Night descends on Cheyenne as Tyler and Deckard make their way to the motorpool. They walk nonchalantly, blending in with the local workers and civilians going about their business, not wanting to arouse any suspicion. Occasional guards patrol the area, casually regarding the two gunslingers but paying them little mind. None are aware of the carnage that follows in Vivian's wake.<br/><br/>“Hold up.” One of the guards says as they reach the bay doors to the motorpool.<br/><br/>Tyler gestures at one of the cars in parked in the bay ahead.<span style="color: #336666">“Hale said he was sending us on our way with a car.”</span><br/><br/>“Oh, right... Hale said to give you the Cutter.” The guard reaches into his pocket and tosses a set of keys to Tyler before pointing at what looks like an Oldsmobile 442 body with all manner of scavenged parts grated onto it. A thick sheet of iron hangs in front, acting as some form of cow catcher. Armored plates cover the wheel wells and leave only a small section of tire exposed. On the back sits a harpoon gun with a high-tensile tow cable. It has neither windows nor a windshield, but a series of tarps are tied up along the edges, allowing them to be lowered when parked in bad weather. It is impressively built – perhaps more so than many of the other vehicles in the motorpool. A show of generosity from Hale in an attempt to assuage their misgivings about the Deathstalkers' execution.<br/><br/>As Tyler and Deckard eagerly approach the steel beast, the guard, with his back turned, suddenly feels a hard tug against his head... and a sharp, stabbing pain in his neck. He lets out a gurgle as his hands clutch at his unseen assailant, batting futilely at nothing until his strength wanes and his body collapses in a heap. As he falls, the blood-soaked countenance of Vivian is revealed.<br/><br/>She doesn't regard Tyler or Deckard at first. Her movements are automatic, methodical. Patting down the guard for armaments, she strips him of the pistol and knife he carries before dragging his body into the shadows. Walking forward, she passes Tyler on the way, and suddenly feels a tug on her arm as he stops her.<span style="color: #336666">“All right, just wait a minute...”</span><br/><br/>Wrenching her arm free, she glares at Tyler and utters coldly,<span style="color: #8080ff">“Thanks for the scalpel.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #bf0040">“Going off half-cocked ain't bringing them back.”</span>Deckard remarks. But the sentiment is met with a sudden burst of anger, and with a curled expression she draws her pistol and points it at Deckard's head. It's a miscalculated move and she knows it, but her rage has thrown all sense of caution out the window. With viper quickness, Deckard matches her and aims his Rossi shotgun at her face.<span style="color: #bf0040">“Lady, I will end you.”</span><br/><br/>Unblinkingly, she replies,<span style="color: #8080ff">“Then do it.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler steps between them.<span style="color: #336666">“Knock it off, both of you. We're wasting time here. Vivian, you're not going to make it taking Hale alone. We didn't bust you out just so you could kill yourself.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080ff">“Then what? <span style="font-style: italic">Why?</span>”</span>She narrows her eyes and pushes herself in Tyler's face.<span style="color: #8080ff">“You feel sorry for me? Or are you just thinking that if you help me, maybe I'll let you fuck me? That it, cowboy?”</span><br/><br/>Suddenly, she grabs Tyler by the crotch and looks into his eyes. It's an aggressive move, calculated to throw him off guard. It's clear she's had to deal with the expectations of men before.<span style="color: #8080ff">“Well come on. Give it to me! Let me earn your help.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler stands stoically, saying nothing. Slowly, he removes her hand and stares back at her. With a scoff, she shakes her head.<span style="color: #8080ff">“I don't need you. Either of you. And if we're not gonna screw, then get the hell out of my way.”</span><br/><br/>As she starts to turn, Tyler shakes his head.<span style="color: #336666">“We don't have time for this...”</span><br/><br/>The blow comes swiftly and without warning. In an instant, everything in Viv's world goes black. As her body starts to drop, Tyler catches her and begins to carry her to the car. Deckard smirks and shakes his head.<span style="color: #bf0040">“What is it with you and women anyway?”</span><br/><br/>Setting Vivian's unconscious body in the back seat, Tyler utters in reply,<span style="color: #336666">“I have no idea...”</span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>A swirl of images dance around her mind as she drifts in and out of consciousness: a hot pursuit across the open desert under bright moonlight. Deckard firing his shotgun at another car before it flips and flies off a ravine. Tyler's steely visage behind the wheel. She can sense her body moving in the chaos, but it's as if she's looking at herself from afar, watching the scene play out like some ethereal spectator.<br/><br/>She awakes with a start. Her eyes flick open and her body springing upright. A blanket slides off her face and as the world comes into focus; a splitting sensation of a headache hits forces her back down. She touches the base of her skull to feel the bruise that's formed there, and as she gets her bearings, she finds herself in the back seat of a car with wind blowing in her face. Up front are Tyler and Deckard. Above them, a starry night sky.<br/><br/><span style="color: #8080ff">“W-what...”</span>She groans.<span style="color: #8080ff">“Where are we?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #bf0040">“She's coming around, Ty.”</span><br/><br/>Glancing over his shoulder, Tyler checks on her.<span style="color: #336666">“Take it easy. The headache will pass.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080ff">“You--”</span>She winces.<span style="color: #8080ff">“What did you do to me?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“I couldn't let you go off like that. You were gonna get yourself killed.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080ff">“Hale! I--”</span>She sits up sharply and immediately regrets the action as a surge of pain hits her skull. Slowly exhaling, she sits up and leans against the seat.<span style="color: #8080ff">“Where are we?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“Odometer gave up the ghost a long time ago, but if I had to guess...”</span>A battered sign with the words “Idaho welcomes you!” appears in front of them. Viv sighs. Like it or not, she's a long way from Hale... and a long way from revenge.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>The morning sun beats down upon them as desert pavement gives way to temperate steppes, with sprawling taiga visible in the distance. Deckard searches the ground away from the others, lifting rocks for signs of life as he keeps the counsel of his own thoughts. With a quick jab, he thrusts his knife downward and beheads a snake, then stuffing the carcass into a bag, continues his hunt for food.<br/><br/>Tyler, meanwhile, fills their canteens from a nearby stream and runs the water through a purifier. He spots Viv sitting along the water's edge, staring into the expanse behind them. When he finishes filling the canteens, he takes a seat beside her and lets out an audible sigh. She smiles faintly as he sits, but says nothing. It's an awkward silence; Viv knows that her actions back in Cheyenne were rash, even downright caustic. But Tyler simply sits with her, letting the serene sound of running water fill the quiet air between them. A few moments follow before Tyler speaks up.<span style="color: #336666">“Have you ever heard of something called Project Lazarus?”</span><br/><br/>Viv shakes her head. Tyler explains:<span style="color: #336666">“It was a special initiative from the federal government during the war. The idea was to house a certain number of people in facilities deep underground in the event of a natural disaster or nuclear catastrophe – in this case, it was the latter. There were one-hundred and eighty facilities like this around the country. Most of them didn't have a chance to get established before the bombs fell. Some did. I'd wager a decent number of people living on the surface today are descended from those people who made it to those facilities.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler looks out at the horizon and continues.<span style="color: #336666">“One of these facilities – called Installation Fifty-seven – was where my parents were born. Now, these facilities weren't just responsible for preserving humanity in the event of a disaster. They were determined to <span style="font-style: italic">improve</span> humanity. Over time, the people living in there were all the result of selective breeding and genetic manipulation. For the most part, their efforts fell short of their expectations: some improved strength here, some heightened reflexes there. Natural immunities to certain diseases and cancer. Minor improvements. But my parents... those two were something else. My father was an artist. He could pick up any instrument and make beautiful music without even trying. My mother had this incredible mind for engineering and math. They were prodigies...”</span>Tyler huffs bemusedly.<span style="color: #336666">“I suppose that's less impressive when you're designed to be that way.”</span><br/><br/>Viv smiles and inclines her head, listening intently. Tyler looks at her and goes on.<span style="color: #336666">“The two of them felt like they had this connection – like they were destined to be together. But this facility kept strict control over its coupling. They were expressly forbidden to see one another. So they did what young people do: they ran away...”</span>Tyler shakes his head in amusement.<span style="color: #336666">“I found out later that this was planned all along. The facility wanted them to leave. They wanted a test couple to re-enter the world and start a family. You know, they say that the only way to get an adolescent to do something is to forbid it... I guess that's true. A year later, I was born.”</span><br/><br/>He nods in an easterly direction.<span style="color: #336666">“I grew up in the Chicago ruins right along the shore. My parents were brilliant in a lot of ways. But in a lot of ways, they were like children – totally naïve to the world around them. When I was ten, my dad got in deep with some loan sharks...</span>Tyler stares off into the distance grimly.<span style="color: #336666">“...and they killed him... but not before making the both of us watch as they raped my mother over... and over... and over again. They didn't kill my father until every one of them had their turn. Then, they put a bullet between her eyes.”</span><br/><br/>Viv cringes as Tyler tells the story. He's silent for a few seconds before he speaks again.<span style="color: #336666">“I thought they were going to kill me too... But they just passed me off to one of their people who worked the fighting pits. Blood sports are a favorite pastime in Chicago, you see. Every day for the next six years was either spent training or fighting. I killed dozens... hundreds. All of them were kids like me. That man made me in his image: a killer. And so I did what he trained me to do.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080ff">“You killed him...”</span><br/><br/>Tyler nods.<span style="color: #336666">“With my hands around his neck.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080ff">“What about the men who killed your parents?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“I took my time with them.”</span>The way he says those last words sends a chill down Vivian's spine. There's a coldness to them – a kind of dispassion that suddenly makes her very afraid of the man beside her. But as she feels the urge to inch away, he turns to her and gives a strangely sage, almost fatherly look.<span style="color: #336666">“It took me six years to get my revenge... But I got my revenge.”</span><br/><br/>Standing, Tyler gives her a sympathetic look before heading back to the car. Vivian sits there in silence and mulls over the gunslinger's words.