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“Well, well, what have we here?”

A figure emerged from the shadows of the tunnel, dark-haired and dark-skinned, wearing a trench coat and wielding a shotgun, the barrel red-hot and smoking like a cigarette in the night.

“The Pyro Sisters,” announced a second figure, coming up from behind the first. “We finally got our prize.”

Eve cast a casual glance at the two female raiders in the flickering light of the subway service room. They laid on the grimy tiled floor, sweating, bleeding and clinging to each other. Their fear was palpable; she could taste it.

“Which one do you want,” asked Cait.

Her gaze flickered between the raiders. One was blonde, skinny and pale, with cuts, bruises and dark stains on her hands and chest. The other was a brunette, thicker and tanned, clutching a bullet wound in her side. “I’ll take the thick one.”

“No, no!” The blonde clutched her companion with the frantic eyes of cornered prey. “Fuck off! You can’t have her!”

Cait struck Blondie in the face with the butt of her rifle. “Shut your trap, cunt. Don’t worry one bit. You’ll get to watch it all.”

Blondie screamed as she watched her friend get dragged across the room. Eve shoved the brown-haired bandit into a wet, rotted chair and glanced at the screen of her Pip-Boy. Green backlight played against her dark face. “Ok, Trisha. We’re going to play a game.” Eve flashed her a grim smile. “I’m gonna ask you a few questions. Answer correctly and your friend gets some pain. Answer wrongly and you get some pain. Any questions?”

Trisha, silent until now, scowled and spat at her. “Do your worst, bitch. I can take it.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when I’m finished with you.” Eve casually flicked away the glob of saliva on her arm. “First question. What was the name of the teenage boy you roasted alive at the old electrical plant?”

“Fuck off.”

“Wrong answer.” Eve fired her shotgun into the ceiling and thrust the hot barrel between Trisha’s legs. The bandit’s lips quivered, her face grimaced with anguish amid the stench of sizzling cloth and flesh. She kept a brave face until she couldn’t anymore. “Stop...please...I’ll answer...please!”

Eve removed the shotgun barrel, gazing curiously at the blood and burnt cloth on the end of it. “Next question.”

“Don’t tell em nothing,” screamed Blondie. “You’re tougher than them. Hold on!”

The room echoed with a dull thud and something wet splattering on the floor. Eve turned back to Trisha. “Next question. How many people did you and your friend burn at the settlement of Murkwater?”

“How am I supposed to know that? Huh?!” Trisha’s eyes were wide with panic, like that of frightened prey. “I don’t know. I can’t...”

“Wrong answer.” Eve cocked back her shotgun and aimed it at the raider’s leg. “Thigh or calf?”


Eve blasted off Trisha’s thigh in a spray of blood and shattered bone. Her and Blondie’s screams mingled in the room, one-half terror, one-half agony.

“Please,” cried Trisha. “J-just let me go. Just kill me!”

Eve grabbed a handful of the brunette’s hair and threw her to the ground. “Next question. What did you do with Old Man Clark after you ripped his arms from his sockets and beat him half to death with them?”

“ more! Please! Please!”

Eve shouldered her shotgun and withdrew a knife. She dug her fingers into Trisha’s scalp and drove the blade into her armpit. The steel was sharp but she had a tough time tearing through flesh and bone with just a few inches of metal. The raider, meanwhile, bucked and wailed in agony, pathetically squirming out of Eve’s grip. Her throat grew hoarse from screaming and all she could manage after was a breathless wheeze.

“I...mercy...water,” she muttered, rendered delirious from blood loss and suffering.

Eve yanked the arm free and tossed it to Blondie. Before the girl could blow her own lungs out from screaming, Cait struck her again with the butt of her rifle.

Trisha crawled silently on with a grim determination to leave the service room. Streaks of dark blood trailed behind her from the stumps of her arm and leg.

“One more question,” whispered Eve. She knelt beside her wounded prey and moved her lips to her ear. “Brain or cunt.”

In a moment of resigned clarity, Trisha spoke without pain, stress or fear. “Brain,” she sighed.

Eve cocked back her shotgun and rendered Trisha’s head a slop of splattered blood, bone and brain matter. The corpse seized up, quivered and spasmed in a puddle of viscera.

“No! No, no, no!” Blondie scrambled to her dead sister, heedless of Cait’s rifle butt or Eve’s shotgun. The room, the tunnels beyond, the entire train station echoed with her screams. “Why? Why?!”

Eva glanced over at Cait and shrugged. “What should we do with this one?”

“Hand me your knife.”

She tossed Cait the knife, sat back and watched her partner go to work. The redhead grabbed Blondie by the hair, dragged her away from her fallen sister and punched the steel into her slender white throat. Blondie’s screams turned to a bloody gurgle. She clutched her bubbling throat, eyes wide in pain and panic. The raider fell over, kicking and sputtering, globs of spit and blood spattering against the grimy tile.

“Thanks,” said Cait, handing her back the knife. “Thought she’d never shut up.”

Eve watched with amusement the shivering, headless corpse and the gurgling blonde girl. The Commonwealth was free of two depraved raiders and age would be five hundred caps richer. All in all, a good day.

Blondie took a long time dying but she finally expired with a wet, choked rattle. She voided her bladder in a thick stream and a yellow puddle pooled between her legs. Her face was frozen in a final expression of agony and terror, blue eyes glassy, staring at nothing.

“Heh, said Cait. “She’s still twitching.”

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