<span style="color: #bf0040">“So...”</span>Deckard says after an hour of continuous silence.<span style="color: #bf0040">“Did she say anything?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“About as much as you'd hope from a cult leader.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #bf0040">“You don't have a ton of luck with those, do you? Remember Phoenix?”</span>Deckard remarks.<br/><br/>Tyler's jaw tightens as he remembers. Doomsday cults weren't uncommon in the wasteland: hapless masses had a habit of clinging to hope wherever they can find it. One in particular had held him as a sort of messianic figure back when he was the sheriff of Phoenix – and consequently tried to martyr him accordingly. If not for Deckard and Elektra's intervention, they likely would have succeeded.<br/><br/>Fortunately, the Fire Lilies seem less like a run-of-the-mill wasteland cult and more like a secret society, complete with cryptic verbiage and hallucinogens. Tyler wasn't entire sure why he'd been drugged. To extract information, maybe? Or to expose a hidden weakness to use against him later? Whatever the reason, the experience was unnerving enough that he begins to feel second thoughts about leaving Viv with them. But despite his misgivings, the task ahead takes precedence.<span style="color: #336666">“She said something about a farm house with a shale rock wall about thirty klicks north of New Boise. Apparently that's where we're supposed to get our answers.”</span><br/><br/>Deckard exhales.<span style="color: #bf0040">“That's the kind of non-answer I was worried about.”</span>He pulls his shotgun from its holster and checks the shells.<span style="color: #bf0040">“I don't suppose she mentioned anything about hostiles?”</span><br/><br/>Tyler smirks wryly.<span style="color: #336666">“Have we ever been that lucky?”</span><br/><br/>Deckard sighs as he snaps the shotgun closed.<span style="color: #bf0040">“Of course not...”</span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>It's a much different place than Tyler remembers. Eighteen years have come and gone, and the indelible mark of progress is apparent immediately. Instead of a burnt out city with sprawling scrap tenements, New Boise has become a formidable, burgeoning metropolis. High walls line the city's interior, housing the factories and machine shops that regularly assemble the materials needed for new infrastructure. Hydroelectric power along the river generates electricity for the many inhabited buildings, as well as illuminating the massive spotlights that line the city's perimeter.<br/><br/>As they approach in the Cutter, they're stopped at the main gate by men in military fatigues. One of them leans in to the driver's side window and says tersely, “State your business.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“Just passing through. We need some supplies.”</span><br/><br/>The men in fatigues look over the car for a moment before waving them forward. The city gates open and Tyler drives through. Inside, the landmarks look slightly more familiar as they drive: the dome of the capitol building, the ruins of the historical museum, the Egyptian Theater. In the place where Lord Howard's great citadel stood over The Pit lies a city park with playing children. Finally, Tyler sees it: Kelly's Bar and Grill, the first place he visited all those years ago. He wonders if Kelly is still there – if somehow she and the other locals were responsible for the city's revival after the Empire's collapse. Parking the car on the street nearby, the two head inside.<br/><br/>It's almost surreal walking inside. Different furniture and people, but the layout is the same. Even the bullet holes in the wall are still there, albeit sealed over. Sitting down at a table in the center of the room, Tyler takes in the feeling of nostalgia and smiles. Deckard, on the other hand, seems disinterested. He'd been back to the city a number of times in the years since, collecting bounties or buying supplies. The city was less a distant memory for him and more just another rest stop.<br/><br/>A waitress walks over to them with a pair of menus. She's younger, maybe half their age, with dirty blonde tresses tied into a high ponytail. As she sets the menus in front of them, she says sweetly, “Welcome to Kelly's! Can I get you two anything to drink?”<br/><br/><span style="color: #bf0040">“Whiskey.”</span>Deckard replies.<br/><br/>Tyler shakes his head.<span style="color: #336666">“Nothing for me. Actually, I was wondering if Kelly still works here.”</span><br/><br/>The waitress smiles. “Mrs. Denton's over in the capitol building now, mister. She hasn't run this place in about five years.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“Mrs. Denton?”</span><br/><br/>She nods. “Sure. That's what she likes to be called, anyway. She thinks Mayor Denton is too formal.”<br/><br/>Tyler grins and looks at Deckard.<span style="color: #336666">“So Kelly got married <span style="font-style: italic">and</span> got elected mayor?”</span><br/><br/>“That's right. After Tyler Bellford brought down the Empire and saved this city, things started changing around here... Kelly began leading folk. She got married to Jack Denton – that's the foundry owner – and they both made sure we started building again. I was just a little girl when it all happened, but from the way the elders say, it used to be really bad around here.”<br/><br/>Tyler smirks.<span style="color: #336666">“Tyler Bellford? Who's that?”</span><br/><br/>“You don't know about him?” The waitress' eyes go wide. “They called him the Rattlesnake, on account of him being the quickest draw in the wasteland. They said he entered the Battle Royale tournament just so he could get a shot at the Empire's leader. Nobody could kill Lord Howard, they said. But Tyler showed up and killed him with just one punch!”<br/><br/>Deckard rolls his eyes.<span style="color: #bf0040">“Oh, for fuck's sake...”</span><br/><br/>Tyler looks amused, even more so as Deckard shows his annoyance.<span style="color: #336666">“Sounds like a really impressive guy.”</span><br/><br/>The waitress nods. “Oh yeah. They've even got a statue of him in the park where they paved over The Pit.”<br/><br/>Tyler chuckles as Deckard grits his teeth. The waitress looks at the two of them, confused, but shrugs. “I'll be back with your whiskey.”<br/><br/>Tyler stops her and gives her a handful of prewar coins.<span style="color: #336666">“We'll take it to go.”</span>He turns to Deckard, grinning.<span style="color: #336666">“I think we need to see this statue.”</span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“I don't know if it captures my eyes...”</span><br/><br/>Deckard stands with his arms folded, grumbling at the statue before them.<span style="color: #bf0040">“If only it captured your giant head. It'd be a damned work of art.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler jokingly puts at arm around his comrade.<span style="color: #336666">“What's the matter, buddy? Did you want a statue?”</span><br/><br/>Deckard scoffs.<span style="color: #bf0040">“Why would I want a statue? I only set the demolition charges and made sure everyone in the building got to safety. It's not like I did anything important.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler snickers.<span style="color: #336666">“Do you need a hug?”</span><br/><br/>Deckard gives a deadpan response:<span style="color: #bf0040">“I will kill you where you stand.”</span><br/><br/>Laughing, Tyler pats Deckard on the shoulder and begins to walk back to the car. Deckard can only look up in the statue and wonder exactly what it is that turns some men into legends while leaving others to disappear into history.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>Gathering food, water, and blue diesel for the road ahead, Tyler and Deckard nearly finish loading the Cutter when a vaguely familiar voice chimes in from behind them.<span style="color: violet">“My goddaughter told me about two men who were asking about me earlier. I didn't think she was talking about the men who saved my town.”</span><br/><br/>The pair look up and see her: the svelte, sturdy woman in her early forties escorted by a pair of men in military gear. A few wrinkles around the eyes and a touch of gray notwithstanding, she looks almost the same as she did when they first met her nearly twenty years ago. Tyler's face lights up with a smile, and the two immediately embrace warmly. She turns to Deckard next, but the hug is brief and far less intimate – something that she immediately picks up on.<span style="color: violet">“That all I get, Deckard?”</span><br/><br/>Tyler snickers.<span style="color: #336666">“I think he's upset about the statue.”</span><br/><br/>She glances at Tyler, then smiles wryly at Deckard.<span style="color: violet">“Oh, is that all? Hell, we've got an entire wing dedicated to you at the museum!”</span><br/><br/>Deckard looks at her sheepishly.<span style="color: #bf0040">“How are you, Kelly?”</span><br/><br/>She gestures around her.<span style="color: violet">“Busy, as you can see. This town's really taken off since Jack got the factories up and running.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler nods in approval.<span style="color: #336666">“Looks like they elected the right leader.”</span><br/><br/>Smiling, she waves her hand dismissively.<span style="color: violet">“I'm just standing on the shoulders of giants. Speaking of, what are you boys doing back in Boise?”</span><br/><br/>Tyler's smile fades.<span style="color: #336666">“Wolf's dead.”</span><br/><br/>She frowns.<span style="color: violet">“I heard. My condolences... I know he was your friend.”</span><br/><br/>Leaning in, Tyler lowers his voice.<span style="color: #336666">“Listen... We've got a possible lead on who might have killed him. What do you know about a farm house north of here – one with a shale wall?”</span><br/><br/>She shakes her head.<span style="color: violet">“Nothing. Far as I know, that's just wasteland up there. Only thing my scouts ever report is bears and wolves.”</span>She gives the two a sympathetic look.<span style="color: violet">“I'm sorry I can't be more help.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler's lips tighten as he exhales slowly from his nose. Looking Kelly in the eyes, he hugs her one more time and says,<span style="color: #336666">“You take care of yourself now.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: violet">“Yeah...”</span>She replies, caresses his back before pulling away.<span style="color: violet">“You too. Both of you.”</span><br/><br/>The three exchange parting glances before Tyler and Deckard drive off into the wastes once more.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="color: #bf0040">“Yep...”</span>Deckard mutters as he looks through his binoculars at the farm house ahead. Behind it lies a shale rock wall, just as the Desert Flower had said. There's no obvious sign of activity, human or otherwise.<span style="color: #bf0040">“If that's it, there ain't shit going on.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler takes the binoculars and comes to the same conclusion. Whoever is there is nowhere to be found. Handing the binoculars back to Deckard, he checks his weapons before sitting up from their hiding spot.<span style="color: #336666">“Keep an eye on those windows.”</span><br/><br/>Nodding, Deckard pulls the sniper rifle from its case and positions himself in an overwatch position while Tyler starts walking towards the house. He moves carefully, watching for signs of traps as he approaches the front door, examining the door frame and the stoop below for any kind of pressure plates or hidden bits of wire. Satisfied that the way is clear, he tests the handle and slowly opens the door.<br/><br/>No traps go off, but the room inside is dark. Turning on the flashlight affixed to his backpack strap, he carefully steps inside, sweeping the room with his revolver readied. He clears the corners first, then makes his way up the narrow stairs to the second floor. There, the stench of old death hits his nostrils. Opening the door, he sees the body: desiccated and rotten, probably close to a year's worth of decay. A single hole in its skull and the rifle resting on the floor nearby betray the obvious signs of suicide. Unconsciously, he checks the weapon first, ejecting the spent round onto the floor before he regards the corpse. Years of scavenging have hardened him to any special consideration for the dead.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #bf0040">“Anything?”</span></span>Deckard's voice comes in through his comm link.<br/><br/>Tyler answers,<span style="color: #336666">“Whoever was here died here.”</span>He looks around the room, turning over stacks of collected objects as he searches for clues. Mostly scavenged nicknacks from before the war. A few handcrafted trinkets. On the dresser he notices an old book, and as he flips through its pages, he realizes it's a diary.<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“Hang on, I've got something...”</span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">January 8th, 2194<br/><br/>I buried my son today.<br/><br/>I warned him to stay away from Howard. I warned him what working with those thugs would lead to. And now I'm alone in this world. I'm alone and afraid. Not because I'm afraid that I'll die too... No. I'm afraid that the man who killed him will never find justice.<br/><br/>God grant me the strength to kill my son's murderer.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>April 22nd, 2194<br/><br/>They call him the Lone Wolf. At least that's what the people in Boise call him. He's just another foot soldier for Howard. I know he's just a puppet having his strings pulled. But I will kill him. I will bring him to justice for his crimes. And then, when he's dead, I'll kill the puppet master behind him. <br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>December 1st, 2194<br/><br/>He's gone! The son of a bitch is dead! But it wasn't by my hand. No... It was that damned bandana-wearing foot soldier of Howard's. Funny... I almost felt a pity for the man. They raped and killed his woman first. But I must reserve my pity for those who truly deserve it. The bastard got what he deserved, even if it's a hollow justice.<br/><br/>I'd have given my soul to pull the trigger myself.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>December 24th, 2195<br/><br/>Howard's reckoning draws closer now. He's hosting a fighting tournament in Boise, and for the first time in nearly two years, I will have a chance at putting a bullet in his head.<br/><br/>There's no running now, you son of a bitch.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>December 27th, 2195<br/><br/>I don't know how, but the bastard who killed my son is alive! And not only that, he's fighting in the tournament! I can't tell if what I'm feeling is excitement, rage, or panic. If Wolf is alive, then he is surely going to try to kill Howard. But there's no way he won't die in the process. I can't let that happen! I won't be robbed of my revenge a second time.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>January 1st, 2196<br/><br/>It's over. Howard is dead. I don't know how, but Wolf managed to get close... Him and some stranger I've never seen before. I had my shot and I missed it. The whole Pit came down on me right as the bastards were in my crosshairs. Someone must've dragged me to safety, because the next thing I remember is waking up outside and watching The Pit burning.<br/><br/>I'm numb. The world is numb.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>August 5th, 2212<br/><br/>It's been a long time since I wrote in here. I guess I've just been existing these past years. I don't know. Nothing makes sense anymore. Did I just kill the man who murdered my boy? I must have. I saw his body. I saw the life leave his eyes. But I feel nothing. There is no catharsis. There is no sense of peace. Killing him was the last thing in my life, and now I'm even more hollow than before.<br/><br/>I wonder if I'll see them all. Or maybe I'll just cease to exist. Doesn't matter anymore. Anything is better than this.</span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>Tyler sets the book down. He blinks, then slowly regards the corpse beside him. After everything Wolf had done in his life, after every sin committed and every redemption earned, his final judgment was brought about by an ordinary man seeking justice for his child.<br/><br/>It's a grim prospect. How many men had Tyler killed? How many of them had it coming? He wonders if his own end will come at the hands of some man or woman seeking vengeance for the collateral damage of his actions.<br/><br/>Then, suddenly, it hits him: how would Slater know about this man? He was an unknown, a random element in the tapestry of Damien Wolf's life. If he'd assassinated him and taken his own life shortly thereafter, there was no way she could have known about it. Unless...<br/><br/>Tyler's eyes go wide. He rushes outside, barreling out the door and looking to the horizon where Deckard had been positioned. There, a cadre of Fire Lilies stands behind him as he waits on his knees. Tyler can only look on in horror as Slater approaches with a drawn katana, and in one swift motion, severs Deckard's head from his body.<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“NO!”</span><br/><br/>As Tyler reaches out, the air becomes thick with bullets. He can feel the impact as each round pummels his torso, knocking him off his feet. Coughing, he tastes the metallic tinge of blood welling up in his mouth. A dull ache and a white-hot burning sensation throughout his body, quickly extinguished by the sudden onset of shock. The world begins to fade away in the corners of his eyes, coming into focus only as the Desert Flower herself stands over him, placing a hand upon his cheek and whispering,<span style="color: #ffa07a">“I take no pleasure in this, warrior.”</span><br/><br/>He feels a tug at his back as she grabs<span style="font-style: italic">Virtue</span>and holds it up.<span style="color: #ffa07a">“But a threat to my family is something I cannot abide.”</span><br/><br/>Weakly, he paws for his gun. As she steps on his hand, she draws a revolver from her waistband and aims it at his head.<span style="color: #ffa07a">“The circle closes.”</span><br/><br/>A few wisps of her fiery hair is the last thing he sees before his world goes dark.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: orangered">“Do you love me, Tyler?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“I do.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: orangered">“Then get up, gunslinger. You have work to do.”</span></span><br/><br/>With a gasp, he opens his eyes.<br/><br/>Beside him, the mechanical whir of medical machinery drones rhythmically with the persistent beep of a heart monitor. On his wrist, an IV drips medication and fluids into his bloodstream. His throat dry and his head pounding, he tries to sit up, but triggers the alarm on his oxygen sensor, causing a handful of men and women in scrubs to enter the room.<br/><br/>“Doctor! He's awake!”<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“Where--”</span>He croaks out, his vocal cords like sandpaper. Quickly, a woman in scrubs fills a cup of water and hands it to him, which he downs eagerly. After a moment, he tries to speak again, this time with far less hoarseness.<span style="color: #336666">“Where am I?”</span><br/><br/>“New Boise General.” A man in a white coat says as he enters the room. “You're a very lucky man, Mr. Bellford. Another millimeter and that bullet would have killed you.”<br/><br/>He groans, sitting upright with some difficulty.<span style="color: #336666">“How did I get here?”</span><br/><br/>“Mayor Denton sent a team to find a farm house you apparently described to her. You're lucky we got there when we did. A few minutes later and we might not have been able to save you.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“Who are you?”</span><br/><br/>The man in the white coat extends his hand. “Doctor Stiles. I was on the team assigned to find you.”<br/><br/>Tyler shakes his hand and attempts to move out of bed.<span style="color: #336666">“Thanks for the help, Doc.”</span><br/><br/>As Tyler struggles to get up, Styles and the nurses all brace against him. “Easy, Mr. Bellford. You've been in a coma for the past three months. You had multiple gunshot wounds to your torso and a bullet lodged in your brain. It's a miracle you're still alive – you need to rest.”<br/><br/>Tyler frowns and shakes his head.<span style="color: #336666">“I've been unconscious for three months. I've rested enough.”</span><br/><br/>Summoning the rest of his strength, he pushes the nurses aside and swings his legs off the bed. The muscles in his arms straining and tensing as he pushes himself to his feet. The stiffness of wounds only recently healed. He wobbles slightly as he plants both feet on the ground and holds himself upright. The nurses steady him, but after a moment, it's clear that he's able to stand on his own without assistance. Walking to the bathroom, he removes his IV line and begins peeling off the bandages on his body one by one.<br/><br/>“Mr. Bellford--” The doctor protests.<br/><br/>Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, he can see the scar on his temple from where the bullet entered – as well as the new streak of gray hair over it. As for his body, he takes count of the new scars: six in all. Most of the bullets that hit him must have been stopped by the Kevlar in his clothing. He was lucky...<br/><br/>But as for Deckard Canon – Tyler's oldest friend and most trusted ally – his luck had finally run out. As reality sinks in, he slowly closes the door behind him and leans over the sink. Looking at his own ragged reflection, he can see the tears forming in his eyes.