Special Disclaimer: Several lines of this chapter were paraphrased or transcribed from the Buffy Season 2 episode "Inca Mummy Girl."

Note: Due to events that will become clear then, the "Council Screwup Count" will be missing for this chapter and appear in the next.

Chapter 12: Fallout: New Vegas.

Willow awoke to the smell of cooking bacon. This wasn't exactly the way she normally awoke, so her eyes cracked open rather reluctantly to the sight of the upholstery on the Summers' living room couch.

Lifting her head and wincing at the stinging sensation lancing down her neck due to the awkward position she had been in, she groaned softly and looked around. She had apparently fallen asleep against the arm of the couch with her neck bent at an absurd angle. Across the couch from her was Xander, looking rather comfortable as he used Angel's lap as a pillow. For his part, the vampire was looking much less comfortable, and emitting smoke. Abruptly, Xander found himself falling to the floor, as Angel shot across the room and away from the sunbeam that had just caught him.

"Mm," she heard Buffy mumble from where she was sleeping on the floor. "Breakfast smells good, Mom."

There were footsteps on the stairs before Joyce responded, "Oh, I see you started breakfast without me." As she walked into the room and looked around she paused before asking, "So, if you're all here, who's cooking the bacon?"

"We have bacon?" came Xander's voice as he pulled himself from the floor, rubbing his head where he'd cracked it against the side of the coffee table. "I like bacon."

"That's not bacon," Ranko grumbled from the armchair across the room. "That's the smell of burning human flesh." Hoisting herself up, the girl said, "Let me go get some real food started." She stretched impressively, causing Willow a bit of envy over the other girl's figure, before heading into the kitchen. "Does anyone have any requests?"

"I could've used a camera," Willow pouted.

"I hate sunlight," Angel grumbled as he shook his still lightly smoking arm.


Ryoga was lost. This was, of course, his usual state of affairs. Slightly less usual was what he was hearing from the other side of the wall he was leaning on.

"I beg you, do not kill me, I was innocent," a slightly muffled female voice said.

"The people you kill now so that you may live, they are innocent," a man replied.

"I have killed no one!" the girl objected, vehemently.

"You are the chosen one," the man insisted, appearing to completely ignore what she had said. "You must die. You have no choice."

Understandably, Ryoga took exception to this and smashed his way through the wall, just in time to block a blow from a large knife. "I won't let you hurt her!" he shouted, as he stepped between the girl and the obvious madman.

"Step aside," the man demanded. "You do not understand."

"I understand plenty!" Ryoga insisted. "You're about to kill an innocent girl!"

"She is hardly innocent," the man growled, brandishing his knife in an attempt to drive Ryoga back. "And even if she were, she must die. It is her destiny."

"I don't think so," the fanged youth growled right back, stepping into the man's reach and sweeping his arm to the side, deflecting the knife away. His other arm came up and he punched the man in the chest, knocking him back several feet. The man slumped to the floor and was still.

"Did you kill him?" the girl asked, grasping onto Ryoga's shoulder.

"I don't think so," Ryoga replied, stepping forward and leaning down to check on the man. After a moment, he sighed in relief. "Good, he's just knocked out. He should be out for a while by the looks of it. So, why was he trying to kill you?"

"I do not know," the girl insisted. "But thank you, my brave protector." Swinging around Ryoga's arm to face him, she added, "Let me reward your bravery," and pulled him into a kiss. Ryoga passed out.


A man sat at a small, steel desk, tapping a ballpoint pen against the cover of a black leather notebook. "So, you expect me to believe that these," he gestured in front of him at two maces, a Chinese broadsword, and the largest spatula he'd ever seen, "are all ceremonial or religious devices."

"My spatula is actually a cooking implement," a brown haired girl who was sitting across the table from him chipped in helpfully.

Next to her, a gnarled old woman clutching a staff nodded. "My great-granddaughter misunderstood when you asked about weapons," she responded, glaring at the purple haired girl to her left.

Said girl winced, staring fixedly at the table top. "Shampoo only do what they say, like great-grandmother ask."

The man shook his head, and then took out a small cloth, holding it next to the spatula's blade, and then pulling it towards himself. He raised an eyebrow when the sharp steel cut it in half. "You really should have checked these," he noted, evenly.

"Spatula girl say it cost too, too much money," the purple haired girl responded, before the wrinkled old woman snarled, whacking her on the back of the head with her staff.

The man sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Walking stick, hmm?" he asked, gesturing for the old woman to add her weapon to his collection. She opened her mouth to object, but then sighed again, obliging.


"Man, I've got to take a leak," Larry Blaisdell grumbled as he hurried to the bathroom. He would have made it out of class sooner, but he had had the rotten luck of having one of the few teachers who refused to let the sports teams have any of the perks they deserved. He failed to see how any knowledge of computers would help him play football. Making his way to one of the urinals, he sighed in relief.

As he washed his hands a moment later, Larry looked in the mirror and noticed something distinctly out of the ordinary. There was a rather large hole in the usually solid wall behind him. He quickly dried his hands and walked over to it. Looking through, he saw the girl's bathroom. With a goofy grin, he stepped through and looked around.

"Huh, so that's what it looks like in here," he commented to himself. "I don't see what's so special about it." With a shrug, he turned around, intent on leaving through the boy's restroom. As he turned, however, he saw something that gave him pause. "Hey, man, what are you doing in here?" he asked, walking over to the strange man lying on the floor. "And where did you get a get-up like that?" he added, eying the light cotton v-neck he was wearing.

Larry gave the man's shoulder a good shake. When that failed to produce a response, he sighed and said, "Well, there goes lunch period. Come on, let's get you to the nurse." As the jock hoisted the other up, the man groaned and began to stir. "You okay, there?" he asked.

"She got away," the man grunted, shrugging off Larry's grip and heaving himself towards the door.

"You should really go and see a nurse or something," Larry insisted. The man didn't respond and just made his way out of the room. "Whatever," the jock shrugged as he turned and headed back through the hole.


"What exactly... is this?" Willow asked, poking tentatively at a reddish looking lump in the middle of her lunch tray and wishing that she hadn't been too embarrassed to ask Mrs. Summers if she could make a sandwich to take in.

"One of the great mysteries of human civilization," Xander replied, taking a forkful of his own, similar meal.

Tilting her head to the side, Ranko nodded. "Near as I can figure, it's not rat, cow, pig, dog, snake or monkey."

Xander shook his head. "Why did I think finding out you were born a guy would be the weirdest thing about you?"

"Sheltered, I guess," Buffy cut in, sitting down with her own tray.

"Could ya not say that so loud?" the pigtailed redhead grumbled. "I already get awkward enough questions navigating the girls' locker room with my eyes closed."

"You what?!" Xander asked, bolting from his seat, only to get odd looks from the other three. "Well, come on, you have to admit any red blooded guy would be really tempted to take advantage of that sort of thing."

"Xander!" Willow yelped, shocked, only to have her eyes widen as Buffy nodded.

"Gotta admit, he's got a point, Will," the bottle blonde agreed.

"Buffy!" Willow was now horrified, looking down and reluctantly taking a spoonful of the meat-like-product before her as a cover.

"Come on, you wouldn't ever sneak in to see all the guys naked if you could?" The summers girl smirked, observing the blush, and then noticing that Ranko was staring at the ceiling, muttering something in Japanese under her breath. "What was that?"

"She said she's surrounded by perverts," Willow translated. "I've got to agree with her."

"You were right, Xander," Buffy said, looking over at the brown haired boy. "Ranko and Will are so alike, she probably is her Prince Charming."

The boy blinked for a minute, "Um, which one?" he asked, cluelessly.

"Har har," Ranko grumbled. "Heard all these jokes before, ya know."

Willow, for her part, simply hunched even more closely over her food, which was a bit of a mistake, since her nose was now mere inches from the concoction, and its smell. "I hate you all."

"I don't really have to worry about you, you're not the one who has permission to throw rocks at me," Buffy said, cheerfully.

"Got something else to do after school, actually," Ranko replied. "I don't want ya to go soft, though; maybe having Willow chuck some rocks at you could help."

"Gee, thanks," Buffy grumbled, before deciding that a change of subject was in order, preferably one that would make Willow less irritated. "So, what do you guys think about that dance next week?"

"Well, that wasn't obvious or anything," Xander replied, shaking his head.

"What dance?" Ranko asked, confused as usual.

"Are you still sleeping through geography?" Willow asked, sounding somewhat annoyed. "For the exchange week we're having next week, there's going to be a costume dance with a multicultural theme."

"We've got exchange students coming?" The Japanese redhead shook her head. "How out of it was I last week?"

"Uuuuuugh, brains..." Xander replied, raising his hands in the traditional grasping motion of the shambling dead.

"Please, no more zombie references," Buffy cut in. "Let's not tempt fate... again."

Ranko shrugged. "I guess I'll just wear my yukata."

"Aw, it's supposed to be exploring FOREIGN cultures," Willow said, stressing the word. "It'll be more fun if you pick something from someplace other than Japan."

"Like what?" Ranko asked, dubiously.

"Well, I'm going as an Eskimo," the American redhead offered, cheerfully.

"Huh," Ranko said, considering. "I'll think about it."

"Well," Buffy cut in, "If you're not using the yukata, whatever that is, can I take it?"


Shampoo walked next to her great-grandmother. "Shampoo wish stupid Mousse were here," she grumbled, dragging a rather heavy bag that contained the elder's gear along with her own.

"Even if he were, you would still be carrying my things," Cologne responded. "Honestly, I had you take your weapons through in a hidden weapons pocket for a reason, you know."

"But you said..." the younger Amazon started, only to get a glare from her elder.

"I was trying to tell you not to start any fights, and to use common sense, girl," she rebuked, and then winced. She was suddenly even more unsure than usual about the thought of her legacy passing on to Shampoo when she died.

"Um, this is nice and all, but what are we going to do about Ran-chan?" Ukyo asked, interrupting before Shampoo could speak again.

"For the moment, I wasn't able to find any obvious traces of his presence," Cologne replied. "You two can start searching this town, and I will keep an eye on the news."

"Why're you so sure he's going to show up in the news?" the okonomiyaki chef asked, curiously. When Cologne gave her an incredulous look, she sighed. "Right, it's Ranma. Maybe we should check the weather for spontaneous showers and tornadoes?"

Cologne nodded thoughtfully. "That could work," she commented, wondering if perhaps she could adopt the Kuonji girl.

As the doors to the thoroughfare in front of the airport slid shut behind the three, Shampoo asked, "Where is stupid Mousse?" Cologne just cackled.


"Oh, you are awake," Ryoga heard a soft, rather musical voice speaking in English as he cracked open his eyes, immediately catching sight of a rather pretty girl looking down at him. "Thank you again for saving me," she continued, smiling.

"I-it was nothing," the lost boy replied, rubbing the back of his head and trying to recall exactly what he'd saved her from. Looking around at the contents of the broom closet they were in, with his pack and umbrella piled to the side, he asked, "Um, where are we?"

"I believe we are in a supply closet in the Sunnydale High School," the girl answered. "If I may ask, what is the name of my brave protector?"

"Oh, um, I'm Ryoga Hibiki," he said, blushing slightly under the girl's attention, though at least now the events of a few hours before were coming back to him. "And, um, what should I call you?"

"I was once called Chasca," the girl replied. "That should be sufficient for now."

Stretching a bit to get some of the stiff feeling out of his limbs, Ryoga asked, "Why was that guy with the knife after you anyways?"

"I would prefer to not talk about it," Chasca shifted uncomfortably. Looking into the boy's eyes, she asked, "May I travel with you? I do not think he would attack me again if you were near."

"Sure, I guess I could do that," Ryoga hedged. It at least made some sense to him, as he certainly didn't want the madman coming after her again, but he could see a few problems. "But I do a lot of camping. You might not like it."

"I am used to, how do you say, roughing it?" the girl replied. "My village was not as advanced as what I have seen recently. I should be fine." After a moment, she added, "Thank you for your concern." Leaning over, she gave Ryoga a kiss on the cheek, nearly causing him to faint.

His head spun, both from the show of affection and the fact that he'd just found himself gaining a new traveling companion. He sort of hoped the girl wasn't inclined to be so affectionate all of the time, as traveling with her would likely be difficult to get used to even if he wasn't constantly at risk of terminal embarrassment.

Thinking of something, he brightened. "I don't suppose you know how to get back to Tokyo, do you?"


Giles winced as he stepped backwards, almost losing` his balance on the small wheeled ladder. Grasping the lip of the shelf in front of his face to steady himself, he glared at the encyclopedias whose spines he was staring at, willing them to straighten themselves out.

Deciding yet again that he wasn't likely to suddenly gain telekinetic power over paper, he carefully reached up, removing one of the bulky volumes and sliding several others over so that he could put it back into place. Reaching out for another misplaced volume, he was surprised by a voice suddenly intruding into his piece and quiet. "Giles, you here?"

His startled jump managed to send him, and the book he was holding, free of the ladder, hitting the ground feet first with a bone jarring impact. "Hey, nice jump." He turned, noting Buffy leaning against the shelf nearby.

"Yes, I, um, meant to do that," the Brit muttered, reaching up to adjust his glasses, where the jolt had knocked them slightly askew. The room fell into an awkward silence for a moment, as the Watcher wasn't sure what to say. Though he'd seen his Slayer twice since she'd barged into his apartment on Sunday, deliberately provoking his hangover, he hadn't really been able to get a real idea of her mental state either time.

"I wonder if I should start off by saying I'm disappointed in you," Buffy began, and then in a quite deliberate move, she reached up to adjust non-existent glasses. "A Slayer has to be able to trust her Watcher, or the relationship between them breaks down."

"Was that supposed to be... a British accent?" the Watcher asked, before catching himself.

"Hmm, yes, indubitably," Buffy replied, managing to stay completely deadpan for a moment before letting out a small grin. "You know, I've always wanted to do that."

Giles paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Of course, after attempting that, and opening and closing his mouth several times, he just blurted, "Buffy, I know that what you heard about the Cruciamentum was a shock, and I don't expect you to fully trust me again, but I was only trying to keep you safe and..."

"Giles, I get it, all right?" Buffy interrupted. "I heard most of your explanation to Mom yesterday, remember?" The man winced, not wanting to recall that conversation terribly much. "Still," the Slayer's attitude turned serious in an instant, "If I ever hear you say 'I kept it from you for your own good,' or anything similar in the future, I'm burning your books."

The librarian winced, wondering if the girl realized exactly how serious that threat was. Actually, he was pretty sure she did. "I understand," he nodded.

"Great! So how about we do a bit of hand to hand work before I go home?" Buffy asked, sounding unusually cheerful.

"I thought you were usually training with Ranko now?" Giles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well she had some other things to do, and she asked Willow to help instead..." the blonde winced. "She looked way too happy to be carrying that bag of rocks."

"I... see," Giles replied, confused.


Aura huffed, forcing her arms to push her up into position again, despite the weight on her back. "So, what does this have to do with defending myself against Vampires?" she asked, throwing an irritable look at the redhead who sat beside her in the empty classroom, casually reading a math book.

"Trying to see how much you can take before passing out," Ranko replied, matter-of-factly, as she set the book down and began jotting something on a sheet of paper. "And that's the math done."

The dark skinned girl winced as her tormentor picked up the math text again, flipping it casually into the air. When it landed squarely on the English and geography books that were stacked on her back, her arms gave out, and she smashed into the floor with a meaty thwack. "I hate you so much," she grumbled, hoping that her nose hadn't been broken.

"Good," Ranko nodded, retrieving her chemistry text. Aura whimpered. That was the largest of the textbooks, and the paper next to it didn't look that full. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself back up.

"Why is me hating you a good thing?" she asked, attempting to distract Ranko, so that she would have some extra time before the weight increased.

"Because it means I'm doin' this right," the redhead replied. "You wanna learn how ta defend yourself against stuff that wants to eat you, so I've got to do it fast. Doin' it fast means doin' it like the old man."

"I see," Aura said slowly, blinking as sweat dripped into her eyes. "Something tells me I wouldn't have liked this old man much."

Ranko nodded. "Most people don't."

"I get your logic, but I still hate you," Aura eventually replied, after a few more push ups.

"Just try and keep the inevitable revenge outside school hours," the redhead responded, continuing with her work.

Aura considered snorting, but decided that interrupting her breathing that dramatically at the moment would be a bad idea. "I'm not going to screw up my grades just to annoy you," she huffed. "That's what getting Cordy to take you shopping again is for."

Ranko grimaced, before the science book landed on Aura's back half way through a push up, sending her into the ground again. "Gee, thanks."


Quentin Travers watched, approving, as the girl in front of him ran through several basic Slayer training exercises, her speed and power rather impressive, though she seemed to be showing off a bit, as was evidenced by the several shattered training dummies nearby.

"Very nice, Kendra," he complimented, standing and walking towards her as she finished off her most recent routine. "You're definitely the new Slayer."

"Of course," the girl said, nodding. The elder Watcher noted, somewhat surprised, that she hadn't even broken a sweat, despite the past hour's exertions, and the Jamaican heat which, to him, was nearly intolerable.

"I think I've seen all I need," he said. "Could you go upstairs and prepare? I'd like to leave early tomorrow morning, so that we can set up in Sunnydale."

The dark skinned girl nodded again, turning and leaving the practice room. She brushed past her Watcher in the doorway, not seeming to notice him. "So, you're going to take her?" Zabuto asked, stepping into the room.

"I really don't see what you're worried about, Mr. Zabuto," Travers responded. "Yes, the girl's rather exuberant and confident, but I would hardly call those sins."

The Jamaican man shook his head, and then gestured at the broken dummies behind him. "Before becoming a Slayer, Kendra never would have done that," He noted. "Her training focused on control and efficiency."

"So, she's showing off a little with her new strength," the older Watcher shrugged. "You worry far too much, Samuel."

The Field Watcher rubbed his forehead. "Mr. Travers, you are more experienced and higher ranked than I am, but I say this now. I strongly advise against you taking Kendra to Sunnydale."

"Duly noted," Travers said, and turned to leave the room.


"Goddamned sassafrassin boot lickin..." Spike growled, letting the metallic door to his and Drucilla's warehouse home slam with a satisfying clang, before stomping across the room and slumping into a chair.

"Spike, dear, you've disturbed Edith," his love rebuked, from where she lay on the bed combing her doll's hair.

"Well then, tell Edith to grow a pair," the blond replied, staring up at the ceiling, and letting the bag he was carrying in one hand fall to the floor.

"That wasn't nice," Drucilla responded, pouting slightly, before her eyes rested on the bag. "But I'll forgive you if you got me something pretty."

Spike shot up in the chair, looking alarmed. "That's not for you, Dru!" he snapped, hurriedly.

"I bet it's a surprise, isn't it?" The female vampire frowned. "I hate surprises." Leaping to her feet, she stepped across the room quickly, and opened the bag, revealing a large plastic bottle full of dark liquid. "Ooh, you drained me a snack, you're so thoughtful."

Spike opened his mouth, then stopped, glaring up at the ceiling. "You know what? Go ahead. You're going to find out no matter what, that's just how my luck's goin' lately."

Drucilla gave him an odd look, even for her, before unscrewing the top of the bottle and taking a pull. Her expression went through several stages, before settling on puzzlement. "Cow's blood?"

"Hey, the butcher said it's pig's blood!" Spike replied, as though he'd been offended.

"No..." Drucilla shook her head. "Definitely cow blood. Remember Madrid?"

Spike scowled, grabbing the bottle and taking his own swig. "That bloody..." he growled, vamping out and almost crushing the container in his hand.

"That's too bad," Drucilla replied consolingly, "But why did you want pig's blood, exactly?"

"I didn't really want it," the male vampire replied. "I've just been having the worst damned luck with food lately. First that guy with the iron skin, then the corpse girl... D'ya know, tonight I tracked down this nice, innocent little kindergarten teacher." He shook his head, irritated, "Damned bitch turned out to be wearing cross earrings and a crucifix pendant! that I didn't notice until I had my fangs in 'er throat and one cross pressed against my cheek!"

"Aw, poor boy," Drucilla responded, bending down and running a hand across his cheek, gently caressing the small burn mark there. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"I wanna go kill that scammin' butcher and drink 'im dry, that's what I wanna do," Spike growled, but was distracted when the dark haired vampire leaned over, beginning to nibble on his ear. "Though I suppose I can do that tomorrow."


Quentin Travers sighed, straightening the tie of his suit, and trying not to notice the girl who had taken the center of their two bedroom hotel suite's living room as a martial arts practice space. The girl's dedication was rather admirable, though he'd had quite the entertaining time getting her onto the plane that took them from Jamaica to LAX. For some reason, she'd wanted to ride in the baggage compartment.

"Kendra, I'm going to go talk to the local Watcher, Perhaps I can gather new information on our target," the man said, looking over his shoulder as the girl appeared to be doing some form of complex, and painful looking, handstand behind him.

"Aren't you worried about the demon's apparent brainwashing ability?" she asked, flipping forward to her feet.

"I've brought a few artifacts with me," the Watcher replied, tapping a pocket which held a small amulet. "It shouldn't be an issue."

"All right, then I will patrol tonight while you gather information?" the girl asked, walking over to the window on one side of the room and looking out on the suburbs of Sunnydale in the early afternoon sunlight.

Travers nodded. "If you see Smith, don't engage her right away," he ordered. "No need to give away any advantages I might be able to figure out."

"I will be able to handle her," Kendra responded, sounding somewhat offended.

Travers chuckled. "I'm sure you will, but there's no need to take unnecessary risks."

The Slayer didn't respond, though the Watcher was certain that she understood his reasons. She had been trained well since birth, after all, unlike the Summers girl. Checking his appearance one last time, Travers turned to the phone, dialing a number.


"I don't like this," Giles muttered, pacing in front of the library's central research table, as Jenny sat at it, arranging several books and printouts. "First they sent a cleanup team, and now Quentin Travers is showing up and asking questions?"

"Well, at least it's that rather than another team," the computer science teacher offered. "Maybe now that they've shot first, they're willing to ask questions."

"Possible," the Watcher conceded. "I wish Nodoka were here for this."

"Well, she's a little... fragile right now," Jenny said, trying to be diplomatic. "A Council interrogation probably isn't what she needs."

The Brit sighed, before forcibly sitting himself down at the table next to the dark haired woman and helping prepare the material, everything either of them could dig up on the cursed springs of Jusenkyo and Chi manipulation, most of which was in ridiculously ancient Chinese. "I just hope Travers is proficient in old Mandarin."


"You know," Buffy said, as she leaned back in her chair at the Bronze, watching the band on stage, "I love it when there's someone else to cover my patrols."

"You've informed us of that before," Xander replied, though he couldn't help but grin a little. The extra relaxation that the blonde had been able to indulge in since Ranma had started working with them was really starting to show, as she was a lot less stressed in general... at least when revelations about Slayers, death rituals and curses weren't being dropped on her head.

"We really should be taking the time to study, you know," Willow responded, where she was in her usual position, both Buffy and Xander's notebooks spread out next to her own, a bowl of ice cream sitting next to them.

"Hey," Buffy said, perking up in her chair and looking around. "That guy, does he look a bit too seventies to you?"

Both Xander and Willow followed their friend's gaze, tracking a teenager who was weaving his way through the crowds quickly, tugging at his shirt's large collar as though it were too tight. "He's undead or his mother dresses him funny," the brown haired boy confirmed.

"Looks like he's trying to avoid something," the Slayer noted. "Ranma's probably going to chase him in here." The non-powered teenagers watched as Buffy withdrew a small stake from her bag, moving it so that it would be hard to see past her forearm. "Think I'll go take care of it."

"Some night off," Willow grumbled, but didn't really bother looking up from the homework she'd gone back to after checking out the vamp.

Seconds later, she heard several loud exclamations of "Watch it!" and "What the hell are you doing, you psychopath!" She blinked, rather surprised, as she was pretty sure Buffy wouldn't be that obvious. She wasn't sure about Ranma, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

Looking over again, she saw the crowd rapidly parting around the vampire and Buffy, to reveal a dark skinned girl, carrying a stake openly in one hand, and marching towards the undead creature casually.

"Damn it, how the hell..." the Vampire complained, looking between the newcomer and the only other person who was still nearby, apparently figuring out that Buffy was also a threat.

The new girl didn't respond, her hand seeming to blur before the vampire vanished into a cloud of dust. Across the room, a pudgy nerd gulped as he eyed the stake that was stuck halfway into the wall three inches from his head.

Walking up to the newcomer, Buffy shook her head. "Real subtle," she observed, wryly.


It's said war - war never changes. Fanfics do, through the drives that break. The two authors lost draft after draft of the chapter, until screaming fits were had by all. Eventually, it was cobbled back together, ready for consumption by the masses, but neither of the authors were sure it could hold up.

Only time, and reviews, would tell if the chapter, and the overly long Fallout joke, were done for good.