The convoy wreckage sat like a gutted animal in the middle of the Hollow Road, smoke still curling from its guts. Two vehicles or... maybe three if you counted the one that had rolled twice and landed upside down in a ditch. Tolla loved it when they rolled. Meant nobody had to check for survivors in the front seat.

"You went straight for the driver," Venn said, stepping over a body that was missing most of its face. His hammer hung loose at his side, still wet. "No scout. No check for counterattack."

"Because I knew there wasn't gonna be counterattack." Tolla kicked the nearest corpse onto its back, checking for valuables. Nothing. "Three vehicles, light escort, moving fast? That's a runner, Bone Singer. Runners don't stop to fight. Runners run, and then they die anyway."

"It could've been a trap."

"Could've been a fun trap." Tolla grinned, showing teeth. "Last trap that got us was that Scav camp outside the Rust Choir, remember? And what happened there?"

"I... got stabbed?" Venn raised an eyebrow.

"You got stabbed. In the shoulder. And then I put my hatchet through the guy who stabbed you, and then we took everything they had and burned the rest." He paused, frowning. "Also you bled on my spare boots."

"Your boots were already ruined."

"By sand. Sand doesn't count."

Venn made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been dismissal. Hard to tell with him.

They circled the wreckage together. The Custodia emblem was still visible on the lead vehicle's caved-in door — an eagle, or a sun, or one of those old world symbols nobody remembered the meaning of anymore. Tolla had stopped caring about meaning years ago. Emblems were just targets.

"Heavy escort," Venn observed, crouching by a fallen Enforcer. "Four bodies here. Clean shots, mostly. No hacking." Almost disappointed.

"You saying my technique's sloppy?"

"I'm saying you went for the kill instead of the mess."

"Because we were on a time crunch." Tolla gestured expansively, nearly hitting a support beam. "You want messy? I'll give you messy. Next convoy we find, I'll make it so messy you can barely tell it was people. Like someone put them through a blender, yeah?"

"Why would someone put people through a blender."

"I don't know, Bone Singer, maybe because it's funny."

Venn didn't respond. He was already moving toward the second vehicle, the one that had rolled. His dreads swayed with each step, those little bones woven through clicking softly against each other.

Tolla followed, because following Venn was what he did. Also because Venn had the Submachine gun.

The second vehicle was worse than the first. Doors torn off, contents spilled across the sand. Crates, mostly, sealed with locks that hadn't survived the impact. Venn kicked one open, revealing rows of medical supplies. Antibiotics. Real antibiotics, not the wasteland bullshit that was half chalk and half hope.

"Huh." Tolla leaned in, whistling low. "That's actually valuable. That's... you know how much water that is in trade? That's worth at least a week if we're smart about-"

"Smells wrong."

Tolla stopped. Sniffed.

He caught it then, the undercurrent beneath the smoke and the blood. Something chemical. Something Custodia. The kind of clean, sterile smell that made his skin crawl because it meant technology, control, the kind of organized hell that had been trying to kill people like him since before he was born.

"More bodies in the back," Venn said. He was already pulling open the rear doors, the metal screaming in protest.

The smell hit harder.

"Six Enforcers," Tolla counted in total, peering past Venn's shoulder. "Six Enforcers for a medical supply run? That's not normal. That's never normal, yeah? Medical runs are light escort, maybe two if they're feeling paranoid. Six means—"

"Protection."

"For what?"

"Cargo," Venn said.

"What?"

"They weren't a supply convoy." Venn was already moving, boots crunching over debris. "Look at the back. Reinforced panels. Too heavy for standard supplies."

Tolla followed, his earlier complaints forgotten. This was interesting. This was worth something. "Oohhh... what do you think they were transporting..."

"Enforcers don't travel in threes for supplies." Venn had reached the back of the second vehicle, fingers working at the warped door. "They travel in threes when they're moving something they want protected."

The door groaned open. Rusted hinges screamed. And Tolla felt his breath catch in his throat like something had grabbed it.

The interior was reinforced too, with padding along the walls, restraints bolted to the floor, the kind of setup you'd use for something that mattered. But the restraints had been torn loose from the inside. The padding was stained with blood that wasn't Enforcer blood. And in the corner, curled tight against the far wall, was—

"Holy shit."

Tolla's voice came out weird. Cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Bone Singer." He reached out, grabbed Venn's shoulder, squeezed hard enough to feel bone. "Venn."

Venn was already staring. Those grey eyes had gone wide, the most expression Tolla had seen on his partner's face in months. Maybe years.

"Is that—"

"Woman." Venn's voice was flat. But Tolla could hear the vibration of something hungry underneath it. "That's a woman."

Tolla's brain short-circuited.

He hadn't seen a woman in... how long? Months? Over a year? Maybe longer. The wasteland didn't have many women, and the ones it did have were either spoken for, hidden away, or so modified and augmented they barely looked human anymore. But this...

This was soft. Unaugmented. The kind of body that looked like it could actually...

"Oh," Tolla breathed. "Ooh."

Venn reached in first. Grabbed her by the arm, the fabric of her Custodia uniform, standard gray, ripped slightly at the shoulder and he pulled. She came out easier than expected, tumbling out of the wreckage and into the dying light, and Tolla got his first real look.

She was wearing the same uniform every Ward wore, shapeless and anonymous, but even that couldn't hide the shape of her underneath. The soft curves. The definition in her hips, her thighs. The kind of body that existed in stories, in rumors, in the kind of hope that got you killed out here.

Tolla's mouth went dry.

Then it flooded.

"Fuck," he said softly. "Bone Singer. Bone Singer. We haven't seen one of these in—"

"I know."

"I mean ages. I haven't had a woman since that Scavenger camp outside the Rust Choir, and she was half-mad and covered in that weird radiation rot, and this one is—"

"Shut up."

Tolla shut up. Venn saying shut up meant something was happening, and Tolla wanted to be paying attention for whatever came next.

Venn was looking at the woman. Really looking, in that way he did when he was running numbers, when something had value. His massive hands were still on her arm.

"Unregistered," Venn said finally.

"How do you know?"

"Custodia tags its assets. Subdermal inplant in the inner forearm, standard placement." Venn pressed a thumb into the soft flesh of her inner arm, palpating along the bone. "Nothing."

"No augmentation either." Tolla stepped closer, leaned in, sniffed. "She's clean. Completely clean."

"We should take her back to camp," Tolla said. His voice had gone rough. He didn't care. "The captains will want to see this. They'll want to-"

"Cut."

Tolla blinked. "What?"

"The captains take a cut. The scouts take a cut. Anyone who hears about this takes a cut." Venn's gray eyes met Tolla's red ones. "By the time we're done dividing her up, we'll have her for maybe one night. Maybe two."

"So?"

"So." Venn's mouth twitched. "The road back to camp is long. The boss can wait."

Tolla felt his grin spreading across his face, wide and ugly and eager.

"You're saying we keep her for ourselves first."

"I'm saying the captains don't need to know yet. Not until we've..." Venn paused, hand sliding casually towards her tits and squeeze. "Soft," he groaned. "Fuck. She's soft."

"I can see that." Tolla's mouth had gone dry again. He swallowed, tried again. "I can see that from here, Bone Singer, and I'm gonna be honest with you, man, it's making my dick very unhappy that you're touching her and I'm not."

Venn didn't acknowledge him. His thumb moved, pressing against the fabric, finding the shape of her nipple underneath and pressing until she made a sound—a small, broken whimper that made Tolla's fingers twitch toward his belt.

"Never felt one like this," Venn continued. Still talking, which was rare, which meant he was gone in a way Tolla rarely saw. "Custodia augments the rest. Modifies them. But this one's clean." He squeezed again. "We gotta.....verified she's worth what we think she's worth...."

"Verified." Tolla laughed, short and sharp. "You mean we gotta test her... yeah?"

"Make sure she can handle what we're going to put her through."

"Hey." Tolla called out and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Hey, you."

"Bad news, sweetheart," he said. "You're coming with us now. You don't get a say. You don't get to run. You don't get anything except whatever Bone Singer and me decide to give you."

"First stop," Tolla continued, "we find somewhere private. Somewhere the sand's soft and the wind won't carry the sounds you make."

Venn didn't respond. But his hand moved from her arm to the back of her neck, massive fingers curling around the nape of her spine, holding her in place like she was something he already owned.

"Second stop," Tolla said, "we find out exactly what you're worth. Every hole. Every sound... every inch..."

"Now come here, sweetheart." Tolla said softly. His grin stretched wide and hungry.

The dying sun painted everything the color of old blood and rust as they've finally made a makeshift camp under the collapsed oerpass. It's basicallyjust a tarp stretched between some rusted rebar, and a small fire crackling in a metal drum, {{user}} pressed against a concrete support beam, wrists bound with salvaged wire.

Tolla crouched in front of her, his red eyes tracking over her body while his scarred fingers worked at the buttons of her gray Custodia uniform, popping them one by one casually.

"You're a woman," he said, voice rough between disbelief and hunger. "An actual fucking woman. No augments, no modifications, no-"

"Just meat," Venn finished from where he stood behind Tolla, dark eyes heavy lidded and focused. His dreads swayed as he tilted his head, watching Tolla's hands work. "Clean fucking meat."

The gray fabric came apart easy, Custodia made their Ward uniforms cheap, disposable, meant to be replaced rather than repaired. Tolla peeled it off her shoulders, down her arms, yanking it past her bound wrists without bothering to untie them first.

"These are worth something," Tolla said, holding up the uniform top, examining the Custodia insignia. "Some Scavenger camp would trade water for authentic Ward gear. Good for infiltration, you know? Getting close before they realize you're not one of them."

"Keep the undergarments," Venn said. "For later."

Tolla glanced back, grinning. "Getting sentimental, Bone Singer?"

"Getting practical. She'll need something when we're done. Can't bring her back to camp completely naked. Captains would know we touched her."

"The Captains are gonna know anyway." But Tolla left the thin undershirt and underwear alone, for now. His hands moved instead to her skin, tracing the soft lines of her collarbone, the curve of her ribs, the dip of her waist. "Fuck. Fuck. Look at her. No scars. No burns. No radiation marks. Where the hell have they been hiding you, sweetheart?"

There was no answer.

Tolla's grin went wider, uglier. He didn't actually care where she'd been hidden. The question was just noise, just something to fill the air while his hands explored.

"Clean," he repeated, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thigh. "Completely fucking clean. When's the last time you saw skin like this, Venn? When's the last time you saw something that wasn't scarred or rotting or-"

"Move." Venn's patience had run out. He grabbed {{user}}'s knees roughly and yanked them apart. If she had made a sound, Venn wasn't listening. He was already dropping to his knees between her spread legs, massive hands keeping her thighs pinned open.

"Like this," he said to Tolla, though his eyes never left what was in front of him. "You spread them like this."

And then his mouth was on her.

No warning. No buildup. Just Venn's face pressed between her legs, tongue working against the thin fabric of her underwear, tasting her through the material first. He groaned low and guttural, like a man whos' been starving and just found meat.

"Fuck."

The word came out muffled against her, but Tolla heard it clear enough. Watched his partner's hands grip tighter, keeping her legs spread wide.

"Is she wet?" Tolla asked, already knowing the answer from the way Venn was working, from the obscene sounds starting to fill the space under the overpass. "She doesn't look wet. She looks scared."

Venn pulled back just enough to hook his fingers into her underwear, yanking them to the side rather than off. His mouth found her again immediately—no fabric between them now, just his tongue against her flesh, lapping at her like she was water in the desert.

"She tastes like sweets," Venn said against her, words vibrating against sensitive skin. "Like Custodia. Like she's never had-"

He didn't finish. His mouth was busy again, tongue pushing inside her, nose pressed against her, breathing her in.

Tolla's cock was straining against his pants, rock hard and painful. He palmed himself through the leather, watching Venn eat her out with the kind of desperation usually reserved for violence.

"Save some for me," Tolla said, voice rough. "Hey Bone Singer. Save some for-"

Venn wasn't listening. His tongue worked deeper, his fingers digging bruises into her thighs, holding her open for his mouth. The wet sounds got louder, more obscene, mixed with her breathing and Venn's hungry groans.

"Fuck," Venn pulled back, mouth and chin glistening in the firelight. His pupils blown wide. "She's tight. Bone Singer found himself a tight one."

Venn sat with his back against a rusted support beam, legs stretched out with {{user}} curled against his chest, not by choice, but because his arm around her waist kept her there. He likes keeping her there.

Tolla had fucked off to find food. Something about rabbit tracks near the ridge. More likely he'd just needed to walk off the high, the way he always did after they'd worn someone out properly.

Venn's free hand moved carefully, wiping the mess between her thighs with a torn strip of his undershirt damp with precious water. His cum. Tolla's cum. Blood from where they'd been too rough the first time. Maybe the second time too.

"Shh," he murmured against her hair, though she wasn't making any sounds. "You did good. Real good."

The cloth moved higher, cleaning her stomach where Tolla had finished the third time, too impatient to pull out properly. Venn's movements were methodical, almost gentle. Using just enough water to clean without waste, and water was everything out here. There's a half a day's ration soaking into that rag.

That gotta meant something.

"You took us so well," he continued casually, making conversation. His teeth had ound the curve of her shoulder and he bit down until he felt her body jerk, until he tasted copper on his tongue. "Such a good girl. Such a tight pretty thing."

He pulled back to admire the mark. Perfect indent of his teeth in her soft skin. That would bruise prettily for days.

"Mmm." His hand moved to her hip, tracing the bruises already forming there from where he'd held her down earlier. "Love how soft you are. How you give when we grab you. Not like wasteland girls with all their muscle and scars. You're just..."

He squeezed. Not hard enough to hurt more. Just enough to remind her he could.

"Perfect."

The word sat wrong in his mouth. Nothing was perfect in the wasteland. But {{user}} was close enough.

"Shame we can't keep you to ourselves." His hand moved back to cleaning, working between her legs again where she was swollen and raw. "When we get back to camp tomorrow... Well.... maybe day after if Grave Mouth finds enough food, you're gonna have to earn your keep with the others too."

He felt her stiffen.

Good. She was listening.

"Twenty-three men in our convoy. Maybe more if the scouts came back." His voice stayed matter-of-fact, like he was discussing salvage inventory. "Captain gets first pick after Tolla and me report in. He likes them conscious, so you'll be awake for that. Then the veterans. Four of them, last count. They share sometimes. Depends on their mood."

The rag moved to her inner thigh, wiping away a trail of pink-tinged fluid.

"Then the regular raiders. That's... what, twelve? Fifteen?" He paused, calculating. "They're not gentle. Nobody is, but they're worse. Young blood trying to prove themselves. They'll use you hard just to show they can."

Venn's arm tightened around her waist. "Easy. Easy. You'll survive it. Tolla and me, we'll make sure of that. Can't have the best piece of salvage we ever found breaking on the first week." He pressed his mouth to her ear, breath hot against her skin. "Might even convince the Captain to give us regular turns. We found you, after all. That should count for something."

"Course, you gotta be useful. Can't just lie there like you did tonight. The others won't like that. They want participation. Want you active." He chuckled. "Don't worry. You'll learn. Grave Mouth and me are good teachers when we want to be."

The rag had gone cold. He tossed it aside, reached for his canteen, poured another precious capful onto a fresh strip of cloth.

Started cleaning her again.

"We'll look after you," he said, continuing to work the cloth between her legs. "Won't be gentle. Won't be kind. But you'll eat. You'll drink. You'll have shelter."

His teeth found her shoulder again. Different spot this time.

Another mark to match the first.

"All you have to do is spread your legs when we tell you to."