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This article (Help!), is fan fiction and isn't automatically canon. On the other hand, no one said it isn't.

Unlike the Not Canon banner, this page is not intended to be seen as lore from Team Paradox, and is instead something from the mind of the author. It is, however, supposed to be read and enjoyed. Have fun! You should also browse the fan fiction category for more content. Maybe these will inspire you to write your own projects.

The ghetto of San Francisco, CA
Allied News Reporter, Robert Malcolm

The last thing he remembered was doing a news report, before he woke up tied to a chair with a throbbing shoulder. Robert looked down and felt that his suit was stripped from him, leaving only his pair of dress pants and a white tank top.

"Well well well," the newsman heard a deep, diabolical sentence flow through the air of the parlor. A gun cocked, "what news do we have for you today, champ? Perhaps an incoming rainstorm? Or maybe an armed robbery?"

Because Rob was blindfolded, he couldn't see the man tormenting him. "Or better yet," the captor suggested. A loud bang hurt Robert's ears, bu not as much as the sudden pain that streaked his arm. He hollered in agony. "Or better yet, an organized conspiracy behind the supposed gang-members with red radiation logos, hmm?" Robert knew what he was in for, because he remembers those words coming out of his mouth a couple weeks ago for a news report.

Blood dripped from Robert's mouth, but he managed to respond, "What's it to you, asshole?"

Another gun cock sounded, quietly. BANG! Robert screamed again, as pain shot through his leg. The gunslinger growled, "I happen to be one of those 'supposed gang-members'. You opened Pandora's box by sticking your nose in other people's business. So give me a damn-good reason why my third bullet shouldn't go through your fuckin' head.

Robert coughed, struggling, "Urgh... fuck you."

"I'm sorry, didn't quite catch that," the thug intimidated, "care to say that again?"

Rob whispered, "Fuck... you."

"Wrong answer, bub!" the thug cocked his gun a third time,leaving Robert to anticipate his death.

Before the man could let off another round, a loud pounding sounded from a small distance. A muffed voice demanded, "Open this door! Open it at once!"

"Oh great," the goon complained, "these clowns..."

Though his eyes were covered, he assured himself he was saved. He believed that those men pounding were the police, and they'd apprehend this criminal in no time. He heard He heard the thug put down his gun and walk away. Then a door opened. All he heard was a thud and his captor moaning. "Alright," an authoritative tone announced, "untie the man."

Robert felt the ropes holding him loosen up and fall to the floor, followed by the removal of his blindfold. He saw it all now; he was inside a cheap, filthy hotel room. In front of him were three police offers (thank goodness) wearing peaked officer caps. At their sides were magnum revolvers.

Robert stood out of his chair, relieved that the cops came for his rescue. Alas, he happened to notice te patch embroidered on one of the officers' sleeves. Normally Rob expected an honorable man of the law to have an American flag or a chevron to signify rank on his arm, Instead he saw... the red radiation logo. Uh oh, he thought to himself.

  • Click*. The fourth officer who freed him from the chair pulled the hammer back on his .357. "Hands behind your back, maggot!" the cop demanded.
                                                      *    *    *

The woman had an Aussie dialect, pretty thick. Covering her was black jeans, a sleeveless flak jacket, a dark-grey tank-top, and a pony tail tying her brunette hair back.

"You can call me Nova," the woman instructed.

Before she sat down, Nova reached into her cleavage and pulled out a box of cigarettes. She asked, "Do you smoke, love?"

Robert wasn't tied down, restrained, or with a gun pointed to his head; it was just him and that girl. Except there was a guard outside the small interrogation room with a submachine gun. Unlike the other pushy chumps, Nova trusted this guy. Sure she had two Obregon .45 pistols on her, but they were concealed in her holsters. And despite trust and her guns, she was a trained killer just like the idolized Tanya that everyone's heard of. Should that man do anything stupid, she knew what to do. Didn't even have to use her guns on this one.

"You do realize that you're messing with something that's way over your head, right?" the woman asked.

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