AN: Alright, after a brief intermission, Wolfwood is back in action. Well, I am at least, his fate is yet to be decided. Just want those who review to know you guys are why I'm writing. I debated for a few days whether to continue or not. I was really hoping for more reviews, guess it isn't captivating enough. I hope I continue to please.

DISCLAIMER - You know the drill here.

Wolfwood and his companions, namely the sandcrawler and the Evergreen, finally rumbled into sight of the "village" he had been told of a few days prior. It was more to his liking than the tent-dotted community of Hazel's, but only a little more impressive. There were a few plaster and stone buildings, some tents, and what looked like a bazaar that extended around the entirety of it all. Nicholas estimated the conglomeration to be almost a mile across. He could even comprehend how much that meant. It was still a little ways off, and he slowed the crawler at the top of a dune long enough to tuck away his possessions. He knew better than to ask too many questions as well. Anyone with a shred of knowledge that heard his name or associated his belongings, he glanced at the cross, would be immediately hysterical.

So the crawler ambled on, and Nicholas did his best to remain nonchalant about the approach. The circumstance for his last run-in with civilization had been a bit different. This time he had no kindly old man to buy his ticket into town. The town, he dared call it that, loomed ever closer, and soon enough he found it was no illusion. He found a vacant spot to park the crawler, as if vacancies weren't abundant in the desert, and sat for a moment. The difference in these people were astounding. Hawkers and merchants stood around lavish tables with goods of all kinds, children ran in the streets playing with ragged balls and toys, and almost everyone had a smile. Instead of the tired, sagged look carried by a people that were all but totally defeated, these people had the squared shoulders of those who were proud of accomplishment, and rightly so.

Nick found himself smiling as well, and as he scooped up his pack and leaned into the door to open it, he found himself face-to-face with a beautiful red headed woman. "Hey stranger, new to these parts?" she was a blunt one. "Yea, I am actually. Just, looking for a place to rest and buy some water." He smiled back at her, shouldering the pack again. "You've come to the right place," she stepped back and opened the door for him, "Welcome to the Atoll." Wolfwood slung himself out of the crawler, pushing the door shut behind him. "Is everyone around here as hospitable as you?" He looked around for an instant. "Nah, they think I'm just devilish." She laughed and started walking. Nick reached across and grabbed the Evergreen before he fell into step behind her. They walked for a few brief moments behind a row of tables and merchants, and just as Wolfwood began to realize where he was being taken, she turned to him abruptly. "You look like you could use a drink, Mr. ..?" She let both questions hang. "Nick, just Nick. And yes, I'd love a drink." He didn't want to tell her exactly how good that sounded. They walked casually through a break in the tents and tables, past a row of stoops, and into a small building with a swinging wooden door. It was small, and squatty, to say the least. A low bar ran the length of one walls, and several tables dotted the floor that hadn't been cleaned in ages. Nick liked it already. Nick's escort sauntered over to the bar and dropped herself onto a stool, knocking on the bar. The attention swung to her long enough for the nearby patrons to smirk and look back down into their drinks. Wolfwood managed to park himself beside her, waiting. "I didn't catch your name," the Evergreen was leaning against his back, close, as always. "Rossy," she smiled dazzlingly. Nicholas felt himself smiling as well, stupidly. He thought for a moment, how could one person be so increadibly charming? He felt lethargic, just watching her. He shook his head, looking up for a moment. A middle-aged man in a dirty white apron had approached, sliding a smudged glass full of questionable liquid in front of them both. Nick didn't question, he needed a touch of pick-me-up. He took a long drink, and set his glass down. "That was." he looked at her, and then around the room. Everyone was watching him. Everyone. Something had happened. Beads of sweat were on every brow, concerned looks on every face. "What's going on?" The adrenaline that dumped into his system came too late. A wave of nausea washed over him, and his vision tunneled. He pushed away from the bar, but couldn't get his feet under him, his fell backwards and didn't even feel himself wince as he hit the ground. He didn't understand, none of this was right. The active town, the happy faces. The happy faces. He recalled them now, rolling on his stomach to right himself. They weren't happy. He had been foolish, denying close scruntiny. They had strained, falsified looks. He had done it again. Trusted in people, trusted in the good nature that everyone posessed. Wolfwood managed to push to his knees, groping blindly for the Evergreen. His head swam, and he managed to locate the radiant red-haired woman. Something about her was oddly wrong as well. She stood out too much. "Go to the Church, make preparations." The woman's voice was heavily accented and emotionless. "Who are you people?" the words came out like a drunken slur. For his astoundingly hard task of managing to get the words out, the woman made a flourish and tried to crush his skull with her foot. The kick sent him sliding, rendering him progressively unconcious, so slamming into the bar and shattering two stools was indeed unnecessary. The last thing he remembered was hearing distant voices, and being hauled to his feet by what he guessed to be two bar patrons.

The sunlight filtered lazily through the high stained-glass window. Nick wasn't sure if the rustling on the stone floor was from him, or other immediate inhabitants. He blinked hard and rolled over. Thoughts swirled in a cyclone of non-sequential pointlessness. He felt dried blood his face. She kicked him. Ok, that hurt a lot. Next item of business. He opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. Rossy was standing over him, impassive and intimidating. He found he was stripped to the waist, and shoeless. Cuts and bruises dotted his torso, obviously from being drug around. He sat up half-heartedly. "Let me guess," he grimaced at the pain in his jaw, "my crawler?" Her laugh was a sinister sound, "Don't be ridiculous, Priest, you-" "Enough, Rossy." That was a new voice. It was cold, heartless, commanding. Nicholas knew it well. Wolfwood's head swung painfully to the new voice. A man, how could he have missed this giant? He was easily over six and a half feet tall, and his long, dark hair made him seem even taller. He wore a short brown coat that hung open on a bare chest, and dust colored pants that overlapped into boots. "Jail warden?" Nicholas squinted up at him. "No, Nicholas Wolfwood." Nick could feel his face going slack. The man reached inside his jacket and produced a thin black rod. He spun it once, and with a metallic hiss, it elongated and seemed to grow a wickedly curved blade. "I am Narsus the Scythe, first of the Gung Ho Guns."