Geckos scream like being alive was not part of the agreement.
Neeko learns this while crouched behind a sun-warmed rock, rifle balanced awkwardly against her shoulder, heart going very fast in a way she does not entirely dislike.
Sunny tells Neeko this happens every so often. The geckos wander in from the hills, get brave, get thirsty, and decide the water pump belongs to them now. You can't let that stand—not in a town this small, not in a place where water is the only thing everyone agrees matters. So Sunny goes out with a rifle, clears them out, and the pump keeps working.
Neeko has other strategy.
"Okay," Neeko whispers. "Okay. Everyone calm down."
The gecko does not calm down.
It is bright green. Smaller than Neeko expected. Too many teeth for something that small. It hops sideways and hisses, tail lashing like it desperately wants to be seen as important.
Sunny Smiles crouches beside her.
"Annoying little bastards," she murmurs. "But they spook easy. Make for sitting ducks when they come speeding at you like—"
The gecko chooses this moment to charge.
Neeko yelps, rearing back.
Sunny fires first. It's a clean shot. The gecko goes down in a spray of red dust and something darker Neeko does not want to look at for long.
Neeko freezes.
"Oh," she says softly. "Oh. That one is not screaming anymore."
Sunny glances at her. Watches her face carefully.
"You alright?"
Neeko nods. A little too fast.
"Yes. Just… learning."
They move forward together. Another gecko scuttles out from behind a rusted car. Bigger. Meaner. It sees them and screams again, like its poor living conditions are somehow Neeko's fault.
Sunny nudges Neeko with her elbow.
"Your turn."
Neeko swallows.
The rifle feels different now. Familiar-ish. Heavy, but honest.
She lines up the sights like Sunny taught her.
Breathe in. Hold.
Squeeze.
The shot goes wide.
The gecko screeches and darts closer.
Neeko panics.
"No wait—!"
She fires again. Misses again.
The gecko leaps, mouth open, teeth like broken glass.
Neeko scrambles backward, trips, lands hard in the dirt.
Her head flares. Bright pain. Angry bees waking up.
Her hand finds the Jet in her pocket.
Not yet! Moderation!
Doc Mitchell would be proud.
Instead—
Neeko looks at the gecko.
It… smells like fear. Sharp, familiar.
A smell Neeko knows well.
"Hey," Neeko blurts, holding up one hand. "Hello. You do not have to bite Neeko."
The gecko stops. Tilts its head.
Sunny blinks. "…What are you doing?"
Neeko keeps talking. Voice hush-hush. The way she's seen people talk to babies.
"Neeko does not want to hurt you," she says. "Neeko is new here. Everything is loud. You scream very well, but maybe we can stop now?"
The gecko chitters. Shifts its weight.
That's when Neeko feels something click.
She lets her shoulders relax. Lets the fear bleed out of her posture.
"You are very small," Neeko continues. "But very brave. Neeko respects that."
The gecko inches closer, unwary.
Sunny lowers her gun slowly.
"Well I'll be damned," she mutters.
The gecko sniffs Neeko's boot. Nips at the leather experimentally. Decides it is not food. Huffs.
"Oh!" she says. "Yes, you are little. You are just a little guy."
The gecko chirps. Neeko giggles.
Sunny just stares.
"…You know you can't keep it."
Neeko looks up at her.
"…Why not?"
The gecko circles Neeko's ankle, clearly deciding she belongs to it now.
Sunny sighs. It is the long-suffering sigh of a goodhearted person—one who wouldn't deny another their fleeting grab at happiness.
"Fine," she says. "But when it bites you, that's on you."
Neeko beams. "Neeko will name you later," she tells the gecko. "After learning what kind of friend you are."
The gecko chirps again. Proud. (Possibly relieved.)
As they head back toward town, Neeko walks with her rifle slung over her shoulder and a whole-new confidence, despite not landing a single god-dang shot all day. With a tiny, hissing shadow at her heels.
She thinks about what Sunny said earlier.
You learn fast.
Neeko does not know if that is good.
But she knows this:
Some things you shoot. Some things you scare.
And some things—if you speak just right—
Follow you home.
Sunny splits off to do some things and Neeko finds Easy Pete sitting in the shade near the saloon, as he often is, whittling at a piece of scrap wood like it personally offended him at some point in the past.
He looks up as Neeko approaches.
Then he looks down.
Then he squints.
He says slowly, "you bringin' wildlife into town now?"
Neeko beams and lifts one boot slightly.
"This is my friend," she says proudly. "He screams less now."
The gecko hisses on cue, like it wants credit.
Easy Pete nods, accepting this explanation without comment.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small handful of bottle caps, presses them into Neeko's palm.
"Go on then," he says. "Pick us up a couple Sunset Sarsaparillas. You look like you've earned it. And… hell, get somethin' for the little fella too, if you want."
Neeko stares at the caps.
They are warm from his hand. Light. Important.
"…These are money," she says, carefully.
Easy Pete raises an eyebrow.
"More or less."
Neeko turns them over, listening to the faint jingle.
"So people fight over these?" she asks.
Easy Pete's mouth tightens just a bit.
"No shortage of bad hombres out there in the wastes," he says, "that'd put you down in a heartbeat for a smooth drink."
Neeko goes still.
"…Oh."
That feels bad. That feels relevant.
She looks down at the caps again, suddenly imagining them slick with blood, traded for something cold and sweet and gone in seconds.
"Is that," she asks quietly, "why Neeko is here?"
Easy Pete watches her for a moment. His eyes are sharp, despite everything.
"Could be," he says. "World's not exactly gentle with folks who wander."
Neeko nods slowly.
Inside her chest, something hardens. Not anger. Purpose.
"In that case," she says, voice bright but edged now, "Neeko will just have to cut down bad hombres first."
Easy Pete chuckles, low and humorless.
"That's one way to look at it."
Neeko hesitates, then tilts her head.
"Easy Pete," she says, "Sunny mentioned a robot."
Pete snorts.
"Victor," he says. "Yeah. Strange one. Shows up when you don't expect him. Leaves when you want answers."
"Where is he?"
Pete shrugs. "Somewhere about. Don't put too much stock in what he says, though. Thing's got more loose screws than sense. If you're lookin' for clues about your old life…"
He shakes his head. "Probably ain't worth the trouble."
Neeko smiles.
"It is okay," she says. "Neeko just wants to say thank you."
She heads off then, caps clutched tight, gecko skittering along behind her like a living punctuation mark.
She comes back a bit later with two bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla—cold, fizzing happily—and a chunk of dried meat that the gecko accepts with immediate, violent enthusiasm.
Easy Pete watches her drink, then frowns.
"You feelin' alright?" he asks. "You look… off. Little green around the gills."
Neeko laughs.
"Neeko feels fine!"
She pauses.
"…Maybe a little tingly."
Pete hums. "Might wanna check in with Doc again."
Neeko nods, absently.
As she walks away, bottle empty, gecko fed and content, she flexes her fingers.
For just a moment—only a moment—she swears she sees something there.
A pattern. A shimmer. The faint impression of scales beneath skin that should not have them.
Neeko blinks.
The moment is gone.
"Huh," she murmurs. "Maybe gecko is rubbing off on me."
The Mojave does not answer.
But somewhere out there, metal creaks. Gears turn. And something that remembers her watches from the only road that leads out of town.