“So, what have you been doing with yerself, buddy?”, Flak asked as he sat down again with a bottle of vodka and two glasses.
“Merc”, Shrapnel gave back as he lit a smoke before offering Flak the pack. The latter took one, popped it between his lips and leaned over Shrapnel’s lighter before he leaned back again with puffed cheeks.
“Caravans?”
“That too.” Shrapnel clamped the smoke between his lips and filled their glasses. “Was a caravan that got me here.”
“Fancy that.” Flak took one of the glasses. “After five years, a caravan takes you straight to Rivet City, of all places.”
Shrapnel lifted his glass and they toasted before they knocked their drinks back with practised moves. “Yeah”, he said after setting down the glass. “And what got you here?”
“Caravan, too”, Flak replied with a small chuckle. “Only…”
“Only what?”
“Long story”, Flak gave back and took a drag of his smoke. “Their weapons dealer was a bit of a nutcase. Old age and all that. I gave him a hand, and he asked me could I do that again ‘cause his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be…” He paused and filled the glasses again. “And suddenly I was in charge of the weapons store because the old loony had to go and die on me all of a sudden. Well. Didn’t fancy getting back into the fucking wasteland, so I stayed.”

“You don’t sound too upset.” Shrapnel took his glass again.
“Fuck no.” Flak shook his head. “Was sick of the wasteland and caravaneering. That suited me fine, and still does.”
“Yeah, seems like”, Shrapnel said while staring into his glass.
Flak had caught the strange undertone of his last words and leaned a little forward. “Say buddy”, he began cautiously. “I thought to me all the time you’d gone back to being a raider. After killing that bitch, I mean. You did kill her, didn’t you?”
“I killed her, all right”, Shrapnel replied. “But the raiders… I don’t know. I just don’t know. I mean I was one of them, there’s no use in the pot calling the fucking kettle black, but they…” he took a drag of his smoke and watched the cloud dissolve above his head. “I don’t think I quite understand it. They just freaked me out.”
Flak didn’t reply and filled the glasses up again instead.
“I mean obviously you couldn’t go back to be a slaver, but I... I could have, but I just wanted to get the fuck away from these assholes as far and fast as fucking possible.”
“And now?”
“Now?” Shrapnel knocked his drink back and shrugged. “I guess I’m gonna be a merc until someone or something is finally faster or stronger than me.”

Flak nodded and filled the glasses again, and they drank the rest of the bottle in companionable silence.

“Say”, Flak said then, a while after the bottle had been finished. “Do you know where you’ll sleep tonight?”
“Not yet”, Shrapnel replied, looking up from his empty glass. “I had just arrived and was having my first beer when I spotted you. My pack’s still with the Brahmins, too, I guess.”
“Well, there’s the commons, I can show you where it is. Beds are free, that is, free of charge. If there’s a free bed is sometimes a matter of luck. But it’s most likely stuffed with shit-faced mercs who fart and belch and snore loud enough to make your eyes water.”
“I know such places too”, Shrapnel replied amusedly.
“Then there’s the hotel”, Flak went on. “But that Vera is a snobbish minx and a night there’ll cost you an arm and a leg. Don’t know if a little privacy is worth that much money to you.”
Shrapnel shrugged. “I guess I’ll go for the commons. It’s not as if I ain’t used to snoring, farting mercs.”
“You know…” Flak looked at him, his eyelids lowered. “I’ve got a cabin, and it’s got a spare cot. I mean, I snore too, and I’ll probably fart as well, but at least I’m only one.”

Their eyes met and Shrapnel felt his heartbeat speed up, but forced the feeling down again. “Wouldn’t mind that. Thanks for the offer, buddy.”
“I’ll show you out”, Flak replied and got up. “This place is a fucking maze and takes a bit getting used to.”

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