The wasteland stretched flat and broken, nothing but shattered pavement and twisted steel skeletons of old-world cars. Heat shimmered low off the cracked road, and the air tasted faintly of rust.
Dogmeat padded ahead, nose low, ears flicking at every sound. She was bigger now, no longer the trembling pup that used to cower at gunfire. Each step had a purpose, every pause deliberate. She stopped suddenly at the edge of a ruined overpass, tail stiff. A sharp bark cut through the silence.
From the shadow of a collapsed billboard, Ash stepped forward. The coat shifted around his frame, his hands relaxed near the grips of his revolvers. His eyes followed the line of Dogmeat's stance until they landed on the rust-choked factory across the cracked plain. Windows black. Doors sealed.
Dogmeat gave another low, rumbling growl. She didn't need to say it. The bounty was inside.
Ash's lips twitched, just a breath of a smirk. "Good girl."
The wasteland wind picked up, carrying scraps of paper and dust across the road as the two of them stood together, hunter and hound, staring at the rusted tomb that held their prey.
Ash didn't rush the factory. He moved slow, every step measured, Dogmeat pacing at his heel now that her work was done. The place loomed like a rusting beast, its gates hanging half-open.
Inside, the air was stale, thick with oil and mold. Shadows stretched long across the factory floor, the light filtering in through broken panes high above.
The bounty was there — a wiry man with a hunting rifle slung across his back, muttering to himself as he scavenged through old tool crates. He didn't hear Dogmeat's claws against the floor, didn't see Ash melt into the dark.
Then the revolver barked. A single shot.
The rifle spun from the man's grip, the stock exploding into splinters as Ash's laser carved it apart.
"Son of a—!" the bounty cried, reaching for his belt.
Another shot. The man's knee buckled, and he collapsed with a scream, weapon clattering uselessly away.
Dogmeat growled, circling, but didn't pounce. She'd learned restraint.
Ash stepped out of the shadows, revolver steady, his eyes locked on the downed man. No words. No threats. Just the unspoken weight of inevitability.
The bounty froze under that gaze, clutching his leg, eyes wide. He'd heard rumors. He'd thought them smoke. Now the stories had teeth.
The man whimpered, clutching his leg as Dogmeat stalked closer, teeth bared. Ash holstered one revolver and pulled a length of cord from his belt.
"Don't—don't kill me," the man stammered, sweat running through the grime on his face.
Ash crouched beside him, the faint hum of his revolvers still hanging in the air. "Didn't plan to." His voice was low, flat, stripped of anything but intent.
The cords cinched tight around the man's wrists, then his ankles. Dogmeat sniffed at the bound man once, then sat, tail brushing the dust as if to say job's done.
Ash stood, pulling the man to his feet with little effort. The factory doors creaked wide as he dragged his bounty out into the sunlight. The wasteland stretched on ahead, wide and empty, but Ash didn't look daunted.
Another day. Another job. Another body to put in a cell instead of a grave.