"Oh don't get me wrong. I kill at least three fuckin' raiders or slavers a week now protecting caravans. I feel a hell of a lot more like I'm helping America out than finding out someone politician fucked his doctor and now they needed to be 're-educated'. Those were the types of people locked up. That's what we found out about. That all the hard work I'd been doing to seek out threats wasn't fucking up the raiders my grandma hated. It was putting good strong people with families into fucked up testing."

He shakes his head, wincing against the idea. He'd been good at his job. But it wasn't a job worth doing when he found abuse and rape victims cowering int lonely rooms with nowhere else to go and worried they'd be found, and then having to treat them like the criminals.

"Might have been a few raiders in there, out of a couple of hundred- trust me, the scientists got thirsty for anyone to run tests on. But honestly, I got sick of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Pretty sure a couple of Patrick McAsshole scumbags who could barely hold a gun and think running at someone gibbering in tongues swinging a wrench is a legitimate fighting tactic won't mean much."

He chuckles, finally. "But I'm not as good with words as the Prodigal Son. He was better at making people understand. Showin' 'em it was worth it."