-Watcher said. "We mean no harm. We only wish to gaze on the great monument to the sun."

"Oh, I thought so," Vincent nodded, looking up to Lawrence who agreed as well. "Carry on. Have fun."

They turned away, trekking back to the lieutenant and her men loitering the perimeter. The odd-pair's hushed debate ceased once in earshot of the lieutenant.

"Well, Lieutenant Haggerty," Lawrence started, plastering an absolutely-not-annoyed-smile on his face. "Don't mind them, they're just some locals workin' on their tans." Haggerty's scowl narrowed on Lawrence, then fell to Vincent for his fair share. She crossed her arms and lips thinned. "I suggest not getting too close to whatever they eat or use in their fires—"

"Excuse me?"

"Welp, time to go!"

"We got the mirrors working," Vincent piped up as Lawrence urged him along.

"Nice meetin' you." Drums and dancing sparked again. A chorus of praises for the sun tower chimed out of key behind them just in time for a distraction "Keep movin'. Nope, don't look back."