The Rusty Dagger was quite the place if you wanted booze and gossip. Every scrap of information is circulated from their poisoned lips, as they snake their way from person to person, passing along their venom. This gossip included the arrival of a new individual, who now sat on a dirty bench with even dirtier leather armor, drinking a bottle of beer and humming the tune of ‘I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire’.

Wes took a swig of his vodka, and then handed his five caps to the bartender, who had been eyeing him suspiciously since he entered. He had a reason to.
Wes rose from his seat, and lumbered heavily towards the bathroom, still humming his tune and clutching his beer in hand. He quickly relieved himself, draining everything he’d drunk from the past two days, which a mix of alcohol and water.

“I don’t want to set the woorrrrrld onnnnn firrrrrrrree.” He reached for some toilet tissue and dabbed away at himself, he didn’t want any extra droplets on his underwear. He then took some more tissue, which me began to soak in the vodka. He made sure he had enough tissue for it to surge from the top, and hang over itself. As it was, he brushed the curtains to one side and ducked out of the bathroom into the noisy bar. Two people noticed the bottle in his hand, added the pieces together, and then quietly rushed out before things could get ugly. Wes was still humming his tune. “I just want to staaaaart, a flame in your heaaaarrrt.”

He reached the doorway of which he and all the prospect fleeing costumers would soon be running toward, and then pulled out his lighter.
“In my heart I had but oneeeee deeeeeesiree.” He lit the tissue, the orange flames ate its way up the thin paper and was licking at his fingers. The bartender caught a glimpse of the flickering light, then double took back to it, her eyes widening with recognition and fear as she realized what was going to happen. The bar was still quite loud, and the panic hadn’t yet ensued. She looked back at the wall of alcoholic beverages behind her, and shook her head no.

“Annnnd that one is youuuu,” Wes now said louder so that the whole room could hear him. They all focused on him, then let their eyes fixate on the molotov in his hand. Just as fear swept her face, it emanated and drifted to the faces of everyone else in the house. A sinister smile played on Wes’ face.
“no other will dooooooo.” He said as he then tossed the bottle at the back wall, which erupted into flames, engulfing the bartender. Soon, it would reach past the bar and into the tables, where some would escape but some wouldn’t. They weren’t his problem however. His target had been dealt with. Wes bout faced and left the bar and trodded down to his rusted Harley.

He kicked the jumpstart and it hummed to life. As he revved the engine, the hum became a roar. He shifted into gear and started burning out his back wheel while keeping both feet on the ground, his wheel sputtered out the dirt from beneath it, and then he lifted his feet and let go of the brake. His bike sped of into the darkness.

“I just want to staaaaaarrrrt, a flaame in your heeeeeeaaaart.”

As a prologue I really like it. Don't know much about Wes at this point but I like the way he dealt with the situation. Didn't notice any errors can't wait for the next installment.

Thanks for the comment. I appreciate how quickly you responded to my entry. The prologue was meant to keep anything about west unknown. I'll read your stuff.

Chapter 1

With the heel of his boot Wes drove his kickstand into the dirt, and swung that fame foot around and off the bike. He walked to the door of a small building. Once he entered, he left back out and retrieved his bike. He rolled it into the building and placed it against the back wall, where it couldn’t be seen from the front. He then sat down on at his desk and reached for a pencil and began to mark on the paper on front of him. He looked at the first name on his long list and stroke through ‘Lucinda Birkmire’. It had started.
One down, twelve more to go.

Wes spent the rest of that night repairing his weapon while humming the tune of ‘Anything Goes’. That night he went to sleep satisfied.
When he woke up the next morning he rose from bed, gathered his double-barrel sawed off, his .32 sidearm, and left out on his rusted Harley. The next man on his list was Johnny Hoffman, a local caravan trader. On the current day, Tuesday, Johnny would be somewhere in Danville, likely gambling or drinking at Feral’s, which was an 8 mile journey from here. He twisted the throttle on his bike and rode out into the sunrise.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

He parked his bike next to the bar, and slowly waltzed into the joint, gun in hand. He continued to a seat and placed himself down, looking for both Johnny and a nearby waiter so he could get something to eat. He spotted the waiter first.

“Excuse me, waiter? Get me some instamesh please?” He gave her the caps worthy for the mel and an extra tip with a quite vulgar comment. She hurried off with his order, switching heavily in her apron and heels. While waiting for his food he caught a fly on the table and smashed it, leaving blood and weird colored insides on the table, which she conveniently placed his plate over. He ate in peace, but with haste, hoping to catch Johnny before he left.

When he was done he walked to the back where the jackpot machines were and located Johnny quickly. He was smashing his fist into the glass, swearing any and all curses at the machine like it had just stole his whole payroll, which it did.

“[censored] piece of [censored] machine.” He was kicking it now. “You svck more dike…than a New Vegas [censored]!”

Wes walked up to him, and then stopped a couple feet away, thinking better of it. He pulled out his sawed-off then closed the distance, stopping only when John’s flesh met the barrel of his gun.

“Guess who.” Wes said.

Johnny turned around, bemused expression never leaving his face, even when he noticed the double barrels.

“My, my, Wes, you look good. I see that scar healed up pretty well.” Johnny nodded to the gash by the side of his face that ‘x’ ed across to his eye. It had damaged his pupil, causing him minor glaucoma and discoloration. It was Johnny’s fault, among about twelve others.

“Yes, I have, and you’re looking as deadbeat as ever.” Wes remarked.

The smirk faded from Johnny’s face. He got serious, real serious.

“I know why you’re here, and I know what you want to do to me. Don’t do it.”

“Johnny, now that I’m here I can’t just allow you to walk off. Think of how it’ll make me look. Plus, you deserve these shells.”

Wes noticed the bulge in Johnny’s back pants when he first approached him, so he knew he had to make the talk relatively quick; Johnny always was a fast shot.

“So what if you kill me? You’re telling me you’re gonna roam the wastes searching for the rest of us? That was three years ago Wes. Six years it’s been. Half of us are probably dead already.”

“Makes my job easier.” He cocked his hammers. He was done here.

“Look,” John said as a last resort. He was now bordering desperation. “If it’s any consolidation to you--“

The shot echoed through the building, and the crowds gasped as blood sprayed from Johnny’s head into the very jackpot machine he wanted to destroy. He fell limply to the ground.

Johnny walked out the door of that bar singing to himself

"When grandmama whose age is eighty, in nightclubs is getting matey with gigalos, anything goes."

so far so good! i enjoy the mystery around wes and how his past is only being revealed little be little. great use of dialog as well instead of just telling us what happen. def looking forward to more

Chapter 2

Wes was at his third location by noon. This one was a different setting from the first two. Wes had parked himself on a plateau not too far from the location, which was mostly small buildings that connected by wooden planks on the roof.

?From where Wes was, he couldn’t see to good, but he was able to count two guard dogs, both laying on the floor sleeping, leashes held by two more fat men sitting in broken lawn chairs. It was a miracle the chairs even supported their weight. Wes also noticed the three snipers above, patrolling the roofs. He also made a mental note of their pattern, which was a clockwise square around the perimeter, stoping t every corner for exactly five seconds.

Wes whistled to himself, impressed with the organized gloss and professionalism of the project. It seemed George Wallace had made a name for himself, no doubt in the arms dealing business. Wes then lifted of the seat he was leaning on, then sat on it, flipping up the kickstand and pulling off in the direction the plateau had risen.He wanted to go down the steep in, but it wasn’t that kind of bike. He was fortunate to even have it in working condition.

After a quick minute, he pulled up the the two men, stopping his engine, but not before the noise woke the guard dogs. The lurched and lunged angrily at him, probably upset that he woke them. If the noise wasn’t enough to wake the two giants, then the barking and tugging was. One of the dogs tugged viciously at Wes, loosening the slack on bis collar, and edging him that much closer to Wes. The rope slid out of the man’s greasy hands and Wes pulled out his sawed-off and aimed it dead at the dog, who was now only a few feet from him.

?It lunged.

“Woah, Dixie!” Cried the alerted and somewhat stunned man, who rose from his chair quicker than his excess should have let him. His hand finally tightened on the rope, and the dog was snatched back in mid-lunge to the floor, where it fought to its feet, still snarling at Wes. The other dog, thankfully remained grisly, but still.

“I’m here to buy goods.” Wes said.

“Well, what do you want.” The second fat man spoke up for the first time, chewing on something that surely wasn’t good for his health.

“Sniper rifle, Barrett .50 cal, forty rounds, and two grenades.” Wes replied.

“Ammo’s through this door, weapons to the far right, and explosives next to this one.”

“What about the fourth place?”

“Bosses place. You wanna talk to the boss?”

“Pass.”

“That’ll be one-twenty.” Wes counted out the man’s caps and then walked to them. Both dogs began to bark noisily, red stained canines baring. Wes held out his sack to both men, who just stared at him expectantly. He then gave up and tossed the sack to the dirt between the two.

After he collected his equipment, satisfied with his bargain, he then walked halfway up the stairs to the roof and called out to the guard.

“Howdie, can you help me out with the Hunting Rifles?”

The guard stopped, turned, then waited, seemingly hesitating before he walked to Wes, where he was then grabbed and slammed skull first into the hard brick. Wes didn;t release his grip on his man, and laid him down on the steps quietly. He had roughly six seconds before the other guard noticed his absence.

Out came his new rifle as he zeroed in on the guards head, then let loose. The result was a bloody collapsed over the side of the building, slamming hard against the ground. Now people were aware that a shot had rung out, but they didn;t know it wasn’t from one of theirs. A fat man called out to the sky:

“Ray, Claude, Henry, which one of y’all shot somethin’? Cause I ain’t see a damn thing since we came out here.”

No reply. Wes was busy reaching for his grenade, which he planned to throw at the explosives depot, killing the third guard rather quickly. Unfortunately, the fan man had rose and was ambling over to the building Wes was on. Soon he would spot him, and even worse, the body. Wes released the pin, pulled his arm back, like he’d been taught so many years ago, held his breath, and threw, aiming for the narrow door way. The grenade bounced once, twice, and rolled inside.?
“Hey,” Came the voice of the fat man at the bottom of the stairs. Wes covered his ears, than the explosion ensued. It knocked the fan man on his back, and Wes had to clutch the walls to keep from falling. The ground shook, and walls began to crumble. Wes jumped on the startled man, mushing his face together with shotgun pellets, rendering him meat-ground and useless.

At that point, there was only one real target left, George Wallace.



Wes paced forwards to the last building, where he could hear belayed attempts for order in their small chaotic facility. “If you excuse an expression I use,” He said as he pulled out his second grenade and commenced it for go-time. “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love,” He kicked open the door to about seven men scattered throughout the first floor, one of them being George. They caught eyes, and the expression on Georges terrified face played on Wes’ own. Wes was smiling.

Revenge was sweet. The grenade was ready. “With a wonderful guy.”

BOOM

Next chapter dis weekend WOOT!

I like it.

Alright, between academic programs, sports, little brothers, more little brothers, work, actual work, chill time, and reading, I found the time to finally redo this chapter (the first try never saved).

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We had made it to the base.

I was in front. I was leading, as always. Behind me was my team, as always. I'd been on a lot of missions, done a lot of things to a lot of people, but none of them had this much magnitude. This wasn't just our run of the mill mission.

This became a death tra

I wasn't BoS, I was more than that. I was a killing machine, trained by men of honor. Immaculately trained to perfection in demolitions, weapons, and hand-to-hand combat. Equipped with standard issue weapons that ranged anywhere from claymores, to mini-guns, anyone who met me was [censored].

The best of the best. Missions all around the world, dismantling the most dangerous of masterminds. With the help of my brother, my friend, Agustus Autumn. After all the missions, all the bloodshed, he had earned my trust. What I hadn't known was that on our last mission, the trip to Battrum, he'd snapped. Gone renegade. Gone evil.

Me and him, we were leading a team of rookies out into a secret sector out in the Mojave. We made it to section 4, the control room and the center of the base itsself. I placed the charges; two cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine (RDX) charges combined with a sh*t-load of diazodinitrophenol (DDNP) cases just to make sure nothing was left alive. They were all set to blow when the butt of someone's rifle had smashed against the back of my skull. It wasn't enough to knock me out cold, but it had messed him up pretty bad.

Blood was seeping through my dark brown hair, I could barely see due to head trauma, but from what I could make out, the rest of my team had brokn into two divisions, the dead and the betrayers. The worst part of it was watching the calm and acceptance in their eyes, as their outstretched hands reached for me, their leader. Reaching for shattered hope as their arms fell limp and their eyes glazed over, lifeless.

I looked up into the eyes of my renegade colleagues as they shot out my kneecaps and left me for dead. The last thing he heard before they left me with the carcasses of me own men was this.

Augustus Autumn had walked up to me, grinning maliciously and said:

"Looks like the Just One, just lost one."

I looked up at him, eyes hard as steel.

"Mark my gotdamn words you pansie [censored], I'll hunt you down. I'LL HUNT YOU ALL DOWN!"

Bu my words fell on silence. They'd left me, the charges were counting down from fifteen. For once in my life, I doubted my mortality. It was scary.

9, 8, 7, 6....

Death was imminent, but I wasn't dying here. Not now. Not before I made him beg for his life.

5, 4, 3, 2....

I will kill Augustus Autumn

There was an explosion, then nothing.

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I know it svcks, but I needed to post this before it died.

I like this. Alot of stories i read in fan-fic lose my interest fairly quickly aside from a few. This is one of the few. Keep it up i can't wait for more.

Why thank you my good sir. I'm thinking about adding another installment while I have my momentum going.

Seriously people, your comments, and even your views mean alot to me. I've posted on the stories of 90-95% of the people here, and what do I get in return. Nothing. All I ask is that you return the gratitude you were rightfully given.

Sorry that I don't comment more but I'm not a good critic. I must say your story has engrossed me and your writing aside from a few grammatical errors is very good. I like your writing a lot better than my own. As for the story it reminds me of the movie Kill Bill and it works very well in the fallout setting. I like your other FF Mad World but I hope you choose to stick with this one.

PS: Can you check out my new chapter and give me your thoughts I think your an excellent critic.

Some people find it hard to comment, some people may be shy, others may feel like their words are meaningless. I also try to comment on as many stories as possible, I expect nothing in return. Nothing. I comment on stories because I like writing and I want to help people improve. I sometimes try to write a fanfic, it doesn't always get comments on it, nobody how many I give to other people. And I'm down with it, as much as we want it to be, life isn't always you give something and get something of equal value back, sometimes you get nothing and it svcks. All I'm saying is that you can't always expect to be given back what you gave, and if you aren't, just keep going. I for one, I'm confused on whether or not your going with MadWorld or this.

I really like this, yeah few errors but nothing that can't be found by re reading. It's great and I like the intro. A lot. Umm..Keep going!

I never really know what to critique unless there are definite flaws.

I mean if you were typing up massive blocks of texts with abundant grammar errors that'd be one thing.

In fact I just scanned through your last post hoping to find something to critique but failed to find anything at first glance. I think any "errors" I found would largely just be a matter of me preferring something over what you have put.

Ah ha! You wrote

"This became a death tra"

should have been

"This became a death trap"

I am the most helpful critique-r ever! All praise be unto me and surely thou shalt do so for behold how great I am. My greatness is abundant indeed. INDEED!

Thanks for showing that you are reading and enjoying, I felt as though my posts were being somewhat neglected.

I don't quite give to expect something to be given back, but I do believe in a balance, and also the simple fact of communities helping each other, like this one. I still do need critique and appreciation like every human being. That's all.

I'm working on the next chapter, please just try and critique, cause I need it as well as everyone else.

@Yttruim, I figured I could run both stories seming as EnclaveRulez seems to be doing the same thing.

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Wes opened his eyes, gasping as he recollected himself, becoming more aware that he was longer dreaming, exiting his subconscious as it were. He sat up from bed and ran his hand down his face, skimming over the scar that he’d received from the shrapnel that lodged its self in his face during the blast. His eye had never fully recovered, since he never received medication, and although he could still see through it, it was now discolored and disfigured and graying. A token of their disrespect, and a scar that would never let him forget.

There was no shower in his shack, so he slept in armor, not like it mattered. He probably wouldn’t live past the week anyway. He collected his new effects, the Barrett .50 caliber and a few rounds with his .32, which could easily and neatly fit onto his belt strap. And a grenade for good measure.

Out came his dusty harley, and he pulled off in the direction of the horizon. About five or so minutes into his journey, he of course came upon a setback. There were some contemporary highwaymen up the road about fifty miles out. Wes could see that much with his good eye, but they couldn’t see him. No thanks to all the Jet and Psycho.

He unmounted and swung his sniper into his hands. There were only three of ‘em, and chances were the first two would go down before the third one finally put two and two together. All in all it would take Wes less than a clip to dispatch of them on a bad day. He held the scope to his good eye and looked through the reticle, waited until he pinpointed the raider’s oily head, then let one off. Through the scope he could see the blood spurt out as the raider reeled forward to the ground. The other two followed suit, and then he mounted and rode off past the bodies, not bothering to check their dingy hides for useless drugs.Although a little jump would be nice...

The next target Wes actually stumbled upon by mistake. He noticed a cave entrance out not too far from the main road.

Just like Rat, Wes thought, cower underground where the darkness serves as his alibi. Coward b*tch.

So, Wes decided it would be wise to check it out, on the innuendo from what he’d already known about Rat, plus a few tips here and there.

He parked his bike at the entrance, after hesitating about leaving it in the open, then getting an idea. He tied his bomb to some surgical tubing and had it suspended over the handle, that way anyone who gripped and twisted would also pop the pin off the frag, sending both them and the bike to oblivion.

At least that way they died trying.

Lastly, before he entered, he sheltered his sniper inside one of the side rucksacks and collected his shotgun from the other one. He wouldn’t be needing his sniper anymore.

The cave itsself was of course dark and dingy and besides the occasional dripping of stalactites and Wes’ humming, there was no noise.

“I’m tickled piiiink, that things are roossy. And skies are bluuuue, once agaain.” Wes sung softly, his voice barely traveling past his lips. Ahead was a fairly thin pathway pleasantly decorated with lamplights hung upon the occasional skeleton and a sign saying “[censored] OFF” in red spray-paint, followed shrotly and ironically by another sign saying “DONT COME HERE”, then by a last one about sixty meters in saying “PLEASE LEAVE”.

Sounds just like him. I'm surprised to even see bodies in here, as solitary as he was.

Wes often wondered why he even betrayed him. Then again, cowards are the most unpredictable.

Soon he heard a noise, a soft rattling, coming from around the next bend. He figured he wasn’t deep enough to be at Rat’s air yet, and there was no ominous glow that he could spot. He rounded the corner to face a radroach, which he simply squashed with his boots. It twitched noisily, flapping its wings about and flipping wildly until finally it stopped. Wes exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding. He hated bugs.

Eventually, he heard another sound, this one more contemporary. It sounded more like rummaging, like someone was looking for something. Soon Rat would be looking for his weapon once he saw Wes. Chances were, no, Wes was sure Rat wasn’t expecting him. Shotgun out and ready, he approached the next corner completely confident that his weapons prowess would easily decimate Rat’s clumsy aim, but Rat was a clever bastard.

Without thinking, Wes activated the tripwire on the ground below him, which then caused the trigger on the rigged shotgun to be forcibly pulled, sending him into the wall behind him. Even though Wes was armored, he still felt the pellets, and they stung like hell. A few of him had penetrated skin too. He could tell by the dark glisten of red on his chest plate.

Rat, who had in fact been rummaging for something, jumped at the sudden gunfire, almost fell himself. Once he’d realized what happened, his fearful face contorted into something unplaceable. It was either a grin or a grimace, but he was missing too many teeth. He wasted no time grabbing his nearby scoped .44 and closing the gap between them, but he didn’t notice the gin in Wes’ hand. Wes raised his arm, tried to steady, and fired. Miss. At this Rat jumped yet again, this time squealing in repressed terror.

Tension was rising now. Wes still hadn’t gotten up and blood was now pouring out of his wounds. He was getting somewhat dizzy, and Rat was aiming at him. Rat fired. The bullet pierced his chest, easily driving through the leather armor. Wes stifled a scream, eyes bulging. Then something happened that Wes didn’t expect. Rat lowered his weapon.

“Now that you’re down, I don’t have to kill you.” He heaved a sigh that sounded like relief, but Wes wasn’t sure if he was just tired. Rat looked at him, his face drained. “Boy, you’re one tough nugget.” He chuckled, revealing the gaps in his smile.

It was at that time, that Wes passed out.

What do you guys think? Feedback please.

I really like it, but what year/copy type of writing thing are you using? (Word, Publisher, Etc.) Because grammatical mistakes such as ("exiting his subconscious as it were" -was ) should be auto-corrected, or at least red-underlined by Microsoft Word.

I have 2010 Microsoft Word and Pages produced by mac (with word processing). All apps are recent and accessible, but I usually type directly from the reply box, or use pages which had limited auto-correct.

type it in word or whatever, it'll kill almost all grammtical errors. Then copy/paste it into the reply box. Also allows you to surf the web slightly faster. If you can remember the HTML coding used for italicising and stuff, even better.

GO EAGLES!!!!!!

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Wes opened his eyes sleepily. His vision was slightly skewed, as were all of his senses. As he became more aware, he realized that his arms and legs were rope-bound at the ankles and wrists. When somebody finds themselves strapped down, they usually begin to panic. This Wes knew, which is why he kept himself calm, as well as the fact that he wasn't feeling pain, or anything really. As he looked around he noticed that he was still in the same place, or at least not too far from there. In fact, Rat wasn't too far from him, as he heard the same familiar rummaging as before. He also saw in front of him his weapons and upper armor (he still had pants on). Rat quickly noticed the sense of another conscious individual and turned to face Wes, his face unreadable.

"Had to give you some Med-X and stimpacks. You've been out only for about an hour."

Wes kept silent. Rat walked towards him and untied his legs bondages. He was about to go untie the wrist rope but then stopped, looking at Wes intently, solemnly.

"I never wanted to kill you." He dropped his head and paused. After a while he looked back up at Wes in his eyes, something he couldn't have done ten years ago. Wes could see the honesty in his aged eyes.

"I never wanted any part of it. Autumn offered cash, and I still refused. Then he put a gun to my head. He needed me to orchestrate it all. I tweaked the bombs to detonate twenty seconds after initiation."

Another pause. Wes stared at Rat for a second.

"Louis, I forgive you."

At the sound of his name, his real name, Rat looked up, slightly startled. He never knew Wes knew his name, but then again what captain wouldn't?

"How can I be sure you won't just grab that shotgun and shoot me anyway?"

"You can't be, but that's what trust it. I've trusted you before, and you gave me this." Wes didn't need to gesture to the scar on his face for Louis to know what he was talking about.

"Your turn." Wes let his head rest against the dirty wooden table. Soon after he felt his arms being maneuvered and loosened until they were completely free. He sat up gripping his wrists, trying to rub the pain away. Then he turned and got up facing Louis, and shook his hand.

"Thank you, Louis." Wes said as he reached for his effects.

"Oh, man I'm just glad you call it square." Louis was obviously still nervous, although he was trying to keep his composure. Wes saw it too, and chuckled to himself. He was fully armored now, and going for his shotgun.

"Wait!" Louis reached for Wes' arm, and he grabbed it with his empty hand and twisted clockwise and down, then he dipped under the arm and kicked his left kneecap inward and to the right, which buckled him (the knee didn't -- and couldn't break because it was bent, which Wes noticed). Lastly, he cupped his enclosed hand and hammerfisted Louis' face, knocking him down, but not unconscious. The whole time it was happening Louis had been screaming, and now he was sobbing softly.

Wes grabbed the pistol and aimed it at Louis.

"I told you I'd kill you Rat." Rat was now trying to crawl away, still yelling and cursing, while Wes remained still.

"I also told you I forgive you." Wes dropped the aim, and walked past the man and out into the world again. In front of him was a raider trying to figure out how to work the cycle. Without hesitation, he fired his pistol off, blowing a hole in the raider's temple. He fell off the bike and onto a rock for good measure.

"The roads are the dustiest, the winds are the gustiest, the gates are the rustiest, the pies are the crustiest. The suns the lustiest, the friends the trustiest wayyyyyyy back hooome."

He rode off into the sunset.
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GO EAGLES!!!!!!

As to the last tow chapters I'm really getting into the story. At first it kind of bothered me how Wes was jumping from location to location hunting down his list of targets. I also liked the fact he spared Rat it made Wes seem more human to me. Looking forward to the next installment. Also by the way I got chapter 2 up take a look if you get some time.

Sorry for such a late response...

Anyway, all seems good. I have one minor problem, minor.



I would change that to:

When somebody finds themselves strapped down...

The him/herself kinda of threw me out of the story.

Anyway, good chapter, good story. Keep it up.