Fallout 1. Prologue: Aint That A Kick In The Head

_For those new, this is a story about the Courier. I've done my best to remain true to the story of New Vegas, but I have given it my own spin. As the chapters progress, you'll see more and more that isn't in the game (but perhaps should have been, in my opinion). This is my first attempt at a fanfiction. It will be about 30 chapters long when all is said and done. There will be some points that you'll be asked to refrain from reading further until you get around to reading the DLC chapters. I am not going to include them as chapters within the main story, but instead as their own works. Each DLC should be between 12 and 15 chapters. I'm not sure I'm going to be doing Old World Blues though - as much as I enjoyed it, the story was just a little too bizarre for my taste and I do not believe it will fit well with the story I'm trying to create. I encourage you to leave feedback: reviews, suggestions, or just a little bit of praise now and then. Helps keep me motivated. And now...the story:  
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><p>Blackness, spinning, nausea. Three figures standing above him, blurred, but there. Each moment offered a dull thud from the inside out. His head pounding like the steady beat of a drum. He could hear them now. Muffled and miles away, but still close enough to smell. "You got what you were after," one of the figures spouted. "So pay up."<p>

"Baby, your words are like knives. I never doubted you would," a second voice answered. "But we'll talk about _your_ pay when _I'm _safely nestled back on the strip with a classy dame under each arm and a bottle of scotch in my hand."

With his vision starting to clear, he struggled to get to his feet. He strived to part his legs, but to no avail. They were numb and all of his strength had escaped him. Now on his knees, he gazed down at his hands – they were bound. "Hey, guys. Guess who's waking up over here?" One of the men taunted.

The other two turned towards their captive. One raised a cigarette and took a long draw before tossing it to the ground. He looked at his captive, his eyes shining with some combination of pity and remorse. He wore a checkered suit and his hair was slicked back. His demeanor suggested he thought highly of himself. His wardrobe set him apart from his company, whose attire suggested a nature far more grim than the man in the checkered suit had himself. After a beat, he exhaled the smoke into the night air around him. "Time to cash out."

"Let's get this over with already," the first man said. The man in the checkered suit waved his arm dismissively; his eyes never leaving his captive.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink. Dig?" The man replied. His voice was smooth and confident. He cast his gaze upon his cohorts for a moment before returning it to the man bound in front of him. He reached into his jacket – the captive felt his stomach sink, as he knew the end was near. But what the man withdrew was not a firearm. It was merely a small round item, a poker chip. The man in the checkered suit casually rolled it between his fingers. "You made your last delivery," the man spoke softly. "I'm sorry you got twisted up in this scene. I really am." The man returned the chip to its resting place within his pocket, and when his hand re-emerged it wielded a sterling silver 9mm. The pistol sparkled in the moonlight. "From where you're kneeling, it must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck," the man continued. "But the truth is…the game was rigged from the start." The captive felt that sense of trepidation creep over him again. With a single, swift, motion the man in the checkered suit raised his pistol and fired.

Blackness again. A beat. A bright white light. How much time had passed? Was he still alive? A sound…strange, rhythmical, motorized. His vision began to clear. He began to gain focus. A fan. Where was he? A voice answered his thoughts. "You're awake, how 'bout that." He tried to sit up…a hand caught his shoulder to assist him. "Relax now...You've been out for a couple weeks. I'll be honest with you, I didn't expect you to pull through. Do you know where you are?" the voice asked.

"No," he responded.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I don't. I don't remember anything," he said, his faculties had returned to him. The man that sat before him was elderly, balding. What little hair he had lost all its color. A silver handlebar mustache perched itself on his upper lip. The old man looked at him, his face contorted with worry.

"What about your name? Can you remember your name?" The old man asked.

"I don't remember," he replied. "Who are you?"

"The name's Mitchell. Most people here just call me Doc. You're in Goodsprings, a little ways south-west of the strip," Doc told him. Doc nodded towards a shelf across the room. "Those are yours. Everything you had on you when you was brought in. Why don't you go ahead and get dressed. We'll talk after." Doc stood and helped his patient to his feet. "Easy. Easy now." The patient walked across the room with little effort. "That's good. You seem to be gettin' around just fine. Most patients don't get out of bed after being shot and then move like they was in perfect control."

The patient stopped just short of the table, "Shot?" A flash of silver and ivory flickered to life in his mind momentarily before disappearing; a memory?

"Yessir. That's what I treated you for. A gunshot wound to the head. I'm not surprised you don't remember." Doc made his way across the room disappearing into the hallway. "Get dressed, I'll find you something to eat and then we can talk a while."

The patient made his way to the table; before him, neatly placed along the table, laid an assortment of goods: a broad machete, a slightly weathered 10mm, a set of binoculars, a canteen, and a shotgun. He also found his clothing – a lightly worn set of overalls, a tan pair of gardening gloves, a blue flannel shirt, and a tan courier pouch embroidered with the number six. He looked at his clothes despairingly, they were covered in blood…presumably his own. "Fuck…"

"Here," Doc had returned. "I found one of my old vault suits and my pipboy. I used to live in a vault…but that was a long time ago, never was much my style. Anyhow, these ain't much use to me now, but I'm sure you can put them to good use."

"Yeah," the man replied. "Thanks for patching me up, Doc."

"Don't mention it, fella. It's what I'm here for," Doc told him. "I don't have much, but feel free to have a look around. If you see anything you need, it's yours. When you're ready, I'll be in the kitchen. I put on some bighorner steaks and some instamash. There might be some scotch in the pantry." With that, Doc disappeared into the hall again.

The man traced his hand along the bag, "Six…" he muttered to himself.

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><p>Doc Mitchell sat at his kitchen table awaiting his patient-turned-guest. He casually cut into his steak – it bled beneath his fork. "Just right…" he said aloud. A tap at the kitchen door caught his attention, "Ah. Have a seat. You know, I was thinking about your predicament. This is a good chance for a fresh start. No name, no memories. Ultimate freedom." The man stood in the doorway opposite of Doc. "But, of course, that brings up a pretty big issue. Folk are gonna expect to call you something. Have you given it any thought?"<p>

The man paused a moment, once again running his hand along the embroidery on his pouch. "Six," he replied after a moment of silence.

"Six? Well…I can't say it's what I'd have picked for you. But if that's the name you want," Doc motioned for him to sit once more.

Six sat down and eyed the proverbial feast that lay before him. "Can you tell me anything about my attacker? Or about how I got here?"

Doc eyed Six for a moment before pouring him a shot of scotch. "Can't say that I can. That metal fella, Victor, he was the one that brought you to me. You might try asking him. Or you might try the saloon up the road. The bartender there, Trudy, she'd be a safe bet for information. If anyone saw anything, after a few drinks they'd likely tell her."

Six nodded before cutting into his steak. The meat was surprisingly tender and Doc had seasoned it well. "Victor?"

"A curious fella, really. A robot. He keeps to himself. I can't really tell you too much about him. He was already here when I arrived in Goodsprings. I can't say that I know much more. But he does have a shack down by the schoolhouse on the southern end of town."

"Goodsprings?"

Doc laughed. "Yeah. Quaint little place. It gets its name from the natural springs where we get our water, just a ways south of town. It doesn't have much. I'm the town doctor, as I'm sure you've figured out. There's a little general store run by a man named Chet. He doesn't have a lot, but he's usually got the necessities. Then there's the bar. Goodsprings is just a little place where we try to get by, really."

"So what about you, Doc? What's your story?" Six downed his scotch and Doc poured him another shot.

"I used to live in a vault…as I already told you. I was a traveling doctor for a spell…I got to help a lot of people, which was fine by me. But I eventually went back and married my childhood sweetheart. That was before I made my way here."

"Where's your wife now?" Six asked.

Doc was quiet for a second. "I find it's best not to dwell on the past," he downed his own scotch and stood. "Well, I'd recommend bed rest for a couple days. But I can tell you got no intention of sticking around. I'd recommend you talk to Sunny Smiles before you leave town. She'll probably have some tips for traveling. If you experience any lasting symptoms come back to see me."

Six stood and nodded to the good doctor. "Thanks again, Doc. I don't have any caps on me right at the moment, but I'm indebted to you. I took a doctor's bag, some stimpacks, and anti-venom. You'll hear from me again soon. I intend to repay you." Six extended his hand.

"Well. Try not to get yourself killed," Doc Mitchell smiled and shook Six's hand lightheartedly.


	2. Chapter 1: Back In The Saddle

_I've given this chapter some revision. It's mostly the same, I've just corrected a few typos here and there. Thanks for all the views. I hope you continue to enjoy my take on the story of New Vegas.  
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><p>The sun was bright. Brighter than he remembered. He instinctively held up his hands to shade his vision. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they had adjusted, Six observed his surroundings. He didn't recognize the town he was in…but that was no surprise. He couldn't remember much of anything…he could recall a few things. How to hold his firearm. Why there was a small pouch of bottle caps in his bag – he always thought it was strange the world's choice of currency. But some memories were still blurry. A few feet before him a crow pecked at the ground, while small whirlwind of dust crept down the street. Up the street he saw two saloon style buildings – one, he assumed, was where he was to meet Sunny Smiles. Six stepped through the open gate in front of him, taking careful note to shut it as he passed. The crow, startled by the movement, took flight. To his right, Six saw a hulking mass of machinery approaching him; it was some type of robot, but he didn't recognize the model either. At least, not that he could recall. The display screen of this particular robot portrayed a wild eyed, smiling cowboy sporting a cigarette. This, Six guessed, must be Victor.<p>

"Howdy pard'ner!" The robot greeted him. "Might I say, you're looking fit as a fiddle. It's good to see you're up and about!"

Six observed the robot musingly. It seemed irritatingly happy. "Victor, right? What model are you?"

"That's right, pard'ner. I'm a securitron – Robco security model 2060-B," Victor replied.

"Well. Thanks for digging me up, Victor." Six continued up the road, Victor rolling along side him.

"Don't mention it!" Victor chimed. "I heard some commotion up near that old graveyard while I was out for stroll. After the commotion died down and the men had left, I investigated. Found the grave and decided to unearth you to see if you was still kickin'! You were, so I brought you to the Doc here in town. Figured if anyone could patch you up, it'd be him."

"You say you saw some men. Know anything about them?"

"Sorry pard'ner. Can't say that I do. You might check with Trudy at the saloon though." Victor raised his clamped appendage, pointing to Prospector Saloon. Six nodded in agreement and approached the saloon. "Happy trails!" Victor called behind him. Six threw up his arm as he opened the door.

He was greeted by snarling teeth and growling. Six took a step back as his would be attacker approached. "Cheyenne, heel," the soft spoken voice seemed to calm the dog. It came from across the room, a woman stood idly next to a billiard table, cue in hand. "Don't worry. She only attacks on command."

"Good to know. I'm looking for Trudy or Sunny Smiles."

"Well you found one of them," the woman replied, bending momentarily to break the neatly racked balls, sinking three in one fell swoop. "I'm Sunny. You are?"

"Six," he told her. "I'm looking for a few men. The Doc said you might be able to help me out."

Sunny sank three more before standing. "Maybe. Know anything about the men you're looking for?" She handed Six a cue. "You play?"

Six took the cue. "Not really. Just that they left me for dead. I aim to figure out why." Six sank a few of his own.

Sunny watched silently as he played. When he had missed, she began. "Didn't see much. There was a guy in here. Looked like he thought pretty highly of himself. Stood out, you know? A checkered suit. Wish I could help more. You might try talking to Trudy, the saloon owner. She should be in the next room over, tending the bar. She'd be pretty cross with me if I didn't tell you to poke your head in and say hi, anyway. Corner." Sunny lined up her next shot, pocketing the eight ball. She flashed Six a smile.

"I'll do that," Six nodded. "Thanks." Six laid his cue on the table, "Nice shooting." With that, he made his way to the bar and sat down. The bartender seemed to be preoccupied with her radio. Six cleared his throat.

Trudy turned to Six. "Well, you've certainly been the gossip of the town. It's nice to put a face to the stories. What can I do for you?"

"Sunny tells me you might have some information about the men who attacked me."

"Just that they were a rowdy group of free loaders. One of the Khans 'accidentally' knocked my radio to the floor too. I haven't been able to get it to work since."

"I can take a look at it. Did you overhear anything they were talking about?" Six made his way around the counter and began examining the radio, he rummaged through his pack withdrawing a small case of screwdrivers and other assorted tools.

"They were having some kind of argument. Overheard one of them mention not wanting to go back through the north route out by Sloan. Can't say I blame them, as the route passes straight through Quarry Junction, and it's infested with deathclaws and all sorts of other critters. They did mention something about the strip. If they wanted to get to the strip without going up I-15 they'd have to go east, up Highway 93. Safest way to get to it is to pass south, through Primm and Nelson."

"Radio should work fine now. Just a few loose components," Six extended his hand. "Thanks for your help, ma'am."

Trudy took six's hand with her own. When she withdrew it, she left a small cap filled pouch in Six's hand. "No problem," Trudy smiled. Six quizzically glanced at the pouch. "I insist. It's the least I can do. How'd you get to be so good with electronics, you some type of repair man?"

Six graciously accepted the caps and shrugged. "I don't know, honestly. I just did it." With a nod, Six began making his way to the door.

"Hi there," Sunny strolled up beside him. "You look like you can handle yourself. Care to help me clear out a few geckos. They've moved in near the town water supply. There'd be some caps in it for you."

"Can't say no to a pretty little thing such as yourself," Six smiled. "Of course I'll give you a hand."

Six and Sunny made their way south through the town, passing many dilapidated buildings and what seemed to be the old schoolhouse Doc had mentioned. "What do you do around here?" Six asked. "Other than killing geckos, I mean."

"Protect the town the best I can. Not many people live here, so wildlife has a tendency to creep in. Radscorpions, coyotes, and such. Coyotes are pretty dangerous in large packs, but otherwise they're not too bad. The hills north of here though are infested with nasty critters. Most of which are poisonous."

"Ah. What about any other towns? Trudy said I should head south to Primm."

"Yeah, can't miss it. Giant roller coaster right in town. Stick to the roads though, the creatures tend to avoid it. NCR outpost there too."

"NCR?"

"Yeah. New California Republic. They keep the roads safe mostly, but they intend to take the Mojave for themselves. Bunch of settlers and soldiers from out west. Hear that up on the ridge? There's definitely geckos up there. Hopefully there aren't too many. Doc's always treating gecko bites. If we move quietly, we can get the jump on them." Six gave his shotgun a quick onceover. Lying flat on his stomach he made his way around a mound of rocks and carefully peeked around them. He could see the geckos. Three of them drinking from a cache of water accumulated in a small concrete basin at the base of a water pump – they would occasionally pause to snip at one another before turning back to the water.

"That's a big ass lizard," Six murmered.

"I've heard tales of them getting much, much bigger and nastier. I've never seen any though," Sunny whispered back. She was lying next to Six, weapon at the ready. "I'll take the one on the right." Six took aim himself – Sunny breathed out. "Fire."

The sound of Six's shotgun cracked across the valley, reverberating violently before fading in the distance. Two of the Geckos were down, and the third was standing erect bounding across the ground. It made its way to them remarkably fast and was on Sunny before she had time to react. "Son of a bitch! Get this thing off of me!"

Six fumbled with his holster, withdrawing his pistol. "I can't get a shot."

"Just fucking shoot it!" The Gecko had her pinned down. Sunny gripped the gecko's neck, pushing its snapping jaws away from her face. Six dropped his pistol and unsheathed his machete, but before he had time to deliver a blow the gecko was knocked off of Sunny. This time it was the gecko's turn to lie on its back, and Cheyenne was at its throat. It squealed in pain for a moment, then it was silent. Sunny struggled to sit up. Cheyenne, finished with her kill, made her way to Sunny's side – licking the gecko's blood from the fur around her mouth as she heeled beside her master.

"Damn," Six raised an eyebrow and sheathed his machete before picking up his belongings.

Sunny breathed heavily for a moment and looked up at him. "Next time just tackle the damn thing." Six handed her the small rifle, smiling. "Fuck." Sunny turned her attention to the dog sitting at her side, "Good girl, Cheyenne…There's still two more wells to check. If you'd like to come along, it'd be worth a few caps to me," Sunny said, turning her view back to Six. "As long as you don't get me killed."

Six raised a brow again, "Yeah. Sorry, but I'm not entirely confident that I wouldn't have shot you."

Sunny grinned at him, "Well, let's hop to it then." Six and Sunny made their way to the second well. It was clear. Then they made their way to the third, it too, was clear.

"I hope this doesn't mean I'm not going to get paid," Six said softly. It was almost an inquiry.

"Well, I guess I never stipulated we had to kill…" Six pushed his hand to Sunny's lips, silencing her. Sunny, confused, pushed it away. "Look, I don't know what you were expecting…"

"Shh," Six tilted his head and took a step away from her. "Do you hear that?"

Sunny listened. "I don't hear anything." Cheyenne perked her ears up and whimpered.

"Hold on…there. Do you hear it?" Very faintly, being carried along the wind were screams.

"Shit," Sunny said. "Cheyenne, go." On command the dog bolted, Sunny and Six were trailing at it's heels. Just south of the third well, not two hundred yards they found her. A woman, pinned on a boulder with half a dozen geckos surrounding the rock. "Feel like you'll miss from here?" Sunny asked.

Six raised his shotgun, "Don't think we've got any options." He fired, grazing one of the geckos. It shrieked and turned to them. The others turned as well. Sunny raised her rifle and began firing in quick succession. Six slung his shotgun around his back and pulled out his pistol. He began firing frantically, but the little bastards seemed to be bouncing around the bullets.

"Fuck yeah!" Sunny yelled as one of them hit the dirt. "Right in the god damned eye!" Another shot, and another went down. Then another. "Woo!" Cheyenne charged into the fray, leaping in with lethal accuracy, grabbing one of the geckos by the throat.

Six continued firing, missing each shot until the shotgun wounded gecko was within lunging distance. It leapt at him, he dropped his pistol and swung the leather strap around, catching the shotgun by the stock. One arm extended, he fired. The shotgun was practically inside of the gecko's mouth – and its head exploded in a massive bloody mess. The last gecko was still leaping at the poor woman on the rocks, who by this point had stopped moving. Six unsheathed his machete and slung it in desperation…and it hits it's mark, sticking into the gecko's neck, severing the spine. It went limp at the rock's base.

"Why didn't you do that when it was one me?" Sunny yelled, only half joking.

"Not gonna lie, that was luck," Six bellowed as he jogged over to the woman. She was unconscious, "We need to get her to Doc," he said as he brushed the hair from her eyes. "If we hadn't shown up when we did, I don't think she'd have lived to tell the tale."

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><p>Six and Sunny opened the saloon door. "Doc should be able to patch her up," Sunny handed Six a handful of caps. "You did good, saved her life."<p>

Before six could answer someone bumped into him, "What the hell are you doing?" The man asked, stopping for just a moment before disappearing out the door and into the wastes.

"What an ass," Six sneered.

"You don't know the half of it," Trudy told him, leaning over the bar counter. "Goes by the name of Joe Cobb. Came in here running his mouth, threatening to burn the town down if we didn't hand over some poor schmuck who came into town a while back. Ringo, his name was. Said he was in some kind of trouble and needed a place to lay low. We figured he was just in shock, never expected anyone to come after him."

"Anything I can do to help?" Six asked.

"You might go talk to Ringo. He's in that abandoned gas station up the hill. That would sure help the town out. I'd set you up with a discount," Trudy told him.

"Seems fair. I'll go have some words with him," Six said. He turned to Sunny. "Tag along?"

"You know it."


	3. Chapter 2: Ghost Town Gunfight

_I'm going to attempt - that being the key word - to update once a week from here on in. My next update will be **Sunday, June 3rd**. I already have the next chapter mostly finished, so that date should be realistic. I've been pleasantly surprised with how many hits I've gotten and at how many people have added my story to their alerts. I encourage you all to leave reviews and suggestions. I have the story **mostly** figured out, but I'm always open for good ideas. Every great character has a character flaw, and in this chapter - if I've done my work right - you're going to see Six's demons shining through. I've also went ahead and bumped the rating up to an M. I'm not sure that it's quite worthy of that yet, but I see it headed that way in the future. I know you didn't come to hear me rant though, so without further adieu...  
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><p>"Do you think there's any left in it?" Six asked as they approached the derelict gas station. "I mean, surely it's been looted by now."<p>

"I don't know. We'll check it when we get there," Sunny replied. "There are tales that 'Old Festus' keeps the machines stocked. You'd be surprised at how often you find them still in the machines." She too, was eying the flickering light at the station. As they neared, Six could hear the mechanical buzz of the vending machine.

"Old Festus? Right. I think I prefer the taste of Nuka over Sarsaparilla to be honest," he said. He was thinking aloud more than he was talking to Sunny.

"You're insane. Sarsaparilla is definitely better. And it's better _for you_," she laughed. "I'm going to check the garage, see if there's anything useful in it."

Six half grinned, "Okay, Doctor." Upon reaching the station, Six paused for a moment – looking intently at the rusted hunk of metal. "Lock's broken. Definitely been pried open before." He looked at Sunny for a moment before opening it. "Empty. Looks like Festus is running a bit late."

"That's close enough, stranger," a voice called out. Six looked in the direction of the voice. A man stood in the doorway of the gas station, pistol in hand. He had the weapon leveled at Six's head.

"You'd better make the first shot count, Ringo. You won't get a second," Six told him.

"How do you know my name?" Ringo asked, lightly lowering his pistol – but only enough to get a good view of his potential attacker.

Sunny poked her head around the machine. "Hi, Ringo. Trudy sent us to check up on you, see if you needed anything."

"Oh! Sunny," Ringo looked perplexed for a moment then turned back to Six. "I'm sorry," he said, holstering his pistol. "You surprised me, is all. I wasn't expecting any company. What's say we start over?"

"Fair enough," Six let his arm fall to his side, which had been – until that point – resting on his own firearm. "Name's Six."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Six," Ringo, nodded affably. "If you're looking for some Sarsaparilla, I have some inside." Ringo disappeared into the station, leaving the door open. Six and Sunny cast a glance at each other before following. "You play cards? I have an extra Caravan deck if you're interested."

"No thanks," Six answered. "A man by the name of Joe Cobb has been asking around town about you."

Ringo tossed the cards to Six. "I insist. I'm not worried about Cobb. It's his friend's I'm worried about. He's part of the Powder Gangers. I don't think I could take them all in a gunfight."

"Why are they after you?" Sunny asked.

"My caravan got jumped by him and his group. We fought back…and a few of his men got killed. I figure he's out for revenge," Ringo told her – handing each of them a surprisingly cool Sarsaparilla.

"Maybe we can help," Six offered. He glanced at Sunny, and she gave a quick nod of approval.

"I'm in," Sunny quickly agreed. She popped the cap off of her Sarsaparilla bottle and took a long swig. "I know Cobb's type. He's not going to let the town off even if we let him have you. But the three of us aren't exactly a force to be reckoned with."

"I don't want us to end up sharing the same shallow grave," Ringo gave a light shrug. "Maybe if I lay low, they'll move on."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Six said, pausing a moment to drink from his own bottle. "Maybe if we can recruit enough folks in town to give us a hand we can sway the odds in our favor."

"We can talk to Trudy," Sunny chimed in. "If I can convince her, others will definitely follow suit. We can talk to Chet, try to get some leather armor, but even with the town at stake he's going to want to bring in some profit. And Easy Pete is always going on about his dynamite stash."

"And the good Doc will certainly lend a hand if anyone gets wounded," Six added. "I'll go talk to Doc. Sunny, I imagine you're on good terms with the town folk. Go talk to Trudy and Pete. Ringo, you're a trader – see what you can do about Chet."

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><p>Six opened the door to Doc Mitchell's house. "Doc?"<p>

"Back here. Come say hello," the Doc called back. Six took the first door on his right, walking into the familiar room where he had woken up just hours earlier. Doc was standing over the woman that he and Sunny had brought in. She was awake.

"I hear you're the one who saved me," the woman told him. "I wanted to thank you."

"Don't mention it. Just passing on the kindness your town has shown to me," Six smiled. He turned to Doc, "Can we talk in another room?" Doc nodded, walking into the adjacent room.

"Have a seat," he told Six. "What's on your mind, son?"

Six took a seat on a long tan couch. "There's a storm brewing. The town's going to be attacked by bandits. We could really use your help."

Doc sighed. "Seems like everywhere you go all people want to do is hurt each other. I won't be much good in a fight, and supplies are scarce. But of course, I'll help in any way I can." Doc reached into his pouch and pulled out a few stimpacks, "Here. If anyone is seriously wounded, you be sure to bring them to me."

"It'll be my top priority. Thanks Doc. Hopefully this is all we'll need." Six made his way to the exit. Outside, he could see Sunny and Ringo waiting by a dilapidated Chryslus pickup. Each of them wearing a slightly worn suit of leather armor. "Much luck?" he called out as he approached them.

Ringo slapped the bed of the truck. "Saved the best suit for you, chief. Chet was even nice enough to part with some ammo."

"Nice," he turned his gaze to Sunny. "What about Trudy and the others?"

"Everyone's getting set up."

"And the dynamite?"

"Pete's going to set up a few traps around town. If we can lure the powder gangers into their radius."

"Good. Sunny, I want you on the roof of the saloon. You're a good shot. Pick off any that stray from the main group – but don't expose yourself more than you need to. Ringo, you're going to stay with me – my shotgun's range isn't great, so I'm going to need you to cover me while I rein these guys in. I have a plan."

"Now what?" Ringo asked.

"Now, we wait."

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><p>Night had fallen. The town was anxious, but none more than Six himself. He had taken it upon himself to help the town, and he wasn't exactly confident in his abilities. Hell, before he had struggled with the geckos. But for some reason the townsfolk were behind him. Sunny believed in him. He just hoped their hopes weren't misplaced.<p>

"Look alive!" Sunny shouted from the rooftop of the saloon. "Over a dozen coming in from the south-east!"

Six rummaged through his bag and withdrew a pair of binoculars. He scanned the road heading into town. Sure enough, he counted fifteen men – lightly armed – coming in on foot. Six, held his hands up. "Nobody fire!" He walked out to meet Cobb and his men on the road. "I don't see any reason we can't resolve this without bloodshed. Nobody has to die here tonight," he told Cobb.

Cobb's eyes were narrow. His face cold and unforgiving. "Ringo and his boys thought they could start a gun fight instead of paying the toll. Give us Ringo. Maybe me and my guys won't shoot this place up after we're through with him."

"You want Ringo? There he is." Six un-holstered his pistol and fired at a man standing under the water tower next to the nearby ruins of a destroyed house. The man hit the grain and wailed in pain.

Cobb's grimace turned into a grin. "You may have just saved this town fella." Cobb motioned for a few of his boys. "Go get him."

Four of his men complied, jogging over to the wailing man under the tower. They rolled him over and he smiled. "Hi boys," the man smirked.

"Now!" Six shouted. In a quick motion, Easy Pete rolled from under the tower and into the ruins – detonator in hand. With the flick of his thumb a fierce explosion sent the men flying and the water tower crashing down.

"What the fu..." Before Cobb could finish a shot rang out. From the rooftop, Sunny Smiles smiled. One of Cobb's men hit the ground with a dull thud. Then the town opened fire. Six retreated to the ruins – Ringo and Easy Pete were there waiting on him.

"Stay down. Take any shots you have, but be quick to return to cover," Six yelled over the gunfire. "I'll take out any that get close to us. Get Cobb's attention!"

The town was lit up with gunfire. From every bush, nook, and cranny. The Powder Gangers were taken by surprise and another four had fallen before they were able to take cover. They had walked right into their own little hell. Ringo peeked his head out from the ruins and made eye contact with Cobb. "Hey dipshit!" Ringo yelled. "I'm over here!"

Cobb had taken cover behind a tree just south of where Ringo and Six were positioned. When his eyes met Ringo he flew into a rage. "Get that mother fucker!" Cobb and three of his men stormed the ruins.

"Fall back!" Six told him. Six lied flat on the ground and waited while Pete and Ringo made for the saloon. Machete in hand, Six lay in silence. Sunny picked off two of the four men as they approached the ruins. Cobb entered first. Six smashed the machete into his leg – he hit the ground in agony.

"Son of a bitch!" Cobb cried out, holding his leg. The machete had ripped through his shin, there was no way he could stand on it. Six hopped to his feet and grabbed his shotgun – stopping just short of the other man, he raised the barrel to his chest and fired. The ganger flew back with tremendous force, crashing through a fence behind him. Six turned to Cob. "Please, just let me go. We'll leave the town alone, I swear."

Six grimaced. "Should've left when I gave you the opportunity," he holstered his gun and unsheathed his machete. "Shouldn't have came to this town to begin with." He swung, his machete making firm contact with Cobb's other leg. Cobb wailed in pain. Around him, the gunfire was dying down. The Powder Gangers had nearly all been defeated. "You see what happens?" He swung again, the machete sliced through Cobb's left arm. "You brought this on yourself!" Another swing saw Cobbs right arm severed. Cobb was writhing in pain...Six pulled out a stick of dynamite.

Cobs eyes lit up with fear. "Agh! Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm the one that's going to walk out of these ruins alive," Six smiled. He lit the dynamite and gently laid it on Cobb's chest. He gave Cobb a quick slap on the cheek and hurried out of the ruins. Cobb's scream was cut short by a sound of thunder.

When Six had reached the saloon, the gunfire had ceased. The gangers were dead, and the town hadn't sustained any serious casualties. Sunny yelled down from the roof, "We did it!" Six flashed her a smile.

"Nice shooting!" Six yelled up to her. It was the second time he had told her that today.

"I can never thank you enough!" Ringo shouted, making his way to Six. "Here, this is all the caps I have on me."

"Keep your money, Ringo. You're likely to need it."

Ringo shook his head, "I have to give you something."

"You did," Six nodded, patting the deck of cards in his pocket.

* * *

><p>Sunny and Six celebrated with a few drinks and a game of pool. The town was lively despite the small scale battle and everyone was in good spirits – at least, those who hadn't been wounded. Doc, Six reasoned, would at least have a few more visitors tonight. The bar goers sang along to "Big Iron" as it played on the juke box.<p>

"I think I'm going to head on to Primm before it gets too late," Six told Sunny.

Her eyes met his and she shook her head. "No. Too dangerous to travel at night. You should stay in town until the morning."

"Nah. I'd like to get moving. Not too big on the social scene to be truthful."

Sunny bit her lower lip. "Well, I still have a few tricks to show you before you leave. Let's get out of here, check out the old schoolhouse. There's an old safe there, might be something useful in it."

"Well. I guess it's worth looking into."

"Let's go." She smiled. Six gave Ringo a quick slap on the back as they exited the bar. They made their way down the street, toward the schoolhouse. The night air was cool and refreshing. "You know, we couldn't have done this without you."

"Ah. I'm not so sure about that." Six smiled, "You're small, but you're a real live wire." Sunny answered him with a playful punch in the arm. "I don't think I've ever picked a lock before," Six admitted.

"Some of them are harder than others. I'll show you the basics, and I might have an old copy of Tumbler's or Locksmith's lying around somewhere. Reading those will help a bit, teach you a few things." Standing before the schoolhouse, they paused a moment. "You know. No one in town would oppose you staying…more permanently I mean." She motioned to a nearby shack; Victor parked in front of it, nearly completely motionless. "You could stay in Victor's Shack. Give you your own place. He doesn't use it. He'd be more like a doorman."

Six looked at the shack, then up into the clear night sky. "I appreciate the offer. But I have some unfinished business." Sunny nodded, but didn't reply. Six playfully rubbed her head. "Well. Let's go see what I can do with this lock."

Inside the schoolhouse, Six made short work of a few giant mantises with his machete. Then they approached the safe. Sunny handed Six a small screwdriver and a pack of bobby pins. After several failed attempts, Sunny spoke up: "The key is not to put too much pressure on the bobby pin," she said. "Light touch, be gentle with it." She took Six's hand into her own; guiding them. Before long, Six had successfully picked his first lock. Six could feel Sunny's eyes burning into the side of his head. He turned to speak, but she met his lips with her own. They split the contents of the safe and spent the night in Victor's shack. But when she awoke the next morning, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 3: My Kind Of Town

_This chapter ended up being a lot longer than I had anticipated, so I ended up breaking it down into two so I'd be able to meet my self-appointed deadline. This chapter has a bit more vulgarity than my last ones, but I've decided that if I'm going to write an M rated story, I may as well write an M rated story. Next update will be this week. I'm enjoying writing this, so I may upload it sooner - but it will definitely be posted by **Friday, June 8th**. This is my longest chapter yet...let me know if it's too much, or if I need to change pace or anything. I'm pretty pleased with the way this chapter turned out._

* * *

><p>Six passed the rock where, the day before, he and Sunny had saved the woman from geckos. He paused momentarily at the rock, contemplating the young woman he had left sleeping in Victor's shack, before heading towards the road. "Hey! You!" Six turned to see a weary man in a worn black leather vest jogging his way. "Hey! Can you help me?"<p>

Six stopped just short of the road and waited. "Depends on what your problem is."

"It's my girl. We were up on the ridge, and we were attacked by geckos. Please, you have to help me. She'll die."

Six's thoughts once again fluttered to Sunny. "How do I get to her?"

"Follow the trail up past the broken radio tower. She's at the top. Please, hurry. You have to save her."

"Alright…fella. I'll see what I can do."

"Barton. My name's Barton. Thank you so much."

Six checked his pouch for ammunition. He had ten rounds left for his shotgun, and a box of 10mm rounds. He then began making his way up the path. As he made his way up the hill, Six made quick work of a few geckos, that, for the most part, proved to be of little challenge. Two larger ones he killed with his pistol – and three young ones he dispatched with his machete. At the top of the hill, however, he found only the body of a dead prospector. Perplexed, Six searched the prospector's camp for any materials he might be able to make use of.

"Thanks for clearing out the geckos. I believe that stash is mine."

Six turned to see Barton, with his weapon at the ready. Six's hand crept towards his own weapon. "Don't even think about it," Barton warned, he pulled the hammer back on his 9mm pistol. "Toss your weapons on the ground."

Six eyed Barton a moment before obliging him – "If you're going to kill me, make it quick."

"Oh I will. Turn around," Barton commanded him.

"I'd rather face my killer if it's all the same to you."

Barton inched closer, "Turn. Around." This time Six did as he was asked. "Now get on your knees." Six sank down, his eyes darting around his surroundings. He noticed a bear trap a few feet away from him. If he could get to it…Suddenly he heard Barton cry in pain. He wheeled around to see Victor's robotic arm clamped around Barton's neck. Victor shook Barton a few times and tossed him down the mountainside.

"You need to be careful. It's dangerous out here!" Victor told him.

"Where the hell'd you come from, Victor? How'd you know I needed help?" Six was surprised, but relieved to see the robot.

"I can smell trouble a mile away pard'ner!"

Six smirked. "Even without a nose?"

"Hah! I like you friend!"

"Well, that's twice you saved me." Six told him.

"Everyone needs help from time to time. Maybe you can return the favor one day."

"Maybe. Well, Victor, I'm going to head back down to the road. Maybe we'll meet again one day."

"Oh, our trails will definitely cross again, pard'ner!" Victor assured, as Six treaded back towards the highway.

Back at the highway, Six watched the baby geckos dance across the road, running hitherto – occasionally stopping to snip at a radroach or bloatfly. In the distance the roller coaster rose and winded like a great coiled serpent. Sunny's words had rang true –Primm would be impossible to miss.

He stood silently a moment before a road sign. To his right, Primm – and the massive coiled beast. To the left, Vegas. Every inch of his being wanted to go left – to head straight to the real serpent of the Mojave, the man that had left him for dead. Six huffed and let his eyes fall forward. A small shack loomed in the distance. Six glanced at the road sign again – directly ahead, "Jean".

Six tepidly made his way to the shack. The last time he explored before introducing himself, he ended up with a gun pointed at him – that seemed to be happening a lot. And this time, Sunny wasn't here to calm down any potential assailants. Six knocked on the door. Nothing…he waited a moment longer and knocked again. This time he got a response, "Just a minute!" After a beat the door creaked open; before him stood an aged man, perhaps in his late thirties, wearing a set of leather armor and a peculiar fisherman's cap. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry to intrude. I was just taking a look around."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," the man grinned. "Please, come in. Have a seat." Six entered the shack. The inside was just as worn down as the exterior. Tires and empty barrels littered the right side of the shack, a set of lockers stood along the back wall next to a large wooden crate, and a lone table sat in the middle of the room. On the table was a hull of a computer and what looked to be a mostly functional HAM radio – though it was silent. The man grabbed one of the barrels and flipped it up so that it could be used as a seat – then, he took a seat behind the table. "You know. You really ought to be careful. There are Powder Gangers around. Where you headed to?"

"Yeah, I've seen them. Headed out to Primm…what about you? What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, I'm just a merchant. Came across this place, thought it'd be a good place to set up shop."

Six glanced around the mostly empty shack skeptically. "You don't exactly have any supplies."

"Powder Gangers. Took everything."

"So why are you sticking around?"

"Oh, uh…you know."

"No pack brahmin, no supplies…"

"Well…fuck. Alright, I'm not a merchant. I'm a bounty hunter…and I was hoping to cash in on some of the gangers. But I haven't had any success."

"There's a bounty on them?"

"No. But I figure the NCR would be grateful to any help anyway. Just showing a little initiative."

"Well, look. I could use some ammo. I'm a bit short on caps, but you can take what I've got…if you have any 20gauge rounds."

The man stood and grabbed an ammo container that was sitting on the locker behind him. "Matter of fact, I do. But I found a mess of ammunition when I got here. About twenty or so shells in this box. Take them, no charge. Just be careful out there."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I have enough to do me. Better you take them and keep yourself alive."

"Thanks stranger."

"Name's Deckard. Randall Deckard."

"Six." After a light hearted handshake, Six turned to the door, "Thank you, Deckard. I repay my debts. You'll hear from me soon."

* * *

><p>The road to Primm was relatively docile. Only once did he have to sneak by a couple of gangers holed up in a small camping trailer just off the road. Luckily, it was still fairly early and the gangers were sleeping. Along the road, occasionally, a few geckos would sprint back and forth – but they were all very young. As he neared the town, he saw a quick burst of movement headed at him. Far too big to be a gecko. He instinctively reached for his sidearm. "Hey! Whoa! Easy, fella! I'm with the NCR. Primm's off limits. Powder Gangers have taken over the town."<p>

Six let his arm fall to his side. "Thanks for the warning," Six turned his gaze upon the coaster, "Christ those Powder Ganger fucks are everywhere."

"They're escaped convicts from the NCRCF – a correctional facility a little ways north-east of here," the trooper told him.

"Any way I can help?"

The trooper gave Six a once over and shrugged. "I suppose you could talk to Lieutenant Hayes. He's in a tent just down the road…just make sure to stay on the west side of the overpass. Unless you're keen on getting shot."

"I'll do that," Six gave the trooper a quick nod and continued along the road into Primm. The buildings – at least on this side of town – were in complete ruin, none even remotely livable. At the end of the road he came to a man sitting at a weathered green picnic table. "Hello. I'm looking for Lieutenant Hayes."

The man looked up at him for a moment before standing. "Sir. The lieutenant is in that tent," the soldier motioned towards the southernmost tent.

"Should I just go in…or…"

"No, sir," the soldier told him. "Give me a moment, I will fetch him for you." The soldier disappeared into the tent. Moments later another man emerged.

"I'm Lieutenant Hayes of the New California Republic Army, 5th battalion, 1st company. What's your business?" The man was gruff. His uniform was worn and dirty. Unlike the other soldiers that Six had seen, this one wore a tattered green beret.

"I was told to speak with you. To see if there was any way I could assist you."

"Military operations are classified information. A civilian has no business butting into the affairs of the NCR," the man's voice betrayed him. Six could tell he was uneasy.

"Just trying to make myself useful. If you don't have any problems…"

"The problem isn't on us. The problem was with the initial intel for our mission. The convicts are better armed and better organized than what had been originally suggested. Without better equipment and reinforcements…shit…" Hayes shook his head.

"Maybe I can help," Six offered.

"I'm not going to lie to you. Any help you can give us, we'll be willing to take."

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

><p>Six, once more, found himself in front of Jean Sky Diving. He lightly tapped at the door, "Deckard?"<p>

After a beat the door creaked open, the man again stood before him – this time eating from a cram container. "Yeah?" Bits of cram fell from Deckard's mouth as he talked.

"Powder Gangers have taken over Primm. The NCR troops stationed there have requisitioned my help. I'd be willing to split any profit…" Six didn't need to finish his sentence. The door shut in his face and before he had time to react, Deckard emerged with his caravan shotgun hanging loosely over his shoulder. "I guess that means you're in."

"Damn right I'm in."

* * *

><p>Six and Deckard made their way across the overpass in Primm, being very careful to avoid the mines. "I'm glad you saw those damn things," Deckard's voice was quiet.<p>

"No shit. You'd think that NCR trooper back there would have fucking told us there were mines on the bridge." The sun was just beginning to set. Six could just make out two gangers patrolling the street between the buildings ahead. One of the men paused to yawn, he then casually leaned back against the building just opposite the Bison Steve Hotel and Casino. Six turned to Deckard, motioning for him to be silent. He then waved his arm in a short circular motion and pointed to the other ganger, who began making his way up a collapsed section of the roller coaster tracks and onto the roof. Deckard gave Six a quick nod before disappearing around the northern corner of the building.

Six laid flat on his stomach and began inching his way to the corner of the building – he paused briefly before rolling to the column. He could hear the ganger breathing on the other side. His breathing was intermittent – with alternating coughs and yawns. Six watched the northern area of Primm. Slowly, Deckard made his way around the other side of the building and towards the ganger on the roof – who was now perched precariously atop an engraved stone wall above the entrance. Six watched as Deckard began the ascent to the roof. Six paused…something was off. The ganger that had before been yawning lazily was now almost completely silent. Six peeked around the column, the man was staring in Deckard's direction – he looked unsure of whether or not he had seen anything. He leaned forward slightly and waved to his comrade. The other ganger casually waved back.

"Stupid fuck," the ganger shook his head and pointed to the tracks-turned-ramp. "Go chec…"

Before the man was able to finish his sentence, Six rounded the edge of the building and grabbed the man in a choke-hold. His machete found its way into the man's lower abdomen, and he pushed hard upwards and into his chest. "Oh shit!" Six heard the ganger across the street cry out in surprise. The ganger fumbled for his rifle. Six dropped the ganger he was holding and ducked back behind the column. He waited for a shot, but instead heard a startled shriek followed by a dull thud. Six peeked around the corner to see Deckard standing where the ganger had previously been.

Deckard peered over the edge to the man, he was lying face down in the concrete – blood collecting around his head. "Got him."

Six stepped out into the street facing the Bison Steve Motel. Behind him, he heard the familiar creek of a door. He wheeled around, pistol at the ready. "Don't shoot! Easy! I'm a friend. I don't know what brings you to Primm…but you and your friend had better get in here before you attract more of those gangsters holed up in the hotel."

"We're actually here to help with that," Six told him.

"Is that so?" Nash eyed Six carefully. "You certainly look like you can handle yourself. Those powder gangsters…they killed our sheriff and his wife. Kidnapped Deputy Beagle – they have him in that hotel…if he's still alive."

"Is the front the only way in?"

"No. If you go around behind the hotel, you can follow the tracks. You'll come to a place where they meet the hotel, an entrance on the second floor."

"Alright. I need you to show my friend up there…" Six motioned towards Deckard, who was making his way down towards them, "…where to go to get to that second entrance. Then, get back inside, bar the door and do not open it until you hear from us."

* * *

><p>Six opened the front entrance of the hotel slowly. Inside he could see two gangers conversing behind a makeshift barricade consisting of a couple overturned tables and an old counter. Six cautiously entered, opening the door just enough to squeeze through. He made his way across the room at a snail's pace and ducked behind the counter.<p>

"You're full of shit," one said.

"I'm serious. We stormed in on them right in the middle. He didn't even have time to pull out. Fucking shot both of them in the head. That's when that little fuck came in. We were going to kill him and he busts out crying, says the town would be willing to pay handsomely for him."

The first ganger laughed, "Was she hot?"

"What?"

"The sheriff's wife. Was she hot?"

"I don't fucking know, her face got blown off by a shotgun."

"…You don't need to see her face. What about her body?"

"Man shut the fuck up." The second ganger stood up and made his way into the hallway. "Stay here, you fucking freak. I'm going to go check in with the boss."

Six waited until the footsteps of the second ganger faded, then crawled around the barrier. The "freak" was sitting with his arms folded, staring at the door. Six unsheathed his machete…if he could just get behind him…

*Click*

The front door settled…the noise sent a shiver down Six's spine. "Fuck…" he muttered under his breath. The ganger stood, eyes locked on the doorway.

"Who's there?" The ganger took a step forward – un-holstering his weapon as he did. "I know you're out there."

Six laid flat against the barrier, "Shit!" Six tightened his grip around his machete and waited. The ganger slowly made his way around the barrier, pistol drawn. Then…he walked right by Six. Six furively made his way to his feet and crept up behind the ganger. When he was within arm's reach, he swiftly brought his left hand up to the man's mouth, and, with his right, he slid the machete across the man's neck. The man gargled for a moment, his warm blood splashing off of Six's machete and onto his hand.

"Hey, look what I found in the gift sho…who the fuck are you?" Six turned to see the other man had made his way back. He had a revolver; black stainless steel with gold etching and an ivory handle. The main raised it to fire…

Silence.

"Must be my lucky day," Six hopped over the barrier and with one swift motion severed the man's head. He didn't even have time to scream. Six paused briefly, picking up the revolver. He silently admired it for a moment, checking the chambers…one was empty. He really had been lucky. He then made his way into the hall. The hall was empty, stretching into the darkness. Six passed an elevator, a couple of tan couches, and a locked door. He would have attempted to pick the lock, but it didn't seem like a good idea with gangers roaming about. He made his way into an adjacent hall…he could hear voices coming from the other side of the wall. He peered around the corner into what appeared to be a dining hall. Inside, he could see three more gangers gathered around a barrel of fire.

"Why ain't they given us the ransom yet?" One asked.

"They will!" Six heard a man scream. "Give them time!"

"You'd better hope they pay," another ganger answered. This one wasn't like the others…he wore metal armor and had something strapped to his back. Six struggled to see what it was…a fuel tank? A flamethrower!

Six ducked back out into the hall and sank against the wall. "You gotta be shitting me…" he mumbled under his breath. Suddenly, movement. A shadow slinked across the room and came to rest beside him. It was Deckard.

"Upstairs clear. Only three up there. Dead now."

Six raised an eyebrow. "You're like a damn ghost…"

With a smile, Deckard waved a silenced .22 pistol in the air before stashing it into his jacket. "Old man gave it to me," he said. "Just after you went inside."

"Well this would have made things a lot easier…"

"No shit," Deckard stifled a laugh. "So what do we have in there?" He peeked around the corner.

"Three guys. One has a goddamned flamethrower."

"Shit…why the fuck is he standing so close to the fire with that fuel tank on?"

"I…don't know."

Deckard's face lit up. "I have an idea," he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a stick of dynamite. "Got this off one of the poor bastards upstairs. Got a light?"

"Actually, I do," Six rummaged through his pouch for a moment. When he withdrew his hand, he held a Zippo.

Deckard took the lighter and rolled into the kitchen – slowly making his way towards the men huddled around the fire. He glanced over his shoulder at Six and gave a nod. Six made his way down the hall and into the dining hall via the second archway. He watched as Deckard made his way to the convicts. Once he was in place, he lit the dynamite and swiftly tucked it between the flamer's tank and hose. Deckard stood and bolted.

"Hey! Who the…" The ganger noticed the dynamite. "Oh shit! Boss!" The ganger struggled to find his words, instead resulting to frantic pointing before diving away. Six capitalized on the moment of confusion and stood, shooting one of the standing gangers twice in the head with his newly acquired revolver. The ganger leader, having noticed his predicament, struggled with the fuel tank. He had nearly dispatched of it when the dynamite blew. The room resonated with sound and the force of the blast sent the fire barrel slamming into the surviving ganger. Deckard poked his head up from behind an overturned table.

"Now that's a party!"

"What?" Six's ears were ringing.

"Yeah!" Deckard replied. "Is he dead?"

"What?"

Deckard motioned towards the ganger laid out by the barrel. "We got a live one!"

"Gun?" Six looked at the ganger and indolently emptied the revolver's remaining three shots into the man. "There, now it doesn't matter if he has a gun!"

Deckard gave six a confused look and shook his head, laughing under his breath.

* * *

><p><em>I wanted to introduce Six's new sidearm of choice early...despite not being able to get it this early in game, with it being behind a high level lock and all. Also, I didn't want to just name the gun "Lucky", I wanted the reader to infer that it was, in fact, Lucky that Six had found...and I wanted a reason for him to name it that. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Until next time.<em>


	5. Chapter 4: I Fought The Law

_I'm a little late, but still got it up for everyone. Sorry for the delay, I've been helping my nephew prepare for his wedding. I'm his best man. I was honored he asked me. But enough about my life. _

_This chapter was fun to write. I hope it is as much fun to read. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>A muffled cry. Silence. Then again.<p>

"What?" Six brought his hands up to the side of his head and rubbed his ears furiously. After a moment he stopped and looked at Deckard. Deckard was making his way across the dining hall, towards the kitchen. Six followed suit, increasing his pace to a light jog to catch up with Deckard. In the back, near an overturned refrigerator was a man in leather armor; bound and gagged. The position was all too familiar. The man looked as though he had taken a beating – his blonde hair matted and wet with sweat and blood. One of his eyes was swollen and his lip was busted. "Beagle?" Six asked, a little louder than he meant to.

The man nodded feverishly. Six removed the gag while Deckard cut his limbs free. The man stood wearily, massaging his wrists. "Oh thank God. I don't think I could have stayed like that much longer. My hands are completely numb."

"Well, you're safe now," Deckard smiled, tossing his left arm across the man's back and giving him a firm pat on the chest with his right. "How'd these assholes get you anyway?"

"I saw the gangers storm in while I was out patrolling the streets. They went into my sister's house…killed her and her husband, the sheriff. In a blind rage I attacked them as they left. I killed a few before they took me."

Six's face contorted with a mixture of pity and disbelief. "Strange. I don't remember seeing any bodies out there."

"Aside from the ones we killed," Deckard's grin widened.

"Oh! They must of…uh. Must of buried their fallen somewhere."

"Ah. Of course." Deckard nodded accordingly. "Well, _Sheriff_. Let's get you back to the rest of the townsfolk." Deckard began leading Beagle towards the exit. Six followed step alongside them, still slightly deafened from the blast. He could, at least, hear the conversation well enough now.

"Oh no. No, no, no. I'm just the deputy. Chain of command and all. Can't have a deputy without a sheriff."

"The chain of command was conceived for this very type of situation," Six said, matter-of-factly. "You're kind of missing the point."

Beagle shuffled for a moment. "No. The sheriff needs to be someone brave. Someone who can handle situations."

Deckard turned to Six. "You up for it, sport?"

"Fuck that. I'm not staying here. Any suggestions _deputy_?"

Beagle paused for a moment. "Well, I heard the gangers talking about some guy up at the NCRCF, goes by the name of Meyers. He was apparently a sheriff before he was arrested. Or I guess you could talk to the NCR…not sure why they didn't help us out to begin with."

"Well…they sort of did. They sent us," Six told him. "But it is strange…there really wasn't much resistance here."

Deckard huffed. "They wouldn't raise a finger to help unless the town agreed to be appropriated."

The group rounded the corner of the hall, back into the main entrance. They carefully stepped over the foes Six had dispatched before opening the double doors and walking out into the streets of Primm. Six shrugged. "I guess we could help find a sheriff. Any preferences?"

Beagle twisted his lips into a ball. "I don't think martial law sounds very fun."

Six laughed, "Yeah, I wouldn't imagine so. Meyers it is."

Deckard shook his head. "No. Meyers is in the NCRCF. There's no way we can get to him."

"Unless we get the NCR's help. I mean, they have to be sore over getting thrown out of their own facility," Six pointed out.

"Yeah," Beagle once again found himself nodding zealously. "I heard old man Nash talking to some trooper the other day. Heard him say something about the NCR planning to take back the prison any day now."

Six turned to Deckard, "Go talk to that lieutenant?"

Deckard shrugged, "May as well. See about getting our pay for clearing out this town, in any case."

"Well…unless there's something else, I think I'm going to go bury my sister."

Six gave a slight nod. "Take care of yourself, deputy."

"So how much did we make off this gig?"

Six raised an eyebrow. "Well…I didn't exactly discuss payment…"

* * *

><p>"I never agreed to any payment," Hayes told Six flatly. Deckard was waiting outside of the tent. "I just said we'd take whatever help you could give us. And you did excellent work, liberating the town."<p>

"Yet, deserve nothing for our troubles?"

"That's the workings of the world, kid."

"Fuck that. I risked my life for you lazy assholes. There weren't even that many convicts in there. Well organized my ass. You and your rag tag group of _soldiers_ could have taken them out without any hassle."

"My rag tag group of soldiers have bigger fish to fry."

"Like taking back the prison?"

Hayes narrowed his eyes. "Where'd you get that information?"

"The fuck would I tell you for?"

"Military operations are cla…"

"Spare me, you fucking twit."

Hayes took a deep breath before taking a seat by a rusted white table in the middle of his tent. "Look. I'm sorry. But the truth is we simply don't have the funds to pay you for what you did. Don't think that I don't know or appreciate your help. It's just…" he trailed off, letting his head fall into his palms.

Six bit his lip. "What if we help you take back the prison?"

Hayes raised his head from his hands, "You do that, and I'd pay you personally."

"How much?"

"I have two hundred fifty caps to my name. You can have every last one."

"Two-fifty?" Six nodded, a pleased look on his face. "I can work with that."

Outside the tent, Six handed Deckard a small pouch of caps, electing to pay Deckard with his personal funds. "100 caps. Your cut." Deckard opened the pouch and peered inside.

"Not very much."

"They offered 125 more a piece, if we help take back the prison."

Deckard looked up from the pouch and at Six. "I'm in. What's next?"

"We have to meet Sergeant Lee, and a small platoon, at an overturned train car just south of the facility tomorrow morning. They're going to strike early. Before the sun rises. We have about seven hours."

"Well…guess we could set up camp back in the hotel. There's a few rooms with beds on the second floor."

* * *

><p>Six lay silently across a very uncomfortable bed on the second floor of the Bison Steve motel. It had taken him quite a few bobby pins, but he had managed to pick the lock to this particular room. The room had been strewn with psycho and med-x, which Six had long since stashed in his bag. Not that he was big on using drugs – aside from the occasional turbo now and then. But that was only on days when he felt sluggish. No, Six had stashed the drugs with the intent to sell…as someone was always willing to buy. In the adjacent bathroom and on the bed he had found the skeletal remains of a couple people long forgotten. Six guessed, from the drugs, that they were junkies that had overdosed a long time ago. The bodies were together now…in the tub and out of sight.<p>

Though he was tired, sleep was not coming easy for him. In the next room over he could hear Deckard snoring noisily. Next to him, a woman slept. He hadn't even asked her what her name was…some NCR deserter he had picked up in the Vikki and Vance Casino just a couple hours earlier. Six brushed the hair from her eyes and yawned. She made no effort to look up at him. She was long insensible…the med-x she had taken making her numb to the world around her.

Six reached over the side of the bad and pulled his lucky .357 magnum from his pouch. Meticulously, he studied the treasure he had acquired earlier in the day. The black stainless steel and gold etching – and, along the barrel was a small ivory plate. Six contemplated a moment before rummaging through his pack. After a moment, he withdrew a small knife with a red clothed handle. Six carefully began scratching the ivory plate.

* * *

><p>"Lucky?"<p>

"Yeah. Seems appropriate given the circumstances surrounding how I got it."

The girl shrugged, pulling her white tank top back over her head. "I guess."

Six tossed her the green beret that had sometime during the night made its way into the floor. "Where will you go now?"

"New Canaan," she told him. Really not showing much interest in what Six had to say. This was fine with Six…as it saved him an awkward goodbye. He much preferred to keep things simple.

"Ah. Never been there…" Six turned from the girl, lifting his bag over his shoulder. "That I can remember…" he muttered, under his breath.

The girl slothfully picked up her brown cargo pants and slid them on. Six admired her as she did, smiling more at himself than at her. "So," she began, "do you even want to know my name?"

"Not particularly," he told her, giving her backside a playful slap as he left the room.

Deckard was awaiting him in the hall. "Took you long enough. Let's hope the party hasn't started without us."

"They'll wait," Six told him. "Or they won't."

"They don't, and we won't get paid."

Six shrugged, "Don't think they'll do much without backup."

* * *

><p>"I'm Sergeant Lee," the man told them as they approached the overturned train car. "Hayes radioed ahead to say you were on your way."<p>

Six yawned and flipped out his revolver – checking to make sure _every_ chamber was loaded. "What's the plan here, sergeant?"

"We got surprise on our side, that's about it. Once we blow a gap in the fence we got to pour on the fire and keep them disorganized."

Deckard sneered. "That doesn't sound like a very good plan."

Sergeant Lee stared at Deckard for a moment then turned back to Six. "Our goal is to take out their leader, some ass-butt named Eddie. Once their leader is gone, the rest will fold in time," Lee told them.

"Cut off the head, the body dies," Six shrugged. "Might work. Might not."

Deckard glanced around, snickering softly. "Not exactly a lot of help here, _ass-butt_."

Lee leveled his eyes at Deckard. "We have men station around the prison ready to move on my mark," he replied, staring at the men blankly. "Well, that's enough briefing. We hired you to contribute, not chitchat."

Before either men had time to object, Lee had taken off over the ridge, keeping low to the ground. Six and Deckard followed suit. After a moment, the air around the prison rang with thunder – three different sections of the security fence lay in ruin. As if from nowhere, NCR troopers began pouring into the facility. "You go with Lee," Six whispered. "I'm going to go in through the front while the gangers are distracted. See if I can find this Meyers fella."

"Sounds like a plan. Keep low."

Six strayed from the group, heading towards the front. He saw a man, but only momentarily, as he retreated into the prison. Six slinked up to the door and twisted the knob…it opened. Inside he saw a man sitting calmly at the table while the prison went to hell around him. "Must be Eddie…" he thought to himself. He withdrew his side arm – the ivory handle flickering in the dim light. He made his way up behind the man and placed the pistol to his temple. He could see the man tense up. "Drop your weapons…"

"How about you drop yours?" Another voice called out. It was the man that had retreated from the entrance just moments before.

Six muttered to himself before lowering his gun. As he did, the man in the chair drew his – pulling it up quickly and firing with lethal accuracy…the man behind Six dropped.

"I never liked you, Dawes," The man turned to Six, gently tipping his black brimmed hat. "Name's Meyers. Most people don't willingly walk into this place. What's your story?"

"Meyers? Well that was easy."

Meyers eyed Six a moment. "Do I know you?"

"No. But I hear you used to be a sheriff…and you're just the type of man I'm looking for."

"I'm sorry, mister. I don't swing that way."

Six looked confused for a moment…"No. I mean Primm. Just the type of man Primm is looking for."

"Few of the other cons overrun Primm last I heard."

"That problem is in the past. So what do you say? Want to be Primm's new sheriff?"

"Couple of stipulations…but yeah, I'm interested."

"Stipulations?" Six eyed Meyers quizzically. "You'll be getting out of prison…isn't that good enough?"

"Well, I want an NCR pardon, sure. But I also want some guarantees. Guarantees that I won't end up right back here," Meyers stroked his graying beard.

"That depends on what you're in here for."

"Taking some shortcuts. Sometimes the justice system just drags things out. Sometimes it's best to take matters into your own hands."

Six grinned. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

Six and Meyers made their way into the prison yard. The gunfire had long died down, and Lee was approaching Six from across the yard – prisoner in tote. Meyers huffed. "Scrambler…that's one bad mother fucker."

Six glanced momentarily at Meyers then turned to Lee. "Sergeant," he nodded. "Where's Deckard?"

"This bastard here," Lee nodded towards Scrambler, "…was hiding in one of the offices on the second floor. We thought we had everyone cleared out. Deckard asked to search the place, I thought it was safe…I'm sorry."

Six turned to Scrambler, the man had a sickening grin on his face. "We'll be sure he faces consequences to the full extent of t…" Before Lee could finish his sentence Six calmly raised his magnum to Scrambler's head and fired. Bits of brain and skull fragments showered Lee's uniform.

Six turned to Meyers, "No. I don't think we'll have a problem with that at all."


	6. Chapter 5: Drowning Your Sorrows

_So, the wedding went well. But during the rehearsal, I had a bit of an accident. It's left my leg in a bad way, and I'm pumped full of meds. Hopefully my writing hasn't suffered because of it. If it has, let me know and I'll do what I can to recover. This chapter was difficult for me to write - I've been nauseated and in considerable pain. But I think I might have pulled it off pretty well. Again, I found myself trying to fit too much into one chapter. I'm going to try to keep my chapters below 3,000 words for a couple reasons. One being shorter is a faster read, and another being it's much easier to write. Especially now. I introduce Cass this chapter. I hope she lives up to your expectations._

* * *

><p>Hayes stood before him, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. "You executed a man in cold blood."<p>

Six's left nostril flared a moment. He raised a brow and let it fall, leaving his lips parted just enough to give the illusion that he had considered answering. Hayes waited, but Six never spoke.

"I don't think you appreciate the seriousness of the situation. We had the man in custody, he would have paid for his crimes. Now you could very well end up incarcerated in his place."

Six lightly shrugged. "You'll probably just lose the prison again anyway. That son of a bitch killed a good man. A man that risked his life to help you retake a prison that _you_ lost."

Hayes let his eyes fall to the ground. Without looking up he spoke to Sergeant Lee, who'd – until this point – had his rifle jammed uncomfortably into Six's spine. "That'll be all, sergeant." Lee looked at his superior officer, but Hayes didn't repeat himself. After a beat, Lee lowered his rifle and left the tent. Hayes tiredly rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. I have to maintain appearances, you know?" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small pouch of caps and tossed them to Six, then nodded to a small box on the table at the center of the tent. "Those belonged to your friend. Given the circumstances, I think you should take them." Six glanced into the box…a box of shells, the silenced .22, and the pouch of caps he had given Deckard the night before.

Six looked back at Hayes, "And what about this Meyers character?"

"What about him? He's a prisoner."

"Primm needs law. Meyers has experience."

Hayes shook his head. "I don't have the power to grant a pardon."

"Who does?"

"South of here there's an outpost. Just follow the road. There's an absurdly large statue of two rangers shaking hands. No way you can miss it. Find Ranger Jackson, he may be able to help."

Six began packing the contents of the box neatly into his bag. "I'll send a few men to escort you. The road to the outpost isn't safe – between the Jackals, ants, and radscorpions…" Hayes trailed off and made his way out of the tent.

Before Six had finished packing, Hayes slipped through the tent's entrance. "You've done the NCR a service. Don't think I don't see that. The NCR is indebted to you and your friend."

Six didn't respond, electing instead to let the tent flap fall silently into place behind him as he walked out into the wastes. In all honesty, he couldn't explain why he was upset. He _didn't really_ know Deckard, and he _really didn't_ care that he had been killed. Perhaps he was just angry at the NCR's lack of action or support. Or at the NCR in general. Hell, maybe he just didn't like Lee. Something just didn't sit well with him. Outside the tent, the man that had retrieved Hayes the day before sat at the same worn picnic table. He stood when he saw Six. "Sir."

Six didn't answer.

"I'm Sergeant McGee," he continued. "Lieutenant Hayes charged a small section of troops to escort you to the Mojave Outpost."

Six quietly eyed McGee a second and continued along his way. McGee turned to a few other troops and motioned for them to fall in line.

The road to the outpost would have no doubt proven to be perilous, if not lethal, had it not been for the escort that Hayes had provided. McGee had done everything he could to befriend Six, but Six had no desire to return the sentiment. He had traveled in relative silence – breaking it only to report any movement or to deliver commands to the troops that followed him. Many of them didn't like the fact that Six was ordering them about, but McGee supported Six so the group listened. The battalion had easily out gunned a small group of Jackals at a small patrol station along the highway and mowed down a small group of ants.

It was growing dark. As they made their way up the hill, the impossibly colossal monument to the rangers loomed above them. On either side of the statue, spotlights lit up the sky. Six couldn't help but wonder just how in the hell they were able to build it. Six stopped momentarily under the shrine to read the inscribed plaque. McGee made his way up beside him. "The Unification Monument. Built in commemoration of the merging of the NCR and Desert Rangers in 2271."

Six glanced over at McGee silently. "Thanks for the escort, McGee. I think I'll be alright from here on in." He gave the sergeant a light pat on the shoulder.

McGee smiled graciously in return. "Not a problem, sir. As late as it is, I wouldn't recommend traveling back to Primm tonight. You can try the barracks, there may be an empty cot. There's a bar there too."

Six let his arm fall from the sergeant's shoulder and took leave.

The inside of the barracks was drab and dank – save for a rather attractive, fiery piece sitting at the bar. Before he was able to introduce himself, let alone sit down, she spoke.

"Looking for trouble?"

Six raised an eyebrow. "Guess that depends on what kind of trouble we're talking about."

"Not the kind you're after. So keep your eyes up and turning. I'm not selling what you're looking for." She spat.

Six's brow furrowed. "You all right?"

"No. No I'm not."

"Well. How about a drink?"

"Huh. How about a couple?"

"Trying to forget something?"

"Trying to forget a lot of things. Lost my caravan. My entire fucking business." The woman let her head rest in her hands. Six motioned for a couple drinks and sat next to her. "Probably Legion trying to cut the NCR supply line. God damned scribe, officer, whatever he is. Jackson won't let me leave. Won't let any of the caravaners go."

"Sounds to me like you're out of the caravanning business."

"Papers keep me here. Don't have any options."

"Sell it," Six suggested.

The woman stifled a laugh laced with sorrow. "Yeah," she turned to him. "Cause I'm sure people will line up to buy a caravan burned to ash." She shrugged, slowly rubbing her index and middle finger across the top of the shot glass that sat before her. "No, even with times as hard as they are, I couldn't sell it."

Six curled his lower lip sympathetically. "Do you mind if I ask why?"

"If someone came up to you and offered you a thousand caps for your name, would you take it?"

Six laughed. "Actually, I'd be willing to pay a bit more than that to find out what my name is." Six let his eyes fall to the counter in front of him. The woman downed her drink, and Six followed suit. He glanced up at the bartender and gave a quick tap on the table – signaling a second round. Then he turned back to the woman drowning her sorrows away. "Six."

The woman looked at him curiously. He tapped his chest. "That's what I've been calling myself."

"Oh," she gave him a nod and rubbed her running nose. "Cass."

"Pleasure," Six extended his hand. Cass shook it gently.

Six stroked the stubble coming in around his chin. "I'll tell you what, sweetheart," he gently placed his hand on her leg and spun her stool to face him. "I'll drink you for it."

Cass tried to hide her curious stupor behind a look of resentment. "Not interested. In your offer," she placed her own hand on his – which still rested on her leg – only long enough to pick it up and drop it. "Or in you."

Six grinned, "It's a win-win," he countered. "If you win, you get every last cap I have to my name. If I win, I get your caravan. And you can leave."

Cass raised an eyebrow. "You're serious?"

"As a heart attack."

Cass smiled, and waved to the barkeep. "What's your drink champ?"

"Oh, I'm game for whatever, doll."

"Whiskey it is."

* * *

><p>Blackness. Nausea. Six thought he'd be used to these things by now. His mouth was dry, and his stomach felt like it had spent the night doing cartwheels. Six raised his head from the stained mattress – warm with sweat and drool. "Oh fuck."<p>

"Finally awake?" A familiar voice asked. Six looked at the bunk below his own. Cass lay peacefully, her brimmed hat pulled down over her eyes. "You can certainly handle your liquor." She smiled at him from beneath her hat.

Six sat up, a bit more quickly than he had anticipated. A wave of nausea swept over him again. "Oh, holy hell."

Cass removed her hat, re-situating it as she stood, and handed six a small blue container. "Here. Fixer. Should clear up your head." She dug through her pockets and removed a small dark vial of liquid. "And radscorpion antivenom…removes unpleasant side effects of fixer."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Little trick I picked up."

Six quickly downed two of the chalky tablets and chased it with the thick black substance. He brought his hand up to his mouth, waiting to vomit, but nothing came. "Tastes like shit."

"Yeah. Beats having a hangover all day though," Cass told him. Six waited, and when it felt like he could stand on his own he hopped down from the bed. The room spun once, but came to a light stop. "So. What brought you to the Mojave outpost?"

Cass stared at Six, and he met her eyes with his own. "Have to talk to someone about getting a pardon for a friend." Six began collecting his gatherings.

"Guess you should talk to Jackson now too. Since you've acquired my caravan."

Six looked at her quizzically. Her face showed mixed signs of hope and a plea for help. He finally nodded. "Guess I should."

* * *

><p>Ranger Jackson stood before them, reading over the documents Six had handed him. "So, you're now the proprietor of Cassidy Caravans?"<p>

"That's right."

"Well, Miss Cassidy. That leaves you free to go." Jackson turned to Six. "But now you're stuck here all the same."

"I don't know if you've heard anything about the situation in Primm. 'Bout the NCR taking back the town and the prison. That was me."

Jackson pondered for a second then his face contorted in a way that Six could only read as a mixture of acceptance and satisfaction. "Sounds fair enough. But I still can't let a caravan leave without an armed escort."

Six nodded to Cassidy. "That's why I hired her. She didn't want to be completely severed from her business. Understandably so. We came to a mutual understanding. I'd buy the business, and she'd serve an armed escort."

Jackson eyed her for a moment. "If she were anyone else, I'd find this hard to believe. But enough of my men have hit on her and ended up in the infirmary for me to believe it. Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. Guy named Meyers, a prisoner at the correctional facility. He meets the qualifications to be Primm's new law. "

"The ex-sheriff? Do you even know why he was in there?"

"Taking shortcuts. I know. But desperate times. Look, I know this is a bit unorthodox…but his sentence was almost up, and he really isn't tied to the gangers. In fact, he saved my life in the prison."

"Meyers you say?" Jackson sat at his desk opening several drawers before finally settling on one. He rifled through it and withdrew a small packet of papers. "Look. I'll push this pardon through. But he owes us. Primm is a very important strategic location, so we'll be cashing in on that soon. You let him know that." Jackson sat up, and let his eyes rest on Six. "Now, is there _anything else_?"

Before Six could answer there was an abrupt tap at the door.

"Sir."

Jackson turned towards the voice. "Ghost."

Ranger Ghost stepped forward into a salute. "You told me to report if I'd heard anything from Nipton." She turned her eyes towards Six and Cass.

Jackson paid it no mind. "Yes. What have you heard?"

Ghost, called this for what Six could only fathom was her very, very pale complexion, let her eyes fall back to her superior officer. "No traffic. Smoke. It had to have been hit. Likely the remaining Powder Gangers. We need to act now."

"You know we simply do not have the sources to spare."

"But, sir."

"There's nothing more to talk about." Jackson said, waving his arm in dismissal.

As Ghost turned to leave, Six and Cass silently joined behind her. She seemed to pay them no mind.

"I'm headed back that way. I can swing into town and have a look around if you'd like," Six called out.

Ghost stopped. Her face emotionless, concealed by dark glasses and her high brimmed hat. "Look at you, all fired up and ready to go. I'm not asking you to get yourself killed though…I'm asking for your eyes and ears. _Not_ _your life_." Without another word, Ghost strayed from the group and resumed her post atop the bar.

Six and Cass began the long trudge back to Primm. Cass stopped only a moment to look up at the monument – then into the camp that, for so long had felt like a prison. She turned to Six, who returned her caravan papers. Cass looked at them a moment then back at Six. "Look, I know I said I'd hire you – but we both know I don't have the funds to keep up my end of the bargain. And we both know who really won our wager last night."

Cass took her papers and let her arm fall slothfully to her side. "Oh, right."

Six looked back out over the hill towards the smoke billowing high above Nipton, then back at Cass. "Where will you go now?"

"Where are you going?" She followed his question almost simultaneously with her own.

"Figure I'd go check out Nipton…then head back to Primm to give Meyers his pardon." Six told her. "And you?"

"I…don't know," She looked at her feet. "The idea of trailing back west with my tail between my legs is unappealing."

"There are other places you could go."

"Yeah. Head into Caesar's fucking arms. Back to a home where nobody wants me."

"Maybe it's less about where you go and more about who you go there with." Six twisted his lower lip into a ball and took a breath. "Besides, I could always use someone who knows the roads."

Cass laughed a bit louder than he expected her to. "That has _got_ to be the biggest load of shit I've ever heard."

Six didn't reply, he just shrugged.

"But you can't pay me, right?"

"Not exactly the wealthiest traveler to have walked the wastes."

"Right," Cass smiled. "Fuck it. I'm in."

Six began trudging down the hill towards Nipton. Cass on his heels. "So, how'd you get into the caravaning business Miss Cassidy?"

"Just sort of fell into place for me, I guess. I had the itch to travel…and wanted to make money. It made sense."

"Right, right. How was life treating you here in the Mojave…before all this." Six opened his arms wide, one gesturing towards the Ranger monument, the other motioning off in the distance to parts unknown. Cass assumed he meant the Legion.

"I'm not one for soft living. Or soft men. Otherwise we wouldn't be talking right now..." Cass trailed off, realizing what she had said.

Six never stopped though, he just smiled to himself and continued along his way. Just when Cass was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he spoke. "Miss Cassidy," He looked at her over his shoulder, "Are you flirting with me?"

"No. I know your look. The way you swag when you walk. That shit eating grin on your face. Nothing will ever happen between us. Ever. And you'd do good to respect that."

Six shrugged. "No ill intent," he told her. His smile betrayed him though.


	7. Chapter 6: Keep Your Eyes On The Prize

_This chapter was...interesting. I like the way it turned out..but if you guys don't, let me know and I'll avoid this type of thing in the future. I won't go into much details here...but I'll probably throw in and end note. Enjoy.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Looks like five…six of them," Six lowered his binoculars.<p>

"Jackals or Vipers?"

Six looked at Cass, brows arched. "Seriously?" He peered through his binoculars again. They had positioned themselves under a billboard, next to a collapsed overpass on the road heading to Nipton. "Vipers? Jackals? Fucking raiders, does it really even matter?"

Cass pressed her lips and widened her eyes. "Some of the shit I've heard about Vipers is fucking scary."

"That's only if they catch you," Six countered. Cass pulled the binoculars from his grasp and began scanning the horizon.

"Where are they?"

"By the ruins along the road. Wouldn't have noticed them, but one of them is patrolling the street too."

"I see them."

"Well?" Six asked.

"Well what?"

"Well, are they Jackals or Vipers?"

"I don't' fucking know," Cass quipped. Six mused quietly to himself before taking back his binoculars. He began scanning the sand bed. "Well what are we going to do? Can we take that many?"

"Sure. If we shoot quicker and more accurately. But why take the risk?"

"So we go around?"

"Nope. Take too long. Stay here," Six smiled. "I have a plan." Six removed his bag and tossed his binoculars to Cass. "When you get the signal, run like hell to me."

"What signal?"

"You'll know it when I give it." Six stood, slinging his shotgun over his back, and flipped open his lucky magnum. "You wouldn't happen to have any .357 ammo would you?"

"No. How many do you have?"

"One. Used up the rest getting to the outpost last night."

Cass curled her lip. "Thanks for that, by the way. I didn't think I was ever going to get out of there."

"You can thank me," Six said, beginning his march into the sand bed, "When I get us back to Primm alive." Cass smiled. It didn't take Six long to disappear into the clouds of dust kicked up around the sand bed. Cass pulled her own shotgun close to her and watched silently. Her eyes practically glued to the binoculars. There was a long period of silence…Cass wasn't sure how long she had been laying there when a shot rang out. Six was running north-east towards the raiders – heading in from the direction of a long wrecked plane. At his heels was the biggest god-damned radscorpion Cass had ever seen.

"What the fuck is he doing!" Cass jumped to her feet and took off up the road towards Nipton in a dead sprint. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of her throat. Six, seeing her running down the road, changed his route just enough to meet up with her on the road. As he neared her she shouted, "What the fuck!"

"Go!" Six didn't take the time to explain. He just kept moving. The radscorpion was closing in on him. Ahead of them, they watched the raiders stumble out into the street to meet their unwary prey. But the raiders' guns quickly turned to the scorpion.

"Holy shit!" They began firing in quick succession. The radscorpion, annoyed by their shots changed targets. By this time Six had caught up with Cass. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close.

"Don't look back!" He was breathing heavily. "Just go! Go!" And that's what they did. They ran; through the raider encampment, and towards Nipton. Behind them, they could hear the cries of agony, as the mutated monster ripped apart and devoured their would-be ambushers.

As they neared the billows of smoke, they could see a man dancing near its flames. Waving his arms frantically and bumbling about. Six instinctively reached for Lucky, but Cass sat her hand on his own. "Shh…we don't want to draw attention." She motioned towards a large building near the head of the town, likely a town hall. Bodies were being strung up, others were being put into shackles, even more were being burned. A man walked amongst the people – barking orders at his group of invaders. Cass took a step back – eyeing the billowing flags spread across town. "The bull. This is the work of the Legion."

Six looked towards the man. His words were muffled and indistinct – but he could see that this was no welcome party. It was an invasion – and the townspeople were being butchered, enslaved, crucified, and even burned alive. "Oh, sweet Jesus…"

"Now we know why Nipton went quiet. We need to get out of here." They began inching their way backwards when the dancing man noticed them. He immediately sprinted in their direction.

"I won the lottery! I won the fucking lottery!" The man continued sprinting in their direction.

"Son of a bitch, if he draws their attention to us…" Cass shuddered.

"Go back, go back…" Six pleaded silently. The man kept sprinting.

"I won! I fucking won!" He stopped briefly in front of them. "Who won the lottery! I did! Yeah, smell that air. Couldn't you just drink it like booze?"

Six took a step back. "Get the fuck out of here man, don't draw attention to us."

The man didn't seem to pay any attention. He just kept babbling. "Oh my God! Smell that air!" He began laughing hysterically.

Six unsheathed his machete. "I'm not going to ask again."

"I'm a winner! I won the mother-fucking lah-toe-ree!" The man billowed another hysterical laugh, but this time it was cut short. Six covered the man's mouth with his hand, and drove his machete into his stomach, extending upwards towards his heart. The man coughed a bit, then fell silent.

"We need to get out of here." Cass looked at the man collapsed on the ground, then back at Six. "Now."

* * *

><p>"Legion? This far west of the Colorado?" If Ghost's face could have been any paler – Six would have sworn the news he delivered had been the cause. "You're fucking kidding me."<p>

"Yeah. Dozens of them. The entire town, razed to the ground." Cass swallowed.

"They're way inside the border…and fast," Ghost breathed out. "Wish I could say that you'd set my mind at ease…Things are just going to get uglier here out. Well, thanks for your help."

"What? The NCR isn't going to do anything about this?" Cass sounded disgusted.

"I wish they would. But orders are to stay put. Thanks for huffing it all the way there and back…" She trailed off, turning her back on Six and Cass and staring out over the desert. "Fucking Mojave's gone to hell…and all I can do is sit here and watch."

Six and Cass began making their way down the hill. Six turned to her. "Guess I'm headed to Primm. If you're still interested."

Cass shrugged. "Not like I have anywhere else to go." They began making their way down the slope for the second time today. "So what has you tracking the Mojave anyway? I mean…nothing against the Mojave…except maybe the dust, heat, and scorpions…but…"

Six gave her a half grin. "Looking for the man who shot me."

Cass raised a brow. "A man…who shot you?"

"Yep."

"Where'd he shoot you?"

"In the head."

Cass stopped, "He shot you...in the head?"

Six nodded. "Yep. Twice."

"And you survived?"

"Yeah. Doctor up in Goodsprings patched me up."

"Without an autodoc…that's a helluva lot of patching. Hope you thanked him properly. Who is this snake that put a couple rounds in your head…did he have cause, or?"

Six shrugged. "He wanted something I was carrying." They stopped briefly at the patrol station – Cass stepping inside to relieve herself in one of the restrooms. She made her way back out and Six continued. "See. I used to be a courier."

Cass's head snapped back. "He fucking robbed you? Caravan code of the wastes…you don't fuck with the one who brings your meal. And you don't fuck with your supply line. I hope this son of a bitch knows what he's in for when we get a hold of him."

"We?" Six smiled.

"Yeah. Both of us," Cass didn't seem to be distracted by Six's question. "What's his name?"

"He didn't introduce himself. Haughty kind of fellow. Wore a bad suit."

"If assholes had taste, we'd all be feasting on shit. Still…suit means money. Money means one of the larger towns. Maybe Primm. Or even the Strip. Don't worry though…we'll sort this motherfucker out." She playfully bumped in to Six's shoulder. "So why are we headed to Primm?"

"Got to deliver a pardon."

"Still couriering after all this?"

Six gave a quick nod. "Fella named Meyers. Did me a solid at the prison. Saved my life, figure I owe him."

Cass nodded. "The guy you asked about the pardon for this morning."

"Yeah. Lost a friend of mine taking back that prison. Actually didn't do as much as I let on…but the bigger you are in your stories…"

Cass smiled, "Big fish. I get it."

Six laughed. "Do you even know what a fish is?"

"Yeah…I mean. Sort of. They're water birds...or something. Shut up. You know what I mean."

Six smiled at her. "Miss Cassidy, I do declare." In the distance, the iron serpent loomed, towering over the Bison Steve Hotel.

* * *

><p>"Here's your pardon," Six rummaged through his bag, withdrawing a small sealed envelope.<p>

"Thanks. I'll take good care of Primm…don't you worry. I don't think I'll keep that Beagle fella on as my deputy though. Could use one, if you're interested."

Six chuckled. "No. No I think it's time I take leave from here…before I go though, the NCR Ranger at the Mojave Outpost said you owed him a favor for this…I figured you might see it some other way."

Meyers sneered. "If I owe anyone, it's you fella." Meyers stood, dusting off an old duster, and handed it to Six. "For your trouble. Found it in the Sheriff's office. Not really my style. Take the hat too. I'm keeping the badge though."

Six slipped the duster over his leather armor and brought the hat down low over his eyes. "Thanks."

Meyers tipped his hat. "You watch yourself out there."

Six turned and made his way back towards the Mojave Express office. Cass was standing just inside the ruins next to the section of the building that was still mostly intact. She was standing over a body.

Six came to a halt. The corpse was that of a man, clutching his stomach – but long dead. Six's eyes briefly shone with recognition.

"You know him?" Cass asked.

"Yeah…" Six again fell silent. "No. No I don't think so." He gave a slight shrug. "I really can't remember much." Six tactlessly made his way to the man. Hanging loosely across his shoulder was a bag…just like the one Six had been toting around for the last couple of days. The bag had the number four etched into it, along with the name Wyand. Six rummaged through the bag before withdrawing a slip of paper. "Mojave Express Delivery Order…four of six." He turned to Cass, "Hey. The old man I talked to at the casino here is head of this Mojave Express outpost."

"Yeah, so?"

"I think I might have worked for him."

Cass widened her eyes. "Well go talk to him...I'll wait out here."

Before Six stood, he emptied the contents of the bag and handed it to Cass. "Might come in handy," he told her - stepping out through the broken window, onto the street, and into the Mojave Express Office.

The inside of the office was cramped. Nash sat behind the counter – his wrinkled skin catching the light, spreading shadows across his face. "Hey there youngster."

"Hey old man."

"Heard it was you that brought the law back to Primm. Hats off to you."

"So you run this outpost? I'm a courier with the Express. I was wandering if you recognized me."

Nash shook his head, his eyes shining with a bit of sorrow. "I'm sorry youngster. My eyes and memory aren't what they used to be. To be honest, I haven't worked with many of the courier's face to face in quite some time."

Six rummaged through his pockets and withdrew a small slip of paper. "This is the delivery order…if that helps."

"Ah…one of _them_ packages. That job had strange written all over it. But we weren't in a position to negotiate. Financially, I mean." Nash gave the slip of paper back to Six. "Some cowboy robot hired six couriers. Each carrying something a little different. A chess piece. A set of dice. A poker chip. Looks like yours was the only one that didn't make it."

"Yeah…I was jumped by some men. They stole the package. He'd stand out though. Wore himself a checkered suit. You seen him?"

"Well…one of the townies was out scavenging for supplies. Said he seen a man come through with a daisy suit with a couple Khans. Might talk to Beagle. He tends to keep some pretty good notes."

Six nodded and turned to leave. He stopped short of the exit and turned back towards Nash. "What's with the robot?" Six nodded to the junked eyebot lying on the counter.

"Some courier dropped it off. I got it working for a bit…but it's long since died. No idea what's wrong with it. My tinkering days are long gone. It's yours if you can get it working though."

Six smiled. "I might come back for it. Not too good with electronics, really. I just do a little tinkering here and there myself…but thanks for the offer."

Six stepped out into the streets of Primm. The sun was starting to get low, and the air was considerably cooler. Cass was leaning against the stone column where Six had dispatched a ganger just days before. She was talking to Beagle…who was leaning close to her. Six scowled.

"Well, if it isn't the _lawbringer_."

"Do you really want to take that tone of voice with me?" Six let his eyes fall flat, meeting Beagle's gaze with his own.

"Ah. What I meant to say is….welcome back."

"What can you tell me about the man in the checkered suit?"

"Ah…him and a couple of Khans came through town. I was sku…ah. Uh. Doing recon and I saw them. They were talking about robbing some courier. Said they were going to travel to Novac. Something about meeting a contact there."

Six turned to Cass. "Know how to get to Novac?"

She smiled. "Of course," Cass turned back to Beagle. "See you 'round. Hound dog." She cooed, gently stroking his cheek…but her eyes…they were on Six.

* * *

><p>By the time they had made it back to Nipton, the sun had long set. This worked out to their advantage, as they were able to sneak through the southernmost end of town to avoid detection. The Legion seemed to be making camp. They crossed some tracks...leaving California and entering Nevada. Without much of saying anything they made their way around the bend. Up the road was an overturned truck. Six motioned for Cass to stop and pulled out his binoculars. "Movement."<p>

"Legion?" She asked.

"No…" Six stood and began running. Cass joined him. At the over turned truck was a woman…she was pinned on the ground. A man on top of her. "Let her go!" The man didn't look up. He was choking her. Now!" Six withdrew Lucky…and fired. The man toppled to the ground.

"Thank you! Oh my God, thank you so much! He was going to kill me!" The woman sobbed, standing and running over to Six.

"You're okay now," Six told her. She collapsed into his arms, eyes wet with tears and clothes wet with blood. "Shhh. What's your name?"

"Jacklyn…I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along," She sniffed.

Cass rolled her eyes. "Looked to me like you were holding up pretty well there, doll."

"I was doing my very best. But I don't think I could have lasted much longer," She replied.

"Jacklyn. My name is Six. That's my friend Cass. You're safe now. Why was he attacking you?" Six inquired, gently brushing the woman's wine colored hair from her face.

"He saw my necklace. He took it from me. I was afraid he was going to take more."

Cass walked over to the body of the man, briefly searching it.

"What's so important about your necklace?" Six looked at the necklace in her hands – and ordinary string with caps intertwined.

"They're special caps. The ones with blue stars on them. Have you ever seen any?"

Six shrugged. "Can't say that I have."

"They're special, aren't they? Rare. I'm proud of them."

Cass stood up from the corpse of the man, slipping a piece of paper into her pocket. Six turned to her. "You ready?"

Cass gave him a nod, "Whenever you are, hero."

Six turned back towards the woman. "Look, my friend and I are headed towards Novac. You're welcome to tag along if you want. It might be safer in town."

She smiled. "Thank you, so much." She breathed heavily a moment, her eyes looking into Six's. "I…I don't think I can walk."

"…give me a break…" Cass whispered under her breath.

Six took the woman into his arms. He stood and turned to Cass. "We need to find somewhere to make camp for the night. It's getting late anyway."

Cass nodded. "There's an old ranch just up the road here. Be a good a place as any."

* * *

><p>The inside of the ranch house was gloomy and barren. A set of lockers lined the wall to the left of the entrance, and a single cabinet sat against the back wall. Six carried the woman to the only bed in the house and laid her down. He pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down, calmly stroking the woman's arms. Cass felt a wave of irritation bubbling just beneath her skin.<p>

"Yeah. I'm going outside for a bit. I'm not tired…I need a drink."

Six didn't say anything. He just nodded to her.

Outside, Cass looked up into the dark night sky. Next to the door was a lone lantern. She scooped it up and walked around the side of the building. Behind it was a makeshift walkway leading further up onto the hill.

Six was beginning to drift off when the girl began sobbing. He quickly opened his eyes and looked at her. She was sitting up in the bed cradling her knees. He sat next to her on the bed. "You're okay…nobody's going to hurt you."

She laid in his arms. "How can I ever repay you?"

Six shook his head. "You don't have to…"She began unbuttoning his duster. Pushing him back onto the mattress, she straddled him – simultaneously, in a single swift motion pulling her top over her head.

"I want to…" she whispered. She ran his hands up her stomach, just beneath her breasts. Then began swaying her hips slowly. Six groaned.

Outside, Cass had made her way to the end of e path. She sat next to an old – long forgotten – burial mound. She opened a bottle of whiskey and drank from it. She breathed heavy for a moment and sniffed. "What the fuck, Cass?" She said aloud. She fumbled through her pockets and pulled out the slips of paper she had found on the man Six had killed. She unfolded it and began to read:

"Things finally seem to be turning around. I made a nice bundle of caps turning in some scrap in the last town I passed, and now I have a new traveling companion. Her name is Jacklyn, and she's pretty cute. I'm not going to get ahead of myself here, but things are looking up! And to think, I was actually beginning to doubt the power of my lucky necklace!"

Cass sniffed again…and reread the last line. "His lucky necklace?" She huffed, thinking back to the fight as she had seen it. The man on top of her…choking her or pushing her away? Where were her hands? Cass couldn't see it clearly. She just saw Six, the noble knight rushing out to save the woman. Something wasn't right.

Six was tied to the bed, grinning with anticipation. Jacklyn stood in the dark ranch house, just in front of the bed. The moonlight twisting through the cracks and dancing across her body. Jacklyn smiled at him, running her hand up her thigh and bringing it to rest at her navel…but while Six was caught up in the show the left hand was putting on…the right retrieved a cleaver from the lone stove beside her. She tiptoed seductively across the room, grinning. Six watched her bounce with each step. He felt his heartbeat getting erratic. She sat on his bare waist and began to thrust. Slowly at first, but then faster. Six rolled his eyes back and let his head fall into the mattress. Jacklyn raised the cleaver into the air, "You like that?" Her soft moans were poetry to Six's ears.

"Oh God, yes," Six's stuttered. He opened his eyes…and saw the cleaver.

"Then you'll love…"

A shot rang out, and Jacklyn's chest erupted into a tornado of swiss organs and blood.

Six jolted…Jacklyn's corpse fell onto him - chunks of her flesh and wine colored hair littered the wall behind him. Blood running across his body, he fought with Jacklyn's shirt-rope and looked to the door. Cass sat her shotgun across her shoulder. He could not see her face, but he could feel her eyes. "You owe me…hero."

* * *

><p><em>So yeah...I didn't originally intend to write smut, but I wanted Cass to rescue Six in a very vulnerable position...and this was the result of my writing. I wasn't originally comfortable with it, but after going back and re-reading it, I think I've balanced it enough to include it without it being detrimental to the story.<em>

_By the way, the radscorpion thing really happened. The first time I played the game, I tried to sneak by that group of jackals on route to Nipton, electing to try to sneak in the desert. I stood and ran part of the way and when I crouched I saw "[DANGER]" - so I was naturally confused. I turned around and this big ass giant radscorpion is right in my face. So I stood and bolted...straight towards the jackals. They shot at me initially, I was only like level three, and then they turned their fire on the scorpion. It pretty much demolished them, and had about two or three bars of health left...so I naturally went back and killed it. Good times. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. the next should be posted Sunday, June 24th. I'd shoot for Friday, but I have an appointment to get my ankle checked out Friday to see how it's doing. Oh...and next chapter...Boone! Boone is awesome.  
><em>

_As always, thanks for reading.  
><em>


	8. Chapter 7: One For My Baby

_So, this is probably my longest chapter yet. I wrote every bit of this today, I normally break it down. But when I booted up the laptop this morning and opened the chapter, I apparently hadn't saved before I closed everything, and I couldn't for the life of me get it to recover. So yeah, I've been writing on this a while. I introduce Boone in this chapter. Hopefully, I've done him justice. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>Cass let her shotgun fall loosely to her side. Peering into the dark ranch house, she waited for Six to speak. He didn't. She swung the shotgun around her back and felt the fabric of its sling press heavily into her collar bone. "You still alive, hero?" She could see him; barely, but enough to know that he was.<p>

"I'm fine," Six's words came after a long pause.

"You work fast, huh?" Cass said, looking at the corpse of the woman lying on top of him.

Six didn't answer. He just shook his hands, trying to break the binds Jacklyn had created with the thin fabric of her undershirt. The force of his jolt disturbed Jacklyn's body and it slid off of him – spilling onto the floor. "Cut me loose, please," Six requested. He refused to make eye contact with her.

Cass crossed the shack at a snail's pace – doing her very best to keep her eyes from wandering. After a moment she stood above him. She threw back her suede jacket and removed a combat knife from its case attached to her belt. She stood above Six for a moment, examining him in his helpless state before bending over him to cut him free. As she did, a pendent fell from her shirt and swayed in front of Six's face. Six gazed at it hypnotically – it was a diamond shaped pendent with a thin wire rose inside. The rose looked to be made of some combination of malleable metals and plastics. It was attached to a pitiful fabric wire that was hardly befitting of the pendent itself – which was actually quite beautiful. Six felt Cass' knife break through the fabric and brought his arms to his side. Cass raised up, sheathing her blade, and looked down at him again. He still refused to make eye contact. She glanced down at the bed beside him and saw the cleaver Jacklyn had been wielding. She leisurely slid it into her jacket pocket and stood.

Making her way across the room, Cass stopped at the open door and leaned her left shoulder against it. She let her head fall against the frame and brought her right hand up, gently resting it on the frame as well. "I'll be out back if you need me," her words were soft spoken. She waited a beat, but was – again – met with only silence. She shut the door behind her.

Outside the shack, she once again ventured to the top of the hill. She had seen an old makeshift barricade there half an hour earlier. She made her way to it and relaxed against the sandbags that made up the barricade's walls. She rummaged through the pouch that Six had given her in Primm previously and extracted a half empty bottle of whiskey. She stared at it – thinking about how she didn't need it, or maybe why she did. Her cheeks warm with tears, she popped the cork from the bottle and took a long swig. She was angry…and she cried when she was angry. She was angry at herself for thinking that this man would be any different, when she knew better. Angry at herself for thinking that maybe something could happen between them. Angry because she left them alone and it almost cost Six his life. But mostly, she was angry because she was crying.

When Six finally found her, the bottle was long empty. Six shifted uncomfortably in his leather armor – though he had done his best to clean himself up, Jacklyn's blood made it stick irritably to his skin. He sank down across from her, dropping his pouch and folding his duster across his lap. Cass stared silently into the empty bottle, her cheeks still wet though her tears had stopped falling – she would not let him see her cry.

After a long silence, Six spoke. "I'm sorry you walked in on that."

Cass laughed – though her laugh was broken short by her unsteady breathing. She reached into her pocket and tossed the cleaver to Six's side. "If I hadn't walked in when I did, she'd chopped you up with that thing." She turned her gaze from the bottle and towards the night sky.

Six peered at the cleaver a moment, then back at Cass. "So. Tell me about that pendent you're wearing." In all honesty, he was just trying to change the subject. Cass knew that…and at some level appreciated it.

"Gift from my dad. Only thing I have left of him…well it and my name. Rose of Sharon Cassidy…" She mused briefly and continued. "My mom gave it to me when I was really little. I always thought it was one of her tribal necklaces…but nope. It was from dad."

"Your mother was a tribal?"

"Yeah…you know. My mom was from east of the Colorado. This was before Caesar and his Legion. My mom, she loved traveling. She started traveling west one day…and met my dad. He convinced her stop walking. When my dad left, my mom was pretty broken up about it. She died waiting for him. She was sick…but held off dying long enough to see me getting into trouble with boys."

"You and your mom seem to have that in common then. Traveling. You said your dad gave you your name?"

"Yeah…mom said he got it out of some old world book about dirt pilgrims or something. I like it though, it sounds sweet." Her voice changed somehow when she talked about her father. It had less bite and rang with the innocence of childhood.

"You and your dad seem close."

She was silent. "…Not really. I mean, he left when I was still very young. Ended up walking east one day, and never came back," Cass glanced at Six. She recognized the look on his face. "He didn't desert us," She added quickly, "…he wasn't like that. I figure he just got himself lost or dead. It happens."

Cass could feel her eyes getting heavy. Six must have seen it, because he quit prying. He stood, unfolding his duster, and sat next to her. He gently laid his duster across her shoulders. "We need to get some sleep," he told her, pulling her close to him. She didn't resist…she was tired, angry, and hurt…and he had been the reason for all of these things. But, just for tonight, she wanted to be held.

Six awoke the next morning to the distant sound of brahmin and laughter. Cass laid quietly beside him, using his shoulder as a makeshift pillow. Six tried to raise without waking her, but didn't succeed. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Six took out his binoculars and scanned the horizon – to the north east, on an overpass, was a group of men and a few brahmin. Merchants, Six guessed.

Cass yawned and silently observed her surroundings before looking up at Six. "Oh, my God…we didn't…"

"What? No."

"Oh, thank God," she huffed a sigh of relief, and stood up – handing Six his duster. Six gave her a look, shook it once – getting out any dust or other critters that might have made their way into it during the night – and slipped it on over his leather armor.

"You don't want to talk about last night?"

"There's nothing to talk about, hero."

"Really?"

"Really. You got into trouble, I saved you. Pretty much sums it up."

"What was with the crying?"

Cass shrugged. "I won't tell anyone you cried if you don't." She smiled at him, pulling the binoculars out of his hand and looking in the direction Six had been inspecting. "Oh, a caravan. We should go check it out."

Six bit his lower lip and shrugged. She obviously had no intention of discussing the previous night. "Alright," he told her. "Lead the way."

As they approached the overpass, the guards put their hands on their weapons. Six raised his hands in a passive stance. "We're no threat."

The guards remained silent, hands at the ready. But after a second, an older man approached them. "Can't be to careful these days, with the Legion…you know."

"Legion doesn't use women," Cass pointed out.

The merchant nodded and signaled his guards to lower their weapons. "Guess you have a point there, little miss. You looking to buy?"

"Looking to travel, actually," Cass said.

"Unless," Six chimed in, "You have any .357 rounds?"

The merchant smiled. "As a matter of fact, I do. Where you all headed?" He asked as he turned towards one of his brahmin.

"Novac," Six told him.

The merchant paused, a moment later he turned towards Six and tossed him a box of ammunition. "That's convenient. We're headed that way too. I've got a proposition for you…travel with us. We sent a scout out earlier and he hasn't returned. That means trouble…Vipers, Jackals, Legion…or worse. If you travel with us, that ammunition is free. And when we get to Novac, I'll give you and your lady here three hundred caps between you."

Six's lower lip curled upwards in satisfaction. He turned towards Cass. "Hundred fifty a piece."

Cass shrugged, "And we're headed that way anyway."

Six smiled at the man, "Sir, you have a deal."

* * *

><p>On route to Novac, the caravan met little resistance. They did, however, find the body of the scout the caravan had sent before – lying in the road just south of an old billboard that read "Rita's Café". A band of Vipers had made camp behind the sign and along the tracks at a nearby train tunnel. The Vipers attempted to ambush them, and they had lost a guard, but had come out triumphant. Along the way they passed a provisional outpost – made up of stacked mobile homes, vehicles, and a single decrepit building. The place seemed deserted – but the Merchant explained that it was some type of NCR outpost or station. The caravan didn't stop though, it continued north along the road, running parallel to the tracks. In the distance a large tyrannosaurus loomed, unmoving.<p>

Six turned to Cass, "What the hell is it with people and giant statues around here?"

Cass shrugged. "At least the NCR's makes sense…Dinky's just…a big lizard. You can see him for miles though, he's a good landmark."

Six gave a light nod. When they arrived at Novac, the merchant paid them – and, as an added bonus, he gave Six an extra box of .357 ammunition. They parted ways at an old tent, where the caravan guards began to unload supplies while the merchant talked with a dark haired woman in a brimmed straw hat.

Six turned to Cass, "Novac's a motel?"

"Yeah. Novac….No vacancy," Cass pointed towards a worn out old sign. Half the letters were missing – with only "N-O-V-A-C" lighting up.

Six chuckled. "Clever, I guess." Then Six saw something he didn't expect to see. Near the sign was a securitron…but not just any securitron. It was Victor. Six turned to Cass, giving her a pouch. "Here, go get us a room."

Cass raised an eyebrow.

"Or two…my treat."

Cass took the pouch and wandered off in the direction of the motel's office. Six made his way around to Victor.

"Victor?"

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit! If it ain't my old friend from Goodsprings!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't rightly know pard'ner. I just got a hankerin' to head to New Vegas. Guess I'll find out when I get there."

Six curiously studied the robot a moment. He was just getting ready to speak again when Cass tapped him on the shoulder.

"So, Jeannie May gave us a great deal," Cass smiled. "Got a room for a hundred caps, and we can stay as long as we like – until "tourist" season…whatever that means."

"Just one?"

"Jeannie said she'd get Ranger Andy and Cliff to unboard one of the other rooms and get it fixed up for me. But she said it'd take a while."

"Oh. That's not too bad, I guess," Six turned back to Victor, but he had gone into some sort of hibernation state. Six shrugged and turned to Cass. "Well, let's go get settled in."

The room was dark, barely fit to live in. It had one bed, a safe, a refrigerator, and ample storage. Six looked around, "At least the bed's a double."

Cass raised a brow. "Uh, no. You get the couch."

"I paid for the room."

Cass smiled, "But you're going to give me the bed anyway, because you're a gentleman."

Six sneered…but she was right. Six plopped down on the couch and stretched out. Cass stretched out across the bed. Within a few minutes, she was out. Six, on the other hand, wasn't very tired. He decided he'd talk to the people of Novac, to see if he could get any information out of them. The best place to start, he figured, would be the local ranger.

Six had asked around a bit and gathered that Andy was staying in the center bungalow in town. Six tapped lightly at the door. "Just a minute," a voice answered. After a long beat, the door opened. "Hello?" The man who answered stood with a cane. He was an older fellow, dark skinned and somber.

"Ranger Andy?"

"Yeah. You must be new in town. I don't believe we've met."

"No, sir, we haven't. I'm looking for a man in a checkered suit. A snide fella. Have you seen anyone like that?"

"No. But I've been laid up for a while…it's a small town though. You might ask around."

"Alright. Thanks for your help," Six turned to leave, but Andy grabbed his arm.

"Do you think an old man could pester you with a favor?"

"Depends on what that favor is."

Andy smiled. "Doesn't it always? See, I used to be with the NCR. Not so much anymore…thanks to my bum leg and arm. I like to get on the ham radio now and then and chat with the rangers down at Ranger Station Charlie. It's a little ways south of here…you probably passed it on the way up. But lately they've not been responding."

Six's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I saw it. I didn't go in, but I didn't see anyone about."

Andy's face contorted with worry. "…If you find yourself up that way, drop in on them if you wouldn't mind. Let me know what you find."

Six gave Andy a light nod, "Will do, ranger."

Six had nice chats with a few more people around town, including the woman the merchant had talked to when they had first made their way into town – Ada Straus. But for the most part, no one had anything to say. That is, until he saw a peculiar elderly man hiding in a dumpster out behind the motel.

"You hiding from someone, buddy?"

"Aliens!" The man shouted, a bit loudly. "Come to take the antidote!" The old man eyed him cautiously… "Oh, you're no alien. But you can't have it either."

"Okay…I'm looking for a man in a checkered suit. Have you seen him"

"Yeah I saw him! He thought he was clever…suit was camouflage, he was hiding from the aliens what since they can only see in black and white. I laughed at him…told him his suit would do him no good cause they could still see his face!"

"So he was here?"

"Yessir. Stayed in the motel a couple nights…kept going up and talking to that mustached sniper. The one with the red beret! But not the one with eye shields. No sir. The aliens are afraid of that one."

Six raised an eyebrow. "Well…old timer."

"They call me No-bark. Cause what I say isn't just barking, it's got bite…cause it's the truth."

"Well, No-bark. Thanks for your…ah…help."

"If anyone asks…we never spoke." No-bark's eyes grew large and he gave Six a single, forceful nod.

Distraught, Six began making his way back to the motel room. He was getting tired and the sun was starting to set. As he entered the lot in front of the motel, he saw a couple men chatting with each other near the dinosaur's tail; both of them wearing red berets. "Red berets…huh. Worth a shot." Six made his way over to the men.

"Excuse me," Six stopped just short of them. "I was told you might be able to help me." The men stared at him silently. Six continued, "I'm looking for a man in a checkered suit…I was wandering if you'd seen anything. I'm Six by the way." Six extended his hand.

The two men looked at each other, then one of the men spoke up, firmly shaking Six's hand. His dark shades obscuring his eyes from view. "Boone."

The mustached man spoke next...his shake wasn't nearly as aggressive. "Manny. Manny Vargas." He smiled.

"Well, guys. I was really hoping you could help me out."

"Yeah, I might have seen something. What do you want with him?" Vargas answered.

"He has something that belongs to me."

"You mean that chip? Man, I don't think he's going to give that up. I might be able to tell you how to find him. What's in it for me?"

Boone narrowed his eyes at Vargas. "Just tell the man what he needs to know."

Vargas shifted uncomfortably under Boone's gaze. "Okay…the guy you're looking for, his name is Benny. He was hanging with some people from my old gang. They were headed for Boulder City…but my boys, they told me he was some hotshot from some casino on the Strip. The Tops, maybe. They left a while ago, so he's probably long back on the Strip by now."

Six gave Vargas a wide smile. "Thanks for your help."

"Yeah, yeah," Vargas waved his hand dismissively and turned away from them – heading in the direction of the motel.

Six turned to Boone. "And thank you."

Boone shrugged, "I didn't do anything."

"He wouldn't have told me if you hadn't…encouraged him to."

Boone shrugged. "He'd told you, eventually."

"Well. If there's anything I can do to repay you…"

Boone cut him off. "Actually, there is. You're not from around here. So I can trust you…nobody in this town will look me in the eye anymore. I want you to find something out for me. I don't know if there's anything to find, but I need to try. My wife was taken by some Legionnaires one night while I was on watch. They knew when to come, what route to take…they knew everything they needed to know to slip in and out without getting caught. I think someone set it up…I need to know who."

Six was a little surprised by Boone's directness, but at the same time he appreciated it. "So, you're trying to find your wife?"

"My wife is dead. I want the son of a bitch who sold her."

Six paused. "And if I find this person?"

"Take them out in front of the nest tonight, while I'm on duty," Boone removed his beret and pushed it into Six's chest. "Put this on when you're standing with them. It'll be our signal…I'll take care of the rest."

Six warily eyed the beret before taking it. "I'll see what I can do."

Six jumped from resident to resident for what seemed like hours. He had been, for the most part, unfruitful in finding any real information…the only information that he was able to ascertain was that Boone's wife was some broad by the name of Carla…and that she wasn't very likeable, to say the least. Six was about to call it a night when he saw No-bark at the neighboring gas station. No-bark was sitting in the gas station's garage…on top of an elaborate rocket replica…trying to kick-start it. Given his information, as wild as it was, had helped him before, Six figured what the hell.

"No-bark?"

The man didn't answer. Six inched closer. "Old timer?"

"Careful!" The man shouted…still trying to start the rocket. "There are spies all over!"

"Spies?"

"Who sent you? I ain't talking! They tried before, but I didn't say nothin' then and I ain't sayin' nothin' now."

"Who tried to make you talk, No-bark?"

"Confound it No-bark…you done gone and done it again…now he knows you know things…alright stranger. What do you want to know?"

Six raised an eyebrow. "Well…No-bark. Can you tell me anything about Boone's wife? About her abduction?"

"Seen it all, I did! Shodowy folk come in the dead of night. Thought they was cannibals come to eat us in our sleep! They went into the motel office…don't know why. Maybe to use the toilet!"

"Into the motel office?"

"Yessir. They were molerat men! They come from underneath to steal our women! They covet our lady folks cause of their long hair! They're all bald or balding themselves…came with false promises of high end appliances and fancy houses."

"Well…now I know why they call you No-bark," Six sighed. "Thanks anyway, old timer."

Six turned and made his way back towards the motel. He stopped just short of the office as Jeannie May was locking up.

"Excuse me," Six called, heading over to her. "We haven't met, but I sent in a lady friend of mine to rent us a couple rooms. Fiery red head with an attitude, answers to Cass."

"Oh, yes. I know the one you mean. Only customer today…but even if she hadn't been, she'd stood out. You're a lucky man, she's a catch!"

Six's brow furrowed. "Anyway, I'm looking for Carla. I'm wondering if you knew anything about where she's disappeared to?"

Jeannie's face contorted strangely. Six couldn't read it very well. "She was a bit of a cactus flower, that one. Pretty to look at, but not to touch. She didn't take to living in this old town. She liked the bright lights of the city. My guess is she went back that way. I got the feeling she was trying to get Boone to leave with her…but I guess she got tired of waiting. Is that all?"

"That's it. I'm Six by the way," Six extended his hand.

Jeannie retracted her own, pulling them up to her chin. She eyed Six cautiously before turning away from him and heading towards the road. Something about her just didn't set well with Six. The way her voice changed when talking about Carla. Her expression…Six decided to investigate further. Six waited for her to disappear from sight and twisted the handle. Sure enough, she had locked it. After a few failed attempts, Six managed to pick the lock. The office seemed typical enough. A Mojave Express shipment box, filing cabinets, a couple sofas, a Sunset Sarsaparilla machine, and a countered "office" area. Six inspected the office area and found an old safe. Of course, it was locked. Six scoured the desk, finding a few extra bobby pins. A good thing too, because his first attempt failed. "Second try. I'm getting better at this..." Inside the safe he found some caps, a few slips of prewar money, 9mm rounds and a pistol, and a few slips of paper. One of them was a bill of sales…Six examined it closely. "Jeannie May, you've been a naughty girl." Six pocketed the caps, "I believe these are mine anyway."

She was nearly to her house when Six caught up with her. "Jeannie! Can I have a word?"

She stopped, warily eyeing him. "What can I do you for, young man?"

"Well. There's something out in front of the dinosaur that I think you should see."

She continued to eye him carefully. "What is it?"

"I don't rightly know how to explain it…something No-Bark did."

Jeannie's face sank. "Goddamn babbling fool. What'd he go and do now? If he ruined my sign again…" Jeannie stormed by Six. He struggled to keep up with her.

As they neared the front of the dinosaur, Six took out Boone's beret and slipped it on his head. Jeannie stopped in front of the dinosaur and looked it up and down. She turned to Six, arms spread… "Well? Wha.."

Her head exploded in a shower of blood and bone fragment. Six stumbled and fell onto his backside. He looked up into the mouth of the dinosaur and saw Boone peering down at him. His face solemn and cold.

Six stood, dusting himself off. "What the fuck, man!"

* * *

><p>"I'd really like my beret back, please."<p>

"You know. I don't think a little heads up would have been a bad idea." Six told him, shoving the beret into his chest. "You scared the holy living hell out of me."

Boone didn't move. He just stared.

"…fucking hell, man."

"How'd you know it was her?" Boone asked, his voice flat and bitter.

Six fumbled around his pockets. "I found this bill of sale." He handed it to Boone.

Boone eyed the paper quietly a moment. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised…I think our dealings are done here."

"Well what are you going to do now? You killed a woman, they're likely not going to let you stay."

Boone shook his head. "No. People die. Often enough that no one is concerned about who did it. Besides…I was on break when it happened."

Six grinned."So you're going to stay here?"

"Stay? No. I'll leave. Eventually. Don't see any point in staying. Only thing left to do now is hunt Legionnaires. Maybe I'll wander. Like you."

"You're one hell of a shot. You're more than welcome to tag along with me and Cass."

Boone eyed Six carefully. After a long beat he cleared his nose. "Fine."

* * *

><p><em>I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. The next chapter will focus heavily on Boone, Six, and Veronica.<em>


	9. Chapter 8: Cold, Cold Heart

_So, I had revised this and I hit the save button and the site had apparently logged me out. So I had to go back through and revise it again. How great is that?  
>I introduce Veronica in this chapter. Her role isn't as significant as I had originally intended for it, but it'll pick up - so you Veronica die-hards don't worry. I think I'm going to have to raise my original cap from 3,000 to about 4,000-5,000 words per chapter...cause it just seems to be about the average now. I don't mind the extra writing if you don't mind the extra reading.<em>

_Before we delve into this, I'd like a warm shout out to deadpool626 for the encouraging comments. I'd also like to thank everyone else for their wonderful reviews. My ego eats it up, you have no idea. A little bit of encouragement goes a long way. One other thing I'd like to note - something that was brought to my attention a few chapters back - was that it is possible to retrieve Ed-E from Primm on your first pass through. I am aware, but I chose not to for a special reason. I have a special way I'd like to introduce Ed-E into the story. Anyway,_ _enjoy._

* * *

><p>Six awoke to the sound of running water. He sat up, stiff from sleeping on the couch, and took a long look around; surveying his environment. The room was empty and quiet, save the sound of running water. Six stood, his duster falling to the floor at his feet, and made his way to the refrigerator. He opened the door, just wide enough to peek inside, and let his weight rest on it. The inside of the fridge was cool and mostly clean. The selection was relatively poor – a bottle of scotch, whiskey, a few beers, and a half dozen bottles of water. Six eyed the scotch but ultimately grabbed one of the waters, twisting off the cap in a single fluid motion and guzzling it down. He turned back to the fridge to quell his grumbling stomach – but the only contents of the fridge were a few cans of Cram, a box of Sugar Bombs, and a couple cans of Pork n' Beans. Six cringed at the thought of eating pre-war food. It just…seemed weird eating food from <em>that<em> long ago. His thoughts were interrupted by a brief tap at the room's entrance. Six lazily closed the refrigerator door and made his way across the room. The door rattled again.

"Hold your horses!" his voice started out loud and drifted to a soft crawl. "I'm coming." Six picked his duster up off the floor, giving it a shake as he did, and slid it on. He opened the door with a yawn. Boone stood motionless; his eyes obscured by his dark glasses. "Yeah?"

"Hey."

Six swallowed, his eyes adjusting to the light and stared at Boone. Boone remained silent, staring right back. "You…want to come in?"

"Yeah."

Six stepped to the side, gesturing his right arm in a wide motion. "Mi casa es su casa."

Boone entered the dim lit apartment without saying anything. He made his way to the couch and sat down. "So. When are we leaving?"

"Didn't you just get off duty? Don't you want to…I don't know. Rest first?"

"No."

Six blinked rapidly a few times, trying to work the sleep from his eyes. "No. Of course not." He stretched and sat down at the foot of the bed, running his fingers through his short ash-brown hair. The room was silent now – the sound of running water coming from the bathroom had hushed sometime between Six looting the fridge and Boone knocking on the door. "Ah…well, Cass isn't ready right yet. Might take her a bit. You could go pack whatever you need."

Boone sat for a long moment, unspeaking.

"Or you could stay here…"

"Here works."

Six dug around the foot of the couch and found his boots. He began unlacing them – he always pulled them off without unlacing them first. That's why he went through them so quickly, he thought. He slid them on and tied them. "Any action last night?"

Boone tilted his head.

"Other than _that_ I mean."

"Raider. Came in from the east. I got him."

Six pressed his lips and shifted a bit. He glanced around the room and saw his hat sitting on the non-functioning television. As he stood to retrieve it the bathroom door swung open and Cass emerged in a rather revealing leopard skin nighty. She stopped when she eyed Boone and turned to Six – who was watching her rather intently. She flipped her shoulder length red hair back and continued drying it. "What? It was in the dresser."

Six shook his head, as if trying to regain composure, and turned back to his hat. Removing it from the television set, he placed it snugly on his head. "Cass, this is Boone. He's going to be traveling with us."

Cass turned to Boone, who sat solemnly on the couch. She smiled. Boone did not. "Well Hi. there."

Boone turned towards her briefly, then turned his gaze from her and back towards the wall. "Hello," Boone's response was barely audible, sounding distant and void.

Cass lowered her brow and turned back to Six. "Are we leaving now? We have these rooms for as long as we want. Jeannie may said…"

"Doesn't matter what Jeannie May said," Boone told her. "She was killed last night, just east of town."

Cass froze. "How?"

Boone didn't answer, so she turned to Six. "Did you know about this?"

"Yeah…" Six rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Raider, came in from the east. She never saw him coming. Boone got the raider, but not before he got a shot off."

"Oh, no," Cass shook her head. "Wasteland's a dangerous place."

Boone huffed but didn't comment. Six glanced at him momentarily, then turned back to Cass. "Well, I guess if you're not wanting to leave now…Ranger Andy did ask me to go check out a station not too far south of here."

Boone turned his icy stare to Six. "Ranger station Charlie?"

"That's the one," Six agreed. "Said that they haven't been responding to his comms. Figured I'd go have a look."

"I'll go with you," Boone told him. "Old friend there, comm officer...Stepinac."

Six nodded and turned back to Cass. "You can just hang around here if you want. We'll be back in a while."

Cass smiled, but the worry in her eyes betrayed her. "Sounds good, hero. Don't go getting yourself shot…again."

* * *

><p>Six and Boone walked the tracks south of town. Boone was quiet, only breaking the silence now and then to report any movement he saw along the way. Which was few and far between. At one point he spotted a young gecko, and in the distance to the west, he made short work of a wandering feral ghoul. Six imagined that this is what he must have made McGee feel like days back. "I don't think Cass is in any rush to leave. I can't very well leave her. So we might be hanging around for a few days."<p>

"Hm."

"You don't mind that, do you?"

"Not really." Boone's voice was flat. Somehow void of all emotion. Six twisted his lips up into a ball and continued along the road, periodically snapping his fingers and bringing his hands together in a light clap. He studied the rifle slung around Boone's shoulder, admiring its craftsmanship. The rifle was scoped, with classic camouflage, and an insignia printed just above the clip. It read, "Airborne AA".

"Nice rifle."

"Thanks."

Six shifted uncomfortably again. "Carbine?"

"Yeah."

"What's it chambered?"

"5.56." Boone continued forward – never turning towards Six.

Six didn't say anything else. Just when he was getting used to the silence, Boone spoke. "That girl. Cass. She yours?"

Six grinned. "No. Why, you interested?"

"No," Boone told him in his drab voice. He was silent again for a long while before he finally spoke. "Keep her safe. The Mojave is unforgiving. It'll rip her out from under you."

"Is that what happened with your wife?"

"You got no right asking me that."

"So how do you know she's dead? Shouldn't you at least have faith she's out there somewhere?"

"I just know. Leave it at that. And drop it."

Six drew in a deep breath. It was going to be a long walk.

* * *

><p>The first thing Six saw was the blood. Splattered across the wall adjacent to the entrance. The small communications office was dimly lit, two bodies strewn across the floor. A radio somewhere in the room played "Stars of the Midnight Range". Six took a step towards one of the bodies and gave it a nudge. The body responded with a faint beeping. Six tilted his head, analyzing it. The beeping grew louder, and quicker. Before Six could decipher the situation, Boone had him by the collar, throwing him behind a nearby desk and diving on top of him. Six didn't even have time to scream. The body exploded in a shower of bone, blood, and tissue. The radio, which had been perched on the desk, shot across the room and shattered against the wall.<p>

"Holy mother of…what the hell was _that_?" Six shouted. Ears ringing.

"Frag mine," Boone said, standing up. He didn't seem too affected by the explosion. Six made his way to his feet, fingers digging in his ears.

"God damn…who the hell would do that?"

"Legion," Boone said somberly. He readied his rifle. Six followed suit, his caravan shotgun pressing against his shoulder. Boone took a look at his shotgun, and Six could have sworn he saw a smirk. "I'll go first," he told Six. Boone cautiously opened the door to what appeared to be a barracks room – with bunks and lockers. Boone stopped, kneeling a moment to cut a wire. They proceeded into the room. Inside they found two more bodies. One female, who had been stripped of all clothing and tied across a bunk. The other, a man – bound to the ladder of the same bed. Boone lowered his rifle and looked away. "Stepinac. They made him watch."

Six peered over Boone's shoulder and at the people. "Should we bury them?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because the bastards that did this are still here," He said, stepping back into the main room. "This is a trap."

They made their way back out into the lot – Six guessed that, at some point, this was some sort of trailer park or camp ground. Weapons drawn, they made their way from trailer to trailer, sweeping the area. They found nothing. Six let his shotgun fall to his side and turned to Boone. "Looks like they're not here after all."

Boone didn't answer. He just grunted. Six began making his way to the lot entrance when something caught his eye. Along the left barricade, in the brush was a body. Six made his way to it. "Legion," Boone confirmed. Six gave the body a light tap with his foot. It didn't react. He examined the body – the armor consisted of red and black fabrics and shoulder pads. Equipment from some prewar sport. The headwear was what stood out – it was the skinned head of a fox. But, perhaps more importantly, Six took notice of the shades. Six casually bent over to pick them up; as he did, he heard the familiar whip of a bullet flying through the air. Behind him, a large flag pole rang deafeningly. "Gah, what the fuck?" Six hit the ground and rolled around beside the barricade. "Boone? You alright?"

"Yeah!" Boone had ducked behind the opposite barricade. "Legion sniper! Up on the ridge."

"What the hell do we do now?"

"Draw his fire!" Boone shouted, still staying low.

"How?"

"Think of something! I'll take him out!"

Six's breathing was erratic. He frantically searched his surroundings. Then, an idea. Six crouched and withdrew his shotgun. Placing his hat on the end of it, he held his shotgun vertically, and began walking along the white stone wall – being certain to keep the hat just visible. Another shot sent Six's hat spiraling into the building. Boone immediately stood, rifle at the ready. He fired three shots in quick succession, then he began scanning the ridgeline. "Clear." Boone examined the flag pole, "Close one."

Six turned the shades over in his hands. "Must be lucky…was there just the one?" Six asked, lifting his hat and running his finger through a fine hole left in the wake of the bullet.

"No," Boone said, voice low. "Three."

* * *

><p>Six and Boone made their way through the motel gates just before noon. They had been gone a couple of hours. Six turned to Boone, "I suppose I should go tell Andy what we found."<p>

"No," Boone rubbed his forehead. "No. It should be a fellow soldier to deliver this news. I'll take care of it."

Six nodded lightly. "Yeah. I'll be in the room."

"Well."

Six began making his way up the stairs when Cass's jacket caught his eye. She had strung her clothes to the banister. Six raised an eyebrow and opened the motel door. Cass lay across the bed, still in the leopard skin nightwear, reading some pre-war book. She looked up at him, "Nice shades. Took you guys long enough."

Six held up his hat, finger through the hole. "Ran into company."

Cass sat up, "Are you hurt?"

"Nope. Boone's a hell of a shot though."

"Yeah, he has that look about him," Cass smiled and her eyes wistfully shined.

"What look?" Six asked, eyebrows slightly curled.

"You know…the kind of rugged, soldier boy quality that girls go gaga over."

"Oh…Well, good news for you then. He says you're a catch."

"Oh, he's not _my_ type," she grinned. "Much too serious."

Six returned her grin.

"Well," Cass said, standing up. "I'm going to go check my laundry. Then, we need to find some food." Cass brazenly made her way out onto the walkway to retrieve her clothing – despite her scanty attire. After a beat, she returned and made straight for the bathroom, leaving the front door open. Boone walked into the motel room shortly after. Six tossed his hat onto the bed and sat down at a small rusted dining table.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing towards the neighboring chair. Boone sat down. "How'd Andy take it?"

"As well as anyone could expect."

Six sighed and Cass rejoined them from the bathroom. "I'm starving," she said – more to Boone than Six. "Anywhere to eat around here?"

"Small kitchen area in a tent out next to the gas station," Boone lethargically responded.

Cass curled her lips. "Anything else nearby?"

"Trading post a little ways north of here. About an hour's walk. A little café there. Food's good enough I suppose."

Cass turned towards Six. "Can we go?" She asked, eyes and voice full of anticipation. Six couldn't help but laugh.

"Why not?"

Cass beamed. "I hope they serve alcohol."

* * *

><p>The 188 trading post was hardly worthy of its name. The three sat down at a long picnic table across from what was presumably the café's bar. Six tapped the table and waited. Before long a young, strawberry blonde woman made her way to them, laying a few menus out before Six. "Welcome to the 188 Slop and Shop. I'm Michelle. I'll be serving you today."<p>

Six greeted the woman with a wide smile. "I think we might need a moment, doll," he said gently.

She returned his smile, "Just give me a wave when you're ready."

Six gave her a nod and wink. "I'll do that, pretty." He distributed the menus between them. Cass scooped up the menu with exuberance and began mulling over the choices. Boone did not. He glanced down at the menu casually and pushed it across the table. The menu's selection was by no means impressive – but it certainly beat anything stashed in the fridge at Novac. Six eyed the menu: grilled mantis, dog steak, brahmin burger, bighorner steak, desert salad, bloatfly slider…just to name a few. Six curled his lips and looked at his comrades. "You guys about ready."

"Yes…no," Cass brought her hand to her lips. "Yes."

Six looked at Boone, who gave him an indifferent shrug. Six had barely raised his hand when Michelle reappeared at his side, smiling from ear to ear. "Y'all ready to order?"

"I'll have a gecko steak. Medium rare. Baked potato, well done. With agave sauce," Boone told her, voice flat.

"And to drink?"

"Nuka."

"We have original, Victory, and I think we have a Quartz."

"Victory."

"And you ma'am?"

"Desert salad, and a lakelurk egg…scrambled. And for the drink, whiskey, please," Cass smiled.

"And you, sir?"

Six bit his lower lip. "Surprise me, pretty…and, you see that woman sitting at the table across from us by herself?" Six motioned towards a woman sitting at the adjacent table. Her attire consisted of worn rags halfway resembling a robe, and a tattered hood.

The waitress looked up, "Oh Vee? Yeah, she comes here often. Never orders anything. Just watches the people."

"Yeah, get her something too. My treat. And tell her she's more than welcome to join us."

Michelle smiled and made her way over to the robed woman. Six couldn't hear what she said, but the woman looked over at Six and smiled. Michelle began making her way back to the kitchen area, and the woman slid onto the bench across from Cass. "Hi," she greeted them, smile on her face. "I'm Veronica. Most people call me Vee."

Six returned her smile, as did Cass. "Well, Vee. I'm Six. The image of beauty sitting across from you is Cass," – Cass gave Veronica a quick nod, tipping her hat as she did – "And the stone sitting beside you is Boone."

"Six huh? Neat name. You all look like you've traveled a long way. Where'd you come from?"

Boone shifted uncomfortably, inching away from the overtly friendly woman.

"Goodsprings. Well, that's where I started out anyway. I don't rightly remember anything before there..."

"Wow, you have come a long way then. I've never been there myself, but I've heard about it. Best bottled water in the Mojave."

Six smiled. "It's a hole in the ground really. Nothing particularly impressive."

Veronica's grin widened. "Funny you should mention that. I kind of live in a hole in the ground. A bunker, really…but my way is catchier."

Michelle reappeared at the table side, quickly serving the group their drinks. "That's…A Nuka-Cola Victory for the soldier boy, bottle of whiskey for the cowgirl, a bottle of Jake Juice for the charmer," she smiled, "and…an atomic cocktail for my darlin' Vee."

Veronica's face beamed. "Oh, you know me just too well!"

Six lifted his bottle, "Jake…juice?"

Cass' widened her eyes, bringing her whiskey bottle back to the table. "That is really hard to come by." Six shrugged.

Boone turned towards Veronica, popping the cap off of his Victory and pocketing it. "A bunker? Only bunkers around here are what's left of vaults, or Brotherhood. Vault 3's inhabitants were wiped out. Vault 34 settled at Nellis, they don't mingle with the outside world. Other vaults are destroyed, overrun, or worse. You don't look like a city girl, so I'm willing to bet against Vault 21. You're Brotherhood."

Veronica's grin faded. Cass quickly spoke up, "Brotherhood's not so bad. A little misunderstood. Misguided, maybe."

"I know, right? Protecting people from technology seems like a big job for such a small group. Plus, tech just doesn't seem to be that relevant to most people's lives."

Boone's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Protecting?"

Veronica sank a little. "I know…we've made a lot of enemies. The Brotherhood is failing…but they're my family."

Cass cast Boone a harsh stare, rivaling Boone's own.

Six smiled at Veronica. "Well, Vee. You're more than welcome to have dinner with us. Brotherhood, or no Brotherhood. There are worse people out there."

Boone took a quick breath. "That's the truth. My mind right now is on the Legion. I don't really want it on anything else."

Veronica smiled at him, "So, where are you guys headed?"

"The Strip. Going to see a friend."

"Wow…must be an interesting bit of history between you two...for you to travel such a long way, I mean."

Six grimaced. "…to say the least."

"Gecko steak and baked potato…" Michelle sat a plate down in front of Boone, then turned to Veronica…"Double brahmin burger and potato crisps."

"My favorite," Veronica smiled, lightly clapping her hands.

Michelle returned her smile, "I'll be right back with your food," she said, eyes on Cass and Six.

Six eyed Veronica's right hand, "Speaking of interesting, that's a nice piece of equipment you've got there."

Veronica grinned, holding the yellow and black amalgamation of steel and cloth high for all to see. "Yeah. I call this baby Two-Step. What can I say? I like punching things. It's a gift."

Michelle returned, toting two plates. "A desert salad and lakelurk egg," she said, smiling at Cass. "And the house special for my favorite customer." She sat the plate down in front of Six, who smiled graciously. He eyed the plate for a moment…"My daddy makes the best fire ant fricassee this side of the Colorado," she told him proudly.

Six swallowed, "Thanks, pretty." He turned back to Veronica. "So, Two-Step?"

"Yeah. You know…cause if you step up, I'll take one step forward and send you two steps back."

Boone choked a moment, bringing his hand to his mouth. He cleared his throat, "Excuse me."

Veronica raised an eyebrow. Six couldn't help but grin."So, doesn't it make shooting difficult?"

"At first. But I've learned to cope. I shoot left handed now. I'm really flexible," She told him playfully.

Six laughed. "You'll have to show me some time."

"Not unless you suddenly turn into a leggy brunette, with a c-cup at least."

It was Cass' turn to choke. Her eyes wide, she looked back and forth between Veronica and Six. Six really didn't know how to respond.

"So, how'd you guys meet?"

"Uh...ah...We ran into each other at the Mojave Outpost," Cass said, casually chewing her salad. "Six helped me out. So I figured I'd tag along with him until we find this friend of his. I look forward to adding a bit of red to his checkered suit."

Six laughed. "We did a little bit of traveling around Primm and Nipton."

Cass shook her head. "What's left of Nipton."

Boone eyed her. "What's left?"

"Yeah. Legion attacked it. We snuck through."

Veronica shook her head. "Ordinary guys with guns and bullets…and they're taking over Nevada."

"How many were there?" Boone's voice was icy.

"Shit, two dozen maybe…heard one of the Legionnaires talking to his c.o. What'd he call him?" Cass' face crumpled...she couldn't recall.

Six rubbed the back of his head. "Ah…Vol…something? Maybe. He wore one of those fox hide helmets."

"Vulpes?" Boone's stiffened.

"Yeah. That's it," Six confirmed, finishing up his fiery treat.

"We have to go. Now."

* * *

><p>Boone dropped to one knee, lifting the thin sheet near the foot of his bed. One arm disappeared underneath, and after a beat, he withdrew a long silver case. He tossed it onto his bed and popped it open. Inside Six made out the shape of an elongated rifle. Boone lifted the rifle, bringing it to his shoulder, staring down the scope. It was a sniper rifle – top choice, of that there was no doubt. Desert camouflage decorated its entirety. Boone pulled his carbine from his shoulder, and tossed it to Six. "You're going to need this," he said, pulling a long leather strap out of the case and attaching it to his rifle. He then turned back to the case and withdrew something else, he turned back to Six. "Welcome to the club…" he pushed a red beret into Six's chest. "Let's go."<p>

Six found himself lying flat in the dirt on the mountainside overlooking Nipton. The sun had long set and Nipton was lit up by torchlight. Boone lay beside him, binoculars in hand. "I'm counting twenty six of them."

"I don't think the two of us can take that many," Six admitted. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It felt as though it would jump out at any moment.

"We don't need to," Boone told him. "We just need to take one. Any after that are an added bonus."

Boone continued to scan Nipton. The crucified residents were long dead – crows nipped at their corpses. They sat there for what seemed like an eternity before Boone finally sat the binoculars down. "There, coming out of the town hall."

Six peered through his scope. Vulpes was making his way through Nipton, examining the inhabitants that were unlucky enough to be enslaved. He turned to Boone. "What's the plan?"

"We'll go north. Through Primm Pass. They won't follow us through there."

"Why?"

Thunder echoed across the valley. Vulpes hit the ground with a dull thud. Thunder again. Before Six had time to aim, Boone had emptied a clip and had reloaded. He began firing again. Six took aim - he wasn't accustomed to distance shooting, so his aim wasn't particularly true. But he managed to take out a few. It didn't take the Legion long to figure out where their attackers were shooting from. They began firing back. Before long, just over a dozen remained.

Boone turned to Six. "Low on ammo. Run."

The duo made their way along the mountain. Boone had taken out a few of their pursuers, and Six had taken a few unfruitful shots. Before long, they came to an opening…Boone paused, "Through there."

"Shouldn't we be…finding a cave or something?"

"They won't follow us through here. And the ones that do won't make it out."

"Why?"

"Deathclaws." Boone began making his way through the pass, crouched – weapon at the ready.

Six followed closely behind him. "Did you…uh. Did you say deathclaws?"

Boone didn't answer. He pressed his finger to his lips – pointing ahead. In the dark, Six could just make out four of them, hunched over and fast asleep. Behind them, Six could hear Legionnaires making their way to the entrance of the pass. If they caught up with them before they were able to sneak through…

Six stopped. Boone was searching his pockets. After a beat, he pulled out a miniature pistol…no, not a pistol. A flare gun. Boone turned to Six. In a hushed voice he spoke – "When I fire this, run. There's a shack on the other side of those rocks. We'll take cover there until things die down."

Before Six had the chance to agree or oppose, one of the deathclaws began to stir, sniffing the night air around it. Boone raised the flare gun and fired. The deathclaws flew into a fit of panic - they frenzied. Behind them, the Legion was closing in. Six and Boone made their way to their feet and ran. Past the deathclaws. But Six didn't stop. He kept going, past the shack. Six was terrified, and Boone...he stayed right with Six. They didn't stop, not even when the screams of the Legion filled the night air around them. They ran. All the way back to Novac.

* * *

><p><em>I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Two more and I'll be starting Dead Money. I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty excited. Until next time.<em>


	10. Chapter 9: I Could Make You Care

_Countdown continues for the Dead Money storyline. My nephew had already designed the cover and it's pretty fantastic. One chapter to go before we explore the Sierra Madre._

_Enjoy.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Six began to stir. His eyes opened slowly and adjusted that much slower. He was face down in bed in his Novac motel room. Cass lay peacefully beside him. He sat up rubbing the back of his head – his beret toppled to the floor beside him. He was still in his duster and his boots were still on. He didn't remember going to bed. He closed his eyes for a long minute – checked his pipboy.<p>

7:26 am

He took in a quick breath and let out an almost inaudible yelp as he exhaled. Cass began to stir beside him. He turned to her and a strange sensation crept over him. She opened one eye and looked at him.

"You don't always watch me sleep, do you?"

"Sometimes."

"That's not creepy at all," Cass sat up, covers falling loosely around her. She was in the leopard skin nightwear again. Six raised an eyebrow. "Shut up. It's comfy."

Six became suddenly aware; as if his brain had been turned on after having shut down for the night. He stood, fumbling in the dark. "Where's Boone?"

"Brought you in a little while ago. Said you lost consciousness just south of town. We put you in bed. Then he left. You looked exhausted, so I just let you sleep."

Six flipped a switch. The light came on. He briefly shielded his eyes, Cass retreated under the cover. His eyes adjusted. Neatly folded on the couch, he saw a blanket, a towel, and a pillow. "Those for me?"

Cass looked at the couch, still squinting. "I talked to Cliff. Figure there was no sense in you having to use your duster to cover up with."

Six half grinned. "Letting me sleep in the bed a night, and getting me my own blanket? Miss Cassidy, I do declare."

Cass cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed and lips curled in some mixture of amusement and bewilderment. "Anyway. Vee wanted me to pass along thanks for the meal. You and Boone left in a hurry. I'm surprised you stopped to pay for the food. Thanks for getting mine by the way."

Six shrugged, "Figured I may as well. Only ran me an extra forty caps. I still have enough to do me."

Cass yawned, throwing her head back and bringing her hand up to her mouth. Six scooped up the towel and made his way to the lone dresser in the room; against the back wall neatly beside the fridge. Rummaging through the drawers, he turned to Cass, "Did you unpack that old vault suit I had?"

"In the cupboard."

Six made his way to the nearby decrepit cabinet. Opening one of the doors, he saw the jumpsuit hanging contently within. He retrieved it, shutting the cabinet door behind him. The already broken glass rattled but stayed in place. He flicked on the bathroom light then walked back across the room. Cass had settled back into bed, pulling the blanket far over her head. Six flipped the switch, enveloping her in darkness.

Inside the bathroom he made his way out of his duster, folding it neatly on the sink. He then began to – quite literally – peel the leather armor off of his body. The remnants of Jacklyn's blood made it stick to his skin with a suction cup like effect. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

Six turned to the tub, twisting the knobs. For a moment nothing happened – then, with a thick splat, a bit of mud shot out. The water was dark yellow for a while before finally clearing up. Six let the mud wash down the drain. Then began to remove his pipboy – the sound of the Geiger counter filled his ears. He stopped, looking at the screen. The water was irradiated? Six narrowed his eyes. "Practically every drop of water in the Mojave is radiation free, except this hotel. Great." With a light shrug, he climbed into the tub.

A light tap on the door. Cass opened her eyes and laid there. Silence again. Her eyes were growing heavy – she was drifting off to the ethereal plain of sleep when the tap returned. A little louder this time. Cass' eyes shot open again and she grunted in aggravation. "Who is it?"

The answer was soft spoken – calm. "Boone."

Cass begrudgingly made her way to her feet – making her way to the door at a snail's pace. She simultaneously flipped on the light and opened the door. Boone's hand was raised – knocking position. "Christ, Boone. Patience."

He just looked at her. She returned his vacant gaze for a long minute then stepped to the side. "Come on in, soldier boy."

Boone entered, returning to his seat on the couch. "He sleep alright?"

Cass blinked for a second, yawned, then nodded. "Like a log." She crawled back under the blankets. "He's in the bath. Feel free to wait. I'm going back to bed."

Boone didn't answer. He glanced at the bed side and saw the beret. He picked it up, dusted it off and laid it on a small night stand beside the bed. He sat there in silence for a while before the bathroom door clicked and swung open. Six emerged, duster covering his worn blue vault suit. He stopped briefly at the fridge, opening it and grabbing a bottle of water. "Hey."

Six wheeled around, his hand instinctively reaching for Lucky. "Jesus Christ. You scared the living piss out of me."

Boone didn't respond. Six turned back to the fridge and pulled out another bottled water. Turning back to Boone, he tossed it to him. Boone caught it and sat it down at his feet. "You feeling all right?"

Six popped the lid off his water and took a long drink. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing wrong at all? No headaches? Blurry vision?"

Six shook his head. "Nope."

"Hearing problems?"

"No. I thought you were recon, I didn't know you were a medic."

"I was recon. I was just curious as to whether or not there was a reason you didn't take cover in Harper's shack, like I told you to." Boone's voice had an edge.

Six raised an eyebrow. "Well, gee, Boone. I don't know. Maybe because we were being stalked by legionnaires and fucking deathclaws. It didn't seem like a good idea."

"Running blindly through the country side, by a Legion hit ranger station did though…"

Six took a breath. "Yeah, at the time. Look. I panicked. Can you really blame me?"

"Yes. You do that on the field, you don't go home."

"But we did get home."

"We got lucky."

Six gave the magnum at his side a pat. "I carry this for a reason."

Boone shook his head. "Next time we might not be so lucky."

Six pressed his lips. "Whatever you say, Boone. Is that all?"

"Yeah." Boone stood, grabbing the beret off the table as he did. He tossed it to Six and made his way to the door. "I'm going to rest up for a bit. Give me a shout if you decide to take off."

"Will do."

Boone shut the door behind him as he left. Six plopped down on the couch and finished off his water. Cass peeked her head out from under the cover. "Got a stick up his ass, doesn't…" she stopped mid sentence and stifled a laugh.

Six gave her a puzzled look. She answered his gaze with a smile. "You're very blue," she told him, getting out of bed. She made her way to the bathroom, flashed him a smile, and shut the door.

* * *

><p>"Greetings! Welcome to the Dino Bite Gift Shop. I'm Cliff Briscoe. If you're here for the T-Rex figurines, you're just in time! There's still a few left."<p>

Six raised an eyebrow. "…T-Rex figurines?"

"Of course! That's our bread and butter."

"I'm more in the business for supplies. Guns, body armor. You sell those, right?"

"Well…yes. I guess, we might have what you're looking for," Cliff Briscoe rubbed his balding head. He turned away from Six and opened a nearby closet, mumbling under his breath, "No one ever buys those damned T-Rexes…"

Laughter. Six glanced up the stairs leading to the nest to see Ranger Andy and Manny chatting through the open door. Andy slowly inched his way out of it.

"No, Manny. I don't reckon I've heard that one before."

"I've got a ton of them, Andy."

Six turned his attention away from them. Cliff spoke. "Well, in lines of armor…I've got a few leather armors in stock. And I have a lightweight set of metal armor."

"Lightweight metal armor?"

"Yeah. Interested?"

"I guess that depends on the price." Andy began making his way down the stairs, cane clicking with every other step. Six threw him a nod.

"Oh, I couldn't let it go for anything less than 500 caps."

"Are you serious?" It was Andy.

Cliff looked at him. "It's a one of a kind item, Andy. I threw it together myself."

"So build yourself another one," Andy reached into his back pocket, retrieving an old brahmin hide wallet.

Six shook his head. "No, Andy. I can't let you do that."

Andy waved his wallet frivolously. "Least I can do. From what Boone tells me, you damn near got killed checking in at Charlie."

Six pressed his lips. "Still…"

"I won't have it," Andy turned to Cliff. "What about that old gun you keep tucked away in the closet. The pistol…uses 5.56. You still have it?"

Cliff nodded. "Sure do. But that gun's going to run about 1500 caps."

Andy shook his head. "Highway robbery I tell you. Give him that too."

Cliff vanished into the closet. After a beat he emerged – toting a black set of metal armor without all the decorative heavy bits. He sat it on the counter, along with a faded black revolver. Cliff smiled, "That'll be 2,000 caps."

Andy pulled out a hefty roll of NCR bills from his wallet and dropped it on the counter. "That should be enough."

"Andy, you know those aren't worth as much as caps."

Andy shot Cliff a stare. Cliff continued, "But, seeing as we're close friends and all, I think I can make an exception."

"I thought you would." Andy smiled at Six. "I didn't have a chance to thank you for checking in on that matter for me. I wish the news had been better…but nevertheless."

Six held up a hand. "I think this more than covers it, Andy."

Andy gave him a indignant smile. They began making their way out of the shop. "I'll pay you back, as soon as I can."

Andy shook his head. "Do you know how much the NCR gives me? Being injured in combat – by a frag no less. I get a monthly stipend. Far more than I need to get by, especially out here. Consider it payment."

They stopped at Andy's bungalow. Six extended his hand, "Well, that's very generous of you Andy."

Andy took Six's hand into his own. His grip was weak, but his smile was genuine. "Not a problem, young man. You just keep doing what you're doing."

* * *

><p>Cass eyed Six's armor. "Nice. How much did that cost?"<p>

"Didn't cost me a cap. The old ranger, Andy. He bought it for me, for checking out Ranger Station Charlie."

"Well that's charitable of him."

Six nodded. He slipped on his duster and holstered Lucky, then tossed on his beret. He turned to Cass, "Have you seen my lucky shades?"

"Lucky?" Cass nodded towards his old leather armor. "Found them in the bathroom."

Six slipped them on. "How do I look?"

"People will take you more seriously now, that's for sure. Metal armor, 1st recon beret…" her wandering eyes found the 5.56 pistol snugly tucked away under Six's duster. "Where'd you get _that gun_?"

Six withdrew it, turning it over for her to see more clearly. "Andy bought this too…I don't really need it, I have my .357." Six added. "Think you could use a pistol?"

Cass beamed for a minute, but the smile faded quickly. "No. You can't give that away. It was a gift."

Six shrugged, "Not really. It was payment. But now it's a gift." He extended his arm, pistol in hand. Cass' hesitance quickly turned into exuberance. She scooped it up and took aim. Six ducked out of the way. "Whoa. Just make sure you aim it at the bad guys, okay?"

She grinned, tucking her newfound toy into her belt.

* * *

><p>"Vee."<p>

Veronica waved at Six as he, Cass, and Boone made their way up the hill towards the 188 Trading Post. "Did you get everything taken care of?"

Boone cast Six a sidelong glance. "Yeah."

Six shifted awkwardly. "Wasn't anything we couldn't handle. I wanted to apologize for making off like I did."

"Oh, no worries. Cass and I finished eating and then watched the Psyker boy tell people their fortunes under the overpass."

Six paused. "There's a Psyker here?"

"Yeah. He's just down there," Veronica peeked over the overpass and pointed to the boy. "Fun stuff, if you're into that sort of thing…" Veronica turned and Six was gone.

"Hi, mister. How are you today?"

"I hear you're the go to guy around here for readings."

The boy look at Six with puzzled eyes. "I can take off my medicine and do some thinking…people say my thoughts are interesting."

"Your medicine?"

"This thing on my head is headache medicine. It works real good, except I can't think when it's on. Really think, I mean."

Six shuffled his feet. "I'd like to know my forecast."

The little boy tilted his head and abruptly removed his headwear. His face immediately changed, becoming contorted with paid. "…little of interest…things to buy, false hopes, and regrets watered down, washed down in dirty glasses. With regret comes a girl... smiling sad, brown robe, name Veronica, half here – her other half? A hunter captured by prey. Gone. Wraps her and her heart up like a pack, in the pack, a key, some say. A failing family. Suffocating, Mojave dust storms, blind leading the blind. A lost father. Red clouds and ghosts. She needs your help…to wipe the slate clean…begin again."

Six turned his gaze back up to the robed woman standing on the pass above him. Boone stood motionlessly beside her, and Cass sat with them – feet dangling over the edge.

Six made his way back up to them. Cass spoke first, "Well. What'd he say?"

"A lot," he turned to Veronica. "Care to accompany us back to Novac?"

Veronica smiled. "Absolutely!"

As the group neared Novac, they could see Ranger Andy arguing with one of the residents. It was an older gentleman, in a dirty set of overalls, a rattan cowboy hat, and a patched up white t-shirt. Boone turned to Six, "Dusty McBride. Local brahmin herder."

"Wonder what that's about?"

As they got nearer they could hear Dusty shouting at the ranger. He was going on about someone attacking his brahmin. "I've lost half of my herd, ranger! I don't think you're getting that! You're the law in town! Do something about it!"

Andy held up his hands passively. "Look, Dusty. I know someone's been attacking your herd. But twice I've had Manny set out there all night, and twice he's come back empty handed."

"Manny spends all day up in that damn dinosaur. Twice you've sent him, and twice I've found him sleeping up by the dumpster. These attacks happen around midnight every god damn night. Screaming and shooting. One animal each time…shot up full of holes. Someone's trying to sabotage my business!"

"I'll take a look at it," Six said, approaching the arguing pair.

Dusty turned to look at him, "That's mighty kind of you stranger, but I don't want you getting yourself killed. It's not your job to protect this town; it's the NCR's."

"No. It's no trouble at all, besides. I'll have backup." Six threw his head back towards the trio behind him.

Dusty pulled his hat off and ran his hands through his short silver hair. "Well, stranger. I can't say I wouldn't appreciate the help…Alice and I would definitely find a way to pay you back."

Six gave Dusty a light hearted nod, put a hand on Andy's shoulder and smiled. "Just, take it easy on the ranger here, okay?"

* * *

><p>Six and Cass sat silently behind the makeshift tented kitchen. Six checked his pipboy – 11:37 pm. He yawned. "Jeannie May's house. You think Cliff would be opposed to you using it?"<p>

"You trying to get rid of me?"

Six smiled. "Not at all. You wanted your own room…since Cliff and Andy haven't gotten around to cleaning one out for you, I figured you might check and see about Jeannie's house, it's not like she needs it."

Cass shrugged. "I guess."

Six took a short breath. "You know. On the other hand, Veronica is probably going to need somewhere to stay tonight. Maybe she should look into it instead. It'd be easier, we wouldn't have to pack up and move your stuff."

"It would be easier…"

Footsteps. Cass glanced over her shoulder to see Veronica making her way to them. "Boone wasn't in his room."

"Must've gone up to the nest tonight," Six guessed.

Veronica sat next to him, "What were you all talking about?"

Six motioned towards what was formerly Jeannie May's house. "That house…it's empty. We figured you could stay in it tonight."

Veronica beamed. "I get my own place? Cool."

Six wrinkled his brows. "Anyway, we'll have to talk to Cliff or Andy about it first…but I don't see any reason they'd be opposed to it." Six paused for a long moment, thinking back to what the kid at the trading post had said. "So, Veronica. Tell me about the Brotherhood."

"Not much to tell that you don't already know. Doesn't pay for shit, I'll tell you that."

Six laughed. "What brings them to the Mojave?"

"Well, the official story is the Dam. The Brotherhood had heard rumors that it was still running. We figured we could claim it…put it to use. But we got sidetracked at Helios One. Never made it to the Dam."

Cass raised a brow. "That's the official story…what's the real story?"

Veronica's smile dimmed. "Well…our Elder when we came east, Father Elijah, he was a wizard with technology. The man was a genius…his mind just worked in a way that he could break things down, see how they worked without ever really touching them. I learned a lot from him. Then he started having disagreements with the other Elders. See, the Brotherhood's interest is preserving Old World tech. We aim at keeping humanity from destroying itself again. It's a noble cause…and I agree with it. People need to be protected, even if it's from themselves. Elijah though…he wanted to explore developing new tech. Armors. Weapons. His ideas came with certain ethical implications. Rather than deal with him, they sent him east."

"You said he was your Elder when you came east. He's not your Elder now?" Six asked.

"No. When we got to the Mojave, he demanded we investigate Helios One. He was convinced there was some weapon project there. While we were there, the NCR swiped the Dam clean out from under us. Elijah was furious…said the NCR was nothing but a 'bunch of children playing with a bomb'. Then, the NCR came after Helios One. We held our own for a long time…but the NCR's numbers were just too great. We started taking casualties. Elder McNamara…well, he was a Paladin then…he begged Elijah to retreat so we could regroup. Elijah was resolute…refusing to give up what he called a super weapon. Eventually though…he vanished. Everyone thought he was dead."

"But he's not?"

Veronica shrugged. "I don't know about now. But he survived the battle at Helios One. He left me a message at a comm. station. That's how he liked to talk…he was a hermit. Didn't like face to face interactions."

Cass sat up straight. "What was in the note?"

"I don't know…the note was strange. Even for Elijah. Almost delusional. He said the Brotherhood was doomed…but told me not to worry. Said he'd be back with some Old World advanced technology. Said he'd save us. He'd save the Mojave. Wipe the slate clean…whatever that means."

The child's words resonated throughout Six again. "Have you thought about helping them?"

"I can't. Tried to help Elijah…he just wouldn't listen. The Brotherhood's the same way. They're obtuse. We just don't adapt like we need to…that used to work. Used to be that all you needed to survive was a suit of power armor and a laser rifle. It's not like that anymore. People out here are armed and organized…they're not afraid of us. And we don't take on new members. We're all descendants of the original members…it's a dying gene pool. We're running out of bodies to fill our power suits…something has to change, or the suits will be all that's left, collecting dust in an abandoned bunker. There's hardly enough members left to sustain ourselves as a chapter. They'll see the light eventually…I just hope that by the time they do, it's not too late."

Cass removed her hat and ran her smooth hands through her crimson hair. "Wow…"

Veronica's smile, which had long faded, reappeared. "Hey. I don't mean to trouble you with the Brotherhood's quandaries…"

Six cut her off. "Shh."

Cass cast him a glare. "Let the girl…"

"Quiet."

They sat in silence…waiting. Cass was getting ready to speak up again when she heard it. A soft thump. Then another. Footsteps. Whatever the source was, was big. Six strained his eyes…scanning the desert. He could hear it…but he couldn't _see_ it. Then it dawned on him…

"No wonder they never catch this son of a bitch…he's using a stealth boy."

Cass widened her eyes. "Well don't you think that we should…I don't know…get the fuck out of here?"

"No, there's only one" Six laid flat on his stomach, taking out his carbine. He peered through the scope and waited. Then he heard it…the crackle of the pip boy deactivating. Just on the other side of the brahmin pen was a nightkin. "Oh fuck."

The nightkin's minigun began to whir. Six took aim and fired. Either he missed, or the nightkin didn't notice. One of the brahmin was pelted with rounds. Cass dove behind a nearby dumpster. Six fired again. Still nothing. He turned to Cass. "You might want to go get Boone." Cass gave him a brief nod and disappeared behind the tent. He then turned to Veronica…she was gone.

The nightkin continued pelting the dead brahmin with bullets…ignoring the others in the pin, which were flustered to the point of stampeding. Six fired again…this time the nightkin noticed. It held its face in pain, pulling its hands back Six could see a cherry red liquid spewing from its eye. "One for three..." It took aim at Six. "Oh fuck…" The minigun began to whir again…Six stood, firing rapidly at the nightkin. Then he saw more movement…from behind McBride's house. It was Veronica – she rolled forward towards the nightkin. The movement made it reposition its aim…but it wasn't quick enough. Veronica came up with the force of a launching warhead. Her gauntlet connecting firm with the nightkin's chin. It stumbled backwards and shook its head. Then it resumed aiming. Veronica didn't move. She just watched it. "What the fuck is…Veronica, get do…"

An explosion echoed throughout Novac. The nightkin's body collapsed, a bloody stump where the head once was. Veronica turned back to Six, smiling. "See, I told you. Two-Step!"

* * *

><p>"Mister. I don't know how I can ever repay you…but this is a start," Dusty tossed Six an old pouch. "There's also some steaks in the fridge…more than Alice and I could eat in a year. You're welcome to take as many as you want."<p>

Six smiled from ear to ear. "Dusty, that's kind of you."

"Make no mention of it. You've saved this ranch."

Six made his way back out into the wastes. He was greeted by his troupe. He held up a small brown paper bag. "We're going to eat well tonight." Cass snatched the bag from his hands and peered inside.

Boone looked at the bag a moment, then turned his gaze to Six. "I talked to Cliff. He says he doesn't see any reason why Veronica can't use Jeannie May's house until the next town meeting. Then they'll decide who it goes to."

Veronica lightly clapped her hands. "Well then…let's go to my new house and eat."

* * *

><p>A light tap on the door. Six roused from his slumber to answer it. "Boone, you really need to stop waking me at…"<p>

It was Veronica.

"Oh. Morning."

"Sorry."

"Que sera sera," Six yawned and raised his hand, gesturing her in. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," Veronica shifted her feet anxiously. "I thought about what you said. About helping the Brotherhood. I think you're right. Desperate times and all. I was wondering if you'd come with me, maybe?"

Six smiled. "Of course."

* * *

><p><em>Next chapter - Six encounters the Brotherhood. Then, next Sunday - I officially begin Aces &amp; Eights. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.<br>_


	11. Chapter 10: Democracy Inaction

_Sorry for the delay. I got a bit side tracked today and didn't get to work on this until a short while ago. Better late than never. This will be the last chapter for 18 Karat Run: A Courier's Tale for a while. As of Thursday, we begin 18 Karat Run: Aces & Eights - for those unfamiliar, that will be the storyline for Dead Money. Enjoy.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"How do you know which Bunker to come to?" Six asked, falling in line behind Veronica.<p>

"Ours is the western most bunker," Veronica pointed. "See that tree stump?"

Six followed an imaginary line projecting from her finger tip. "Yeah."

"That's the bunker. Comes in handy for those without a sense of direction," she nodded to the device on Six's hand, "…or a pip-boy."

"Is this where the Brotherhood retreated to after Helios One?" Boone eyed the bunker cautiously.

Veronica hesitated. "Yeah…I mean, I was already here. I wasn't at Helios one. A lot of the initiates were here too. There were only a select few Scribes at Helios One. The rest were Paladins."

Boone stopped at the entrance, "You're sure they're not going to kill me as soon as I walk in there?"

Veronica laughed nervously. "No. Elder McNamara wouldn't take too kindly to anyone opening fire on guests."

"So you've had guests before?" Six inquired as they began making their way into the bunker.

"Well…no." Veronica turned to see the trio standing inertly on the stairs. "Trust me," she smiled, "…they're not going to hurt anyone. Especially since you guys are with me."

Cass shot Six a troubled look. He empathetically brushed her arm. The troupe continued to venture down the stairs, further into the bunker. At the base of the stairs, they entered a large warehouse sized room – with massive yellow steel crates stacked on either side. Across the room was another door – and next to it was a comm. panel. Veronica stepped forward.

"Don't worry. I got this," she approached the panel. "I'd like a large atomic shake and a double brahmin burger. And easy on the agave sauce this time."

"We gave you a password for a reason, Veronica."

"Just open the door, Ramos. I know where you sleep!"

The voice on the other end of the comm. sighed. "Alright, Veronica. Welcome back."

The door made a long hissing noise – followed by a brief click. Veronica turned with a smile. "Shall we?"

She extended her hand, taking hold of a small circular dial. With a quick rotation of her wrist, the mechanical door groaned and opened. Inside Six saw four armed individuals in heavy power armor. The door behind them opened with a long mechanical whine. Veronica smiled at the man who passed through it.

"Lookin' sharp, Ramos."

"You're not looking bad yourself, kiddo," the man cast a wary glance over her shoulder. "Who are your _friends_?"

"Oh! How rude of me," Veronica introduced the trio standing dumbfounded behind her.

Ramos continued to eye them cautiously. "Give me just a minute, will you?" He disappeared back through the door he'd came through. After what felt like an eternity – which was probably due to the fact they had high end gauss and laser rifles pointed at them – Ramos reemerged from the bunker. "Veronica, McNamara wishes to speak with you…he is going to permit one of the outsiders to enter. And only one," he turned to Boone, "I assume you're in command?"

"Not particularly."

Ramos pulled his head back a notch and turned to Six, "You?"

Six raised his brows. "Well, we don't really have a commander. We're not so much a unit as we are a team. We all pull our fair share."

Ramos cocked his head to the side. "Every team has a captain. McNamara will speak with you. Comply, or I can put you in the ground here and now."

Six was hesitant. He turned to Veronica, "I don't think this was such a good idea. I believe we'll make our way back out the way we came in."

Veronica's face was contorted with aggravation and concern. "Ramos…"

Ramos held up a hand. "I'm afraid it's not so simple. The elder's policy towards trespassers hasn't exactly been lenient."

"You said only one of the _outsiders_ could enter. If I go with you, what happens to these two?" Six motioned towards Cass and Boone.

"The east bunker serves as a holding block. They'll be outfitted with explosive collars and taken there. When you have seen the elder and complied with any tasks he has given you, they will be released."

Six swallowed. "Look…Ramos?" The man nodded. "I'll cooperate. But the woman," He turned to Cass, "She's no threat. She's a mother, and she was just traveling with us. Let her go, and I'll go with you."

Ramos' hardened face seemed to soften. He looked at Cass. Six continued. "When Veronica asked me to come along, I offered to pay her for her assistance. She needed the money, but she has a kid to feed. Let her go…and let him take her home. The wasteland's a dangerous place for a woman to be by herself. I'm sure you already know that."

Ramos shifted his eyes a moment, then let out a long breath. "Okay. you're free to go," then, his stare fixated on Six. "Follow me, closely."

Six turned once to look at Cass and Boone, then fell in line behind Veronica and Ramos.

* * *

><p>"Hello Veronica, how goes your mission?" An Elderly man in a blue robe with the whitest hair Six had ever seen greeted them. He was positioned in the middle of an immensely tall room – behind a horseshoe shaped desk, armed guards on either side.<p>

Veronica approached his desk. "Elder McNamara...we need to talk."

The Elder sighed. "Veronica, tell me this isn't about…"

"Yes, goddamnit it is!" She slammed her gloved palm onto the table. "And you're going to hear me out this time!"

The elder seemed unaffected. Humble. "We've been through this, there's nothing to discuss."

"Like hell," Veronica's normally cheery voice was dark. "The things I've seen! Other groups succeeding where we failed. A band of drugged up fiends are giving the NCR more trouble than we ever did. No power armor, no energy weapons. The Legion is nothing but a bunch of tribals in sports gear with regular knives and bullets and they're taking over Nevada! It's not too late…"

The Elder held up his hand to silence Veronica. "The Brotherhood survived the great war. These upstarts are just meager bumps in the long road that lies before us. We'll survive this too."

"Survive? By waiting in a hole for everyone else to die?"

"If we must."

"This isn't survival. This is a death sentence. We're just waiting to die off down here."

"I see no evidence of that. Nor do I see anyone out there with a solution to our problems."

"How could you? You're too afraid to look." Veronica's voice was quiet. She turned to Six. "We're wasting our time…let's just go."

The Elder spoke up, "A moment, if you will." The heavily armored Paladin's took leave. "You too, Veronica."

The room was empty, now. Save the Elder sitting behind his desk, and Six standing uneasily before him.

"I apologize for the way we greeted you. You can't be too careful these days."

Six approached the desk. "Why'd you need to speak with me?"

"When Palidin Ramos told me that Veronica had returned with a group of outsiders, I was unsure of what to think. We had to take precautions. But after some thought, I realized that an outsider could be of some use. We are trying to maintain minimal presence in the topside world. Veronica doesn't appreciate that, but it is necessary for our survival. However, this bunker is deteriorating. Lorenzo, a senior knight in our chapter, has approached me with news that the air filtration system in the bunker has malfunctioned and is on its last limbs. It requires continuous maintenance. Lorenzo fears we may be able to get another years use out of it maximum. Then we will have no choice but to seek new shelter. But hope is not lost. One of the vaults in the area should have the parts we require," he motioned to the pip-boy. "May I?"

Six extended his wrist. McNamara quickly began turning knobs and dials. "Here. This is Vault 11. I sent a group of scouts there to retrieve the parts, but that has been some time ago. They have not returned. What do you say, outsider. Can you help us?"

Six took a breath. "If I help you, will you at least consider what Veronica has to say?"

McNamara's face twisted with exasperation. "If that's what you require."

Six smiled, "Then I'm just the man for the job."

* * *

><p>Exiting Hidden Valley Bunker, Six was greeted by Boone – who had perched himself atop the bunker. "Cass sent me back to wait for you."<p>

"Thoughtful of her. Where is she?"

"Took her back to Novac. Cliff and Andy are helping her decorate her new room."

"Oh…" Six paused a moment. "She finally got it? Good for her."

Boone didn't seem to notice the despondency in Six's tone. "Yeah. She told me to come back. Make sure you were alright."

"Well. Care to do a bit of traveling?"

Boone shrugged.

"Traveling?" Veronica echoed.

"Yeah. McNamara has agreed to hear you out…if I help him first. Apparently the air filtration unit is on its last legs…but he believes a vault in the area has the parts they need." Six flipped through the displays on his pip-boy before coming to his map. "Vault 11. Just southwest of the 188."

Boone nodded. "I know the area."

"Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Upon entering the tunnel to Vault 11, the trio was greeted by the corpses of bark scorpions and mantises. There were charred areas around the tunnel – likely from the laser fire of the recon group McNamara had sent into the vault. Veronica paused to investigate a nearby terminal, while Six examined fliers that were strewn across the Vault's entrance walls. "I Hate Nate…creative."<p>

"This vault had some type of elections going on."

Boone eyed four nearby skeletons, "Something was definitely going on in this vault." He bent down to investigate. "Suicides. All of them."

"Yeah," Veronica turned to Six. "These people, whatever they did, they couldn't live with themselves."

Six walked over to the terminal – replaying the audio log. "Four shots, five people."

Boone cast the remains a glance. "Four bodies."

"Someone out there knows the truth then."

Six nodded, "If they're still alive."

The group ventured deeper into the vault. Six couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation creep over him. Something in the vault felt _off_. They ran into little resistance – the Paladin reconnaissance had done a very good job of eliminating threats within the vault. Each terminal seemed to point more and more towards the electoral process within the vault.

"This is strange," Six rubbed his chin. "I mean, generally when there are elections…you _want_ to be voted for. But the candidates seem to be pleading with the vault inhabitants for just the opposite. They don't want to be voted for."

"Who can blame them? I'm sure being overseer – looking out over an entire population – is hard work. I mean, I wouldn't want to take McNamara's seat…I don't agree with what he's doing, but he has good intentions."

Boone grunted. "Intentions don't excuse you for the things that you do."

"No, but it makes it easier to find forgiveness. If you're working for the good of the people around you, even if you're misguided, it's got to count for something."

Boone didn't say anything else. He took point, maybe to get further away from Veronica – Six thought.

Veronica turned to Six, "McNamara stood at my parents' wedding. He's a stubborn old fool – but he has a good heart. There's got to be something that would change his mind."

Six shrugged, "The only thing that seems to get through to the Brotherhood – at least, as far as I know anything about them – is technology."

"Don't you find it strange that you can remember so much about so many things, and not remember your own name or where you came from?"

Six's face contorted, "I don't know. I mean…I don't know how the brain works at all. I don't remember ever hearing anything about the Brotherhood. And I don't remember ever learning to shoot. I just know how to."

"You'd be an interesting case for medical science. The Followers would probably love to dig around your brain. They're into medical enigmas – physical, psychological."

Boone stopped ahead, near a room labeled "Utility". He bent down and examined the floor – "This place is rigged up something fierce."

Six examined another flier on the wall…but this one was different. The "N" in "Nate" had been marked over with bright red paint. The flier now read "I Hate Kate".

"So…a rebellion? But why?"

Six shrugged. "These vaults have Overseer's right?" Veronica nodded. "So let's go check out the office. They're bound to keep records."

"We passed the office on the way," Boone passed them, headed back. "Follow me."

The first thing Six noticed about the office was the desk – it was extended, high. Almost touching the ceiling. There was a staircase beneath it. Six made his way to the desk and peered into darkness. "Check the terminal…"

Veronica half jogged to the terminal. After a long minute, the computer beeped…

"I'm in…" she began to read through the files. "So the election process…it's how they determined who was overseer…their last overseer was Katherine Stone."

"Kate," Six said, thinking back to the painted flier.

"Yeah…apparently one of the cell blocks was blackmailing her into performing…" Veronica sneered, "Wow. Into performing sexual favors for them. Fucking assholes. They were going to endorse her husband for Overseer…"

Boone chimed in, "What's so special about being overseer?"

"Well…The overseer makes all the rules, but it says something about being elected overseer 'seals ones fate'…whatever that means."

Six peered back into the tunnel below the desk. "I have a feeling our answer is down there."

The group made their way into the tunnel. A short distance, they came to a door. Six twisted a small metal handle and the door's mechanisms kicked in – it opened automatically. They were greeted by music, and bright lights.

A voice – "Congratulations martyr. Your fantastic journey is only just beginning. Please, proceed to the light."

"Martyr?" Boone repeated.

"Going into the light is never a good idea…" Veronica quipped.

The group continued.

"The light is calming and puts your mind at ease. Go to the light."

At the end of the hall, the group entered a room. Veronica immediately bolted ahead of them.

"Welcome. Please sit in the chair, the show is about to begin."

Two Paladins lay dead on the floor – their remains singed. Across, on either side, were what was left of several bots and turrets. The projector flickered to life, displaying images on the wall across from the door.

The voice began to go on about being selected, life wishes, reflections, and civic duty.

"You've led a great life. Living it has been its own reward. But it's only the beginning. Close your eyes now, and think about what joys await you in the next life – the afterlife. Can you see them? Good."

Six shook his head. "The overseers were martyrs…"

He looked around the room. To his left was a large terminal – it was already booted up. Six pressed a key…the voice returned.

"Congratulations citizens of Vault 11. You have made the decision not to sacrifice one of your own. You can walk with your head held high, knowing that your commitment to human life is a shining example to us all…"

Six chuckled, "A shining example…shit."

"…what you were led to believe, the population of Vault 11 is not going to be exterminated for its disobedience. Instead, the mechanism to open the main vault door has now been enabled…"

"So that's it then. An experiment. A fucked up experiment," Six turned to Veronica. "I'm sorry we didn't find what we came here for. Maybe we can check another vault."

"That's it…" Veronica began searching the corpses of her fallen brothers. She stood, holotape in hand. She grabbed Six's wrist, and inserted the tape.

"If they didn't find what they came here for, their next tasks would be on this!"

The tape summary read:

"Paladins Dean, Carter, and Loker – while investigating Vault 11, we found no trace of the air filtration components. We have discovered a secret tunnel under the Overseer's desk – and find it reasonable to believe that it may lead to vault storage. We hope to find the components we need there. If we do not, we intend to travel southwest to the partially collapsed bunker between Nelson and Camp Forlorn Hope. We believe we may be able to retrieve the filtration components from the otherwise destroyed bunker."

"Of course!"

"What?"

Veronica looked at Six, "The old abandoned bunker! I don't know why I didn't think to go there in the first place!"

Six raised a brow.

"We had a bunker between Nelson and Forlorn Hope. When Legion took Nelson, we feared the activity in the area might draw attention to us. We set charges, collapsed it. But the maintenance sector was left intact and locked. The pieces we need would definitely be there!"

Six stepped to the side. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>The trio traversed across the ground between Nelson and Forlorn Hope. Boone turned to Six, "Just so you know, if we see any Legion, I'm going to start firing. If that's a problem for you, we should probably part ways."<p>

Six laughed, "Doesn't sound like a problem so much as it sounds like a solution."

Boone half smirked, "Yeah…that's us alright. Just a couple problem solvers."

Six turned to Veronica. "So, I can understand relocating. But why'd the Brotherhood destroy this vault?"

"Not a vault. It's a bunker. It was McNamara's idea. The bunker housed some pretty advanced tech. We had to keep it out of the hands of the NCR or Legion."

"Protecting _us_ from _ourselves_?" Boone scoffed.

Veronica's voice was coy, "Well…that's the Brotherhood's mission. To protect people from themselves. Only sometimes, it's more like we're not protecting them at all. It's like we're protecting ourselves. Like we hope to outlive them and become humanity's sole heirs. We've had people go rogue though and start helping people. One chapter had a small civil war over it. Out east, near DC. I don't know much about it, but word travels. Apparently the Elder there…Lyons I think his name was. He decided that the people needed protection. I don't know what from...but one of the Paladin's broke away. I don't know his name. It created a lot of tension back home too. A lot of our members think we should take a more active role in society. I mean, look at the Followers of the Apocalypse. They try to improve society. Their members train people to be self sufficient."

"And that's what you think the Brotherhood should be doing?" Boone asked.

"Yeah…I mean, the Followers make friends like we make enemies. And they don't have a fraction of the tech or know how that we do. If we took on a role like theirs, we could recruit more members. People would rally behind us. We wouldn't have to hide."

"You could always join the Followers," Boone suggested.

"No. I don't think that's a good idea…" Six started. "I mean, it sounds to me like you care about the Brotherhood."

"I do. I know sometimes it sounds like I don't…but I really do. Sometimes I call them family…and to be honest that's not far off. Living in the bunker is like a big unending family reunion. There's people you love, people you'll never speak to again. And it's always awkward when you run into someone you used to date…but I have to learn to accept them. Take the good and the bad."

"Exactly. It seems to me that what you need to do is make a difference. We just have to figure out how."

Veronica stopped, peering down at what looked to be a concrete storm drain. "Here we are…" She reached down with her gloved hand and pulled the drain aside. "After you."

The inside of the bunker was different than the others. The first room they came to looked to be nothing more than a trailer – a corpse lied motionlessly across from them. The floor opened up to a set of stairs. "Sierra Madre…why is this written all over the place?"

Veronica shrugged. "Wastelanders probably. It's been abandoned for a while."

Boone stepped forward, "Do you hear that?"

The group followed the source of the noise down the stairs. Six rotated the central dial and the door opened with a hiss. Down an elongated corridor, Six saw a radio – playing an automated message in a loop. They approached it. Six entered a room – bunks along the walls.

"…So if life's worries have weighed you down. If you need an escape from your troubles. Or if you just need an opportunity to begin again. Join us. Let go and leave the world behind at the Sierra Madre grand opening this October. We'll be waiting."

A song began playing. Six reached out and turned a dial. A mechanical hiss filled his ears. "Oh shit…this is going to be bad."

The room filled with a noxious red gas. Six felt his mind getting hazy. He watched as Veronica collapsed next to him; Boone followed after her. The gas was emitting from the radio…Six approached it. His limbs began to grow weak and heavy. He reached out for it…his vision doubling, and tripling at times. The room became foggy, his vision started to blur.

And then he was falling. Blackness again.

* * *

><p><em>Thursday! Aces &amp; Eights. It will be it's own story - so those of you who have only subscribed to this story won't get a notification. So keep your eye out for it.<em>


	12. Chapter 11: A Better Life

_**STOP! Have you read 18 Karat Run: Aces & Eights? It's a retelling of Six's time at the Sierra Madre. Read it before continuing.**  
><em>

_This chapter is completely original content - no missions, no in game dialogue. It's a wind down chapter - with Six returning to Novac. To address an issue brought up by Kingoftheplankton...Six is losing focus. But notice the time he started losing focus...around the time he met Cass. There's a reason for that...and maybe I haven't made it clear enough. But he's different around Cass. His behavior changes, his reason for being changes. With that being said...don't fret. Six **will** be resuming his hunt for Benny and the Platinum chip soon enough. _

_The beginning of this chapter takes place while Six and his group are still in the Sierra Madre. Then the chapter picks up with them returning to the Mojave. I wanted to clear that up before confusing anyone.  
><em>

_Enjoy.  
><em>

* * *

><p>The Dino Dee-Lite front desk was unusually empty today – not that they tended to get a lot of guests. But, even during her short time running it, Cass was used to at least a few visitors each day; either passers-by stopping for directions, or the seldom customer asking for rates. The rooms were rarely filled – Novac always had vacancies. One room, though, remained off the market. The room she had spent so much time in about month before. She didn't know what happened or even if he was still alive…but Six had vanished without a trace. She'd even built up the courage to travel to the bunker in Hidden Valley – confronted Elder McNamara personally. He'd told her that Six had left to search the local vault for equipment. Upon hearing that she'd asked Manny to escort her to Vault 11 – and he'd been so kind as to do so. Of course, they came up empty handed.<p>

Having spent so much time there – Cliff eventually offered to let her take over some of Jeannie May's responsibilities and, unable to bring herself to leave, she accepted. The position came with respectable perks – free medical care courtesy of the local doctor, Ada Straus; free grub in Novac's makeshift kitchen; decent pay; and she even got Jeannie May's old place. But, of course, she wasn't happy. Cass liked to stay on the move. She enjoyed traveling and she hated responsibility. But she had nowhere else to go, really. And, more importantly, on the chance that he ever returned…

She sighed, tapping a pencil against a clipboard in her lap. She examined the paper despondently. The familiar sound of a bell ringing filled the air as the office door swung open. The first thing she saw was the red beret. For a moment, a bit of enthusiasm crept over her, but was short lived. It was Manny. He looked at her with a smile. "Busy today?"

"Nope." She returned his smile, albeit counterfeit.

Manny pressed his lips, he'd gotten used to that smile. He'd seen it before. He drew a quick breath and hoisted himself up onto the counter, letting his gaze fall upon her clipboard.

"Railbird."

"What?" Cass raised a brow.

"Railbird," he repeated, tapping the clipboard. "Eight letter word for a spectator in a game of poker."

"Oh…how do you know that?"

"Spend enough time at the Tops, you pick up on a few things," his gaze shifted from the clipboard to her face. "You doing alright?"

"Yeah…" Cass replied. "I…I'm fine. Just a little tired, is all. Didn't sleep well."

Again, he could see she was lying. But he didn't press the matter. He reached out, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You know, I'm here if you ever want to talk."

"I know, Manny. Thanks."

Manny's lips curled into a concerned smile and he gave her shoulder a pat.

"It's him, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Six. That's what's got you down?"

She swallowed but didn't answer.

"How long had you known him? A few days? A week?"

Still silence.

"Cass…it's been a month. If he was coming back, he'd already have been here." He stood, and headed towards the door. "You want my advice? You need to move on. The wasteland's a dangerous place…"

As he opened the door he heard the familiar clink of glass. Cass was pouring herself a shot of whiskey.

He looked at her, eyes full of some mixture of sympathy and sorrow. "Dead Money," he said.

She squinted and tilted her head.

"Seven down. Money contributed to the pot by players who've folded."

Cass looked back at her clipboard. "Oh," She smiled. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>The road back to the Mojave was a long one. The group had managed to find the Long 15, despite Six's conviction that his pip-boy had no idea where it was taking him. In the distance, the Unification Monument towered over the Mojave Outpost.<p>

"Oh, Christ…I can't wait to get back. I need a bath," Six said, shaking his duster before him. Red bits of dust fluttered throughout the air around him.

"How long's it been?" Boone asked.

Six checked his pip-boy. "Just over a month, now." He turned to Christine, "I bet you can't wait to get back amongst friends and family."

"I'm pretty nervous, really," she admitted. "I've been away for so long…I don't know a lot of them. They're more acquaintances really."

"Ramos is there," Veronica told her. "Torres, McNamara, Taggart, Schuler, and Hardin too. So you'll know a few people. You remember McNamara, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he took over after Elijah left."

"He's Elder now? I always imagined his paranoia would get to him before he managed that."

"Well…his preparations saved us at Helios One…Elijah put a lot of people at risk then up and vanished. But, yeah…he's still pretty paranoid."

"Shit, McNamara…we never got that air filtration component he needed," Six realized.

Veronica gave the duffle bag draped around her shoulder a buoyant tap. "Found the components in that facility Christine and I were holed up in. While she was doing her part to start the Gala, I had a look around. They had a lot of spare parts. Some of them aren't made for the systems we have, but I think Lorenzo and I can manage."

"That's good. No offense to your way of life…but if I go the rest of mine without seeing the insides of another vault, I'll consider myself lucky." Six shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other. Veronica smiled.

"Regretting taking them yet?"

"Nope," Six replied quickly. "What are you going to do with your bricks?"

"Mine?" Veronica furrowed her brows. "Um…I thought I was carrying them for you. I mean…down in the bunker, everything is pretty much supplied for us. So I don't really need it."

Six's face wrinkled, "You're not serious?"

Veronica shrugged. "I found my riches in the Sierra Madre. It wasn't gold." She took Christine's hand into her own.

"And you?" He asked, eyes on Christine.

She smiled, "Elijah's been dealt with. I've been reunited with Vee. I've got a voice…if not my voice. I'm counting my blessings. The Sierra Madre promised a new beginning for its clients…I'm going to take it up on that offer."

Six turned to Boone. "Now…surely…"

Boone cut him off, "You're not getting mine."

Six grinned, slapping Boone's shoulder. "That's what I'm talking about."

As they neared the ruins of Nipton, Veronica and Christine parted ways with them – heading north along the tracks. It was far easier to access Hidden Valley via a road near Sloan, where the fence had collapsed. Six and Boone – now carrying the additional weight of the rest of the gold – continued along Highway 164 towards Novac.

* * *

><p>Manny was in his post when he saw them approaching from the southwest – the same road that they had used to travel to Ranger Station Charlie all those weeks<br>before. At first he was certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. He peered through his scope – he could just make them out. But there they were…heading north alongside the tracks. He shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. "I'll be a son of a bitch."

He was in the Dino Dee-Lite office in a flash. He wrapped his hand around Cass's wrist and practically dragged her to the makeshift kitchen – near where she and Six had sat the night they exterminated the _pest_ that had made a habit of killing Dusty's brahmin. "What are you doing, Manny?" She asked, clearly flustered.

Manny handed her his rifle, then pointed down the tracks. "Look!" Manny was panting, out of breath.

She raised the rifle, slowly – peering through the scope. "What? I don't…"

Then she saw them. Covered in thick red dust, battered, bruised, and broken. But alive. Cass fumbled with the rifle, shoving it into Manny's chest. He barely had time to grab it before she let it go; then, she was gone. As fast as her legs could carry her, she ran down the road, winding between rundown houses and the ruins of such; one hand on her rattan cowboy hat and the other swaying back and forth in sync with the leg parallel to it. Her jacket billowing with every step.

As she neared him, Six felt his stomach flutter. He turned to Boone, "Hold this." He dropped his bag around Boone's shoulder.

Boone grunted and stopped in place. "Can't carry all this…" he let the bag slide off his shoulder and onto the ground.

Six quickened his pace, though not by much, and met Cass a ways ahead of Boone. Cass wanted to leap into his arms, she could barely contain her excitement. But somehow she refrained. She came to a stop shortly in front of him.

"Six!" She looked him over; his duster scorched in places, the fabric of his lightweight metal armor torn here and there. She paused to catch her breath. "What happened?"

"It's a long, long story."

"A long story?" She felt a wave of anger creep over her. "Do you know how long you've been gone? And without so much as saying a word!" She gave his shoulder a fierce punch. "Seriously. You left without so much as sending a post card…"

Six smiled at the fiery redhead as she angrily told him off. Her skin almost matched the shade of her hair.

"You left me here by myself. With no caps, no…"

He wasn't listening to the words she was saying, he was zoned out – just watching her.

"And you're not even listening to me are you?!"

He reached out, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. He smiled lightly – embracing her in a bear trap of a hug. "I missed you too, Cass."

Boone passed them as they stood embracing each other. "Bag's back there on the ground. Not a pack brahmin," he told Six flatly. "See you at the hotel."

* * *

><p>"Welcome back," Manny gave Six a light nod. "Don't worry about Cass. I took good care of her."<p>

Six wrinkled his brow, but returned Manny's nod. He cast Cass a sidelong glance. "He _took care_ of you?"

"Yeah."

"How'd he _take care_ of you?"

Cass smiled. "You're not jealous are you?"

Six didn't answer.

Cass laughed. "You know Manny likes Boone, right?"

"Of course. They served together."

"No, I mean…he _likes_ Boone."

Six narrowed his eyes. "No, you're joking?"

Cass widened her eyes and shook her head.

"Wow…" Six glanced briefly over his shoulder. "I'd never guessed it…So, how'd he take care of you then?"

"He put a good word in for me with Cliff. Got him to give me a position here at the hotel. I run the front desk."

"You're a working girl?" Six paused. "Wait…that didn't come out right…"

Cass raised a brow. "No, no it didn't. But yeah, I work here now. They gave me Jeannie May's old house. Her office. Ada takes care of employees if they get sick or injured."

Six swung the door to his room open and dropped his bag into the floor in front of the safe. "Well…that's good, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I mean…I don't intend to stick around much longer," He began unpacking his bag. Carefully placing the six gold bars in his safe. "I guess I just thought you'd be headed to the Strip with me."

Cass eyed the gold, "Where'd you get those? And what do you mean you're not sticking around? You just got back."

"At that casino I was telling you about…and I've let myself get sidetracked. The man that shot me…Manny told me before I left that his name was Benny. And he was headed for the Strip. I'm thinking it's about time to continue my search."

Cass let her eyes fall to the ground.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll be back. Shouldn't take me too long to find him. And when I do, I'm going to kill him and be done with this whole matter."

"And what if you don't? What if you can't find him? Or what if you find him and he kills you?"

Six shrugged. "If I can't find him, I'll keep searching. If he kills me, I won't have to worry about anything anymore."

"No…but I will."

Six looked up at her. "No you won't…you've got a good thing here, you'll be fine."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Cass stood, making her way to the door.

Six made his way to his feet, "There's no reason for me to stay here, is there? If you can give me a reason – any reason – I'll take it. If the Sierra Madre taught me anything, it's that we don't often get second chances. I got my second chance…I got to start over. And I'm using that second chance to hunt down the son of a bitch who put two slugs in my head. Do you see something else worth pursuing?"

Cass stopped, and leaned against the door frame. "You don't see anything at all?"

"That's not what I said."

"You want me to spell it out for you?"

"I want you to say something."

"I don't want you to leave…" Cass turned to look at him. She was broken…as broken as he was. She couldn't find the words she really wanted to say. And even more so, why should that responsibility fall on her? She was frustrated – even infuriated. She felt her eyes start to well up, and that just made it worse. She stepped towards Six, shutting the door behind her. Another few steps and she was looking up at him. She reached up, placing a hand on his chest. Her eyes made their way to his.

Six, at this point was tired of waiting. He reached down with his left arm, grasping the small of her back. His right hand simultaneously removed his shades and he leaned in, consuming her lips. The room came to life with passion as they stumbled towards the bed. He spun her around, laying her on her back; caressing her thigh.

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with desire. "Will you still be here in the morning?"

Six ran his hand across her cheek and leaned in close. "And the day after."

* * *

><p><em>Things are going to revolve around a few side missions for the next couple chapters. Next chapter, Six helps the town deal with the ghoul problem at the Repconn facility. After that, he'll be helping the Brotherhood out with the inhabitants of Black Mountain, and helping Sloan out with their Deathclaw infestation. Raul will be introduced around chapter 14, and Six will be going back for Ed-E.<em>

_After that...we'll be headed for the Strip. Until next time.  
><em>


	13. Chapter 12: A Brighter Future

_You know, I never really paid attention to the Come Fly With Me Quest. I always just kind of did it like it was a chore. But when I sat down and analyzed it tonight after playing through it, before writing this, it has a lot of implications behind it. It's really a very interesting quest. I'm going to discuss the ideas I had about it later. But it should prove to be an interesting read. Anyway, the chapters are going to start getting longer again. This one would have run close to five thousand words...but I decided to split it in two. Enjoy.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Cass awoke early – before the sun had risen. Awoken by a sharp buzzing emitting from Six's pip-boy. She sat up in Six's bed, stretching with a yawn. Reaching for the pip-boy, she turned off the alarm. The cover fell loosely around her, exposing her bare breasts. She turned to Six, who still slept peacefully at her side. His light breathing was intermittently disrupted by raucous snores. She brought her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes. She waited for them to adjust; then, peered through the darkness. She felt for her garments. When she had found them, she dressed herself and made her way to the door. She hated getting up so early, but she needed to open the office; on the off chance there were any early customers. She made her way outside. The early morning air was cool around her. The moon, though setting, was full and bright in the sky. She continued down the stairs. That's when she heard it.<p>

At first, she assumed it was her imagination. Or maybe the wind. But across the street…in the abandoned gas station, a commotion was taking place. The sound of clanging metal, rustling trash, and scraping stone.

She withdrew her sidearm – _that gun_ that Six had given her as a gift. She cautiously approached the station.

"Hello…"

The answer she received was not one she expected. Hissing. Like something gasping for breath. A low, infuriated growl.

"Maybe it's a mole rat…" she thought aloud. They did tend to pass through the area. She had killed a few herself during her short time here in Novac. The taste was something awful, but if prepared right, it was bearable.

She was in the parking lot now. Between the pumps. The sound was coming from the garage. She could see it now. At least its form. Standing erect in the garage.

"No-bark?"

The creature peered at her through the darkness. Something about the way it stood…she recognized the stance. She backed up quickly, but it was on her before she was able to turn away. She screamed…a shot rang out…then soft weeping.

* * *

><p>"A ghoul," Boone's voice was flat.<p>

Six rose, instantly on his feet. Boone turned away.

"She's fine. You…ah…might want to put something on."

Six hastily began dressing himself. "Where?"

"In the garage, across the street," Boone replied.

"What the hell was she doing out there so early?"

"Getting ready to open up shop."

"Jesus Christ…where is she now?"

"Ada's looking her over down in the office."

"Are there any more?"

"Manny's having a look around."

They made their way downstairs. Six pushed the office door open, Cass was in his arms the moment he was in sight.

He brought his hand up to her face, a deep cut ran vertically from just beneath her eye to above her lip. "Are you alright?"

"She'll be fine," Ada answered. "I've cleaned the wound. Applied a stimpack. It won't even scar. There's a nasty bite on her shoulder. It could have been worse. A lot worse. Lucky Boone was there. He's skilled with his…rifle." Ada smiled at him. He didn't notice. "Anyway, I've given her some Med-X to ease the pain. But mostly, she just needs to rest a bit."

"Thanks, doctor," Six gave her a nod. Cass laid her face against his chest.

"Call me Ada, please…" She made her way out the door. Pausing at Boone's side for the briefest moment before continuing on.

Manny slunk in as the door shut. "Everything's clear out there."

"Where the fuck did it come from?"

"West. As far as I could tell. Maybe from the old Repconn facility? Place is pretty radioactive. I've killed a few along the road the last few weeks," Manny said.

Six pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anyone thought to investigate it?"

"Not really. We head up that way every other month. Gather supplies…stuff to trade. I figured we'd check it out next time we were up that way."

"What if next time it's more than just a scratch? What if next time someone gets dragged off by one of those god damned zombies?"

Manny didn't answer.

"I'll get some supplies together," Boone said slipping out the door and into darkness. Manny was quick to follow.

Six guided Cass to the sofa; where they sat down. He pulled her face up to his, lightly brushing the hair from her eyes.

"You alright?"

She sniffed. "Yeah…just didn't expect it to be on me so quickly. This one was different than the other ghouls we've seen. Bigger. Quicker."

Six leaned his forehead into hears, closing his eyes. He brought his hands up to either side of her face and embraced her in a zealous kiss. "We're going to look into it. We'll be back…"

"I'm going with you," Cass contended.

"No, you're not. You heard Ada. You need to rest."

"I don't give a fuck what she said. I'm going with you. I'm not some weak-kneed damsel in distress. That thing caught me off guard."

"Exactly…you can't let yourself get caught off guard…"

"Like we never do?" It was Boone. He raised his shirt, revealing the faint trace of a scar. The result of the wound left by the ghost's knife spear.

Cass threw her hand up. "Exactly. If I don't go, you're not going. You can let them handle it," her voice was resolute.

Six couldn't help but smile.

* * *

><p>The road to the facility was littered with ghouls. Most of which Boone eliminated well before they knew anyone was there. Before long, they stood before the Repconn building. Six pushed the door. It wouldn't budge.<p>

"It's stuck."

Boone stepped forward, joining Six in his efforts. "Shouldn't be stuck…we scavenge here too often for it to have rusted…"

"Maybe part of the building caved in…" Cass speculated.

Six's boots dug into the concrete ground. His face burned as red as Cass's hair. The door pushed open with a loud metallic screech. They stepped inside.

"No wonder," Boone motioned to the floor. "Nightkin."

"Fucking great…that's just what we need," Six lamented.

"Hey, down there. Can you hear me?" A gruff voice called out. Six examined his surroundings – the voice was coming from an intercom mounted on a nearby wall.

"We can hear you," Six answered.

"Good. Head to the east side of the building. You'll find a metal staircase in a warehouse area. Take it to the second floor, use the intercom to contact me when you're there."

Six narrowed his eyes. "…And who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter, smoothskin. If you're not going to come up here, quit wasting my time."

Six turned to Cass and Boone, silently seeking approval. Boone shrugged indifferently, Cass gave him a nod.

"We're on our way."

He was answered by the click of the intercom deactivating.

"This way," Boone took point. "I've been in here a number of times…there's only one depot in the building. Above ground at least..." They followed Boone as he twisted through the winding halls of the building – making short work of a number of feral ghouls. In a short time, they were outside the depot. Crouched, Boone silently entered – rifle at the ready. "Clear."

They began up the stairs. At their peak, the stairs leveled off into a catwalk. The catwalk continued a short distance, joining into an enclosed area. From within – a faint green glow washed over the catwalk. Boone ducked down, motioning for Six and Cass to do the same.

He turned to them, "A ghoul…a glowing one…" he mouthed.

Six stretched to get a better view. Inside, a neon ghoul sat, picking at the remains of a non-feral. Boone swung over the railing, grabbing hold of the catwalk's flooring. He inched his way towards the door. When he had nearly made it, he let out a blood chilling yell. The feral immediately stood – locking its cloudy eyes on Six and Cass. It let out a guttural roar and bolted at them…but, as it passed him, Boone lunged upwards, driving a large blade into its skull. Then, with all his weight, he dropped…barely managing to grab hold of the railing as the creature toppled to the floor below them. The knife pulled out of its head with a thick, wet thud. Boone swung around, pulling himself back up onto the catwalk. He stood, wiping the blade on his pant leg.

Six raised a brow. "What the hell was that?"

"A ghoul…" Boone looked over the railing. "…a dead one."

Six shook his head, chuckling to himself. "And where'd you get that blade?"

"When we got back, I dug through some old boxes," he held it up: a large clip-point blade with a riveted brown wooden handle. "Didn't want to keep having to borrow your machete..."

"I don't think I've ever seen a combat knife that size…"

"It's not a combat knife. It's a bowie knife."

* * *

><p>"God, but are you ugly…" the balding man that had been talking over the intercom scowled.<p>

Cass shot Six a puzzled glance. Six laughed.

"What's so funny?" The man asked angrily.

Six shrugged. "Ah…we all just thought you were a ghoul, buddy. Just a little surprised is all."

"What are you talking about? Your pranks aren't going to work on me, smoothskin."

"I…uh…wait, what?"

"Follow me. You need to talk to Jason…" he shivered, "I might throw up from just looking at you. And you'd better watch yourself…" He brought his hand to his face – his index finger and middle finger forking, pointing towards his eyes. Then he pointed towards the group. "I'll sure as hell be watching you."

They followed him down a twisting hall and up some stairs. The man led them to a glowing ghoul – nothing like the one that had encountered before.

"Hello wanderers. Please forgive us for our…humble surroundings. Our true home awaits us in the Far Beyond." The ghoul's voice resonated strangely, almost supernaturally. "My name is Jason Bright, I am the Prophet of the Great Journey; Orator for the Creator; Vessel for those seeking salvation and passage to the Far Beyond."

Six smirked.

The ghoul, Jason, must have recognized the look on his face. "It's an auspicious name, wouldn't you agree? It was mine before I came to be the way I am today. Before the Great War, even. The Creator caters an individual destiny for each of us."

"Far Beyond?" Cass examined the ghoul quizzically.

"Yes. A new land…a place of safety and healing. A paradise promised to the chosen – my flock. I have glimpsed it only in visions, but what I have seen is truly miraculous. It is a place of light, of healing and safety. A place where we can escape the barbarity of the wasteland and the violence and bigotry of its human inhabitants."

"What's with the guy that let us in?" Six asked.

"You mean Chris? If you tried to explain to him that he's human…you were likely met with the same failure that we had. He came to us...lost and confused. We tried to explain to him that he was not one of us, but he wouldn't have it. Eventually, we came to see that he was a gift from the Creator. A saint to ferry us into the Far Beyond."

"So…_your flock_…" Boone began, "…does it include the ferals that have been wandering towards Novac? Attacking our residents?"

Jason sighed. "I'm afraid so. We had them locked away…awaiting salvation. Unfortunately, when the demons arrived, they released them."

Six pulled his head back a notch. "Demons?"

"Yes. They appeared from nowhere…except, it may be more accurate to say they never appeared at all. They are invisible."

"Invisible."

Jason tilted his head slightly, as if studying Six. "Yes. That's what I said. Where one of the demons stand…the most one sees is the air shimmering. Like sunlight upon water."

Six turned to Boone. "The nightkin in the lobby."

"Stealth boys," Boone confirmed.

"Fucking perfect…"

Jason continued: "We were nearly ready to begin our journey to the Far Beyond when the demons sat upon us. We fought back valiantly…but the cost was severe. Nearly half of my flock went missing, or worse. We retreated up here…the demons did not follow. One of them raved at us…over the intercom."

"What do you mean it raved at you?"

"It was delirious…not everything it said was comprehensible. Though it did threaten us with death, should we step outside. And guaranteed our safety should we stay locked away, up here. The demons aim to hinder our progress. To prevent us from finding salvation in the Far Beyond. The demons aim to lead my flock astray. But, the Creator has, once again, sent saints to help us overcome insurmountable odds."

"Whoa whoa…" Six held up his hands. "I'm not sure you understand why we're here. We just came here because the feral ghouls were attacking our town. We came to find the source. And we found it. We've wiped out every feral between here and Novac. I'm not overly enthusiastic about setting off to solve your _demon_ problem."

"So more of my flock have been killed at your hands…Wanderer, I believe it is the Creator's will that you help us…your group, like Chris, was sent to expiate the sins of your kind against mine. Your decimation of my flock is testament to that."

"What, you think no ghoul has ever raised its hand to a _smoothskin_? That none of my kind were ever killed by yours? Look, I'm sorry your…Great Journey…has hit a few bumps. But I'm not risking my skin," Six pointed to Cass and Boone, "…or the skin of my comrades to take on a group of fucking nightkin. Do you have any idea what those things are capable of? One, by itself, nearly killed me and him a while back. I'm not jumping into the saddle with a dozen of them, I'm sorry."

Jason seemed to sink at this notion. "Forgive me wanderer…I had assumed…"

"Well you shouldn't make assumptions…" Six turned to his group. "Let's go."

They were nearly at the floor's exit when the intercom hissed. "Do…not…leave…that…floor."

Six stopped, inspecting the intercom. He pressed a button, "Look. We're just going to go. We've got no beef with any of you."

Silence.

Six turned to Boone, who readied his rifle. They stepped through the door, back into the room conjoined with the catwalk. Silence filled the air. Cautiously, they proceeded further into the room. The door shut with an audible click behind them. Following that click was the familiar sound of a stealth boy deactivating. They were ambushed by a duo of nightkin. The creatures charged forward. One backhanded Cass – she shot across the room, impacting the wall with a loud bang. The same creature grasped Six by his head, effortlessly lifting him and slamming him into the ground. Boone got off a single shot during this commotion – the creature that had been holding Six staggered back in pain. But the other charged Boone, slamming a club into his chest. He buckled over it and stumbled backwards before collapsing. Six attempted to raise up…he saw Cass. She wasn't moving. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing. He turned to Boone…who lay motionless. He struggled to stand. One of the creatures stepped forward…punting him beneath his chin with enough force to lift him off the ground. Then, it was dark.

When he awoke, he was in a small storage room…though, the nightkin had made it into a pretty convincing cell. On the ground, nearby, lay the body of a female ghoul. She had begun to decompose…and the normally already putrid odor that ghouls emit was intensified tenfold. Six gagged at the smell.

He made his way to his feet, struggling to see in the darkness around him.

"Cass?" His voice echoed, bouncing around the cell. "Cass!"

"She's here, Six," Boone's voice was quiet. Distant.

"Are you okay? Is she okay?"

"She's unconscious, but breathing. I'm a little banged up…I'll live."

"We got to find a way out of here…" Six began prying at the door, but to no avail. "Can you get out?"

"No."

"Jesus Christ…what the fuck are we going to do?"

"We wait."

"Wait for what?"

Boone didn't answer. Six's gut told him he didn't want to know anyway. And to make matters worse…if he were to die, he'd die _alone_ in here. When the one person he'd want to spend his last hours with lied unconscious in the cell across from him.

Minutes passed, turning into hours. Six wasn't sure exactly how long they were in their cells…but when the door opened with a mechanical whine, he was starving.

"You come with us," one of the nightkin said, jamming the barrel of an incinerator into his chest. "Come with us or die."

Six raised his hands submissively. They led him through the basement of the Repconn facility…up some stairs, through winding passages, and eventually to a room with a lone desk in the middle of it. Filing cabinets lined the walls. Behind that desk sat a particularly imposing nightkin, and next to him sat the skull of a long dead brahmin. The nightkin waved his hand, dismissing the escorts that had brought Six into the room. They obeyed, leaving immediately without a word.

"Why you come here, human?"

"We were trying to leave…"

"That doesn't answer question."

"We came to scavenge…for supplies."

"Scavengers? Assassin's more like! I say kill them, Antler, for safe's sake!" The nightkin paused, nodding and grunting. "Okay…yes. Yes. Of course. Okay, Antler, I ask. Why you visit ghouls, human?"

"They wanted our help…in dealing with demons."

"Demons? What's that Antler? We are the demons? I don't understand…okay. Yes. Human…Antler used intercom…told them stay put. But they come down anyways. Cannot allow it! My kin are…not right in head. Violent. The ghouls have to wait upstairs until we find what Antler brought us here to get."

"Who is Antler?"

"Who is Antler?" The nightkin scowled, leaning forward. "_WHO IS ANTLER!?_" Bits of saliva sprayed from the nightkin's mouth, dispersing across Six's face. He recoiled slightly. "You not worry about who Antler is!" His voice lowered to a growl. "_Antler wants that you deal with me_."

"That's fair enough…" Six breathed heavily. "And what do I call you?"

"…Davison…don't remember first name. Captain once…long time ago. You call me Davison."

"Alright, Davison. What did Antler bring you here to get? Maybe I can help you find it…if you promise to let us go."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Huge shipment of stealth boys…sent here. Antler find shipment invoice…hundreds of them, a long time ago. But we search and search. We cannot find them. But there is one room we cannot search."

"Why can't you search it?"

"A ghoul…but not squishy like the others. This ghoul is tough. A crack shot. And smart…sets traps. I sent my kin into the room…and he killed them. You are not my kin…maybe…you go in, and he doesn't shoot you. Maybe he does. You find the stealth boys, and we leave. You and your friends, and the ghouls go free."

"Free?"

Davison gave Six a nod. "Turn right down hall…follow to end. My kin will not attack you unless you attempt to flee. Deal with ghoul. Find stealth boys." With that, he fell silent. Six left the room, turning right, and made his way to the area the tough ghoul was said to be. He extended his arm, twisting the circular dial. The door opened with a mechanical screech.

"Come and get some you big ugly son of a…what? Who are you?"

"Name's Six…"

The ghoul eyed him for a moment. "Harland. Glad to meet'cha. If you don't mind me saying…you look like hell."

"Look who's talking," Six quipped.

Harland laughed. "You'd better get in here…before those things kill you."

"They don't want to kill me. They're looking for something. I need to search this room."

"You're working with them?" Harland raised his rifle, "Strange. Take another step and I'll lay you in the dirt."

"Look Harland…they got my friends captive. They're forcing me to cooperate."

"Captive? So you've been deeper into the basement? Did you happen to see a fine ghoulette?"

Six raised a brow.

"Well…a ghoulette?"

"Yes. I'm sorry…"

Harland raised his hands, "Whoa…spare me the details."

"Look, let me search this room. Let me see if I can find what they're after…and they've agreed to leave."

Harland breathed heavily for a moment, then motioned for Six to come in. "Mind the tripwires…and mines."

Six raised a brow…staring at the floor.

"You know what…just stay there. I'll come get you."

"Good idea."

* * *

><p>"Antler sings for stealth boys. Have you found them?"<p>

"Davison, the stealth boys aren't here. They were sent here by mistake…I found this invoice. They were sent back…" Six handed Davison a slip of paper with an address circled on it. "They were sent here."

"Liar! The invoice said the stealth boys here!"

"They were here. They're not now."

"You trying to steal stealth boys…take them for yourself! What? Antler you trust too easy!" The nightkin sighed. "Your lucky day, human. Antler believe you…we will follow the new note. If stealth boys not there…we will come for you." Davison gently lifted the skull of the dead brahmin off the table. "The key to the cells…there…on the desk." He stalked out the door. Soon after, Six could hear the footsteps of the others falling behind him.

* * *

><p><em>This chapter was a lot of fun to write...it practically wrote itself. It was originally much longer...but like I said, I decided to cut the last quarter out of it and end on a bit of a cliffhanger. The religious implications of this quest are pretty intense...the creator's prophet...Jason Bright...tends to his flock. While demons led by a horned master hinder their progress. I don't know how I never noticed that before. I'm actually going to talk about that later...after Graham is introduced and brings Christianity into play. I love religions, they fascinate me. And they'll make for some interesting dialogue.<em>

_One of the reviews a while back took notice that Boone always seems to get hurt. I tried to remedy that this chapter...and make everyone get hurt. Still...people are going to get hurt a lot. When I play Vegas, Boone is always running out into battle. Fucking taking on the five deathclaws and forty legion without missing a beat. He gets hurt a lot. And I play on hardcore, so I'm always having to chase him down and to give him stims so he doesn't die. I should probably play without hardcore on, so I don't have to worry about that...but it's just not as much fun. But the truth is, Boone's the hero the Mojave deserves. But Six is the one it needs right now. So I'll hurt him. Because he can take it. Because he's not a hero. He's a silent guardian. A watchful protector. He's the last thing you never see.  
><em>

_End scene.  
><em>


	14. Chapter 13: A'hunting We Will Go

_Sorry for the long delay. I've been trying to get everything situated with these med bills of mine. Breaking your ankle and having steel plates put in isn't cheap. I've been applying for various aid and setting up payment plans and what not. A lot of fun._

_This chapter is long overdue...but I think it was worth the wait. I believe you'll all enjoy it. In response to Miss Sweet Revenge...I really hadn't given too much thought as to what perks and stats that Six has. I'll throw something together though and flesh it out next chapter.  
><em>

_It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do with this chapter. I've been writing on it for close to three hours. Hopefully you all enjoy it.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"I waited to speak with you all one last time before I descended to the sacred site, wanderers."<p>

"You mean the launch pad?" Six asked.

Jason's head tilted slightly, "Yes. I suppose there is no harm in revealing our intent. Vision upon vision has confirmed that the rockets will convey us to the Far Beyond."

Boone shook his head. "Those rockets will convey you straight into the ground. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you launching them so close to Novac."

"I understand your concern, but fear not. The Creator has guided our actions – and, whether or not you believe it, He has guided you to us. The means by which the Great Journey will be completed are an article of faith. We must have faith. Our recompense awaits us in the Far Beyond."

Boone scowled but didn't say anything else. There was no use…he could tell that much already.

"And what of Haversam?" Six asked.

"What about me?" The balding man asked, approaching from behind.

Jason shifted his weight. "Ah…yes. Chris, you have been an integral part of our Journey…"

"Been?" Haversam mouthed, staring at the ghoul.

"…you have been a gift from the Creator. Without your technical skills, your knowledge, and your assistance, we would not be able to make the Journey that has been laid out before us today."

"What? I'm going with you."

"I'm sorry, Chris. Many visions have confirmed that you would perish if you were to make the journey. The radiation levels on the launch pad alone would be sufficient to take your life."

"I'm immune to…"

"No," Jason shook his head. "You are not immune. You are human. Though we will regard you as a saint, you are not one of us. No matter how badly you wish to be."

"What?" The man blinked, seemingly dumfounded. "What are you talking about? Look at my skin! The wrinkles and blemishes. And my hair…"

"That's called aging, buddy…liver spots and balding," Cass came off more callous than she'd meant to.

Haversam's breathing became unsteady. Jason placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Chris…I want you to know that we will remember you….all of you…for all eternity. We will remember how you delivered us to the threshold of the great journey. There is no way we can ever truly repay you. Your arrival…especially you, Chris…was blessing to us all. But I must ask one more thing of you Chris…our Saint. I would ask that you launch the rockets…it seems only befitting that you, personally, deliver us."

Haversam swallowed and choked up a smile. "Of course, Jason."

Jason Bright turned back to Six and his group. "The Creator has blessed us. You are redeemers, all." He smiled his sincerest smile.

* * *

><p>The launch pad opened as Six and his group reached the Repconn facility's front entrance. Six stepped out into the bright sunlight. Music filled the air around them…an invigorating sound unlike anything Six had ever heard. He watched in awe as the rockets ascended – a group of three in a row. The middle one launched first…but barely made it off the launch pad before slamming into the ground. Six raised a brow. The remaining rockets launched.<p>

"Something isn't right…" he turned to Cass and Boone. "Get back in…" before he could finish his sentence, the sky erupted in flame. The world around them turned fiery red and shook with rage. Thunder filled the air as the rockets collided…debris flew in all directions, littering the space around them. Six dove forward, pushing Cass into the facility. Boone dove in behind them.

The sound of metallic clanging echoed around them as debris slammed into the building. When the deafening crash had subsided, Six could hear an alarm ringing out. He pushed the front door open and rushed outside. The bodies of the ghouls littered the ground. Some whole. Others not so fortunate. None alive. Save for the few that had been in the middle rocket – Jason Bright among them. Jason Bright stood on the launch platform; surveying the devastation laid out before him. His eyes wide with some combination of confusion, panic, grief, and guilt.

He began, calmly, making his way down the hill. A trail of followers behind him. If ghouls could cry…Six was sure that Jason would be drowning in tears. His face was agape – jaw open with dismay.

He approached Six.

"I…I don't understand."

"There must have been some mechanical error," Six told him, meeting up with him under the large rocket monument between the launch site and main facility. "Are you okay?"

"No…no we're not. So many…" Jason held his hands out, collecting fallen ash. "My visions had confirmed it…how could this have gone so terribly wrong?"

Behind him, Haversam emerged from a manhole – near the launch site. He brandished a pistol – taking aim at Jason. "You thought you could use me? Then throw me away?"

Six, Boone, Cass, and Harland withdrew their own firearms – taking aim at the disgruntled technician.

Jason turned to face his would-be assassin. "Chris…"

"You used me, Jason. You used me to save your people…"

"We recognized you as a saint!"

"And then cast me aside! Left me here to rot!"

"You would have died if you approached the launch pad…"

"No!" Haversam stomped his foot. "No! I'm not like them! I'm one of you!"

"Put the gun down…" Boone warned.

Haversam stepped forward, his gun mere inches from Jason's head. "You might kill me, but I'll kill him!"

Boone began to squeeze the trigger.

"No," Jason pleaded with Boone. "He's lost…he needs not die at your hand." Jason stepped towards him, hands in the air. "Chris…" he reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you feel that way. We did not intend…" his hand began to glow, unnaturally. "Know that we will keep you with us still. Always. And that we do forgive you."

Haversam began to stumble. His legs weakened. He dropped the pistol. "What are…" he began breathing heavily. "What are you doing?"

He collapsed. Six could feel it…the reason. His pipboy crackled with displeasure as the air around them filled with radiation. Jason Bright was poisoning him.

The ghoul looked at him sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, Chris. But I can't allow you to hurt anyone else."

Haversam began to cough up blood. He was laying on the ground now – writhing in pain. Then…he was gone.

Jason Bright stood, turning back towards Six. "You see now…the barbarity of the wasteland. The sin of humanity. How are we to reach the promised land now?"

Six observed the corpse of Haversam, his lips curled into a frown. He looked back at Jason. "I…don't know."

* * *

><p>"Where'd you send them?" Veronica asked curiously.<p>

"South. To Searchlight," Boone said. "The town fell victim to an attack by the Legion some time back. Some of the NCR stationed there changed after. Due to the radiation. They're still good soldiers…maybe under Jason's guidance they can find purpose. I don't' know."

"That's very good of you, Boone," Veronica smiled.

Boone shrugged.

"Gosh, it feels like it's been forever. What brings you all to Hidden Valley?" Veronica asked.

"Do we need a reason to come check on our favorite Scribe?" Cass smiled.

"How's Christine enjoying being back?" Six asked.

Veronica curled her lips. "Well…Christine hasn't officially rejoined the Brotherhood. Not yet, anyway. They're having her complete some…initiation rituals."

"Initiation rituals?" Six scowled. "They're not making her find more parts are they?"

"No…first she had to go find a few missing patrols," Veronica rolled her eyes.

"That sounds simple enough," Six said.

"She was gone from the time we got back, 'til this morning… besides, Brotherhood patrols don't go missing. If they don't come back on time, they're not coming back. After that, they had her deal with some NCR Ranger who'd taken up residence in one of the bunkers."

Boone narrowed his eyes, "How exactly did she 'deal with' them?"

"Oh, don't worry. Christine isn't one for needless violence. She hacked into his terminal. Gave him a leave of absence, vacation time on the Strip. Paid of course. Then she had to isolate a computer virus, _then_ she had to find a missing laser pistol that one of the initiates lost…" Veronica sighed. "It seems no matter how much she does, they just keep piling shit on her. I'm not sure they're going to even let her rejoin."

"Speak of the devil…" Six waved at Christine as she approached him. Her expression seemed grim.

Veronica's shoulder sank as Christine approached. "What are they making you do now?"

"I have to go to Black Mountain. McNamara wants me to install a remote signal transmitter in their radio equipment. He said that though my actions have been 'commendable', they haven't shown enough merit to qualify as 'exceptional service'. But this apparently would."

"The good news is that Black Mountain's just a hop, skip, and a jump away!" Veronica tried to sound cheerful. Christine huffed.

"I've picked up Black Mountain radio a couple times," Six toyed with his pip-boy. "Sounds like super mutants."

"It is," Veronica began. "They were mostly friendly when we first arrived. But lately they've been a bit more violent."

"I'd say…one of the patrols I found was killed at the hands of a group of nightkin and centaurs," Christine grumbled.

"And they want you to go deal with them by yourself?" Cass contorted her face with antipathy. "That's suicide."

"Well, the Brotherhood isn't allowed to assist her during her initiation," Veronica grumbled.

Six grinned. "Brotherhood isn't allowed to help?"

"No."

"What if I was already headed that way?"

Veronica smiled. "That would be ever so convenient…and I'd love you forever."

"We both know you already do, Vee. Boone?"

"I'm in."

Six gave him a nod and turned to Cass. "Objections?"

"Nope. She'll definitely need the help dealing with mutants. I'd be happy to lend a hand."

"Uh…no. You're not going with us."

"What?! Why not?!"

"Do I need to remind you about the nightkin that kicked our asses just a little while ago? There's no way in hell I'm putting you in a position like that again. Besides…Boone and Christine are both crack shots. I'll be fine."

"You can't stop me."

"If you insist on going, we just won't go. Then she can go by herself."

Cass grimaced, completely aware that sending her off on her own would almost mean certain death for the girl. "Then I'll go with her."

"And do what? You saw the way those two creatures took us apart in seconds. We didn't even know they were there until it was too late!"

"Then I guess you'd better tag a long too, huh? To keep me safe."

"Less people is better," Boone's voice was quiet.

Six and Cass both turned to him.

"We go in there...four of us romping about. We don't stand a chance. 'Specially not with you," He motioned to Six, "...watching Cass instead of what's going on around you. You'll be distracted...concerned for her safety. So much that you'll likely compromise yourself. You compromise yourself, you compromise the team."

"There's already three going, how's one more person going to make that much difference?" Cass's voice was shaking. She was clearly frustrated.

"There's a reason Sniper units work in pairs. Less people...easier to hide. Three...I can manage. But if I have to cover four people, even on a clear day when my shooting is at its peak...I'm going to struggle."

Cass huffed, turning her attention back to Six. "Last time you took off by yourself...I didn't know if you'd ever make it back..."

Six smiled at her, pressing his lips against her forehead. "I'll be back before you know it."

"You'd better…"

"Vee? Care to escort Miss Cassidy back to Novac?"

Veronica beamed, "Can we go to the 188 Slop and Shop first?"

Six rummaged through his bag, withdrawing a pouch full of caps. "Sure."

"Awesome! I've been craving a brahmin burger since we got back!" Veronica bounced over to Christine, kissing her gently. "Next time I see you, you'll be Brotherhood again!"

* * *

><p>Six, Christine, and Boone traveled west – exiting Hidden Valley via a missing section of north-western fence. Veronica and Cass elected to travel east, through Scorpion gulch. Each pass was – at one point – teeming with a plethora of scorpions. Particularly Scorpion Gulch; which included a few of monstrous size – similar to the one that Six had used on the raiders en route to Nipton. But recent Brotherhood patrols had mostly cleared the area.<p>

"Thanks for that, by the way..."

Boone stared at Six with his blank expression.

"Cass. Thanks for convincing her that it was for the best she didn't tag along."

"It is for the best. She distracts you."

Six fell silent as they continued along the trail. Just west of Hidden Valley, they happened upon a small settlement. Six studied it curiously.

"Sloan," Boone said, following his gaze.

"I think Vee had the right idea," Six's stomach grumbled with frustration. "I haven't eaten all day. This place have a diner?"

Boone gave a light nod. "A mess hall. Sloan is a workers settlement. Not really much here aside from the quarry. Haven't passed through here in a good long while."

They made their way to the mess hall. Inside, they were greeted by an overtly friendly woman who introduced herself as Jas Wilkins.

"So, what brings you to Sloan?" Jas asked Six.

"Passing through," Six told her. "What do you serve here?"

"Oh, we don't have a whole lot right now," she handed him a menu. "You're passing through? Headed south I hope?"

"No. North. Why?"

"Deathclaws…" another voice answered. It was an elderly man, sitting at the mess hall's bar. He turned to face them. "Damn things have overrun the quarry. After the Powder Gangers made off with our TNT, we had to hold off on blasting. Deathclaws would wander in from time to time, but never stayed long. I guess the sound drove them off. But now a whole nest of them have moved in."

"Sounds bad," Six said. Not wanting to resume banter on the issue.

The old man stood, making his way to Six's table. He sat down with the group.

"Chomps," he said, extending his hand. "Chomps Lewis."

Six looked up briefly from the menu, but didn't say anything. Christine offered her hand. "Royce, Christine."

"Where are you youngsters headed?"

"Black Mountain," she replied. "If we can get through. How heavily do the deathclaws infest the area?"

"Oh…you should still be able to get to Black Mountain if you stick to the tracks. Tread softly though, Black Mountain's not exactly safe either." Chomps turned to Boone. "NCR?"

"Yeah."

"You any good with that rifle?" Chomps motioned to the desert camouflaged rifle slung over Boone's shoulder.

"I like to think I'm a decent shot."

"Well look, mister. I don't want to seem too forward…but do you think I could trouble you?"

"Trouble me with what?"

"I was supposed to meet someone up in that quarry…but these deathclaws…I'm worried about my contact in the Great Khans. I mean, I don't even have the package I was supposed to deliver, my guy never showed up…but I'd like to make contact with her all the same."

Boone sneered. "Great Khans? I think you'd better find someone else."

"Besides," Six chimed in. "We have a lot on our plate already."

"If there was anyone else, I'd ask them. Mister…I'm begging you. Melissa…the Khan I'm supposed to meet with…she's my daughter."

Boone raised his eyes from the menu. Chomps stare was unwavering, apologetic and entreating. Boone sighed. "How many deathclaws are we talking?" He asked finally.

"Ten at least…including an alpha male and a mother."

Boone searched his pockets – finally withdrawing a flare gun and close to a dozen flares. He looked at Six, "I don't expect you to come with me…but I'd welcome the help."

Six breathed in and looked at Christine. From her expression, he could see she had already made up her mind.

"And how the hell are we going to take out an alpha? Even if we do…the mother will rip through us like we're not even there."

Boone smirked evenly. "Where there's a mother…there are pups."

"Yeah?"

"So I take it you'll do it then?" Chomps asked, getting impatient.

Six looked long and hard at Boone. Then turned to Chomps. "I guess so, old timer."

"So…you're going into the quarry?" Jas had returned.

"Looks that way," Six answered.

"…Let me ask you a question, what's the tastiest then you've ever eaten?"

Six raised a brow. "I don't know…Big Horner steak is pretty good."

"I've got this recipe for a deathclaw omelet that I've been itching to try out…trouble is, I need a deathclaw egg. Kinda obvious, I suppose."

"…You want a deathclaw egg?"

"If you could get your hands on one."

"Fuck it. Why not…we're probably going to die anyway."

* * *

><p>The group traversed the rocky wall along the eastern edge of the quarry. Doing their best to remain low, they practically hugged the ground, making their way through the quarry unnoticed. When they had secured what was – according to Boone – a good vantage point, Six withdrew his binoculars. Laying flat on his stomach – bringing up memories of Nipton – Six peered through the binoculars. Boone and Christine peered through the scopes of their rifles.<p>

"There…" Boone pointed. "The mother…do you see the pups around her?"

Six followed his trajectory. "Yeah…four of them."

"We take those out…quickly…and she'll take out every other deathclaw in this quarry," he looked at Christine. "Two shots. Make them count. Take the two nearest. I'll get the others."

"One question…she takes out the rest of them…how do we take her out?" Christine sounded hesitant.

"We're going to have to hope the alpha does a number on her. Weakens her enough that we'll be able to finish her off."

"I don't like the sound of that…" she admitted. "Not in the least."

"Unless you have a better idea…"

Six swept the area with his binoculars. "Um…I might have one." He pointed, "Look…is that what I think it is?"

"It's a mini nuke…" Boone said, peering through his scope.

"Dead in the fucking middle of the quarry…" Six swallowed. "Take them out. Leave the nuke to me. I'm going to need your flare gun."

Boone handed it to him. "Good luck."

Before Six had made his way too far from their position, he heard two shots ring out…Christine's rifle was silenced. So he assumed she had taken her shots as well. True to Boone's word, the deathclaw mother frenzied – attacking everything in sight. Batting the other deathclaws to-and-fro like a giant radscorpion in a bloatfly nest.

Then, she turned her attention to the alpha – who was none too pleased with her actions. They were on each other in an instant, slicing hunks of flesh from one another. Sinking fangs and teeth. Locking horns. Their cries were ungodly – frightening and fierce. Six bolted for the mini nuke. One of the young deathclaws took notice – but Six plastered its ribs with a ball of fire. It panicked – running in the opposite direction. Six scooped up the hunk of metal by its rim and charged at the two creatures; they paid him no mind. He stopped just short of them and shot Boone a glance. Boone understood and took aim. Six pulled back, and with all his might he hurled the shell and dashed in the opposite direction. Boone took aim – and when the nuke had found its mark, he fired. The miniature nuclear device exploded with tremendous force. Even with the distance Six had put behind him, it launched him off his feet – propelling him into an irradiated body of water yards ahead. The mother and alpha were no more.

But the remaining deathclaws began to rush Six. He withdrew the flare gun and fumbled with the ammunition. They closed in…Christine and Boone took aim. Shots rang out – but not from their barrels. Across the way, a group of three charged to Six's aid. Seemingly lead by a young woman – her cranium sporting twin feathered Mohawks just above her ears. Boone and Christine also opened fire, forcing the creatures to fall back – those that did not were cut down in a mass of bullets. Six breathed out, and made his way to his feet. He approached his saviors.

"That's close enough. What do you want with the Great Khans?" The woman's accent was strange. Six had never…or at least not within recollection…heard one quite like it before.

"Melissa?"

The woman stopped. "Who's asking?"

"Name's Six…" He turned to the two figures making their way down the quarry hillside. "Those are my associates, Christine and Boone. Your father sent us."

"My father sent you?" She eyed the red beret on his head. "And why the fuck would he do that?"

"He was worried about you."

"No shit. And he thought sending a couple 1st recon murderers would brighten my fucking day?"

"I'm not NCR…"

She eyed the beret again. "Yeah? Then why are you wearing that?"

"…to be honest, I just like the way it looks."

"And him? Is it a fashion statement for him too?"

"No, ma'am. He's former NCR."

"What'd you say his name was?"

"Craig Boone," Boone answered, finally within earshot.

She looked at Six. "You know you're traveling with a fucking murderer?" Then, eyes back on Boone, "I believe it's in your own best interest that you keep your damn distance."

Boone stopped and slung his rifle over his shoulder. "We just came to see if you needed any help. Clearly you don't."

"NCR trying to help a Khan? That'll be the day."

"What's your deal with the NCR?" Christine asked. "I mean, if you don't mind…what happened?"

"Bitter springs happened. Women and children died when the NCR attacked the Great Khans there. And the NCR tries to sweep it under the rug. NCR and Khans don't get along. They prefer to shoot us on sight. Even if we're not looking for a fight."

"Look, Melissa…we just came here to make sure you were okay. That man right there is the only reason I risked my ass. He was the one that wanted to come after you. I'd have been just as content leaving you here. What the hell are you doing out in the middle of this quarry anyway?"

"We were awaiting a delivery, but it's a no-show. I'm guessing that the deathclaws something to do with that. And for the record…it looks to me like you were the one that needed saving."

"We had it under control," Six spat.

Christine shrugged. "Still. It didn't hurt that you came along when you did."

Melissa chuckled.

"Deathclaws weren't the only thing holding up your delivery by the way. That old timer of yours. Said he never even received the package he was supposed to pass along."

"Fucking Tyrone. Always was a shady bastard," Melissa hissed. "He was paid in advance too…"

"What kind of delivery were you expecting?" Six inquired.

"Supplies. To make chems. We have a source in the NCR…don't really use them ourselves. Just sell them to anybody with the caps."

"You mean like the fiends?" Boone snarled.

"Yeah, I mean like the fiends. We need the cash. If our clients end up hurting the NCR in the process…" She smirked at Boone. "That's a bonus."

Boone narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. Without a word, he turned and began making his way back towards Sloan. Six looked at Chrisitne, "Catch up to him." With a nod, she took off, jogging softly.

Six turned back to Melissa. "You said your contact was in the NCR?"

"Yeah."

"Where's he stationed?"

"Primm."

"Well, Melissa. What would you say if I said I'd help you out with your problem? Get your package…or your money back. Maybe both."

"I'd ask what was in it for you."

"Nothing much. Just…take it easy on my friend in the future."

She smiled. "I won't lie. I'd be totally content if I never saw that man again."

* * *

><p><em>And thus concludes our chapter. Since I've gotten most of the papers sent off for these bills...all I can do now is wait. So I'll start posting chapters regularly again. Seven more chapters...and I'll be introducing Joshua Graham.<em>

_Are you guys as excited about that as I am?  
><em>

_When I took on Quarry Junction the first time...I did it with Boone and a scoped hunting rifle of my own. I didn't make it very far before I tucked my tail between my legs and took off in the other direction. So yeah...I was hesitant to make them take on Quarry Junction. But, ultimately...I decided that if they were smart about it, and a little creative...then maybe I could do it in a way that made a little sense. I read on the wiki that the mother deathclaw frenzies if you kill her pups. I generally try things before I include it in the story - but for the life of me, I couldn't get it to work. She never once frenzied. But I really liked the idea, so I used it anyway. The mini nuke thing...well...that sort of just came to me. I was originally going to have him fire the nuke with the fatman that's also in quarry junction. But I decided this way was much more interesting._

_Until next time.  
><em>


	15. Chapter 14: Old School Ghoul

_The chapter's late...very late. I completely forgot about it. I have to get back into rhythm for posting these things. Taking that week off has gotten me all mixed up, haha. But, here it is._

_Enjoy._

* * *

><p>The super mutant had entered a dead sprint – covering an impossible distance in mere seconds. Boone dropped to one knee, taking aim. He pulled the trigger…<p>

The gun clicked.

"You can't be serious…" Boone fidgeted with his rifle. "It's jammed!"

"On it," Christine raised her rifle. The mutant was terrifyingly close. She squeezed the trigger – the mutant had the gun by the barrel, pushing it upwards. The gun fired – the silencer stifling the sound.

Boone raised, ready to fire.

"You mind pointing that somewhere else," the mutant barked. "I'm not your enemy." He released Christine's rifle, she raised a brow in return. "This is a dangerous place…especially for your kind."

"No shit," Boone took a breath. "You scared the living shit out of us."

"Not every super mutant is a brain-damaged, blood-thirsty brute," the mutant replied solemnly.

"No offense, but when a mutant rushes me like that, I generally prepare for the worst," Christine squeaked.

The mutant let out a long, rumbling chuckle. "No offense taken, friend. Is there any particular reason you've wandered this close to Black Mountain?"

Christine nodded. "I'm with the Brotherhood. I was sent to…investigate the growing hostility of the inhabitants of Black Mountain."

The mutant's face became somber. "You must've heard her radio broadcasts? Tabitha…the 'Supreme Commander' of Black Mountain. Or, rather, the 'State of Utobitha'. She took control of this place almost two years ago. The super mutants here do whatever she asks…and that includes killing humans on sight."

Boone scowled. "And if we were to need to get up there?"

"Nothing good awaits your kind up there. Even if you could get by the blockades and patrols…at the peak is a shanty town. It's teeming with second-gens."

"Second-gens?"

The mutant turned to see a man in worn duster approaching him. The duster was scorched in places, and slung over metal armor bound together with fabric as black as the night's sky. "One of your friends?" he asked Boone.

"Yeah," Boone replied. Then to Six, "What took you so long?"

"I took Jas her deathclaw egg. She gave me a recipe for it…we're going to have to try it out," he turned to the mutant. "Pleasure," Six gave the mutant a light nod. "Name's Six."

"Neil," the mutant responded in kind. He turned to Boone and Christine, as if inquiring an introduction. They obliged.

"Anyway," Six continued. "What are second-gens?"

"Second-gens are mutants…like me, but not. They're not very bright, and they're easy to influence. When Tabitha and her nightkin came along she began to manipulate them. Within a week she had most of them thinking she was some kind of prophet."

"Prophet?" Six cast Boone a wry look. "I think we know someone like that."

"I hope not. She's a ruthless, immoral tyrant. She has her nightkin kill without provocation – all to spread her 'truth'. Marcus, the founder of the town left soon after her arrival. Aware of what would come. He founded Jacobstown in the northern mountains. Sent me here…as a spy more or less. When I found that there was nothing I could do to overthrow her, I elected to come here instead. Redirect as many mutants as I could to Jacobstown."

"That's all thrilling, really…" Six began. "But we need to get into that compound." He pointed to the white satellite dishes and structures on the mountain's peak.

"I was just telling your friends…the road is a series of switchbacks up the mountain. Even if you could get past the patrols…the blockades would be too much to handle."

"Can we just wait 'til nightfall?" Six asked.

"No. After dark the nightkin patrol the roads. They're near impossible to see. You'll do well to avoid the mountain when the sun sets."

"What if we don't take the roads?" Boone suggested.

Neil tilted his head.

"There…" Boone pointed. "That gate…what if we go through it. Scale the side of the mountain."

Neil stroked his chin. "That might work. Yeah…" The mutant dropped to one knee, picking up a nearby tire iron. He drew the road out in the dirt. "If you cut through here…you can bypass the blockades; which are here, here…and here. The fence is never locked…but the rear gate to Tabitha's compound nearly always is. Wait there. I'll let you in. In Tabitha's compound are her nightkin brethren. They're vicious in combat…if you even see them coming. Most don't."

"We're all too familiar with the prospects of battling nightkin," Boone griped.

"Then you know what I'm talking about…but," Neil's eyes darted to the sky. "If…if I tell them there's an intruder in the village, they'll go to investigate."

"Leaving the compound unprotected," Six nodded.

"Almost. In the center of the compound is a broadcast tower. One of her nightkin stand guard there at all times. Armed with a missile launcher."

Six groaned. "You have to be kidding me?"

"Afraid not."

Six removed his beret, running his hands through his hair. "Fuck…Christine, your rifle is silenced…you think you can one shot a nightkin with it?"

Christine nodded. "Yeah…yeah, I think so."

"Alright…one more thing. Through that gate you're going to run into a herd of centaurs. While they're not quick enough to pose a threat…they'll spit a toxic sludge. My advice? Once you make it to that gate, you climb as fast as you can. They're not the smarter creatures…and they can't climb. They'll give up pursuit of you once you're out of reach. You're going to have a lot more trouble getting to that compound than me…I'll meet you at the gate. Good luck."

With that, Neil began making his way up the winding road to the mountain's peak. The trio followed suit – making certain to remain low and undetected. They strayed from the road, bypassing the checkpoints. They could hear the super mutants chatting amongst themselves. Before long, they were at the gate. The gate opened with a long metallic whine – likely due to rusting and lack of use. True to Neil's words, just beyond the gate was a crater. And like flies on a carcass, the crater was crawling with centaurs. Their tongue-like tentacles tasting the air and soil around them. The creatures looked foul enough to make Six's stomach cringe. The trio began to climb the precipice. The climb wasn't particularly treacherous, but at one point one of the centaurs spit at them. The sludge splattered into the rocks next to Six – the Geiger counter in his pipboy crackled its discontent. When they had traversed the rock face, they came to a lightly inclined area near two of the large white satellite dishes. The structures towered above them. Neil was waiting for them at the gate, true to his word. He grasped the padlock on the gate – twisting it with little effort, the lock snapped off.

"The nightkin are searching the village…you don't have long. Do what you need to do and get out," Neil gave them a last nod and began his trek back down the mountain.

Six tiptoed through the compound – eyeing his surroundings carefully. He turned to Christine, "Which building?"

Christine shrugged. "I have no idea."

They continued along the eastern edge of the compound, staying low and behind the buildings. Between two of the buildings, the radio tower was in plain view. As Neil had warned, there was a heavily armed nightkin patrolling the catwalk surrounding it. Christine took aim…

She fired once. The nightkin didn't move.

Six observed it carefully. "I don't think it noticed…fire again."

"Why?"

"You missed."

"No, I didn't"

"It's still standing…"

"It's slouched!" Christine's voiced raised to a barely audible squeak.

Boone peered through his scope. "It's dead," he confirmed. "Good shot too…must've gotten hung on the tower." He turned to Six. "Good news is…it fooled you. Might fool the other nightkin."

Six didn't respond. Instead, he turned his attention to the nearest building – scratched across the frame above the door was the word "Prison". Six pushed the door open. Inside he was immediately greeted by two terminals. Across from the entrance was another door…he approached it warily. "Locked."

Christine sat at the terminal next to the door. "The locking mechanism is likely linked to this terminal…but I'll have to hack into it."

"Hopefully you're better at it than Six is," Boone jibed.

Six sneered. "I'm thinking of a finger, Boone."

"This thing's locked down tight…"

Six sat at the other terminal. "This one has journal entries…" He began skimming through them. "I think they're journal entries from whoever she's got imprisoned in there. And…Here's the password."

"No need. Got it…" Christine chimed.

They proceeded into the next room where a ghoul jumped to his feet – around his wrist he had fashioned a crude clawed device from black leather and steel blades.

"Oh…Boss. You scared me. It took you long enough. How'd you get in here?"

Christine peered at Six. "Boss?" She mouthed.

"We hacked the terminal…" Six told him. "What do you mean it took us long enough?"

"You hacked the terminal? Impressive. Didn't need to though, the password was on the other terminal, in my journal entries. But you didn't hear my distress call through the radio broadcasts?"

"No…"

The ghoul curled his lips. "Huh…I guess I assumed you wouldn't risk your neck fighting an army of super mutants if you hadn't heard it. But maybe you're just sightseeing…"

"Not exactly," Six replied, eyes still on the bladed gauntlet. "Wanna put that thing away?"

"This? Oh, don't worry about this, Boss. This is just my cram opener. A man's gotta eat. Anyway…since the door's open and all…can I go now?"

"You might want to lay low Miguel…"

"What?" The ghoul looked at his shirt. "Oh! My name isn't Miguel…My name is Raul Alfonso Tejada. Just call me Raul."

"Well, Raul. Stay here…at least until we deal with the mutants out there."

"You haven't already dealt with the mutants?" Raul sighed. "This isn't good…"

"What? Why?"

"My door. It's linked to the security in that crazy super mutant's building. She doesn't want me gone…"

"Uh…" Boone backed into the room with Raul and Six, rifle at the ready. "Speaking of the crazy super mutant…"

Six turned to see the familiar pale blue hue of nightkin flesh. This nightkin stood apart from the others he had seen. Primarily because of its red scarf and bright yellow wig.

"You come into my house…free my ghoul?" The nightkin growled. "You die for this dumb-dumbs." The wigged nightkin swiftly stretched out her arm, wrapping it around Six's throat. Simultaneously, it back-handed Boone across the room. Christine took aim.

"Wait, wait…Tabitha…" Raul stepped forward. "These people…they can help fix Rhonda."

Tabitha stopped, observing Six carefully. "You…can fix Rhonda?"

Six nodded immediately. "Sure..." he choked out. "Whatever you need."

She sat him down. "This way, human. You fix Rhonda…or you die." She led them out of the prison and into a storage building. Within the building was a variety of materials. Right of the entrance, lying on a table next to the wall was an inert Mr. Gusty.

Raul and Christine approached it. Six and Boone followed close behind.

"Which one of you hacked the terminal?" Raul asked.

"I did," Christine verified.

"I've got this thing repaired…but I can't get it to activate."

Christine observed the circuitry. "Did you check the power levels on the fission battery?"

"Of course."

"Initiate the proper boot sequence?"

"What? Do you think I'm some kind of amateur?"

Christine twisted her lips into a ball. "Disengage hibernation?"

Raul paused. "Sunuva…" He flipped through the circuitry. The robot buzzed to life.

"Hello! Could you please direct me to Mistress Tabitha?"

Before they could respond, Tabitha parted them with a single mighty heave. "Rh…Rhonda? Is it really you?"

"Yes, Mistress Tabitha. My internal clock says I have been deactivated for 6 years, 52 days, 40 minutes, and 13 seconds since last we spoke. How I've missed you so."

Tabitha turned towards the group. "Thank you! It's been so long since I lost Rhonda that I can't even remember where we were going…but now she's back! It'll be nice to travel with her again."

"Shall we, Mistress?" The robot hovered towards the door.

Tabitha fell in step behind it. She stopped briefly, removing a chain from around her neck. She tossed it to Raul. "Here. Take anything you need. I won't need any of this anymore."

"Does this mean you're not going to kill us?" Raul asked.

The nightkin laughed. "No…No I will not. I can never repay you enough!"

"Letting us live is a pretty good start," Raul muttered under his breath. The nightkin and her robot disappeared into the wastes.

Six turned to Raul. "So, you seem pretty good with machinery…we need to install this remote signal transmitter to the radio equipment."

"Say no more, Boss. This way."

* * *

><p>After the chip had been installed, the group began making their way back towards Sloan. Six found his mind wandering back to Primm.<p>

"So, Raul," Six began, "How'd you end up at Black Mountain?"

"Well Boss, when a giant insane super mutant asks you to stay put, you do what you're told. Well, maybe you don't, but I'm just a broke down old man."

Six raised a brow. "I mean, why'd you go there to begin with?"

"Ah, it's stupid, Boss. I used to listen to the radio broadcasts, just to pass the time. Well, one day the signal stops, so I figured I'd try to find the transmitter. I found Black Mountain and offered my services. But Tabitha decided I was useful enough to keep around. Permanently."

"Well, it's a good thing we happened along then, I guess."

"That it was, Boss."

"Where you headed to?"

"I don't know…there's not much place in the wasteland for an old timer like me."

"That's not true. You've got some serious mechanical skills."

"That's nice of you to say boss, but I'm an old man. Not much use to anybody anymore. Time was I was a pretty good shot with a pistol. I guess I'm still half decent. These old bones ain't much use though. I used to be a pretty good repair man…I guess I can still do maintenance work. My eyes ain't what they used to be, though."

Six shrugged. "Maybe. But you still have a lot of potential left in you. I'd like you to accompany me to Primm, if you wouldn't mind. There's something I want you to take a look at."

"Sure thing, Boss."

Christine peered up the road leading back into Hidden Valley. "Well, guess this is my stop."

Six smiled at her. "Give Vee a hug for me."

Boone raised a brow. "Why are we going to Primm?"

"Raul and I can handle it, Boone. You make sure Christine gets back to Hidden Valley in one piece. I'll meet you back in Novac tonight."

Boone gave Six a light nod. "Sounds good. See you then."

* * *

><p>Six gave an abrupt tap at the door to the residence of Johnson Nash. After a beat, he knocked again. Nash opened it.<p>

"Why, hello youngster. What brings you back to Primm?"

"You still have that old eyebot lying around?" Six asked.

"Sure do. Come on in." The old man stepped aside, gesturing towards the eyebot. It was exactly where Six had last seen it. "I haven't tinkered with it much. Can't figure out what's wrong with the thing."

"I have someone with me that might be able to help with that," Six motioned towards the ghoul that stood behind him. "Mind if he has a look?"

"Not at all. You know, I was hoping you'd come back by. I have some information that might interest you. Please, step into my office."

Six followed the old man around the corner into his "office". The term was very loose, as it was clearly also his bedroom. The old man sat down on his bed. "I got to looking through some papers the other day, came across something that might interest you."

He pulled a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket, slipping them neatly on the bridge of his nose. "That package you were supposed to deliver…seems you weren't the first one hired for the job."

Six raised a brow. "Someone else was hired for it?"

"Yeah…don't have his name here. But I remember he was ready to make the delivery all the way up until he saw your insignia next in line."

"My insignia?"

"Yeah. Each courier has a stamp – a badge marking their deliveries. It's how we keep track of who's most efficient. You're up there pretty high, youngster. Anyway…when he saw your insignia, his expression turned right around. He asked me if it was for real. I said to him, sure as the lack of rain…you were still kickin'. Then, just like that, he turned the job down. I asked if he was sure…even told him how much the delivery was paying. Gotta say, it was a mighty generous offer. 'No,' he says to me. 'Let Courier Six carry the package.' Then he ups and walks out. Hope he didn't see any trouble in that package of yours…I thought I'd let you know. Sounds to me like you were set up."

Six scowled. "Anything else you can tell me about him?"

"Sorry youngster…this brain ain't what it used to be."

Six nodded and began making his way into the other room.

"Wait! There is one thing…" Nash said. "He wore a black duster. Had an old world flag on the back of it."

"An…old world flag?"

"Yep."

"Thanks old timer. You take it easy," he rounded the corner. "Raul, when you get that thing working, head across the overpass. I'm going to have a chat with a friend in the NCR."

"Will do, Boss."

Six practically slammed the door behind him. He could practically feel his temperature rising. He walked down the street and across the pass – then towards the NCR tents. He stopped when he saw Sergeant McGee.

"McGee," He smiled. "Good to see you again."

The soldier saluted him. "Sir, good to see you."

"You don't have to do that, McGee. I'm not in your army."

"Sorry, Sir. Force of habit."

"Have you seen Tyrone?"

"Yessir, he's in the tent adjacent to the Lieutenant. You want me to get him for you?"

"That's alright. I'll go to him. Thanks McGee."

The Sergeant nodded to him. Six entered the tent and was greeted by a weasel of a man with a buzz cut.

"Hey, hey! What can Tyrone do for you?"

Six stepped towards him. "The first thing you can do is stop referring to yourself in the third person."

"Whoa man. Chill out."

Six swallowed. "I'm here to pick up the chems you were supposed to deliver to Sloan."

"Whoa whoa! Keep your damn voice down! You trying to get me busted? Hayes already has his eye on me."

"Where are the supplies, Tyrone?"

"Look, I already told Chomps that the NCR's getting suspicious of all these 'misplaced' supplies."

Six took a breath, trying to calm himself. "Where...are the supplies, Tyrone?"

"Bigger risks mean bigger costs. Three hundred caps bigger…if you're following me."

Six stepped forward in a single swift motion – he withdrew his machete and pushed it into Tyrone's throat. "Is that so? You know what? I bet I can think of a few bigger risks."

"Uh…" Tyrone's eyes widened. "We're good man. We're good. Here…the supplies are in that trunk. All yours friend. Take them."

Six shoved Tyrone towards the trunk. "Get them."

"No problem, man…" He quickly rummaged through the trunk, pulling out a doctor's bag and stuffing it full of various chems. "Here. Here."

"And the money you were paid, they want it back…think of it as compensation for pain and suffering. Or, at the very least to prevent pain and suffering."

Tyrone fumbled through his pockets for a moment before tossing Six a pouch of caps. "I think it is in my best interest and in the interest of my reputation to take a loss on this particular transaction."

"Smart man," Six said, sheathing his machete. "Don't make me come to collect again."

* * *

><p><em>And so, the cast gets a few additions. Ed-E and Raul have joined Six's flock.<em>

_Until next time.  
><em>


	16. Chapter 15: I Don't Hurt Anymore

_Things are going to start picking up soon as we get closer and closer to Vegas...I think this chapter will raise a lot of questions. But its meant to...so yeah._

Oh, but before we delve into this...hopefully, with the amount of readers I have...at least a couple of you are good with the modding community. I have a request for F:NV for those adept in modding...as I'm piss poor at it myself. And, of course, by piss poor I mean I can't do it at all, or at least not with the way I want to do it. I'd like a base made for F:NV...in Goodsprings, by the church. I don't want the character to be over powered, and I don't want God weapons. I just want a base...a simple bunker and in that bunker I want a number of things. Now, here's the kicker. If I played on PC, I could take care make the mod myself. But I don't...so I can't. I play on 360. Now, for those of you who immediately say, "Oh you can't Mod the 360", I would kindly point you to the sky base mod for the 360. You can find it on youtube...it's pretty neat...but I don't want a damn floating island. For those of you that do want a floating island...you can download the sky base with Modio. I want a bunker. So if any of you can do this for me...I'd be very much appreciative. Contact me via PM if anyone thinks they can help, and I'll give you the specs to what I'd like to see.

_There's a bunker similar to what I want on youtube, (/watch?v=ENG1cK9kFug)...I did, at one point, use this one. But I want it in Goodsprings, and without all the overpowered stuff. Namely so I can edit the character stats, name, etc. to my liking._

Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

><p>"Nice robot," Melissa watched the eyebot tailing behind Six and Raul as they trudged up the hill towards her.<p>

Six stopped just short of her and trifled through his bag, withdrawing the doctor's bag he'd gotten from Tyrone.

Melissa's eyes widened. "You actually came through for us. I…didn't expect that."

"I do what I can," Six smiled, handing Melissa the package of chems and a pouch of caps.

She took the chems. "Keep the caps…Does your NCR friend know you did this for us?"

"No. And I'd like to keep it that way."

"Keeping secrets from friends now, Boss?" Raul shook his head. "No good can come of it."

Six paid him no mind. "I don't think Tyrone is going to give you any problems in the future."

"Didn't rough him up too bad, I hope," She said. "I wouldn't want you to dissuade him from future exchanges."

"Didn't have to," Six told her. "Just gave him a bit of a scare, is all."

Melissa grinned. "Anyway, the Great Khans always pay their debts. And we don't forget our friends. If you ever find yourself in Red Rock Canyon, look me up." Her smile widened and she looked towards the ground a moment. When she looked back up at Six, she gently bit her lower lip. "C'mon men. We have a delivery to make."

"I'll make sure to drop by," Six said, watching her intently as she disappeared over the ridge.

"She's a pretty one…" Raul said, following Six's gaze. "Could use a little polishing, sure. But under all the grime…"

"Your one to talk, there, Raul."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Boss. I'm devilishly charming."

Six and Raul began to make their way out of the Quarry. "So," Six began. "What's your story, Raul?"

"It's a long one, Boss. I wouldn't want to bore you with an old man's ranting."

"Beats walking in silence," Six said, thinking back to his first venture with Boone.

"Ask away then, Boss. I'm an open book…" Raul chuckled. "Though…the book is written in Spanish, and a good deal of the pages are missing."

Six laughed, "Humor me."

"Well. I grew up near Mexico City. My family owned a little ranch…how old do you think I am, Boss?"

Six shrugged.

"Think about it. And whatever you finally settle on…I can just about guarantee I'm older than that."

"Is that so? Before the Great War?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"So," Six raised a brow. "What can you tell me about New Vegas?"

"Bright lights, big city…one of the biggest still standing from before the Great War. Well…mostly anyway. Why the interest in Vegas?"

Six shrugged. "Unfinished business, I guess."

"I know that look…mind if I tell you a story, Boss?"

"Have at it."

"My family and I lived far enough from Mexico City that when the bombs fell, we were able to avoid the worst of it. Then refugees…they started pouring in just a few days after the city was vaporized. We tried to help those as we could…but there were so many. Things got bad…and quick. Eventually, my father started turning people away. We were running low on supplies…food, water. That's when things got violent…so my father and I, we got our guns. Drove them off. That night a group came back and set fire to the ranch house. They barred the doors…" Raul swallowed, turning his gaze to the sky. "And uh…my…my whole family was trapped inside. I woke up…smelled the smoke. I was able to get my baby sister, Rafaela, out through a window. Everyone else…" Raul trailed off.

"They were killed," Six finished, sympathetically.

"Yeah. Yeah, they were, Boss. My parents, my grandmother, two brothers, and two of my sisters. I took Rafaela and ran. We were pursued by some of the men…but I was always a good shot. I killed them, Boss. The ones that came after us…but the rest, I left be. I had someone to take care of. I couldn't throw my life away on revenge."

"It was a reasonable thing to do…you couldn't have taken them all on."

"I think you're kind of missing the point, Boss," Raul sighed. "I can smell it on you. That lust for revenge…the need to hunt down anyone that's wronged you. Take it from an old man…sometimes you have to know when to let things go."

"I've tried, Raul…" Six shook his head. "But it seems like the stones have been cast. Fate's spoken."

"There is no fate, Boss. Only choice."

Six didn't respond, instead choosing to focus on the rhythmical hum of the eyebot that trailed close behind him.

Six and Raul opted to cut through Hidden Valley to return to Novac. As they had traversed through the fenced encampment, Six noticed Boone perched atop the trunk. He leisurely threw up a hand as they approached.

"What are you doing?"

"Christine went to talk to her Elder. Then we were going to join Veronica and Cass at the 188." Boone glanced at the bot. "Where'd you get that?"

"Picked it up in Primm." Six suddenly became aware of the fact that he'd left the mess hall without eating anything. "Sounds like a plan."

Raul gave his stomach a pat. "That it does, Boss. Best fire ant fricassee west of the Colorado."

Six frowned. "Please…don't remind me."

Christine merged from the bunker. "Hey, stranger...Wow! I haven't seen an eyebot in ages. Is that what you went to Primm for?"

Six laughed. "Yeah. So, any good news?"

The expression on her face answered the question.

"Jesus. What else do they expect of you?"

"McNamara wants me to retrieve an 'invaluable old world artifact'…so, pretty much some prewar tech we don't already have."

Six took a heavy breath. "If I were you, I'd…"

"You'd what?" A voice asked. Six turned to the source – a patrol group of Paladins had emerged from the vault.

Six narrowed his eyes.

"The codex is not without purpose. Christine left our chapter…she left the Brotherhood. If she aspires to be readmitted, she'll have to prove herself."

"Well that fits well with what I was going to say…what I think she should do is…"

Christine put a hand on Six's shoulder. "Let's just go. I don't want to keep Vee waiting."

Six kept his eyes locked on the Paladin for a long moment before finally turning away. "Let's go." The others fell in line behind him.

"Sorry…some of the Brotherhood are real pricks," Christine apologized.

"Vee mentioned something about wanting to join the Followers. Have you given that any thought?"

"The Followers of the Apocalypse?" Christine hesitantly shrugged. "I don't think I'm quite Followers material. As much as I hate to admit it…I'm Brotherhood through and through. Despite the differences we have…their way of life is all I really know."

"Wasn't it you who told Veronica that she shouldn't join the Followers?" Boone asked dryly.

"With everything they've put us through over the last few weeks…forgive me if I've had a change of heart."

Boone grunted but didn't comment.

They continued along their way towards the 188. Outside of idle banter, not much of importance was discussed. Six found his mind continuously going back to his conversation with Raul – he had, after all, promised Cass that he'd give up his quest for vengeance only days before. But it was different now, wasn't it? He was set up…by the other courier…the man with an old world flag on his back. Old world flag…Six searched his mind. Hadn't Elijah said something about a courier with an old world flag? …Hadn't Christine?

"So," Six peered at Christine. "Tell me about the courier you met at that pre-war facility."

Christine thought on it a moment. "Not much to tell…I was tracking Elijah. Followed him to Big Mountain…found him at some sort of ghoul internment camp…" She stopped, eyes turning to Raul, "Sorry…"

Raul held his hands up and shrugged.

"Anyway, he had them equipped with explosive collars. When I was setting up for a kill shot…a security drone unraveled the whole situation. Things got out of control…Elijah used those poor ghouls as walking bombs…"

"How does this tie in with that courier?"

"I was knocked unconscious…woke up in a test facility. The tests they ran…practically made a flashlight out of my head. Thought I was done for…but Ulysses had other plans. He fought his way into the facility. Saved my life."

"Any idea where he went?"

Christine shook her head. "He stuck around long enough to get some answers…long enough for me to get well. Then we parted ways. Why the sudden interest?"

Six took a breath. "No reason."

* * *

><p>"I think you should call him Ed-E," Cass said, observing the license-plate on the eyebot's side.<p>

"If that's what you want to call it," Six said. He had been sitting with the group in a mostly uncomfortable silence. The others – with the exception of Boone – seemed to be enveloped in conversation, while Ed-E played Mojave Radio. Six couldn't clear his head. He watched Cass dine – taking a shot of whiskey now and then, nibbling lightly at an ear of maize. She'd occasionally throw him a warm smile. He returned her smile until her attention returned to the conversation she was engaged in with Christine and Veronica – petty repartee over varying topics. He sighed and took a long swig of his scotch – straight from the bottle. He rubbed his eyes with his palms…he was at a loss. Part of him wanted to resume the hunt…to uncover the truth. But…part of him wanted to live Sinclair's dream; part of him wanted to begin again.

He cast a glance into underpass…where he saw the young Psyker…Of course!

Six made his way to his feet. Cass shot him a glance. "Where you taking off to?"

"I'm going to go have a reading," Six replied.

Christine laughed. "You don't actually buy into that stuff, do you?"

Six shrugged. "He told me about Elijah having you trapped."

"Or he gave you a general reading that could have applied to any situation."

"He used the phrase 'begin again'…he knew Veronica by name."

"To be fair…I'm not exactly a stranger to these parts," Veronica admitted. "And it's not like there aren't any radios here. He could have easily heard the Madre's broadcast."

Six shrugged. "All I know is that the last time I talked to him, his predictions were spot on."

Christine smiled, "Have fun then."

Cass hopped to her feet, joining at Six's side as he made his way to the boy. "I want to hear this time."

"Sounds good," Six shot her a cordial grin. In fact, he thought, the Psyker may be able to break the news for him.

"Hey, mister. Here for your forecast?"

"Yep," Six dropped a handful of caps into a jar beside the boy.

The boy removed the strange device from his head: "You're at an impasse…all roads laid before you. You're not certain which way to go…two to the skull, one gets up. Odds are against you…but they're just numbers after the two-to-one. Loyalties broken…a raging bull hits its mark…the crimson flag is taken from you. The man you seek awaits you at the top…the man who seeks you is watching still. Pursue your work or the bonds of affection…finish your work first, or lose all you hold dear."

Six swallowed. "What does it all mean?"

The boy tilted his head very briefly, then tucked the cap back snugly around his head. "I don't understand the thoughts mister…I just deliver them. A courier in my own right."

Six solemnly began making his way back up the pass, Cass at his heels.

"Six," She grabbed his arm. "You can't take this stuff seriously…it's parlor tricks. It's for show."

"No," Six shook his head. "No, it's not…I have to go to Vegas."

"No, you don't…" She shook her head. "You promised to let this go."

He brought his hand up to her face, tracing her jaw line with his thumb. "…come with me? To Vegas. I need you with me."

She smiled at him. "Of course."

They returned to Novac for the night…to gather supplies and to pass on responsibilities earned. They left before the sun broke ground the next morning.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to the Grub 'n Gulp," a frail, dark haired woman welcomed Cass. "What can I get you?"<p>

"Six waters, please," Cass told her. "Pure."

Six turned his attention to one of the the conspicuous billboards nearby. "Holster Your Weapon At Gomorrah!" Six read the billboard aloud. "Certainly is…gripping…to say the least." The image of the backside of a scantily clad woman gracing the biggest portion of the sign; the ellipses were particularly…suggestive.

Cass distributed the water. Boone opened his and took a long swig. "Thanks."

Cass tipped her hat.

"So," Boone said to Six. "Could I bother you to make a detour?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"We're pretty close to McCarran. I'd like to go see my old unit."

"Sounds good to me," Six gestured for Boone to take point. They doubled back until they reached an overpass – from there, they continued along the road, heading west. They hadn't been walking long when Cass bolted ahead of them, Six ran after her.

She stopped next to a decaying brahmin and an overturned wagon. She looked about her surroundings carefully.

"What is it?" Six asked, trudging up behind her.

She pointed to the wagon – branded on the side was the image of a whiskey bottle with a rose printed on it.

Six fell silent, realizing what they had stumbled across. The rest of the group, having made their way to them, observed quietly.

Cass sniffed. "It's…it's my caravan." She looked up at Six. "There's almost nothing left…I was led to believe it was looted…but the cargo's been burned to ash."

Veronica stooped down, examining a pile of ash. "This is the result of laser weaponry," she said, tracing her hand through the fine layer of ash.

"Who'd do such a thing?" Cass wondered aloud.

"Legion?" Six suggested. "Cutting off NCR supplies, maybe?"

"No," Boone shook his head. "Not this far in…not this close to McCarran. And not with laser weaponry."

"Fiends?"

Raul spoke this time, "Not likely, Boss. Fiends…even if they got their hands on energy weapons…they wouldn't burn the loot. They'd steal it."

Ed-E scanned the ground and let out a short electronic beep. It began to trail away from the group; Boone wandered off, following it, eyes low to the ground.

"You know what…this isn't the first time this has happened. I heard about an attack like this…a caravan got hit a few months back, and it'd been burned too. Cargo and all…"

Boone was by a nearby factory, he traced his hand along the ground then lifted the garage door. Lying on the ground was a man clad in black combat armor. "Over here!"

Cass felt her blood begin to boil. "Van Graffs…they were behind this." She turned to Six. "I say we get some extra ammo, a few bottles of whiskey…and we give those bastards a taste of their own medicine."

"Turn the situation over to the NCR," Boone proposed. "We can't go into that place guns blazing – they're armed to the teeth."

"NCR? Are you fucking kidding me? With the war with Legion going on? They're not going to take the time out of their precious fucking day to deal with this."

"Cass…" Six grasped her shoulders. "We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise. But right now…"

"What? Right now we have to focus on your quest for vengeance? The rest of us be damned as long as you get what you want, right?"

Six didn't respond, he just looked at her – his eyes shining with understanding and sympathy.

Cass rubbed her nose with her sleeve. "I'm sorry…"

He pulled her close to him, wrapping her in his arms – her rattan cowboy hat slipped from her head, falling to the ground. He held her for a long minute then let her go. She bent down to grab her hat…her crimson hair glistening in the sun. Crimson…Six's eyes widened…the image of the flags in Nipton flashed through his mind. The bull.

Cass stood, brushing the hair from her eyes. She pulled the hat back down over her head. "Nothing we can do here…let's just go." She tilted her head. "Six? You alright?"

Six snapped back to. "Yeah…yeah, let's go."

* * *

><p>"No wonder we couldn't hold Helios One…look how many troops are here…" Veronica whispered to herself.<p>

"Lieutenant," Boone saluted.

"Craig," the man stretched out his arms embracing Boone with a warm hug. "It's good to see you again, how've you been? How's Carla?"

Boone turned his eyes to the ground.

The man tilted his head. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

"Legion."

He shook his head. "What brings you to McCarrran?"

"We were in the area."

The man looked past Boone and to his companions. "Friends of yours?"

"Yeah," He introduced them. The officer, as it turned out, was Boone's former commanding officer – Lieutenant Gorobets.

"Anywhere to get a drink around here?" Cass asked. "I could _really_ use a drink."

Gorobets laughed. "Yeah…head through those double doors, up the stairs, in the back. Can't miss it."

Cass took off without so much a word. Six turned to Veronica, "Keep her company?"

"Say no more." With that, Veronica and Christine disappeared through the double doors.

"So, how are things here?" Boone asked.

"I wish I could say things were going well…" Gorobets sighed. "But the fact of the matter is…things have gone to hell. The fiends have really been pressing hard on us. Something happened Craig…Betsy. She was raped."

"What?"

"She and the green horn, 10 of Spades, went out. They were ambushed by a group of fiends…lead by a psycho named Cook-cook."

"How'd it happen?"

"God damn fiends…you know Betsy. She can never think straight when she sees a woman in distress. Some psycho-bitch…Violet…lured them into an ambush. Said she was trying to evade Cook-cook. That he was going to kill her. Promised to lead them to him…she did all right. Ten was knocked unconscious. Then Cook-cook and Nephi took turns with Betsy. They would have killed her…but the rookie woke up. Got her out of there…" Gorobets sighed.

"Christ…"

"And she's too damn stubborn to get help…shrugged it off like it never happened. But it's starting to affect her behavior. We need to get this son of a bitch."

Boone turned to Six. "Up for a little hunting?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"I'll go tell the squad. Take them with you, Craig. Put these mother fuckers down," Gorobets' voice was stern. He made his way for the tents. As he did, another soldier made his way out. He wore a heavy jacket with an abundance of pockets and pouches. Around his neck, a pair of goggles hang loosely.

"Mr. J?"

"Raul, you in?"

"Would it surprise you to know that I used to be a gunslinging adventurer?" Raul answered.

"That's a yes?"

"Mr. J? Is that you?"

"That's a yes, boss."

A tap at Six's shoulder. "It is you! Where have you been?"

Six raised a brow. "Do I…know you?"

The man tilted his head. "Are you alright?" He eyed Boone and Raul. "Can we talk in private?…It's about your _shipment_."

Six turned to Boone, his voice was hushed… "You two go on ahead. Meet me back here."

"How do you know Contreras?" Boone asked.

"I don't know…but he obviously knows me. I'm going to see what I can find out…" Six paused. "See if he has any information about my past."

Boone nodded and, without a word, headed into the tent with the rest of his former squadron.

Raul took a few steps, then turned to Six. "You know, Boss…this name tag, 'Miguel', there was a time when I adopted this name. Trying to evade my past. Are you happy with who you are now?"

Six shrugged. "I'm not unhappy."

"Sometimes I wish I could forget…maybe you shouldn't go opening old wounds. You may not like what you find." With that, he followed after Boone.

Six turned to Contreras. "How do you know me?"

"Know you? We've worked together for years."

"Humor me."

"Mr. J…"

Six cut him off, "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"…You told me to. Said you were the wild card…the Joker. Listen…Your shipment has been in for months. At the usual spot."

"Usual spot?"

Contreras' face contorted with confusion. "Are you alright?"

"I took a shot to the head. Two actually…forgive me if my memory isn't what it used to be."

"Well…look," Contreras flipped Six's wrist up, toggling through the pipboy's menus. "Just northeast of Nipton, in the mountains. There's a cave…your shipment's there."

"What shipment?"

Contreras smiled. "Go see…I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. And uh…if you need anything else. Just remember, I'm your guy."

* * *

><p><em>That's all for this chapter...remember...if anyone can assist me with that bunker, please send me a PM. I'd be eternally grateful. I included the Mr. J thing because I just couldn't resist. As you may have noticed...I'm a fan of the Dark Knight. I included the Mr. J thing as sort of a joke, to pay homage to an excellent comic series. So, before anyone asks...Six is not The Joker...at least, not in the sense that he's the green haired, criminally insane, super villain clown. But his past may be a little shadier than he's aware.<br>_

_Until next time.  
><em>


	17. Chapter 16: Viva New Vegas

_It took me a long while to actually get into the flow of this chapter. I wasn't sure about it at first, but I think it turned out pretty well._

_A while back I promised to deliver a brief outline of Six's character. But, it totally slipped my mind. Even though in the game you only get 40 SPECIAL points initially, you also get some from an available perk, the Lonesome Road DLC, and implants. Thought I'm not going to write about Six receiving the implants - I designed his character under the assumption that he did receive a few of the implants at least. His SPECIAL Stats are as follows: S-6, P-7, E-5, C-7, I-6, A-7, L-6. His tagged skills would be speech, melee, and guns - as he's adept with his machete, and a fairly decent shot. His perks...well, you can pick and choose those. But three that I'd maintain he does have is Ferocious Loyalty, Terrifying Presence, and Lady Killer. Six's Karma would likely be neutral to good.  
><em>

_To answer a question by Brad - yes, I did know the Courier is on the Joker for the collector's item deck. It's what eventually led me to use the nickname "Mr. J"._

_Anyway, enjoy._

* * *

><p>Contreras' laughter echoed throughout the makeshift supply shack. "He said what?"<p>

Six smirked. "He said he looked it up. There's no disease called colorectal implosion syndrome."

Contreras burst into laughter again, he was laughing so hard it was bringing tears to his eyes. "You're the health inspector old Farber's been bitching about?"

"I don't know. He just said I looked _exactly_ like him. And that the health inspector had been extorting caps from him for silence."

"Oh," Contreras wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Wow…wow, that's just priceless. You must've really had the wool pulled over his eyes. Did he say the last time the inspector came through?"

"A couple months ago, maybe?"

"That's about the time you were last here. Wow," Contreras shook his head. "You're lucky he didn't recognize you."

"I guess. How exactly do you know me?"

Contreras tilted his head to one side, his laughter slowly dying down. "Those bullets must've done a number on you, huh?"

"Just answer the question."

"Look. I have contacts all over…I'm a lucrative guy. I…procure items for people."

"For what people?"

"Anyone with the caps to pay for them."

"How did I fit into this?"

"Some people want guns. Some people want drugs. And some people…they want energy weapons."

"Point being?"

"Well, when my clients ask for particular items, I deliver. But before I deliver, I have to get the items myself. The Gun Runners are excellent suppliers for conventional firearms. The Van Graffs…for more innovative weaponry. In order to set up these deals," Contreras' voice became hushed, "I have contacts in varying establishments. You were my contact with the Van Graffs."

Six narrowed his eyes. "And what about this shipment you keep talking about?"

Contreras shrugged. "You never mentioned what it was for. You just asked me to get some supplies. Top of the line stuff…my boys had to venture into the Divide to pick a lot of it up."

"I must have told you something about it…"

"Nope," Contreras shook his head. "Sorry. You wanted the items…I got them for you. I don't ask why. I just deliver. Especially for what you were paying."

Six sighed, "Can you at least take me to this supply cave?"

"Well," Contreras' tongue acquired a razor's edge. "I can't exactly go wandering off the base anytime I want, you know? They're already getting suspicious. I can practically hear the MP's now…'Gee, Contreras, I didn't know you had so many friends at the Gun Runners.'"

Six frowned.

"Look, you can't miss it. I've marked the coordinates on your pip-boy," He tossed Six a key.

Six turned away from Contreras and headed towards the terminal.

"Oh!" Contreras jogged to catch up with him. "Almost forgot, here." Contreras handed Six a rifle, "I fixed it up for you, good as new."

Six looked at the rifle, reading some writing that was scratched into the side.

"I was going to polish that out," Contreras said. "But I figured it might hold some sentimental value or something. What's a commie anyway?"

* * *

><p>The gates to McCarran opened wide, allowing First Recon, Boone, and Raul reentry. Boone entered first – toting an old sack. A trail of crimson liquid trailed behind him.<p>

"How long have you known Corporal Sterling?" Raul's raspy voice asked.

Boone shrugged. "Long enough."

"What do you think about people like him?"

"Depends on what you mean by people like him."

"I mean, here's a guy that's gotten beaten all to hell, right? Says he was captured by Legion. Tortured…crawled away on his knees and elbows. All that on top of his age…he could have retired from the service. Instead he signs back on and does what he can."

"Gorobets formally requisitioned that he be transferred to First Recon. It's not like he didn't have his doubts. But he's an essential asset to the team. He's a hard worker, and a hell of a lot more dangerous than most everyone else here."

"Do you think he did the right thing, sticking around?"

Boone shrugged. "I don't think he did the wrong thing. He's serving his country. It's his duty."

Raul frowned. "I remember a time when a lot of people stuck to their duty no matter what. It ended with nuclear bombs falling on my hometown…"

Boone shifted uncomfortably. "What exactly is this about?"

"I guess sometimes I just feel like a burden…I mean. I'm not getting any younger."

Boone drew a long breath. "I guess old age is better than the alternative."

Raul laughed. "That it is, amigo."

Ahead of them, Boone could see Gorobets, who was with another man who Boone recognized to be Major Dhatri.

"If you have bad news, take it up with the Colonel…if it's good news, it better involve some dead fiends," Dhatri said flatly.

Boone didn't respond. Instead, he tossed the sack to Dhatri's feet; he looked down at it. Taking a knee, he opened the sack and peered inside. "Jesus, did they smell like this before you killed them?" He turned away a moment to catch his breath. He peered into the sack again…"Yeah," he sounded slightly disgusted, "That's them all right. Good…damn good. It's about time we got lucky out there. You've made me one happy son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Just doing my part," Boone replied.

"Still. We lost a lot of good men to these psychopaths. Morale's going to pick up now that they're gone. You sure we can't persuade you to join back up?"

Boone pressed his lips and was quiet a moment. Just when he was about to respond, Six emerged from the terminal, holding a drunken Cass by the waist. Veronica and Christine trailed close behind, with Six's new eyebot. Boone turned to Dhatri. "We'll talk about it later, Major," he turned to Gorobets. "Lieutenant."

Truth be told, Boone just wanted to avoid the conversation. Six had happened to come along at an opportune time, allowing for an escape. Part of Boone did want to rejoin. It was the only life he'd ever really known…he had things in common with the people here. They were more like family than associates. But…he just wasn't sure he was ready to put that type of responsibility on his shoulders right now...not again. Not after what had happened. Seeing that Khan kid again...Bitter-Root. It just stirred up a whole mess of memories.

"Thanks for lending me this gun, Boss," Raul reached Six's old 20 gauge back to him. Six declined it with a wave of his hand.

"Keep it," he said. "You're going to need a weapon anyway."

"If we ever find our way out near my place, Boss…I'll pick up my own gear."

Six bobbed his head in approval.

"Did you find anything out?" Boone asked.

"Yeah. We have to head back to Nipton."

"Now?"

"No," Six looked at Cass. "First we need to find somewhere to crash for the night. We'll head out tomorrow. How close are we to Vegas?"

"A couple hours walk…If we take the monorail, we can be there in half an hour."

"When's the next one leave?"

Boone shrugged, "Give me a second." He jogged over to Gorobets. Six watched them talk for a second, and soon Boone came back, "Officially, the next is not leaving until tomorrow morning. "

"Unofficially?"

"Whenever we're ready."

* * *

><p>The night sky was alive and on fire around them. Six's eyes darted from one proverbial den of sin to another – and, for the briefest of moments, he forgot why he'd made his way to the Strip. That is, until he found himself gazing up at the Tops.<p>

Instinctually, he wanted to rush in. Guns drawn and fists out – ready to kill anyone that got in his way. The only thing that was stopping him was the hulking mass of steel balanced on a single wheel that was rolling towards him at this very moment.

An NCR trooper turned to him, whispering through gritted teeth, "Your guns…hide them. No weapons allowed on the strip."

Six cursed under his breath…there'd be no way he'd be able to hide his arms, let alone everyone else's, in such short notice. The screen on the securitron's monitor flickered a moment. A wave of relief washed over Six.

"Victor? What are you doing here?"

"Howdy pard'ner! You've come a far piece, haven't ya! I'm your personal welcome wagon. Now you listen close – the head honcho of New Vegas, Mr. House, is itching to make your acquaintance."

Six raised a brow. "What? Why?"

"Oh, he's been very interested in you for quite a spell!"

Six turned his attention to the group at his heels.

Victor seemed to read his thoughts. "You can bring your friends too! The boss has informed me to comp you the High-Roller Suite! Be like a clubhouse for the little gang you put together. Just bear in mind, you're the only one that gets to see the boss!"

Six titled his head to the side. "Is this a request?"

"Of course! But…I wouldn't keep the boss man waiting too long if I were you."

Six turned back to the group, quizzical grin on his face. "We have a clubhouse…"

With that, they fell in line behind the robot as it rolled down the street towards the Lucky 38. "If you look to your left," the robot began, "you'll see The Tops. The Tops is widely known for its entertainment! Run by the Chairmen, the Tops is famous throughout the wastes! Heralded as a haven to kick back, relax, and have some fun!"

"That's where Benny is?"

"Mr. House will discuss that in good time, friend!" Victor chirped. "Also to your left, you'll see the Gomorrah. The Gomorrah has become notoriously famous for a variety of services and delights, but most visitors go there for one thing: sex! Back a spell is the Ultra-Luxe. The Ultra-Luxe is the pinnacle of refinement and sophistication! Known far and wide for their excellent cuisine! And just ahead here, the big old tower shaped like a roulette spinner, that's the Lucky 38! The Lucky 38 has been Mr. House's personal sanctuary! Towering over the strip…imposing and impenetrable to visitors and locals alike, none have ever entered…that is, until now!" Victor rolled up the stairs to the casino's doors. He turned to face Six. Behind him, the protective security fences began to retract. "Welcome to New Vegas!"

* * *

><p>"Penthouse suite!" Victor called out from within the elevator. Six emerged cautiously, like a fawn, his eyes darting from place to place – taking everything in.<p>

Before him stood a duo of securitrons – different from the rest. Their screens housed the faces of women. One blonde, the other brunette with a white flower tucked behind her ear.

"Hello, sugar! I'm Jane!" The first exclaimed.

"And I'm Marilyn!" The other chimed.

Then together: "We're Mr. House's girls!"

Six furrowed his brow. "Yeah…that's not creepy," he muttered under his breath.

"If you'll follow us," Marilyn began.

"We'll take you to see Mr. House!" Jane finished.

"Who exactly is this...House character?"

"Why, sugar! He's the maximum utmost!" Jane practically sang.

"He's the smartest, most wonderful man there ever was!"

"If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have this fabulous wonderland of New Vegas!"

"He single handedly reclaimed New Vegas from all those nasty tribes that used to live here!"

"You mean he sent in his securitrons to do it for him," Six's statement was more an accusation.

"That still counts in my book!" Marylin sounded offended.

"And he did, after all, single handedly send them in!" Jane crooned.

Six followed them in silence as they led him along the balcony - singing the praises of Mr. House with their annoying to-and-fro banter. Before long, he stood before a colossal monitor, the lone image of a mustached, middle-aged male with dark hair decorating the screen.

Six gazed around the room. Without warning, the screen crackled to life.

"This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it? You've come a long ways, literally and, I suspect, figuratively as well."

"Vegas is run by a fucking A.I.?"

"Don't be fooled by the screens. I am very much alive."

"We aren't going to talk in person?"

"Of course not. I've allowed you into my humble abode…do not think me so reckless as to present myself in person. We've only just met."

"And just who are you?"

"I am Robert Edwin House: President, CEO, and sole proprietor of the New Vegas Strip. Before the Great War, I was founder, President, and CEO of RobCo industries."

"Bullshit. You don't sound like a ghoul or mutant. No human-being can live that long."

"Let's just say it was very…costly. But I was willing to make sacrifices longevity entailed…financial and otherwise. We can discuss it in further detail at another time. Right now, I have to ask – now that you've reached your destination, what do you make of what you see?"

Six shrugged. "To be honest, I think I prefer the wastes."

House laughed. "I'm sure you do…but you'll grow to love Vegas. It was always one of a kind. What you see down on the strip is just a fraction of the city's former glory…but it's more than an echo."

"That's fascinating. What do you want with me?"

"Oh, don't be coy. You're not so naïve that you don't recognize that you've been playing a high stakes game ever since Victor dug you out of the ground in Goodsprings."

"So you're the one behind the deliveries."

"Yes. Yes, I was. You were just one of many couriers…the rest of them decoys, so to speak. Many thousands of caps worth of investment went into screening your avenue of approach."

"Doesn't look like it worked out too well."

"Didn't it? Had I sent an armed caravan to transport the chip, I may as well have announced to the world that the delivery was important. I didn't want to attract attention of groups like the Khans, the Brotherhood, or the NCR. So yes, it did succeed…unfortunately the real threat was closer to home."

"Benny?"

"Yes. Pity really, until his recent misbehavior, I'd planned to make him my protégé. Maybe if I'd started grooming him sooner, all of this could have been avoided."

Six laughed. "That's certainly ironic."

"Indeed," The screen flickered, briefly losing connection. "…conern is for the platinum chip. What happens to Benny, I leave to your discretion."

"I find that snake in the grass, I'm going to cut off his head."

"If that's what you desire, so be it. It is of no consequence to me."

"What exactly is this chip?"

"It's a very special item…unique. Nothing else like it in the entire world. It was lost a long time…and very difficult to find. To produce it…I paid a large sum of U.S. dollars. Not like the bottle caps that pass as currency today. A sum that was far beyond counting. For decades, I paid salvagers to comb the ruins for it…and when it was finally found, I spent tens of thousands of caps to have it brought here. We know how that turned out."

"If this chip is so important, why not send your robots in to get it?"

"Frontal assaults on casinos? That would certainly make business boom, don't you think? No. Besides, Benny would see it coming…and all he'd have to do is hold a pistol to the chip. Our advantage here is that Benny doesn't know that I know he has the chip. And, more importantly, he doesn't know that you're alive…and coming for him."

"And when I find this chip, what's to stop me from taking it?"

"Surely you're a wiser businessman than that. Complete your contract and you will be very generously rewarded. I will pay you four times the amount stipulated in your contract. Furthermore…with Benny's betrayal comes an opening of sorts in my department. To achieve my aims, I require an able bodied human agent to perform…certain tasks. Benny – as ambitious as he was – proved to be a poor choice. You, however, seem to be a more than suitable replacement."

"Is that so?"

"That's so. Get the chip. Bring it to me. We'll talk more about how profitable our relationship can be then."

* * *

><p>"High-Roller suite!"<p>

"Thanks, Victor," Six explored his new abode quietly. It was late, and most everyone had crashed – aside from Raul who was sitting in the dining-kitchen area, devouring a fried gecko steak.

"Nice place you got here, Boss. I hope you don't mind…I made myself at home."

"Don't mind at all, Raul. Where's Cass?"

"Boone put her in the master suite. I didn't know you two were an item, Boss. I'd never have guessed it with the way you and that Great Khan girl were looking at each other."

"Keep your voice down," Six hissed.

Raul widened his eyes, suddenly aware. "Sorry, Boss."

Six made his way into the master suite. Cass was stretched out onto the bed, snoring softly. He sat down, removing his beret and running his hands through his hair. What had Cass said about the Van Graffs? She wanted them dead? He didn't mind that, of course…and, had the circumstances been different, he'd likely willingly help her. But the Van Graffs had information he needed…about his past. About who he was, where he was from…

Cass roused in the bed next to him. "Hey," she sat up, running her hand along his thigh. "It's about time you got in…" She giggled.

"Cass," Six smiled. "You're drunk."

"So."

"You need to get some sleep."

"I don't want to sleep. I want you inside me."

Six pulled away lightly.

Cass sat up, eyes becoming concerned. "What's wrong?"

Six took a deep breath. "I found something out today. About my past."

"Oh?"

"Did you see the man I was talking to at McCarran?"

"Not that I remember."

"He told me that he and I used to work together."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He deals in…shady transactions, Cass. With the Gun Runners, the Khans," Six paused. "The Van Graffs."

Cass frowned. "Where's this going?"

"Cass…I know you want to get those bastards back… but, Contreras says I used to work for the Van Graffs. I need to keep them alive…just long enough for me to find out some things about my past."

He waited for a response. All he got was silence.

"Look, I'll help you do it. We'll roll over that place when the time comes…but you have to understand."

She answered him with a snore. Six sighed, pulled the cover up around her, and made his way to his feet. He let the door click quietly behind him and turned to Victor. "Ground floor, please."

* * *

><p>Six traversed the busy streets of the Strip in relative silence. His heart was heavy and his mind was thick with thoughts. Despite the crowds of people around him, he felt utterly alone. As he neared the Tops, though, he found his melancholy being replaced with anxiety. The anxiety turned into anticipation. The anticipation turned into fury.<p>

The door to the tops pushed open easily. He stepped inside.

"Hey, hey! Welcome to the Tops! I'm Swank, I'm the manager of this here joint. I'm going to have to ask you to hand over any weapons you might be carrying."

"Why?"

"Security, pal. Can't make the bread if the bakers are full of lead, you dig?"

Six chuckled despite himself.

"So, what's it gonna be?"

"Sure."

"Smooth and easy, just the way I like it. Oh, and if you happen to _stumble across_ any weapons during your stay here…just keep them out of sight, yeah? Now that we've got that out of the way, what can Swank do for you to make your Tops experience the tops?"

"And who exactly are you?"

Swank pulled his head back a notch. "Ain't been on the Strip long have ya, pal? The name's Swank. I run this joint."

"No…Benny runs this joint."

Swank rolled his shoulders. "Benny oversees the business, sure. But day-to-day, I keep things operational. I'm his right hand, ya dig?"

"I'm looking for Benny, as a matter of fact."

"You want to see the boss man? What for?"

Six leaned in close, planting his forearms on the counter. "Benny and I are old friends. Met a while back…in Goodsprings."

"No shit?"

"No shit. But listen…I want my visit to be a surprise, you dig?"

Swank laughed. "I can dig that."

"So if you can just point me in his direction…"

"Can't do that. Boss man's out of town."

"Gone where?"

"New Reno. Left a couple weeks back to meet with the Wright family. To discuss some business ventures. He's not due back for a couple days now."

"Well, listen Swank. When he gets back…you send word to the Lucky 38."

"No shit? It's you that everyone's talking about? Getting into the Lucky 38?"

"Yeah," Six grinned. "That's actually why he went to New Reno. House has decided to reopen the Lucky 38. Benny's gone to get some things taken care of. But see, I wanted to surprise him. He doesn't know House contracted me to run things there. I want to see the look on his face personally when I deliver the news, you know?"

Swank laughed. "Right, right daddy-o. I'll send word when he's back."

"You do that. I'm going to head on out…can I have my things back?"

"Of course," Swank motioned to a couple men standing nearby.

* * *

><p>Back out on the Strip, no longer with purpose, Six found his grief returning. Instead of returning to the Lucky 38, he made his way further south. He found himself sitting on a bench across from an NCR facility. He yawned and reclined – letting his neck rest of the back of the concrete bench, staring at the night sky.<p>

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

He turned to the source of the voice. A petite blonde woman stood in the doorway of the Vault 21 hotel.

"Hi. I'm Sarah. Sarah Weintraub."

"Six."

"What brings you to the Strip, Six?"

"Business," he told her.

"You don't look like a businessman."

He laughed. "No. I don't suppose I do."

She smiled.

"What about you? Vacationing?"

"Oh no. This is my…well, what I mean to say is I run this hotel. It's Mr. House's technically."

"Well, Sarah. Care to join me for a bit of star gazing?"

She nervously looked around and shook her head. Six recognized the look – it was the same look Christine gave the autodoc.

"You don't have to, it's fine."

She forced a smile.

Six stood, making his way towards her. He leaned against the wall and returned his gaze towards the sky. "You know, the stars are much brighter away from the lights of the Strip."

"I'd love to see them!" She said excitedly. But the excitement quickly broke down. "But…I know I never will."

"You alright?"

"Oh it's nothing…agoraphobia."

Six smiled. "Nothing to be ashamed of. I don't like spiders."

"Oooh…me neither. Could you imagine if spiders had mutated like scorpions? The stories I've heard about those giant things..."

Six shuddered at the thought. "They could have…somewhere out in the wastes. So you say you run this place?"

"Yeah! My brother Sheldon and I grew up in this vault."

"You grew up here? You know a Doc Mitchell?"

"Mole-Butt Mitch!" Sarah laughed. "Sorry…God, I haven't thought of that name in years…we were kids, you know how it goes. He had this big mole on his…"

"That's okay. I don't need to know the rest."

Sarah smiled. "How is Mitch? I hope he's doing well."

"He's doing good. Living in Goodsprings now."

"Goodsprings?"

"Yeah…it's a little ways south-west of here."

"Wow. I'd love to see the world."

"You have a camera?"

"What?"

"A camera. I could take some pictures for you."

"Oh that'd be fantastic! I don't have one though...and even if I did, I can't ask you to go out of your way like that."

"If I stumble across a functioning one out in the wastes, I'll be sure to snap a few photos."

"Oh thank you! You are just too much!"

Six laughed. "So what do you do here?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. We have gambling, rooms, a gift shop…"

"Sounds like a deceptively large place," Six said, peering back into the small hut.

"Oh, my vault runs deep and wide. It's filled with…"

Six began to snicker.

"What? What…" her eyes widened. "Oh my God! I didn't mean it like that!"

Six shook his head. "No. No, it's me. I'm sorry."

Sarah's face flushed red. "I can't believe I said that…"

"I've stuck my foot in my mouth plenty of times."

"Still. It's embarrassing enough to make me almost blow my top."

Six grinned. "That time you did it on purpose."

She smiled at him. "Maybe. So, you're obviously not a business man…what do you do?"

"I'm a courier. Or, at least I was…or I think I was. I'm really not sure…I don't remember much about my past."

Sarah stuck her bottom lip out with a pseudo-pout. "Poor baby. If you were a courier, what would you say about your work etiquette?"

"Oh, I always deliver."

Sarah smiled. "You know…why don't you head on down into the vault. I'll comp you a room…I'll come down at closing, see if I can find a way to put your skills to use…"

* * *

><p><em>Hopefully this chapter satiates your hunger for Six's adventures. We'll start uncovering bits and pieces of Six's past soon...I'm thinking about revealing a name. I'll let you all decide. Should I make that revelation, or should I leave it up to the reader to decide who he is ultimately? I mean...I'm going to be giving him a past. But the name is optional...and ultimately up to you, my readers.<em>

_I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Until next time!  
><em>


	18. Chapter 17: Birds Of A Feather

_So the popular consensus (or at least, for those who care to leave reviews/comments seems to be that Six should retain his given identity, as opposed to revealing his true identity. That made giving more of his backstory a little bit trickier, but I think I've pulled it off well enough._

_Enjoy.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Who's the new guy?"<p>

Tommy Torini turned towards the sound of the unmistakable voice. "Came in a while back, claims he's some pre-war hot shot. Sings surprisingly well…for a ghoul I mean."

The man sat down at one of the many tables within The Aces. He reached carefully into his jacket pocket and withdrew a crumpled red package of cigarettes. He tapped the pack against the table a few times and pulled a cigarette out – then offered one to Torini, who politely declined. The man shrugged, tucked the pack back into his pocket and when his hand reemerged it held a sterling silver zippo. He flipped it open and casually lit the cigarette; then took a few quick draws to ensure it was properly aflame.

"He say where he came from?" The man asked, exhaling a wave of smoke into the theater air around him.

Torini shrugged. "Didn't think to ask. After the…incident with the old man, we really needed a new act."

The other man laughed, casually flipping a few ashes onto the floor beside him. "Tommy, have a drink with me," he kicked a chair out from under the table and motioned to it. "I insist."

Torini sat down and waved to a passing woman. She immediately stopped what she was doing and came to take their order.

"Scotch okay for you, Tommy?" The man asked. Torini answered with a light nod. "Two scotch on the rocks, baby. Don't keep me waiting." He smacked her backside. "Vámonos!" The woman quickly disappeared from the tableside. "You know, Tommy. You should really consult me before bringing in new acts. We don't know what kind of people we're bringing in here on our guests."

"He seemed to be a pretty straight forward fella. I didn't think…"

"No, you didn't. And that's the problem…" The man sat back in his chair and observed the singing ghoul on stage. "He certainly _can_ sing though."

The woman returned with the drinks, sitting them hastily on the table. "Can I get you anything else?"

The man waved his hand dismissively. As the woman turned to walk away, he snatched her by the wrist. "You could join me in my suite tonight…"

The woman blushed.

"I'll take that as a yes?" The man smiled. He released her hand and turned back to Torini, who sat uncomfortably across from him. "So, what's his name?"

"Domino. Ah…Dean Domino."

The man nodded, "Well, though I'd prefer you came to me with these things, I can't deny this cat's a catch. He's got talent." He placed one foot on the table and tilted his chair up onto two legs. He picked up his scotch and turned to Tommy. "Cheers!"

"Benny!"

The man turned towards the sound of the voice. "What can I do for you, Swank?"

"Some fink just came by looking for you."

"He leave any contact info?"

"Yeah. Turns out he's staying at the Lucky 38."

Benny's chair dropped back to the floor as he sat up straight. "You didn't tell him where I was, did you?"

"No, of course not…he seemed awful anxious to surprise you."

"Looks like House has a new pair of legs doing his dirty work…"

"Looks like."

Benny knocked back his scotch.

"Want me to start making preparations to get out of here, boss man?"

"No. We wait…I take off now and House is going to know something's up. He'll turn the other families on the Strip against us, this'll all go to hell before it even has a chance to begin." Benny took a long draw from his cigarette; held it a beat, then exhaled a few smoke rings into the air. "Send someone to get the Duke."

* * *

><p>Six awoke with a sudden jolt; he sat up, letting his eyes adjust to the room around him. The room was dank, dark, and still. He looked down at the woman lying next to him in the small half-bed, sleeping peacefully. He stood, fumbling in the darkness for his clothes – the noise roused the sleeping woman.<p>

She rolled over onto her side, looking up at him. "That was some ride last night…we'll have to do it again. Once I've recovered, you monster."

Six smirked in the darkness. "Go on back to bed, it's still early."

Sarah sat up, yawning. "No, it's all right. I have to get ready to go open up shop anyway."

Six shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Sarah made her way to the light switch and turned it on. Six briefly shielded his eyes. They proceeded to dress in relative silence. He followed her through the vault-turned-hotel up to the entrance. Then began towards the door.

"When will I see you again?"

He raised a brow and looked at the woman, "You won't."

The sun had just begun to rise and, already, the strip was stirring with activity – from stumbling, drunken NCR troops to a trio of women dancing nude in the fountain in front of the Ultra-Luxe. Six smiled at the sight.

He continued down the road towards the Lucky 38, the air was calm and cool. Victor greeted him at the door with his usual high spirits.

"Howdy Pard'ner!"

"Victor."

"Miss Cassidy is waiting for you in the cocktail lounge!"

Six stepped onto the elevator. "Alright, that's where I'll get off then."

The robot shambled into the elevator and pressed a key – Six briefly wondered how it was able to perform a task requiring such precision with the talons it used as hands, but the thought fluttered from his mind quickly. The elevator came to a slow halt and the doors swung open with an electronic beep. Six emerged into the cocktail lounge and found her sitting solitary at the bar, empty shot glass before her and half empty whiskey bottle in her hand.

"Good morning, beautiful."

She glanced up at him, but didn't speak.

"You sleep well?"

She raised the bottle to the glass and tilted as if readying to pour a shot – she paused briefly, whispered "Fuck it," to herself and took a drink from the bottle.

Six sat down next to her.

"You alright?"

"Thinking."

"About?"

"A lot."

"Want to go into any specifics?"

Cass did. She wanted to go into specifics. She wanted to ask him why the hell they wound up on the Strip, leaving Novac behind; she wanted to ask him if he intended to help her with the Van Graffs; she wanted to ask him _where he slept_ the night before. Instead, she took a long swig of whiskey. "Nope."

Six rubbed the back of his head. "Well, listen. I was thinking I'd go have a chat with the Van Graffs today. Find out their side of the story."

"Their side?" Cass felt her dysphoria turning into exasperation.

"Yeah," Six began, "We don't very well know if it was the…"

"You didn't see the fucking thugs in their custom combat armor?"

"Fiends could have killed a couple thugs, looted their armor…"

"We've been through this. Fiends wouldn't burn the cargo…it was the Van Graffs."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Why are you so eager to help them?"

"I just think we should investigate a little more befo…"

"Yeah. Cause you're the poster boy for investigating a fight before picking sides. The boy outside of Nipton and the whore with the cleaver can testify to that."

Six turned his gaze to the counter. Cass took another drink of her whiskey.

"What's this about, Cass?"

"It's about me…you just can't seem to understand that. I've been trekking across this damn desert with you, never asked you for a damn thing. Waited in Novac for a month for you to get back…got settled there, had something good, and left that because you wanted me to."

Six felt himself getting flustered. "You didn't have to leave. You could've stayed."

"That's right. I didn't have to. But I did anyway. I did because you wanted me to. When are you going to learn that it's not always about you?"

"You knew why I was coming here."

"But you sure as hell took the time to go out of your way for that asocial prick of a best friend you have."

"Boone's done a lot…"

"And I haven't? Really? If I hadn't been there when you picked up that girl in Nipton, you'd be dead right now."

"Jesus, Cass. Is it always going to come back to this? I've told you time and time again…she didn't mean…"

"That's not what this is about. God damn, you just don't get it do you? I'm asking for your help, and instead you're staying out all fucking night, and trying to '_be objective'_," her tone changed momentarily to reflect her irritation towards the notion. "You want to investigate the people that fucking took everything from me."

Six fell silent. Cass downed the rest of her bottle. Her eyes were puffy and red. She looked at Six, a lump swelling in her throat.

"There's a reason I want to investigate them, Cass…"

"Is there? If there is, tell me. I'd love to know."

Six once again found himself looking at the counter. "I tried to tell you this last night…" He took a long breath. "I used to work for the Van Graffs."

Cass felt her mouth drop open – she stared at Six, completely speechless.

"I ran into a crooked NCR armorer at McCarran. He says I used to be his contact with the Van Graffs."

"And you're just telling me this now?"

"I just found out yesterday…I tried to tell you. You weren't exactly sober."

Cass opened her mouth to speak – she raised her hand, palm up and tilted her head. No words came out.

Six continued, "Look…I'm on your side. Believe me…but I need to know. I need to find out who I am. To find out what I've done…"

Cass closed her mouth and stared at Six for a long minute – one that felt, to Six, like hours. Finally, she exhaled and closed her eyes. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Do your digging…but after that, I want to settle this. Not with the NCR. With blood."

Six nodded slowly. "I've got your back."

* * *

><p>"We going to that supply cave?" Boone asked.<p>

Six shook his head. "I'm not. You are. Take Raul, Veronica, and Christine with you. Find out what's there, bring it back here. Ship it back if you have to." He handed Boone the key that Contreras had given to him the day before.

"Will do," Boone said, turning towards the elevator. That's what Six liked about Boone. He followed orders. He didn't argue, he didn't complain. He just did. Six rummaged through one of the storage crates in the suite's kitchen. He tossed a couple boxes of .357 rounds into his bag and turned to Cass. "Let's go."

The gate to the Strip closed behind them – whining metallically as it did. "Listen…I don't want you going into this place. If they took out your caravan, they've probably got some ire for you, and I'm not going to let them do anything they'll regret."

"Right," she replied. "I'll just sit tight at the Wrangler. Once you've found out what you need to know, come get me there."

They rounded the corner, headed towards the Silver Rush. Six stopped shortly before they reached it. He grabbed Cass by the wrist and pulled her to him, firmly devouring her lips. He brought his hands up, holding each side of her head. "Be careful."

"I could say the same to you."

Six turned away from her and continued towards the Silver Rush, he heard the door to the Atomic Wrangler close behind him. As he approached, a stern looking man stepped forward – dark skinned and armed to the teeth.

"Hold up," the man put up an arm defensively. "Have to…holy shit. If it isn't the Joker himself! It's about time you got your wiry ass back here. Gloria's been bitching about you taking off."

"Gloria?"

"Yeah, man..."

Six raised a brow and cocked his head to the side.

"Van Graff? The head…" the man suddenly grinned. "Oh, you almost had me there, you wise cracking son of a bitch. Head on inside, she's in the middle of a meeting right now, but she'll be done soon."

Six returned his grin, though he had no idea why, and made his way inside. A woman – whom he assumed to be Gloria – was conversing with a middle aged balding man. He could barely make out the conversation; Six watched through the chain link fence as a large man in black combat armor stepped towards another man who was bound and gagged. The large man aimed his laser rifle and fired. The captive burst into flames.

"…Never break faith with the Van Graffs, Mr. Soren. I expect you'll have the rest of our payment tomorrow morning. Alright everyone…show's over. Back to work."

Six rounded the fence and walked towards the woman – she smiled when she noticed him.

"It's about time you decided to show up. Frieda would have me killed if anything happened to her boy toy."

Six raised a brow.

"Look, our contact told us you never showed in Nipton. What happened?"

"I was shot," Six pulled his beret off and traced the scars with his fingertips.

Gloria shook her head. "Another bar fight?"

"No. Got jumped in Goodsprings."

"Why'd you…" She sighed. 'Nevermind. Listen, we have another delivery for him. Don't fuck it up."

"A delivery for who?"

"You know better than to ask those kinds of questions. Who we make deals with is my concern. Your only obligation is making those deliveries. It's what mother hired you for to begin with."

"Look…I'm going to be honest with you…"

"We don't have time for your high jinks. You and Frieda might be an item, but she's back in Reno. Mother sent you here with Jean-Baptiste and I to secure authority in New Vegas. We're behind schedule…the NCR's tax and House's security protocols are proving to be a bit more than we'd bargained for. Make the delivery. This client could mean big money for us…and that means big money for you. When you're done, head back. We have more to do." Gloria reached under her desk and withdrew a sizeable package. She sat it on the desk in front of her. "Don't dawdle."

Six furrowed his brow and lifted the package. "When I get back, we need to discuss some things." With that, he was off.

* * *

><p>Boone slipped the key into the makeshift door to the supply cave and twisted the handle, the door pushed open without difficulty. They proceeded into the cave. Inside was a variety of crates – each branded with the two-headed bear.<p>

Boone cocked his head to the side. "Why would Six have Contreras deliver so much NCR gear?"

Raul shrugged. "Maybe he's a collector." He began to rummage through the crates. "The Boss said we could have anything we liked, right?"

Veronica shrugged. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind us poking around."

Boone walked amongst the crates methodically before finally settling on one. He popped it open and peered inside; within he found what appeared to be NCR ranger combat armor…yet, different. The armor was tinted green, and the duster had steel, green tinted shoulder pads. The duster, boots, and jeans were also a lighter brown hue. "Advanced riot gear…" Boone smirked. "Haven't seen any of this since we lost Hopeville."

"That mean you're going to take off that beret to wear the helmet?" Christine asked.

"No." He closed the box and opened the next one. Inside he found a set of midnight black power armor with neon green and bright red designs. On one shoulder was the mounted head of a yao guai. Boone admired the armor. "Vee, take a look."

Veronica sauntered towards him and peered into the box. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" With each repetition her voice grew more excited.

"Six doesn't strike me as the power armor type. You should take it."

"You don't think he'll care?"

"Have you ever seen him in any heavy armor?"

Veronica grinned, scooping up the armor and scurrying to the back of the cave. Raul and Boone turned away timidly as she began to disrobe. After a beat, Veronica made her way to the rest of the group. "Well? How do I look?"

They turned towards her.

"Vee! Take off that stupid hood!" Christine whined.

Veronica shook her head. "Never."

"You're just as bad as Boone."

Veronica rummaged through another crate – withdrawing what seemed to be a jury-rigged AER9 laser rifle with copper trim. "This thing is funky…" She took aim, firing at the wall. The projectile laser was a fluorescent green. "Mine!"

Boone chuckled under his breath. "There's enough in here for a small army…NCR ranger combat armor…riot armors…regulation weapons...strange."

"Well," Raul interrupted, "before we go thieving all of the boss man's stuff…we might want to get it back to Vegas."

Boone nodded in agreement. "Yeah…Let's head to the outpost. We'll get a couple pack brahmin."

* * *

><p>Six saw the man at a distance…he recognized him somehow. The calm complexion, the dark glasses.<p>

"Ah. It's been a while courier."

"Do I know you?"

"Yes. Do you have the package we requested?"

Six tossed the package to the ground at the man's feet.

"Excellent. You know, this should be the third delivery you've made for me…but the second delivery never showed. I waited in Nipton for some time. Luckily I left when I did…unfortunately, it cost my second in command, Gabban, his life."

"Vulpes." Six shook his head - Boone hadn't nabbed the bastard in Nipton after all.

The man grinned and gave a light nod.

"How do you know me?"

"Oh…we go way back…all the way to New Reno. About that delivery…"

"I wouldn't know," Six tapped his head. "Got shot. Don't recall much of anything."

"Ah…yes. My agents have informed me of your amnesia. Selective, isn't it? Isn't that fun," the man spoke calmly – coldly. "Well…" he peered into the package that Gloria Van Graff had sent. "Tell Gloria that I am well pleased. I believe our business here is concluded. I'll contact her soon. In the meantime…keep your eye out for that last shipment. It's very important."

"What shipment?"

"The NCR supplies, of course. Had you'd come through, we'd already have the Dam…taken it over from the inside out."

Vulpes turned away from Six and began to walk east. Six's instincts told him to put a bullet in the back of his head…but something stopped him…something told him Vulpes knew more about him than he had revealed. And Six aimed to find out just what it was.

"Tell me about New Reno!"

Vulpes stopped and cast a glance over his shoulder. "Take it up with the Van Graffs."

* * *

><p>As Six approached the Silver Rush, he observed Jean-Baptiste Cutting talking with the company's crier. Cutting grinned when he saw Six approaching.<p>

"Just the man I'm looking for."

"What do you need?"

"I'm looking for a girl goes by the name of Cassidy. I was told by this fine young fellow here that she's been seen hanging around you."

Six cast a side long glance to the Atomic Wrangler. Cutting smiled.

"That's all I needed to know."

Six seamlessly withdrew his pistol and stuck it to Cutting's head. "You know me."

Cutting's eyes widened.

"You know what I'm capable of," Six continued. "You so much as cast a look in her direction and I'll end you…and every thug you've got in the Mojave."

"You and her?"

"That's right," Six spat. "Now, what we're going to do is walk back into the Silver Rush. You and that bitch sister of yours are going to tell me everything you know about me. You're going to tell me everything you know about the attack on Cassidy's Caravans. Then you're going to pack up and head back to whatever shithole you crawled out of."

"Everything I know about you? What the hell for?"

"Because I fucking told you to. Walk." They began to make their way towards the Silver Rush.

"I gave mother my word that you were good people. The whole damned Cartucci family was shit. All but you…"

"Cartucci?" Six saw the crier and the door guard approaching his position. He swiftly put them out of action with two well aimed shots.

Cutting stepped forward, attempting to take advantage of the momentary distraction – but Six was too quick. He had the gun pressed against the flesh under Cutting's chin in an instant.

"Who's Cartucci?"

"You mean what…the Cartucci was a crime family in Reno. Weak bunch, worked for the Salvatore syndicate…"

"What's that got to do with me?"

"You were part of that family. When the syndicate fell…Frieda took you in. Talked mother into letting you work for us."

"Who the fuck is Frieda?"

Cutting's eyes widened. "You don't remember?" He laughed. "That's a shame…my sister, man. She was head over heels for you."

"What?"

"Mother was going to have you killed…for my sister's sake, I convinced her to send you with us…" Six watched a suspicious looking fellow emerge from a ruined building across the street from the Silver Rush. The man watched the two for a moment, looked down at the bodies of the crier and guard, then walked into the store – despite the situation. Something about him rubbed Six the wrong way…

"She made me promise to look out for you…wouldn't she be happy to know that you're running around on her, with Cassidy of all people."

"What's your interest with Cass?" They were mere yards from the store when it happened. The store erupted in flame. The force threw Six back – he toppled across the street. Cutting wasn't so fortunate. The force of the blast sent him crashing against the adjacent building. Cutting collapsed onto the ground in a lifeless heap. Six struggled to stand; blood pouring from his mouth. His left eye swollen shut. He put weight on his right leg and a sharp pain shot throughout his body in defiance. Cass, having heard the explosion, was out of the Wrangler now and at his side. Six collapsed onto the pavement. He looked up at her and managed a smile.

"Stay with me!" She lifted his head, rocking it back and forth. "Six! Six! Don't you die on me! Don't you fucking die on me!"

Barking.

"What's the…oh sweet baby Jesus! Pacer! Get his legs! We have to get him to the Mormons!"

He could hear Cass crying. The sound of her cries beginning to fade. Darkness devouring him. Then nothing.

* * *

><p><em>So, hopefully Six's past is starting to make a little more sense...of course, it won't all come together until The Flags Of Our Fathers (Lonesome Road). It won't be too much longer until we start on my rendition of Honest Hearts.<em>

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Until next time!  
><em>


	19. Chapter 18: Bleed Me Dry

_So, my internet has been down since Saturday night. I'm fairly certain I almost went insane. I don't understand what I did before the advent of the internet...but I can only pray to whatever Gods exist that I never have to go through such trauma again. Since this chapter is **very** late, I'm going to be posting chapters back to back today. I still have to make some finishing touches on the next chapter...but you can expect it to be uploaded by around midnight tonight (that's eastern time US). This chapter has a lot of original content in it. Hopefully I've done enough to keep you all enthralled in my story. _

_Anyway, enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>Vision pulsating, he'd come to then fade back out. Voices echoed – seemed distant, then abruptly very close. Six tried to raise his head…<p>

"Hold him down," an unfamiliar feminine voice commanded.

Weight, pressing down on him. He struggled against it.

"Give him another dose of Med-X!" the voice shouted. "Put him under!"

A brief, intense pain, the jab of a needle. Then numbness. No, not numbness. Euphoria…he was floating.

Six shook awake with a quick jolt, sitting upright in bed…where was he? How'd he get here? What was the last thing he remembered?

In the bed next to him he could just make out the figure of a woman in the darkness. Six slung his feet around and onto cold marble tile. Didn't the Lucky 38 have carpet? He wasn't sure. He stood feeling with along the wall. A doorknob. He twisted it, pushed…nothing. Pulled, light filled the room. He looked around – he didn't recognize the room, or the woman in bed. Flowing, golden hair. Fair skin. He could see curtains on the adjacent wall. He stumbled over to them and swung them open. Bright light poured in from the street – flashing lights. Casinos, stores. People prowling the roads. In the distance, a sign – THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD…Reno.

Six shook his head in disbelief.

"Come back to bed."

He turned to the woman. "What?"

She stretched out, pulling the blanket off herself. She walked towards him, bare skinned. Her hips' sway could mesmerize a cobra. Her golden hair practically shining, flowing around her body. She smiled wide and wrapped her arms around his neck – tiptoeing to retrieve a kiss. "Mother won't be back until morning…come back to bed."

"Mother?"

She grinned. "Don't worry, she doesn't know about us."

Six stared into the woman's eyes, they sparkled back at him. "Frieda?"

She tilted her head to the side, her smile widening. "Yeah?"

"How did…" The world began to dissolve around him. Turning into dust, blowing away. Six stepped back, horrified, as the dust began to resettle. Towers being built, people…ruined streets, buildings. He was on the Strip…and it was set ablaze.

Around him, people were in panic – running for their lives. Gunfire, smoke. From the North, NCR troops poured into the streets. From the South, the bull.

"Six!"

He recognized the voice. He frantically searched the area around him. "Cass!"

"Six!" The voice called back.

Then he saw her. Being hauled away by a massive creature…a beast. Part man, part bull. The creature held her over one shoulder and strode swiftly through the streets, casting machine and man aside like they were tumbleweeds.

Then they were tumbleweeds…the skeletal remains of the city. New Vegas reclaimed by the desert. A lone crimson flag billowing in the street; the mark of the bull.

* * *

><p>"The only thing we can do now is wait."<p>

Cass sat at Six's side, looking up at the female doctor, sporting a Mohawk. "Thank you. For your help."

The woman smiled. "We do what we can."

Cass turned her attention to the men that had carried Six to the Mormon Fort. The one sporting a tan blazer – with newly acquired red stains now littering it sporadically – smiled. "Don't you worry, little mama. Julie's the best. She'll have your man patched up in no time." He turned to the man beside him. "Pace…"

The man seemed to be in a morose daze.

"Pacer."

The man looked up at him.

"Take some guys, go to the Silver Rush. She might still be alive."

The man, Pacer, shook his head. "You heard that explosion. You saw the wreckage…ain't nobody left alive in there."

The other man's face turned somber. "Well why don't you go have a look anyway?"

The room was silent for a moment before Pacer finally left with a huff of exasperation.

"He's a good fella," the man with the thick accent said to Cass. "Don't let him fool ya. He's just a little hard headed sometimes."

The sound of someone clearing their throat. The man turned towards the tent entrance. It was another man; easily a head taller than most everyone Cass had met, with platinum blonde hair and dark rimmed glasses.

"Yeah?"

"Might I have a word?"

The man turned back to Cass, a sympathetic smile on his face. "You wipe that frown off, little mama. The King's going to take care of everything. Rexie…stay with the pretty lady." The cyberdog whined in protest. "Never-mind the hat. You stay with her, boy." He and Julie made their way out of the tent.

The dog approached Cass timidly. She stretched out her hand and it sniffed it. Then it warily made its way to her and laid its head in her lap. She looked down at the pooch and scratched behind its ear. Outside she could hear the muffled discussions of Julie and The King. After a beat, they reappeared at the entrance.

"We're pretty shorthanded as it is. We don't have the necessary tools to treat an injury this severe. If we leave it as it is, he'll never walk without assistance again," Julie explained.

"But," The King quickly cut in, "there's a medical office just a little ways from here. We're going to move him on over there. They have an Auto-Doc there. It'll patch your boy right up."

Dumbfounded, Cass just stared at them. "Why are we still here then?"

* * *

><p>The trip to the New Vegas Medical Clinic was short.<p>

"Doctor Usanagi," The woman introduced herself. "Don't you worry about a thing, Miss Cassidy, we've got everything under control."

Cass didn't like when people used her full name. Especially now…she had gotten used to Six using it. It felt alien on someone else's tongue. Cass sat glumly in the clinic's waiting room. The King sat silently beside her.

"I need to get back," he said after a long silence. "Freeside's a dangerous place. Especially without the proper supervision."

Cass quietly nodded.

"Look," The King said. "Why don't I leave Rexie here to keep you company? He's a stubborn old fella, but he seems to have taken a liking to you."

Cass smiled. "I'll be fine."

"Well…when that boyfriend of yours wakes up, you bring him on over to see me. I'd like to have a chat with him about what happened." The King laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You keep your chin up, little mama. Everything's going to be okay." With that final sentiment he left.

Cass waited for what seemed like an eternity before the tall man finally emerged from the back. He pulled off his latex gloves – wet with blood – and tossed them in the trash. He smiled at Cass and sat next to her.

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he spoke, "Hi. I'm Arcade. I just wanted to let you know that he's going to be fine. We've stopped the internal bleeding. But, here's the scoop, his leg was severely injured. We have two options. We can use Hydra…but you need to be aware that it's potentially addictive. There are other health concerns with the drug…but it does work, and it works well. He'll be able to put weight on it as early as tomorrow morning. Or, we'll need to implant a PHEONIX Monocyte Breeder…that's going to leave him with a hefty bill. But he'll walk again. In fact, the breeder will speed up the healing process. It's not as quick as Hydra, but certainly quicker than the body's natural healing processes."

Cass breathed a sigh of relief. "Do it. Do both. Do whatever's necessary. Money's not an issue."

Arcade nodded lightly. "Big winnings on the Strip?" He asked cheerfully, in an attempt – a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless – to cheer her up.

She pressed her lips – thinking back to the gold Six had brought back from the Sierra Madre. "Something like that."

* * *

><p>When Six awoke, Cass was at his side. He was nestled comfortably in bed – the room appeared to be a school room, with chairs lined up in front of a duo of chalkboards and a number of x-rays littering the wall.<p>

Cass smiled. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Where are we?"

"New Vegas Medical Clinic," She answered.

Six blinked a few times, clearing his vision. "What the hell happened?"

"There was an explosion at the Silver Rush."

"An explosion?"

"Yeah."

Six recalled the suspicious man that had been watching his confrontation with Jean-Baptiste. "Son of a bitch…what about the Van Graffs?"

"Dead."

"Damnit."

"So the explosion wasn't your work?"

"No."

Cass frowned. "Looks like the Van Graffs pissed off more than just me."

Six sat up, swinging his feet around onto the cold tiled floor. Suddenly becoming aware of the dreams that plagued him in his sleep. What had the psyker boy said? The bull would steal the crimson flag? Six found himself staring hard at Cass.

"What?" She laughed nervously.

"Nothing…" He shook his head. He rubbed his hand across the stitching on his thigh.

"From the explosion," Cass explained.

Six pushed himself up onto his feet, his leg tightened and ached.

"Whoa!" Cass gripped his arm. "Take it easy."

He stretched the leg and put a bit of weight on it. "I'm good. Let's get back to the Strip."

* * *

><p>"Please submit to a credit check or present ID's to enter the Strip."<p>

Boone scowled, "I knew we should have used the monorail."

"Why do people call it a monorail? It's a train." Veronica quipped. "It's on a monorail."

Boone didn't respond. "Looks like we're going to have to back track."

"What for?" Six asked, limping towards them.

"Whoa, Boss. You look worse than I do."

"Thanks, Raul."

"The securitrons won't let us back in," Christine explained.

Six looked at the pack brahmin, momentarily distracted. "Wow. This everything?"

"Yeah," Boone said. "This armor," he gestured towards the advanced riot armor he was currently wearing, "And the power armor Veronica has on was also in the shipment."

Six observed Veronica's armor. "Nice…" then, back to Boone. "I hope there's another set of that in here." He began picking through the boxes.

"There is…quite a few sets of standard riot gear. That's the gear with the dark brown dusters. And then there's this one…" Boone patted one of the boxes. "It's unique…never seen one like it. Must've been custom."

Six opened the wooden crate and peered inside. The riot armor in question had green armor, similar to Boone's. But the duster was much darker, nearly black. "Nice…now what's this about the securitrons?"

"They won't let us back on the Strip," Christine reiterated.

Six approached the gatekeeper. "These people are with me."

The screen on the securitron flickered, briefly showing an ellipse. Then the standard face reappeared. "Welcome to the Strip!"

"I think we're going to need help carrying all this up to my suite."

Again, an ellipse. Finally, "Yessir!"

Cass grinned. "That's a neat trick."

"House aims to please," Six laughed.

Back in the Lucky 38, the group began to rummage through the containers. "This is all NCR gear…." Six wondered aloud. "Something like this…in the wrong hands…"

"Yeah. My thoughts too. You want to explain that?" Boone asked.

"I wish I could," Six replied, thinking back to his conversation with Vulpes. A shipment like this would certainly make infiltrating the Dam much easier. "Take the crates into the dining room. Stack them along the back wall." He scooped up the armored set of riot gear and disappeared into the master bedroom.

"Why's he limping?" Veronica asked Cass.

"Long story. There was an incident at the Silver Rush."

"We saw," Boone cut in. "That was Six?"

"No. He got caught in the blast though."

Six emerged from the bedroom. "Well? How do I look?"

Cass looked at him…red beret, lucky shades, riot gear with a black duster. He'd attached his canteen to the belt of the riot gear – sterling silver, wrapped in a blue material with a large "13" stitched into the front. Then she looked at Boone…red beret, shades, riot gear with a light brown duster. She laughed at the sight. "You two trying to be twins?"

They looked each other up and down…then together: "No."

Cass laughed even harder.

"What's the plan for today, Boss?" Raul asked, emerging from the kitchen – Sunset Sarsaparilla in hand.

"Don't know…Swank said he'd send word when Benny got back. We could check out the Strip. The Tops has a theater."

"Ooh!" Veronica grinned. "Let's go check out the theater!"

Boone shook his head. "You all go ahead. I'm not big on the theater…"

"We could always check out the Thorn," Cass suggested.

"The Thorn?"

"Yeah, it's an underground thing…you go in, place bets on fights."

Six grinned. "Fights?"

"Yeah. All kinds of shit…deathclaws, geckos, night stalkers. Pretty intense."

Christine grimaced. "I don't think that's for me."

"We can go to the theater!" Veronica cheered.

"You going, Boone?" Six asked.

Boone shrugged. "May as well."

The electronic beep of Ed-E filled the air. Six looked at the floating eyebot. "Stay here."

Another beep, which gave Six the distinct feeling he had hurt the robots feelings. Was that even possible? Six sighed. "Vee?"

"Come with us little guy!"

The eyebot beeped triumphantly.

* * *

><p>"New Vegas has many faces! When the land hunts you, when fighting for survival is the norm!" The fiery woman's voice thundered throughout the sewer-turned-arena. "When death is the only assured fate, striking when it is expected least! Here is where we take destiny into our own hands! Here is where the strong make a name for themselves…and the weak are fed to the jaws of Hell! This is where we are able to strip away the chains of fate! Where we escape our bonds and choose the moment of death against the will of destiny! This is the Thorn!"<p>

The crowd roared in response.

"Certainly charismatic, isn't she?" Cass laughed.

Six grinned and turned to Boone. "There you go, Boone. She's perfect for you. She talks enough that you'd never have to."

Boone grunted but didn't speak.

"In this arena your neighbors become either saviors…or enemies! The Thorn awakens us to truth! The land, like its people, does not care about petty squabbles of lesser men! It recognizes only strength and blood! Our Blood! We have overcome even the strongest beasts of the wasteland! We live to transcend our limitations! Our land is harsh and hostile…our lives cheap and fragile! Still we persevere! The Thorn demonstrates, beyond any doubt, that we are masters of our own fate!"

Again the crowd burst into roars.

"Who among you tonight will face the trials of the Thorn! The Thorn is our master! It demands a tribute of blood! Who among you tonight has what it takes to prove themselves in blood!?"

"That's your cue, isn't it Boss? To go romping about playing hero?"

Six shot Raul a caustic pseudo-smile. He grinned in return.

A brawny man in dark metal armor stepped from the crowd – his cold eyes glaring from behind a pre-war motorcycle helmet, with horns fastened to the sides and a metal faceplate on the front. The man raised his hands high above his head and he traversed the catwalks towards the woman – the crowd bellowed louder than Six thought possible.

"The Duke has risen!" The fiery woman announced. "And what will his victim be today!? A group of geckos!? Night stalkers!? Cazadors!?"

The Duke leaned in and quietly conversing with the woman. Her face lit up with excitement!

"A rare treat indeed! The Duke has elected to go head to head with a creature fierce enough to rival the Mojave's own deathclaws! Imported all the way from Zion! The Duke will confront a yao guai in close quarters combat!"

The Duke trekked down stairs behind the woman, he stopped briefly behind a gate to observe a table. On that table was a variety of weaponry, though Six couldn't make out what everything was. But, the man emerged into the arena wielding a makeshift blade joined with a rusted tank on his back. He turned a vivid blue valve, immediately enveloping the blade in flame. He thrust the blade into the air. The crowd began to chant – "Duke! Duke! Duke!"

"This guys even more popular than you, Boss."

One of the steel gates began to crank open – a metallic shriek filled the air, rivaling the intensity of the crowd. The Duke stood in the center of the arena and watched the gate. From it emerged a single yao guai.

The creature immediately charged, leaping at the Duke for a killing blow. The Duke rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding what would surely have been a fatal mauling. He dug the blade deep into the creatures thigh. It howled – a vociferous and terrifying sound, then backhanded the man, sending him across the arena and into the wall. He was back on his feet in an instant. He charged the creature and heaved the blade upwards in a skyward slash – it easily parried the attack with its monstrous claws and grasped his arm within its mouth. It shook him furiously and slung him aside. It went in for another attack lifting him, but the Duke wouldn't have it. He jammed the searing blade into its shoulder. It snarled reared away. Then, it charged him, pinning him to the ground.

"Game over, man! Game over!" Someone from the crowd shouted.

But not on this day. The Duke placed his boot firmly in the creatures stomach and kicked away into a back roll. As he did, he erupted with another upward arc. This time the blade hit its mark – the creature stood on its hind legs and roared. Blood began to trickle from its neck and stomach. Then more profusely…its intestines spilled out onto the floor as it collapsed at the Duke's feet. The Duke cocked his head to the side and placed a boot on its neck, then drove the blade through its head; ending the creature's suffering.

Again the crowd erupted into chanting – "Duke! Duke! Duke!"

The Duke thrust his fist into the air victoriously, then again, and again. A group of men in jumpsuits scurried from one of the arena entrances, dragging the yao guai's corpse away. Six's gut sank as the Duke locked eyes with him. He brought one hand up to his neck, thumb extended. Then he made a slow slicing motion around his throat.

Six swallowed uneasily.

"Ladies and gentleman! Ghouls and ghoulettes! We have our winner!"

Cass jumped and cheered with excitement – provoking a wave of resentment in Six.

"Who among you will follow that performance?!"

Six stepped forward. "I will."

The Duke grinned under his mask, Six was sure of it.

The fiery woman eyed Six, her very gaze seducing him. "We have a newcomer! And who are you, dear Hunter?"

"Six."

"Six! I am Red Lucy! Mistress of the Thorn! The rules are simple! You fight for our pleasure, for my pleasure! Interference will not be tolerated! Offend me, and I will gut you where you stand!"

"Simple enough."

The woman smiled. "So tell me, dear Hunter! What death wish would you have?"

"Deathclaw."

Cass shot Six a glare. "What the fuck, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Red Lucy's face lost its enthusiasm. "Hunter. The Thorn aims to please, but it does not permit iniquitous contests. I will not permit an unproven warrior to stride unto his death."

The crowd jeered in response to her verdict.

"However!" She called out above the crowd. "However! The Thorn requires new specimens! Travel to the gorge above Red Rock Canyon! Collect cazador eggs and return here! Then I will appease your demands!"

The group began making their way to the surface. "I don't know, Boss. Walking into a nest of hungry hornets doesn't seem like a good idea to me. But, what do I know?"

"We'll be fine," Six told him, his voice deceivingly calm.

"So what's the plan?" Boone asked flatly.

Six chewed his lower lip. "You know…I really didn't think this through…"

"No shit," Cass spat. "What are you trying to prove anyway? And after that explosion? Your leg's barely had time to heal!"

"I can move it well enough."

"I can move my old creaky joints too, Boss. I wouldn't crawl into that arena with a deathclaw though."

"Nobody's asking you to, Raul." Six looked at Boone. "Do you think fire will have the same affect on them that it does deathclaws?"

"Not sure."

Six took a breath and rubbed the back of his head.

"I have an idea, Boss. What if we tune a sensor module to the frequency of a detonator…attach it to a fire extinguisher."

"The cold will drive them away?"

"No, Boss. We'll fill the fire extinguisher with chlorine…it'll kill'em dead."

Cass rolled her eyes. "And just where do you expect us to get chlorine?"

* * *

><p>"Welcome to Mick and Ralph's! We have stuff we're not even supposed to sell, people!"<p>

Six eyed the young boy. "You're sure they have it here, Raul?"

"They have everything here, Boss."

The inside of the store was rather substandard – for the most part it seemed to consist primarily of junk and otherwise useless items. The man behind the counter greeted them. "Hello there! I'm Ralph. If you're looking to buy weapons or ammunition, go see my associate in the back. If you're looking for general supplies, I'm your man."

"I've got a few things in mind…I need a…a bit of chlorine. A fire extinguisher. And a sensor module."

Ralph raised a brow. "That's a curious selection friend. What do you need those items for?"

"I don't know if you've heard about the Lucky 38…"

"About a group of people being allowed access? I've heard."

"We're that group. Renovating it for Mr. House…he's having a pool installed in the courtyard out behind it. Chlorine's for the pool. Fire extinguishers are a necessity for any public establishment."

"And the sensor module?"

"We have a few construction protectrons. Could actually use all the sensor modules you have…for repairs."

The man eyed them suspiciously.

"We could always take our business elsewhere," Cass chimed in. "I'm sure the Crimson Caravan will have what we need."

"No, no." Ralph raised his hands in submission. "Your money's good here."

Cass shot him a cynical smile.

* * *

><p>Six peered over the ridge at the beasts darting back and forth with incredible speed. These are why we don't have giant mutated spiders, he thought to himself.<p>

"You're sure this is going to work?"

"Sure I'm sure, Boss." Raul made some final adjustments to the device. "I do this kind of thing _all the time_."

"Sarcasm is an unattractive quality, Raul."

"Then it's a good thing I don't want you to bed me, Boss…and here it is." Raul reached him the bomb. "Flip this switch to arm it…toss it down there. Detonate it whenever you're ready."

"Where'd you learn how to do this?" Boone asked.

"Oh, I'm a walking encyclopedia. Chalk full of knowledge. Now…after you detonate that, we're going to have to let the gas clear out before we go in."

Six peeked over the ridge once more, then – with all his strength – he chucked the bomb into the cazador nest. The creatures immediately began to swarm what they perceived to be an intruder. Six let them gather round it…then detonated it. The bomb exploded with a thunderous crash. The group watched as – one by one – the cazadores began to drop.

When enough time had passed, the group cautiously made their way down the ridge. Six began breaking open nests, tucking eggs into his pouch. "How many do you think we need?"

"How much do you want to impress her?" Cass sneered.

"Not doing it to impress _her_," Six shot back.

"Uh…Boss. Take a look at this."

Six followed Raul's gaze. Underneath one of the nests, tucked away and out of reach of the cazadores was a nightkin. Clad in a summer hat, yellow gardening gloves, stitched together overalls with a medkit, thermos, and gardening tools attached at the waist. The nightkin was breathing…albeit shallow, but alive nonetheless.

"Let's see if we can get it out of there," Six suggested. He and Boone crawled into the crevice and began to, very slowly, pull the mutant out. They had nearly gotten it out of the fissure when the nightkin awoke and immediately began to scramble back into it. Alarmed, Six and Boone backed out.

"No!" The mutant was panicked. "Not out there!"

"Whoa, whoa…take it easy. We're here to help."

"Jimmy! Oh Jimmy, how good of you to come to the aid of your dear old grandma!" The nightkin rushed out from the fissure and scooped Six up. "Give grandma some kisses!"

Six pushed away, "Hey! Hold on there…I think you have me confused with someone else!"

The nightkin stopped and examined Six. "Oh…of course I do, dearie. How silly of me. Forgive me. I haven't taken my meds today."

Six brushed himself off. "No worries…" he looked at the creature. "You have a name?"

"Of course I do, silly! My name is Lily."

"Lily…what are you doing here?"

"I was on my way to Jacobstown…but I got side tracked…watching Bighorners. They're such gentle creatures!"

"Right…well, how about we get you to Jacobstown?"

"Oh, thank you Jimmy! Grandma loves you!"

Six furrowed his brow. "Yeah…it's no problem…grandma…"

* * *

><p><em>That's it for this chapter. Two chapters to go until Through Hardships and Sorrows. I'm pretty excited about it...Joshua Graham is just around the corner. Also...the site has added a feature that lets you see the covers to the story in larger resolution if you click on the cover in story. So if you head to the top, I've uploaded a better picture so you can see the cover for 18 Karat Run (drawn by my nephew). It's not in its full resolution glory. But for that, you can check out his deviantart account, the link is in my profile.<em>

_I was hesitant to have Six get so severely injured...but I decided that through the use of Hydra, an autodoc, and the PHEONIX Monocyte Breeder, I could allow him to get banged up a bit. Don't expect too many super severe injuries though. I mean...it's not often you see someone get batted around by a helicopter blade and live to tell the tell. And, speaking from very personal experience, if you have a severe break (crippled limb), especially like a leg...you're not going to be hobbling around on it. I want to try to maintain at least a mostly realistic tone with injures...so no surviving headshots or missile launchers. That's just the way it goes.  
><em>

_Also...I was discussing with my nephew the idea of a New Vegas movie. Who would play the roles? Now, I know it's never going to happen...and I know a lot of people would be against it...but it's just fun speculation. For Boone, we decided it'd have to be Jason Statham. I mean, it's pretty much perfect. For Graham...Keifer Sutherland. Raul would definitely be Danny Trejo. Veronica...Felicia Day (who does her voice and looks a bit like her to boot). House...Hugh Laurie just for laughs. Anthony Hopkins would make a wonderful Caesar. Michael Hogon for Doc Mitchell, definitely. Benny would be Matthew Perry. But what about other characters? Christine? Cass? Dean Domino? The King? Vulpes? Sunny Smiles?  
><em>

_Of course, you're entitled to disagree with me on any of my casting. But who would you cast? I'm curious. Anyone who cares to leave a comment on it, have at it. The best cast gets a cookie. Or, at the very least, an honorable mention in one of my pre-story rants.  
><em>


	20. Chapter 19: Heartache By The Number

_And here's chapter 19. I've already gotten my ranting out of my system...so I'll not waste any time. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>"Oh no, no thanks, Boss. I'm in no mood to go waltzing back into another super mutant camp."<p>

"Come on, Raul. You don't have anything to worry about. This was the guy that broadcasts the original signals that brought you to Black Mountain to begin with."

Raul shook his head. "Nope. No thanks."

Six shrugged. "Suit yourself. Guess you can head back home."

Raul stopped, placed a hand on the back of his neck and sighed. "Let's go then."

They followed Lily back to the main road – the entire way, she babbled on about her grandchildren; little Jimmy and Becky. Six, for the most part, ignored the…old woman…if she could be called that.

Before long, they stood outside the gate to an old pre-war resort.

"Ah…Lily. Wandered off again, have you?"

"Leo wanted to go for a walk."

"Did he now?" The mutant turned towards the group. "Thank you for bringing Lily back to us. Welcome to Jacobstown. I'm Marcus…I more or less run things here. Feel free to walk around…just…don't stare at the nightkin, they don't like it. And if you're NCR, keep it to yourself."

Boone narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong with being NCR?"

"Nothing. Lot of bad blood between mutants and humans. Goes back years…some here still have the scars and memories to prove it. I don't really have a problem with the NCR…they tend to set their sights a little too high. A little too ambitious…but they try. Legion on the other hand…well, that's another story."

Boone half smiled.

"Never thought I'd say it, but you and old Boone here might have a lot in common," Six laughed.

Marcus shrugged. "It's the truth. Caesar thinks he can change human nature. Most of the Legion is following Caesar himself…not his ideals. When he's gone…it'll crumble. Human nature will see to it…greed, ambition, jealousy."

"I know someone you'd get along with just fine," Six said, thinking back to the nightkin he'd left at the Sierra Madre. "Nice set up you have here."

"This old place? Yeah…was a resort prewar. I found it…turned it into a mutant establishment. Figured we mutants needed a place to call our own. Named it after an old friend…died a long ti…"

A shot rang out, pelting the sign near the resort. Six, and his group, instinctively dove to the ground. The mutants just stood there.

"Hell…not these guys again."

Six stood, dusting himself off. "What the fuck's going on?"

"The town's far enough from everything that humans don't bother us much…but we've been having a problem with NCR mercs harassing our town. They never do anything much…kill a bighorner now and then, shoot at the lodge, that sort of thing. But it's getting hard to keep people from retaliating."

"How do you know they're NCR?" Boone asked, looking down the road at the group.

"Guess I don't…but, whoever they are, they want us dead or gone."

"Why don't you just take them out?" Cass inquired. "I mean, surely you all can handle yourselves."

"We're not looking for a fight. Don't want to do anything that'll give the NCR an excuse to come up here and wipe us out."

"I could have a word with them," Six suggested.

Marcus contorted his face with a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction. "You are human…they might be willing to listen to what you have to say…maybe."

"Alright then…let's go."

"Hold on…just you. You take all these people with you, they might confuse that for a hostile action. I'm not asking you to kill them…just talk them into leaving. Hell, pay them off if you have to."

"Well…I'm not going alone," Six turned to the group. "Stay here…Boone, you're with me."

Boone fell into step silently behind Six as he made his way to the group of mercs. They stood, chatting amongst each other and laughing as they watched the duo approach them.

"Norton," Boone greeted the man that seemed to be leading the group.

"Boone," the man, Norton, returned his greeting. "Look, our business is with the muties, not you."

"You two know each other?" Six asked.

"Yeah," Boone replied. "Served together…before he was discharged. Dishonorable…overt aggressive behavior if I remember right."

Norton spit onto the ground, lip fat with coyote tobacco. "Just doing what I was paid to do…like I am now. We were hired to harass the muties until they leave or attack us. You go back and tell them that if they leave, we'll let them go."

"Hanlon send you? Crocker maybe? Know it wasn't Hsu."

"Won't give any names…but some mighty important folks high up are sick of muties attacking their brahmin herds..."

"Not these mutants," Six interjected.

"Not saying it is. Maybe this group had something to do with it…maybe they didn't. Doesn't matter. We're getting paid to make them go away."

Boone sneered. "I tell you what Norton…you and your boys go back down this mountain road. And maybe I won't put a bullet between your eyes."

"Not sure if you noticed, Boone, but we outnumber you three to one."

"So did the Legion at Cottonwood…I'm sure you heard how that went down."

Norton moved the chew back and forth in his mouth a moment then spit it out across the road. "I've always known when to fight and when to back down…seems to me that me and mine need to sit these one out. You won't see us around here again."

"Good," Six spat. "If we do, next time there won't be any negotiations."

The duo watched the mercs leave. They watched them until they were out of sight. Then they returned to Jacobstown. Marcus greeted them with a smile.

"Good…quite a team you have here. Glad you didn't kill them. Killing them would have only proven that we're blood-thirsty savages. If the NCR or anyone else is looking for an excuse to attack this settlement, they're not going to get it from us. You're welcome here any time." He looked amongst the group. "All of you."

The group started back down the mountain.

"Where to now, Boss?"

"Back to the thorn."

Cass shook her head. "It's getting late. The thorn will be closed by the time we get back."

"Back to Vegas then."

* * *

><p>"Good morning…" Six pressed his lips against Cass' forehead.<p>

"Morning," she smiled at him.

Six sat up and stretched. Cass followed suit. "I ran into someone at the Tops last night. A man named Jed Masterson. Proprietor of the Happy Trails trading caravan."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…they're stationed a little ways north of the Strip. In an old shack out by the northern passage. They're looking for investors. I told him you might be interested…if their company takes off, it'd mean a lot of profit."

Six nodded. "Sounds good. When do you want to go chat with him?"

"Whenever."

Six got out of bed and began to get dressed. Cass decided to bathe first. Six wandered out into the lobby…Raul was sleeping on the couch. "Hey. Old timer…"

Raul opened one eye.

"Cass and I are going out. Go take our bed."

"I'm okay, Boss."

"Go on now."

Raul grudgingly made his way into the bedroom. Six sat on the couch and waited. Once Cass was ready, they departed.

The trip to the northern passage wasn't short…but it wasn't eventful either. They arrived at just past noon. A dark-skinned man greeted them in front of the shack.

"Howdy friend! You're the fella Cass told me about?"

"Yeah."

"Please, step into my office."

Cass and Six followed him into the building, up some stairs, and into a small room. A lone desk sat in the middle and filing cabinets lined one wall.

"What can you tell me about your company, Mr. Masterson?" Six asked.

"We're a small company out of Sac-Town, up in the northern part of the NCR. Run some business through New Reno, there on the 'Little Loop". Had a nice run to Salt Lake too…but that was before we lost contact with New Canaan."

"I take it that was bad for business?"

"Without New Canaan's mission in Zion…there's only two ways to Salt Lake City. One's up t old I-80, which – after the Desert Rangers assimilation into the NCR Rangers – hasn't been too safe. Not enough man power to keep the raiders off, what with the conflict here in the Mojave. The other path is up through Ogden…and that's just too far. We'd lose more in travel expenses than we'd ever earn."

"So, what your telling me is your business is going under?"

"Well, that's the point of this expedition. And where you come in. If we can make contact with the New Canaanites in Zion, the Happy Trails company has hope yet. With your contribution, we hope to reestablish contact. You'd be reimbursed, of course. And you'd receive revenue for any further trading with New Canaan, in Zion, and in Salt Lake."

Six tapped his fingers on the desk. "Well…I'll let you discuss the specifics with Cass here. She's the master trader. I'm going to have a look around."

"Help yourself."

Six explored the building. On the ground floor he found a game room, a billiard table and a juke box. A couple of, what he assumed to be employees, were playing a game of pool. Six watched them quietly.

"Hello there," the woman smiled. "Name's Stella. You looking to give Jed his funding?"

"Thinking on it," Six responded. He extended his hand. "Six." She shook it lightly.

"You certainly look like you can handle yourself…you might do this caravan some good."

"Oh, I can handle myself alright. I don't intend to tag along though. Just here for the funding."

"Shame," Stella said, smiling at him. "I'd have enjoyed your company."

Six grinned. "How'd you end up here?"

"Jed hired me on as a caravan guard for this expedition of his…the work suits me well enough. I'v never been fond of staying in one place too long. It never works out."

"I have a friend that's the same way."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Where you from, Stella?"

"Grew up in Reno."

"Really? Me too."

She looked him up and down. "Don't recognize you."

Six grimaced.

"That's not a bad thing. It just means you weren't part of the scumbag crime families enforcers. Or high up in their ranks."

"I was a courier, actually."

"Ah. I don't think I could've put that snakepit behind me fast enough, to be honest. The scuzz factor there is off the charts. Make trouble and you wind up buried in Golgatha. Surprised you're still kicking."

"Me too."

She smiled.

Cass appeared at the doorway. "You ready?"

"Get everything worked out?"

"More or less."

"What's that mean?" Six turned to Stella and gave her a nod then fell into step beside Cass.

"All but the price. Masterson's not budging…it's a bit steep."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand."

"Are you serious?"

Cass didn't respond.

"Jesus, that's insane."

"I told him we'd have to think about it."

"Is that for full ownership?"

"Nope. Only for revenues pulled in from Salt Lake and New Canaan."

"Fuck that. That's insane."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed.

"You want it?"

"It'd kinda be nice to get back into the caravanning business."

Six sighed. "I'll think about it…I mean, we already gave one of the gold bars to the followers for their help after the explosion. I only have five left. We need to use them sparingly."

"This would only be one more…"

Six grimaced. "I don't know, Cass. It could be a scam…"

"It seems legitimate enough to me."

"We'll talk about it later. Let's go get everyone, and head on back to the Thorn."

* * *

><p>"Welcome back, Hunter. What news do you bring the Thorn?"<p>

Six dropped his bag at Red Lucy's feet. "Your eggs."

She peered into the sack. "Excellent. We will nurture these eggs to ensure the creatures give blood to the Thorn. You've certainly proven yourself a capable hunter. This pleases the Thorn. And me. You shall have your request."

Six looked up at Cass, standing between Raul and Boone, hand clasped over her mouth – face bent with worry. Then, he looked back at Lucy – her eyes practically burning into his soul. She smiled pleasantly at him. "Your trial awaits you. You may use only those items which the Thorn provides."

Six felt as though he had lost control of his body – he wanted….no, he needed to do as the woman commanded. He made his way into the arena; where he was going in to fight a deathclaw. His stomach sank at the notion.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The man before you today is going to attempt what no person in the history of the Thorn has done before!"

The crowd erupted in cheers.

"He will do battle with a deathclaw! Close quarters combat!"

Another flurry of cheers.

Before the gate, he once again saw the table laid out with weaponry. Only melee weaponry. A black handled stainless steel axe; a maple baseball bat with nails driven through it; a t-junction pipe cudgel; a steel pole attached to a nuka-cola sign; a rusted super-sledge; a bumper-turned-blade fashioned to an exhaust pipe…amongst other things. Six swallowed…he'd been hoping for the flaming weapon that the Duke had been permitted to use. After all…deathclaws are afraid of fire. Unfortunately, no such weapon was in sight. Six examined the weapons on the table…as tempting as the massive super-sledge was, he knew he would never be able to properly wield it. Instead, he elected to take the axe.

Six stepped into the arena to the roars of the crowd.

"I give you, Six – The Elite Hunter!"

Six took a breath and turned to his right. His nemesis stood in wait, gripping the bars of the gate…waiting for it to unlock. And it did…the gate slid open and the creature stood back. Waiting. When the gate had opened enough, it charged him. Time seemed to slow down when it leapt at him – he stumbled backwards and clumsily swung the axe. The creature batted it away with little effort and grasped Six by his waist. It pulled him close, the foul smell of its breath enveloping his lungs. It lifted him into the air and slammed him against the ground, then chucked him aside.

"It's toying with him," Raul pointed out.

Cass turned away, burying her head into Boone's chest.

He shook his head, "They've trained it to entertain."

In the arena, the deathclaw was like a cat toying with a mouse. It backhanded him, it threw him. The only thing it didn't do was use its massive claws. Six felt sick…his insides were twisting in agony. He wanted to vomit. He fought back hard, but his efforts were fruitless. The creature grabbed him by his neck and slammed him hard against the ground. Then it stepped forward, placing a foot on his chest. It sniffed him, a low, guttural growl emanating from its being. Then it roared – bits of saliva shot from its mouth and lathered across Six's face. Six stretched his arm out…his fingers brushing against the handle of the axe. It raised its hand high in the air. Six grasped the axe's handle…it brought its hand down and Six swung hard, catching the deathclaw's wrist. It's hand toppled to the ground. It stumbled off him, roaring furiously. It leaped at him, he ducked to the side and brought the axe down into its spine. It collapsed, unable to move its legs. Still, it was relentless – crawling towards him. Pulling itself with its one massive hand. Six stepped around it, cursing under his breath. He raised the axe into the air and brought it down, pick first, burying the spike into the deathclaw's skull. He pulled the axe out and stumbled backwards, then looked up at the crowd, all cheering his name.

The gate behind him crept open. The Duke – still wielding his flaming blade – stepped into the arena.

"Ladies and gentleman! A challenger finally worthy of the Duke!" Lucy bellowed above the crowd.

"What?" Cass yelled. "You can't do that! He can barely stand!"

Lucy smiled at her. "The Thorn demands blood!"

The Duke charged Six, ramming his spiked shoulder into Six's own. Six dropped the axe as he flew to the ground with a thud. The Duke charged him, slamming the blade into the ground over and over as Six rolled frantically out of the way.

Boone scowled. "To hell with this…"

The blade caught Six's arm, searing his flesh.

Boone hopped from the catwalk into the arena. The guards immediately took aim at him. Lucy raised a hand – "Stop!"

The guards did as they were commanded.

Lucy cheered – "Two challengers for The Duke!"

Boone rushed the Duke, bowie knife in hand. The Duke side stepped him and brought the hilt of his blade down onto the back of his head. Boone stumbled forward, but quickly regained composure. He turned back as the Duke rushed him. He dodged back and did a low seeping kick, knocking his opponent off his feet. Boone doubled back with a fierce kick – firmly hitting its mark in the Duke's gut. The duke rolled to the side and attempted to stand, but Boone grabbed the gas tank on his back and slung him headfirst into the wall. He hit with an immense thud and toppled to the floor, his helmet falling from his head. Boone lifted it, smashing it into the Duke's back...the horns pierced his flesh. The man cried out in pain and flipped around, grasping Boone's hand and pushing his foot into his chest. He tossed Boone into the wall behind him. He stood, fumbling for his blade…but it was nowhere to be seen. He followed the hose...

The blade was nestled in Six's hands. He rammed it deep into the Duke's chest. So far, it penetrated the tank on the Duke's back, engulfing him in flame. The Duke exploded in a shower of body parts and fluids - throwing Six to the floor. Boone was back on his feet now, he picked Six up off the floor and made his way to the exit – listening to the people chant as he made his way up the stairs. Lucy greeted him on the catwalk.

"You've indeed become the greatest hunter the Thorn has ever seen…" She said to Six. "The best I have ever seen. You've earned the honor of becoming part of this sacred ground. Before death takes us…I would know you deeper. Come see me again, my hunter."

* * *

><p>Back at the Lucky 38, Six collapsed in bed. He stretched out – full of pride and contentment.<p>

"What the hell were you thinking?" Cass practically yelled, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean? You could've gotten yourself killed!"

Six shrugged. "Didn't though, did I?"

"That's not the point and you know it! What were you trying to prove?"

Six shrugged.

"It was her, wasn't it? The woman? You wanted to impress her."

"I don't need to impress anyone."

"You're goddamn right you don't. So what the hell was this about?"

Six removed his beret and sat it on the nightstand. "What do you want me to say, Cass?"

"You're on a downward spiral…you have been ever since you talked to that psyker boy at the 188," She sat down next to him. "I want you to say you're finished."

"I can't do that, Cass," Six said matter-of-factly.

"So it's worth killing yourself over? This deranged sense of pride you have? Needing to prove yourself at every fucking turn?"

Six sighed.

"I know that's what it was. Don't try to deny it…"

"I'm not fucking denying anything. You want to know the truth? I'd wanted that admiration. The roar of that crowd. The way you cheered for that man after he slaughtered that yao guai. The way Red Lucy stared at him."

"Why?"

Six laughed. "There's not always a why, Cass. You just can't seem to understand that. Your daddy didn't have a reason for leaving, your mama didn't have a reason for dying. Sometimes shit just happens."

Cass fell silent. "I need some air…" she said finally. Six didn't respond. She let without another word.

* * *

><p>Six's dreams were plagued with nightmares again…images of Frieda, the minotaur, it carrying Cass off…his crimson flag taken by the raging bull. He awoke with a shutter. He made his way into the kitchen…finding Raul, once again, munching on grilled mantis.<p>

"Hey, Boss. Some mantis left over on the stove…"

"Do you ever sleep?"

Raul shrugged. "Sometimes."

Six opened the refrigerator, removing a bottle of scotch and proceeded to the stove. He sat across from Raul and picked at the mantis.

"Something wrong, Boss?"

"Lots of things are wrong, Raul."

Raul nodded in agreement. "Anything specific?"

"Got into a bit of a spat with Cass…"

"I know, Boss."

"You heard?"

"The entire Strip heard."

"That bad?"

"That bad…you know, Boss. When you have something you really care about, you shouldn't push it away."

"What makes you think I'm pushing her away?"

"Just a feeling, Boss. Any reason why?"

"At the 188…that psyker boy. He told me that a raging bull was going to take my crimson flag."

"Cass the crimson flag?"

"Looks that way. I don't want her to go…but if what he says is right, she's in danger around me. I figure…if she leaves, she'll be safe."

"I'm not so sure about all that voodoo stuff, Boss."

Six shrugged. "Maybe."

"You know…after the fire, my sister and I moved to Mexico City. We saw the rodeo there when she was younger. Rafaela always loved the vaqueros. We were young, didn't really understand what happened. Didn't understand that the bombs meant radiation. I don't think Mexico City was as hard hit as DC or Bakersfield, but it was bad enough. By the time we got there, the city was a radioactive ruin. Still, the city was full of looters. Crime was bad before the war, but after…" Raul shook his head. "We lived like scavengers…always looking for supplies. Food. Medicine for my burns. Then the radiation kicked in…turning me into the handsome devil you see before you today."

"Must've been pretty bad."

Raul chuckled. "You're a poet of understatement, Boss. But there were times it was worth it. I found an old novelty shop…decided to take a look around, see if I could find anything to wrap up my burns. There was this old vaquero outfit hanging on the rack pretty as anything in the world. I took it…not like anyone else needed it. I put it on and went back to our camp. Rafaela laughed for the first time since the bombs had fallen."

"You dressed up like a vaquero?"

Raul grinned. "The most dashing vaquero you ever did see. It was dangerous to dress up so noticeably though. I got into confrontation a lot…I had to protect Rafaela. Before long, I built up sort of a legend. Sometimes, it headed off trouble…but most of the time it just started more. Young guns looking to prove themselves against the legendary vaquero. Back then, my eyes were sharp and my guns were quick. Then the radiation sickness kicked in…Rafaela went out to find food one day. I thought she'd be okay…most of the raiders had moved on…but…" Raul swallowed. "She happened upon a group of raiders. I'm not going to tell you what they did to her, Boss…I don't imagine I have to. When I found her, I was only able to identify her because of this funny little scar she had on her knee…"

Six didn't know what to say…so he didn't. He sat in silence.

"I'm sorry, Boss," Raul rubbed his eyes. "My point is…when you care about someone, you don't want to lose them. You need to be there for them. Maybe sending her off isn't the right course of action."

Raul stood and made his way into the suite's lobby and laid out across the couch. As Six passed him to return to the master bedroom, Raul spoke. "But…Maybe it is. Goodnight, Boss."

* * *

><p>He admired the curve of her body. The fierce crimson of her hair. She lay in bed, looking up at him with eyes full of lust and passion. Back arched in a way that made his body ache.<p>

He pulled the nightwear off, over her head and caressed her body. She moaned softly with every stroke of his hands on her bare flesh.

She smiled at him tenderly, her eyes igniting a fire deep inside of him.

It was in this moment that the worries of his past, the seriousness of the argument between him and Cass slipped away.

He stood, looking down at her, watching every movement of her body. Taking everything in.

"Come lay with me…My Hunter."

* * *

><p><em>The next chapter will be posted later this week...and by next week, we'll be in Zion. This is what I've been waiting on.<em>

_Until next time!  
><em>


	21. Chapter 20: RingADing

_So, this chapter would have been posted earlier...but I revised it and revised it...hopefully I've caught all the errors. But even if it hasn't, I have faith that this chapter will be riveting enough. It's a long one...so brace yourself._

* * *

><p>Cass tapped the bar, "Shot of whiskey, please."<p>

"That all for you, sweetheart?" The bartender asked.

Cass nodded.

The bartender reached under the bar and withdrew a shot glass, then turned to the shelves behind him. He eyed the selection before finally settling on a bottle and poured her shot. He brought it to her and leaned across the bar.

"What brings you to the Tops?"

She downed the shot in a single, swift drink. "Another, please."

The bartender eyed her sympathetically.

"Getting wasted isn't going to make your problems go away, ya know…"

"Another."

With a sigh he filled her glass.

"Leave the bottle."

"Suit yourself, kid." He sat the bottle down and wandered down the bar, serving other customers.

Cass downed her tenth…twelfth?...shot of the night.

"Hey, baby doll. You owe me a drink."

Cass turned to a man in a red pinstripe suit. "Why?"

"When I saw you, I dropped mine."

"Save your words, ass hole," Cass spat at the man. "I'm in no mood to be hit on."

He sat at the bar next to her.

"Whoa, baby," he grinned. "Don't be so quick to judge. I've no ill intent. What I meant was…the last time I saw a woman drink like that, she needed a friend to talk to."

"I have enough friends, thank you very much."

"Do you? Cause I don't see any." The man tapped the bar and the bartender shuffled over to him.

"What can I get you?"

"Scotch, on the rocks. And get the young lady here something to snack on..."

"I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can, baby cakes. But free is always good, you dig?"

Cass shrugged.

"Anything in particular? Let me guess…you're a trail mix kinda girl…"

Cass shrugged.

"You have trail blazer written all over you, sweetheart."

She fought back a smile.

"Hop to it, daddy-o. I'm not getting any younger."

The bartender poured his drink and scurried off.

"So what's on your mind, doll? Gotta be some reason you're knocking back enough hard alcohol to power a Repconn rocket."

Cass felt a lump gathering in her throat…the more she thought about _him_ the more she wanted to punish _him_. To punish herself. "I'd really rather not talk about it."

"Some would be cool-cat treating you wrong? Pretty thing like you…you'll kick back. Ain't nothin' in the world slow you down."

Again, she shrugged.

"I've never had much luck on that playing field either, ya know?" The man took a breath. "Hell, last swing I had was with some broad I had working on a piece of tech I have stowed away. We'd done a bit of drinking, see? She regretted it soon after…"

Cass frowned. "I get drunk enough, I don't care who I end up in bed with."

"That an invitation, sweetheart? Cause a man would have to be insane to turn down that face. If I had a cap every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd have one cap."

Cass smiled despite herself. The man had a certain swagger about him…even if we was an insufferable ass.

The bartender returned with the trail mix, sitting it before Cass. She picked through it.

"So tell me…is this conversation going to go anywhere or am I going to have to lie to my boys?"

* * *

><p>She awoke in a room she didn't recognize next to a man she could barely remember meeting. He smiled at her, genuinely, and pulled the cover up over her. "Can I get you anything, doll?"<p>

"What time is it?"

"Almost three…you were pretty out of it. Seriously though…anything at all? Breakfast in bed? I own the joint…so the sky's the limit."

"You…own the joint?"

The man smiled. "Yeah, love." He stood and made his way to a nearby set of wardrobes and pulled out a suit…a white and black checkered suit.

Cass felt her stomach sink. "Oh…shit." She scrambled to her feet. "I have somewhere I have to be…"

The man smiled at her. "Please. Allow me the pleasure of walking you out."

* * *

><p>Six stretched out and watched the matron of the Thorn dress herself. He found himself admiring her beauty all over again.<p>

"In a rush?" He gave the bed next to him a pat.

Red Lucy smiled. "The Thorn waits for no one, Hunter."

"Not even for me?"

"Not even for you," She cooed. "You can see yourself out, can't you?"

"I think I can manage. We'll have to do this again sometime."

Red Lucy chuckled softly. "You were good, Hunter. But I never bed the same beast twice…" She slipped the weathered duster over her shoulders. "On the dresser...the camouflaged shotgun? Consider it a parting gift. Farewell, Hunter."

Six raised a brow as the woman left him in the room. "Well…" he muttered under his breath. "That's what it feels like to be on the other side of that fence." His mouth curled into a frown. "Hm…"

Outside the Thorn, the sun was rising into the sky…it was still early. He began the long trek back to McCarran…no sense in walking to Vegas when McCarran had a perfectly good monorail.

It was late in the afternoon before he was back on the Strip. With a yawn, he wandered out onto the balcony of the Vegas Boulevard Station. He found himself looking at the Tops…"Kinda looks like a…big…toilet bowl…" he thought out loud.

He began down the station stairs and towards the Lucky 38…something caught his eye. Coming out of the Tops at a leisure stroll was a familiar face.

"Fancy meeting you here," a distinct English accent filled the air.

"Dean," Six smiled. "Made it to Vegas in one piece, I see."

"Yeah…not all it's chalked up to be. Pre-war…this place…" Dean laughed. "You wouldn't believe."

"I'll take your word for it. What brings you to the Strip?"

"Used to have my name in lights…a star on the walk of fame. Time to recapture some of that glory…"

"I take it you're an act at the Tops now?

"An? No. _The_ act, old chap."

"I'm looking to make a name at the Tops myself…as soon as the big cheese gets back, I aim to _negotiate my contract_."

"Gets back? Cheeky bastard watched my act the other night. Gave the theater director hell."

"Is that so?" Six thoughtfully stroked his chin.

"Well, if you'll excuse me old boy…I'm headed to the Gomorrah."

Six raised a brow.

"I still have…needs." Dean cast him a wry grin, slipped his shades on and sauntered towards the Gomorrah.

Though he had to admit he could have gone without that image, he decided to set his sights on the Tops. Six briskly walked towards the casino. He casually pushed the door open and stepped inside. Swank greeted him with a plastic smile. "Hey hey!" Swank pushed past the door guards to personally welcome Six into the casino. "How's it swinging, daddy-o?"

"Cut the shit," Six spat. "I know he…"

Then he saw him. Benny…trotting around the stairs, flame under his arm. A flame that Six recognized…

Cass.

"Mother…" Six started towards Benny. Swank attempted to step between them.

"Whoa whoa! I'm gonna have to confisca…"

But Six pushed him aside, sending him toppling over the counter.

Benny's eyes widened when he saw Six approaching.

"What in the goddamn…" Benny's arm fell off of Cass and he slinked behind his armed guards. "We gotta problem boys!"

Six stepped towards him, index finger jabbing the air in front of him.

"You and I are going to have some words…"

Cass's stomach coiled…she wasn't sure who he was talking to…Six wasn't sure who he was talking to either. The tension was thick between them…not a soul on the planet couldn't feel it.

Benny broke the uncomfortable silence. "Hello! Let's keep this on the groove, baby…real smooth like. The guy that went into the Lucky 38…that was you?"

Six's eyes were ablaze. He didn't answer.

"How are you even still standing?"

"Let's chalk it up to luck."

"Luck is for losers, baby…someone pulled the strings. House?"

Again, Six held his tongue.

"So House was on me from the word 'Go'?" Benny cursed under his breath. "I thought I was flying under the old man's radar…"

"He wants the chip, Benny."

"Ease off the gas, pally. Possession is nine-tenths of the law! The chip belongs in the hands of someone who knows what they're doing with it."

Six shrugged. "I couldn't give a rat's ass about the chip, Benny. I want you dead."

Benny smiled. "Baby, you didn't come here for vengeance! Else you'd be shooting already! You came to get clued in!"

"No," Six shook his head. "I'm pretty certain I came to mount your head on my wall."

"Please, listen pal. This is how it is…See these men? They're called body guards…and everyone one of them is packing. Me too…" Benny pulled open his jacket, flashing a familiar silver pistol. "So baby makes five. Add to that every Chairman in this joint is armed…I don't care how lucky you are, you're not going to walk out of here alive."

"That might be the case…but I'd get a shot off on you before they took me down. And, unlike you, I won't miss."

"I hit what I was aiming for…looks like you had some brains to spare. Anyway…you've got a crazy drop on me here baby, that's for sure. If killing me is what you came for…this would be the time to do it. But baby…" Benny opened his arms wide. "You'd be disappointing me."

Six found his hand resting on his magnum.

Benny's smile turned into a frown. "Look…I don't want to have to play the bad guy here. Honestly…I'll sleep much better at night knowing you're alive. I felt bad about that…I really did…" He withdrew his 9mm and buried under Cass's chin. "But I gotta plan…see? And I'm not about to let some blood-thirsty mongrel sink this ship."

Six scowled. "Leave her out of this…this is between you and me."

"I can't do that baby, and you know it. There's a lot at stake here…a lot of angles to this caper, and complexities a plenty. But the comps are sweet and there is plenty enough for the both of us. What say you and me cash out? Go somewhere more private like…hell, I'll comp you the presidential suite. Give you a taste of the VIP lifestyle. Any questions you got…I'm the man with the plan, baby."

"What?"

"You heard me. You help me and before long the Chairmen will rule all of Vegas, dig? And we'll have the muscle to back it up. You'll get a sweet juicy cut of the action. I could use a man like you…for _special missions_, you dig? And I'd take this deal quick…" Benny pressed the pistol hard against her throat. "Cause it's not gonna be on the table long, and it's certainly better than the alternative."

Six let out a long breath, he was practically boiling. Finally he spoke, "What'd you have in mind?"

"Jackpot, baby! I knew we'd see eye to eye! Let's take this to the presidential suite. But…uh…first," he nodded to Swank. "Confiscate his weapons."

Benny and his goons escorted Six and Cass to the presidential suite. Benny stopped at the elevator. "Now look…I'm going to mosey around here for a bit. Make it like everything is business-as-usual. Then I'll head on up and we'll have a chat…"

Three of the armed guards nudged Six and Cass onto the elevator. It shut with a ding behind them. Benny turned to the remaining guard. "Listen…go get yourself a burp gun. Silenced, right? When I'm out of here, you put that cat on his back. For good."

* * *

><p>They found themselves in a locked bedroom within the presidential suite. Six paced the floor back and forth.<p>

Cass sat quietly on the bed.

"What the hell were you doing here? With _him_ of all people?"

Cass swallowed. "I didn't know…"

"What? That he was the one who fucking shot me? Was he going to send you to finish the fucking job?"

"No…"

"So what? You just saw him in the club and decided he'd be a good fuck?"

"No…"

"Please then. Enlighten me! Tell me what the fuck you were thinking!"

"I wasn't…"

"You're goddamn right you weren't. He could have fucking killed you out there! They're probably going to kill us…I could have put an end to all of this!"

Cass felt herself snap. "And then what?! You heard him. Those men would have mowed you down on the spot!"

"But this would have been over!"

"Is that what you want? Fuck the rest of the world as long as your goddamn quest for vengeance is fucking fulfilled!" Her breathing became erratic, bordering sobs. "Who gives a shit about everyone else, right?"

Six shook his head. "You know I'm not…"

"Bullshit! What the hell are you turning into? Huh? Where the hell is this hostility coming from?" Cass threw her arms up. "It sure as hell wasn't there when I met you at the Outpost! Or was it? Was it just some big fucking ploy?"

"No…I…"

"Got nothing to say now?" Cass scowled, shaking her head. "Fuck you, Six! I'm done!" She sat back on the bed, head buried in her palms. "I'm done."

Six wanted to reach out to her…but something caught his attention. Outside he heard the distinct, muffled sound of silenced gunfire. He stepped towards the door…a pool of blood seeped under it.

He reached for the knob…

It opened. One of Benny's guards stood with a silenced .22 sub-machinegun. Six instinctively stepped back, blocking Cass from view.

"You have naught to fear, courier."

Six eyed the man carefully.

"I am Alerio…of Ceasar's Legion."

"I'm supposed to be happy about that?"

"Yes. To show gratitude to the mighty Caesar for bestowing upon you the exceptional gift of his mark would be wise. My Lord requires your presence at his camp."

"I've got no interest…"

"Actually, you do. The man that you seek, Benny…has fled the Strip. And is likely making haste for Caesar's camp as we speak."

"Why the hell would he be going there?"

Alerio grinned. "The chip. There are two places that share the engraving. One is the Lucky 38…the other is a terminal in my Lord's camp on Fortification Hill."

"Aren't you Benny's guard? Why are you telling me this?"

"The mighty eyes of Caesar have been on you for a long time. I was instructed to await your arrival on the Strip…to ensure your safety, if necessary."

"And my gear?"

"I've made the necessary arrangements to have it returned to you…Seek a man calling himself Mr. Holdout near the Gomorrah. He has your gear."

Six quietly grasped Cass's hand, hesitantly leading her around the strange man. When they were on the elevator, Cass spoke.

"What are you going to do now?"

"First, I'm getting you the hell away from that Legion fuck…then I'm going after Benny."

Cass swallowed. "What will you do when you find him?"

"Whatever I have to."

* * *

><p>"By order of Caesar, all visitors must disarm and relinquish contraband upon entry into Fortification Hill."<p>

"…I was invited here."

"If you come in peace, then there is no reason to remain armed. You will not be harmed unless Caesar wills it."

Six quietly tucked his magnum into is trousers, under his duster. Then reached the gatekeeper his rifle and holorifle.

"All alcohol and chems – including stims – are strictly forbidden on the premises."

"You're kidding? I'm not carrying alcohol, and I don't use chems…but I need my stims. I suffered massive head trauma a while back."

"You're the courier that was shot by the profligate at Goodsprings?"

"The same."

"I know not why Caesar would wish to speak with a whelp who allowed himself to be so seriously wounded. I will allow you this exception. Be warned, you may be blessed with Caesar's mark…but if you attempt to share your medicine with anyone in the fort, you will be crucified."

"Understood."

"Caesar awaits you in his tent. Dale Barton will show you the way. You will be permitted to leave only after you speak with Caesar. Your belongings will be returned to you once you depart."

Six nodded to the man and turned to who he presumed to be Dale. The cheerful mustached man smiled at him. "Please, follow me."

Six fell into line behind him.

"So, you're the visitor the Legionnaires have been anticipating?" Dale began, "What brings you to Fortification Hill?"

"Came to speak with Caesar…"

"Ah. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him. Crossed paths with his Legate a while back."

"Legate?"

"Yeah, his second-in-command. Lanius is his name. The encounter was…unpleasant to say the least."

"Why's that?"

"He killed one of my pack brahmin simply because it was in his way."

"You're a trader? Part of the Crimson Caravan?"

"No, sir. I'm an independent trader out from Arizona."

"Do you do a lot of trading with the Legion?"

"They're my best customers. As long as you don't try to sell chems or alcohol in their territory, they'll treat you fair. Keep their roads protected, a helluva lot better than the NCR do. Most of the time I don't even have to travel with guards. And your profits are yours. They don't tax. That's Caesar's tent…" Dale pointed towards a tent in the middle of the encampment.

"Thanks for the escort, Mr. Barton."

"Please," Dale tipped his hat. "Call me Dale."

* * *

><p>"So. Here we are. I finally get to meet the courier who's accomplished so much…caused quite a stir up on the Strip. You're ambitious, aren't you?"<p>

"I guess you could say that."

"And you've directed those ambitions towards helping the NCR. Now you stand before me…a man feared for good reason…after assisting my enemy? Are you stupid?"

Six narrowed his eyes. "You guaranteed my safety."

"And you believed that? Really? _Really_? Because now I'm going to have my Praetorian hack you to pieces with their machetes for my amusement."

Six felt his hand sliding towards his pistol.

Caesar abruptly started laughing. Hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He turned to an aged man with salt and pepper hair and a matching beard standing at his side. "Did you see his face?" Then, back to Six. "Relax. I'm fucking with you. Do you know why I summoned you here?"

"I have no clue."

"A man nearly kills you…and your response is to track him across the entire breadth of the Mojave? You arrive on the strip…waltz into the Lucky 38 – which has been closed to the public for as long as anyone can remember – like someone left you a key under the doormat. You find this dog, Benny…and he flees the strip, whimpering like a little pup? Tail between his legs…" Caesar smiled. "When you set your mind to something, you get results. I like that."

Six didn't respond.

"So, Six…" Caesar paused, "That is what you call yourself?"

"Yes."

"Here is what I'm prepared to offer you…Benny's life."

"And what do you want in exchange?"

Caesar smiled. "You have access to the Lucky 38. The time is fast approaching when my Legion will assault the great dam. Before that happens, I want House knocked out of the game. It seems to me that you're the only one who can make that happen."

"Why would I do that?"

"Simple…Benny is _my_ prisoner…and I won't let you deal with him until you've dealt with me. But I'm not an unreasonable man. Let's just say that _you_ also have an interest in House's death."

Six narrowed his brow, slightly tilting his head to the side.

"When I take the Dam, New Vegas will fall soon afterwards. Vegas will become the capital of my territory…transforming the Legion from a nomadic, mobile army into a standing military force that protects its citizens, and the power of its dictator. Undoubtedly, I'll need men of particular…talent. Power. Wealth. You do this for me, and I'll see to it that you and yours are taken care of for the rest of your days."

Six cast his eyes to the ground, then brought them back up and met Caesar's gaze. "You have a deal."

"Excellent. Now…as a show of good faith…what would you have me do with this piece of shit?" He motioned towards Benny. "A duel, perhaps? Maybe you'd like to just execute him?"

Six turned his sights on Benny. "Your gatekeeper…he mentioned something about crucifixion."

Caesar smiled.

"Don't do that, baby!" Benny pleaded. "Not crucifixion! I could be up there days before they finally do me in!"

"Well?"

Six didn't skip a beat. "Do it."

"Make it happen men."

"I want this crucifixion to be special…plant him overlooking the lake. So I can have a look from time to time."

Caesar responded with a light nod. "It will be so." The aged man at Caesar's side grabbed Benny by his collar and proceeded to drag him out of Caesar's tent. Caesar fell in line behind him. "Please, walk with me."

Six followed suit.

"I have to hand it to him. He was determined…used some kind of old world stealth device to get across the river in a legion longboat."

"A stealth boy?"

Caesar shrugged. "Your reliance on technology is a weakness. I have eyes and ears all over the Mojave. And they function well enough without stealth fields. And they don't get caught. The device…ultimately failed him, ran out of juice once he got here. But he was a clever little shit. Dressed up like a Legionary."

"How'd he get caught?"

"That's the funny thing. See…he went through all the trouble to disguise himself, but he didn't change his hairstyle. To go through all that effort…and fail because of vanity…" Caesar laughed.

"Do you have any idea why he came to the fort?"

Caesar reached into a pocket and withdrew the platinum chip. "He was carrying this. Any idea what it is?"

"No, but I know that it'll get me an audience with House."

Caesar placed the chip into Six's hand.

"It shares an engraving with a set of doors in an old building here within the Fort. Benny tried to sell me a story about the chip's purpose…but Lucius," He motioned to the man dragging Benny along the rocky path. "He has a way of coaxing the truth out of captives."

"So Benny told you what it was for?"

"More or less. And my bet is that it has something to do with that bunker. There are a set of doors in that bunker…they can't be blasted, drilled, or pried open. I know because, all of that, I've tried. My bet is that this is the key."

"And what's down there?"

"Take care of House. When you get back, we'll find out."

Lucius began to tie Benny to a cross – Benny sobbed and begged for mercy the entire time. Another man began digging a hole, precariously close to the edge. Lucius grabbed a hammer and a set of railroad spikes.

"No!" Six objected. He turned to Caesar. "I don't want to risk him bleeding to death or dying from infection. I want him up there for a long time. Keep the son of a bitch hydrated and fed."

Caesar smiled wide. "You are a sick fuck, aren't you?" He turned to Lucius, "You heard the man. Tie him to it."

Lucius did as he was told.

"So…Caesar's Legion. That's an interesting name…"

"Imperial Rome was the model for the Legion. I chose it because it was foreign…alien. I'd seen what had become of the NCR's attempts to emulate the culture of pre-war America. Corruption and infighting. Rome, on the other hand, was a highly militarized autocracy that effectively integrated the foreign cultures it conquered. Dedicating its citizens to something higher than themselves…to the very idea of Rome itself. In Rome I found a template for a society with the ability and desire to survive. One that could prevent mankind from destroying itself again by establishing a new Pax Romana."

"…A Pax what?"

"Romana…" Caesar sighed. "It's a nationalist, imperialist, totalitarian, homogenous culture that obliterates the identity of every group it conquers. A society that focuses on long-term stability. The individual has no value beyond his utility to the state, whether as an instrument of war or production."

"Right…" Six shrugged. "Politics must not be my thing."

"Then it'll serve us well that I'm leading the Legion and not you."

"You say you absorb societies, is that what you did with the tribes you've conquered in Arizona?"

"And in parts of Colorado, Utah, and New Mexico."

"What makes you think you can take on the NCR?"

"The NCR's demise is inevitable. It's Hegelian Dialectics."

"…What?"

Caesar grimaced. "It's a philosophical theory…the kind you might encounter if you took the time to pick up a book now and then."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"How can I put this basically enough? The fundamental premise is to view history as a sequence of dialectical conflicts…with each beginning with a proposition – or thesis if you will – which inherently contains its opposite, or antithesis. The resolution of the conflict between those two components creates a synthesis…leaving behind common ideas and elements of each society, while eliminating the flaws."

"If the Legion is the thesis…the NCR is the antithesis."

"Right. The NCR has all of the problems of the ancient Roman Republic. Greed, corruption, infighting, extreme bureaucracy…and, just as with the ancient republic, it is only natural that a military force should rise to conquer and transform the NCR into a military dictatorship."

"Synthesizing your cultures."

"Yes."

"But what if one of the elements left behind is the desire for a democracy? Elected leadership as to avoid oppression?"

"You think democracies eliminate oppression?" Caesar laughed. "Did you know that Tandi was president 52 years? Or that her father preceded her? Does that sound like a democracy to you? Because it sounds like a hereditary dictatorship to me. No, the people don't want to elect a leader."

"But wasn't she voted in?"

"Only because the council didn't dare oppose her. She was far too popular…she had the love of her people. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd been opposed, she'd retained her power. And as soon as she was gone, as soon as a true 'democracy' could be establish, the snakes reared their ugly heads. Democracy isn't the NCR's strength…it's their weakness. Officials are corrupt – accepting bribes from brahmin barons and landowners. Despite the detriment it causes their citizens. It's a society of high ranking officials comprising a loose conglomerate of individuals that look after themselves. No one cares about the greater good."

"And that's what you aim for? The greater good?"

Caesar gave a single, slow nod. "Exactly. The NCR is the most powerful foe my Legion has faced…and its also the only foe to which I am ideologically opposed. When I have taken New Vegas…when I have absorbed the NCR into the ranks of my Legion, we will see the end of corruption."

"Or the beginning of a long struggle for power by those who would have it for themselves. Even if you aim for the greatest good for your citizens, your heirs may not."

Caesar frowned. "One bridge at a time, courier." He nodded towards Benny. "For your viewing pleasure…maybe you want to talk to him?"

"That, I do." Six made his way to Benny.

"Try not to smile too wide, baby. You might break your face."

"It is a rather amusing situation."

"How about we have them string you up, and see if you still think so? How'd your meet and greet with baldie go?"

"He wants me to kill Mr. House."

"Why am I not surprised? So you're going to turn the Strip over to the Legion?"

"Maybe."

Benny laughed. "Might want to wait and get that little flame of yours to safety. Legion goes rolling in…the things I done to her are going to seem like a walk in the park."

Six's smile faded. "What did you say?"

"You heard me, fat cat. I made her moan six ways to Sunday. It's a good thing you had me strung up here…only thing to do now is recollect. And I reckon the only thing I'm going to be thinking about is making that fiery piece scream my name."

Six curled his hands into a fist. "You know, it's not too late for me to change my mind about crucifixion. I could kill you here and now."

Benny laughed. "You have me quaking in my boots. Those my choices? Slow death or execution? You can use my pistol, baby."

Six cast a glance over the cliff face. "Drowning's an option too…"

Benny's eyes widened. Six walked around behind the cross and delivered two fierce kicks into the wooden tie. The cross rocked forward. A surge of laughter bellowed from Caesar's lungs. He kicked again…nothing. He reared back for another, and a hand caught his shoulder. He turned to face a large, imposing man in golden armor and an ornate helmet.

"Amicus…" He extended a large blade. "Use this."

Six gratefully took the blade and wedged it under the cross. With all of his might he pushed the blade to the ground – the cross rocked from its position and toppled over the cliff. Six peered over the edge, listening to Benny's screams, until he heard a splash. Then, he turned back to the man…"Thanks."

The man nodded then turned his attention to Caesar. They conversed quietly for a moment, then Caesar turned his gaze upon Six.

"You have quite the temper. Benny's demise must give you a great deal of satisfaction…there's nothing like spilling the blood of an enemy. When House has been eliminated, come back to see me."

* * *

><p>Boone and Raul waited on a raft in Lake Mead. They drifted quietly next to a long sunken ship.<p>

"This is taking too long…"

"Boss says to wait."

Boone frowned. Then he heard it…the scream of a man as he plummeted down the cliff, a massive splash as the water parted.

"That's our cue…" Boone dove into the water.

* * *

><p><em>Alright. We'll be taking a break from A Courier's tale for a while to start on Through Hardships and Sorrows! The prologue will be posted around Tuesday (hopefully). For those of you concerned with Six jumping from the main quest line to tackle Zion...I have an explanation for it. It will be revealed in the prologue, as we wrap up some loose strings. <em>

_On a side note, I played through quite a bit of the game today...getting dialogue, and thinking up ideas as to where I wanted to story to go. I've always had a mostly utilitarian ethic...so I really sympathize with Caesar. Yet, pretty much every time I play, I've trivially sided with the NCR or gone for Independence. I played through for Caesar once before, and once for House, but I never really paid attention to them. Now that I have...I have to say that I really agree with a lot of House's ideals. And even Caesar's goals are noble. It really is an ends vs means thing with him. Interesting stuff**.**_

_That's all for now. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I really like the way it turned out. Ciao.  
><em>


	22. Chapter 21: Aggressive Negotiations

_**Stop! Have you read 18 Karat Run: Through Hardships And Sorrows? It covers Six's adventure in Zion - starting at the end of Chapter 20, it spans about fourteen chapters. It's completed, so head on over to my profile and enjoy!**_

_The next few chapters are going to be covering a lot. We're nearing the climax of A Courier's Tale and I still have a lot of information to cover. I did a little bit of revision to this chapter that changed a good deal of how the story is going to play out. But I think it was for the better._

_While I'm thinking about it, if you head on over to my profile on Deviant Art, I've uploaded the covers to Curios and Relics, The Prodigal Son, and The Flags Of Our Fathers. You can find the link to my Deviant Art profile on my page. Go check them out! Let me know what you all think! I did all three of them (as well as the cover for Through Hardships And Sorrows) digitally...using clipart and various texture effects. I think they turned out pretty well._

_Also, I've started the outline for Fallout 3's story - in case I decide to do it. Problem is...I can't think of a title. I love the title 18 Karat Run. I pulled that straight from the New Vegas intro. But I've watched the intro for Fallout 3 a couple times and nothing jumps out for me as title material. So I want you all to think of a title. So start shooting me title ideas in PM or in comments. I'll announce the title I'm going to use shortly before the 18 Karat Run series has ended.  
><em>

* * *

><p>She relaxed, chair tilted back against the wall – boots thrown up over the hotel desk. The brim of her rattan cowboy hat pulled down low over her eyes. It was late. She was tired.<p>

She hated this place, this damned motel. She really didn't understand why she came back.

And every morning she would wake up – in that same old hotel room, in that same bed where he had first taken her. Every day, she'd sit down here in this office – doing crossword puzzles, word searches, pretty much anything to pass the time.

She hated this place.

And him, some days. Some days she'd wake up and he'd haunt her very soul, never straying from her thoughts. Other days, she wouldn't think of him at all. And, then, sometimes she'd see that damned red beret Manny never took off and all of that bullshit would come flooding back.

In fact, she had convinced Manny to stop wearing that beret. At least, when he was around her. All it took was a bad night and a bottle of whiskey. She hadn't meant to be so mean to him…but that was all water under the bridge now.

She heard the familiar rattle of the door, the ringing bell, and footsteps against the cold tile.

With a stretch and a yawn, she took her foot from the hotel desk and let the chair fall to the floor with a dull metallic thud. She pulled her hat up, "Johnson."

The man who had entered, Johnson, smiled at her. He wore a dusty pre-war outfit, and a matching – equally dusty – fedora. His hair was short – nearly a buzz cut – and dark brown. He smiled. "Greetings, Miss Cassidy."

Cass frowned, but only briefly. She hated being called that…now more than ever. It reminded her of him. "What brings you to the office so early this morning?"

The man smiled. "I've come to give you this week's rent…and to check out."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Cass feigned interest in all of her customers. "We hope to have you again at the Dino Dee-Lite." She pulled the chair towards the desk and punched some buttons on the register. "Looks like it'll be…forty caps."

The man laid his hand on the surface of the desk. He pushed it forward a single coin – gold, bearing the portrait of a bald man sporting a crown of leaves. Cass looked from the coin to the man.

"_Aeternit Imperi,_" the man said – referring to the text written on the coin. "It means, 'For the eternity of the empire'."

* * *

><p>They stood outside that rundown shack where weeks before, Six sat in front of Jed. Talking of opportunities and establishment.<p>

"…maybe open up a repair shop somewhere in Freeside. I've always been good with my hands."

Six wiggled the doors handle. "I'm sure you'd run an excellent business, Raul." They had been listening to Raul go on about opening a shop for days.

"Why'd we stop here, Boss?"

"Jed was a businessman. And businessmen have to be bought." Six explained, stepping back to examine the door. "So that's what I did. I bought him. But now he's dead…and I want my money back." He stepped forward, planting his foot firm near the handle. The doorframe splintered and the door flew open into darkness. Six pressed a button on his pip boy and disappeared into the shack. His pip boy light breaking the darkness within.

Graham leaned against the shack uneasily, scouting the terrain.

"It'd do you good to stay on edge," Boone said flatly. "We're in NCR territory now."

Graham turned his gaze to Boone, studying him quietly. Inside he could hear Six probing the place – objects being overturned, drawers being flung open.

Boone's eyes didn't waver either. They locked on to each other…like two angry beasts. Finally, Graham spoke: "It's not the NCR I'm worried about."

Boone let out a puff of air and turned back to the shack. The noise had stopped. Before long, he saw the familiar glow of Six's pip boy. When Six emerged, he had a gold bar in tow.

"Now…" He said contently, "to the Strip."

* * *

><p>"Hi, do you have a minute?"<p>

Six examined the woman – she was small, with short brown hair and dark brimmed glasses. She pushed them up, letting them rest on the bridge of her nose. Six turned to Boone and Raul. "Head on up…help Graham get settled in. I'll be along shortly."

He turned back to the woman expectantly, eyes wide and brows raised.

"Great!" She smiled courteously at him. "I'm Emily. I'm with the Followers. A lot of us have been curious about Mr. House's medical technology. I mean…rumors are he's been around since before the war. And no has been into the Lucky 38, much less seen him. Well…except for you."

Six shook his head. "I haven't seen the man. He communicates with me through a terminal."

"Well…I'd like to ask you a favor. I have a bug here…a, uh…monitoring device. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I mean."

"You want me to bug House's network?"

"Yeah!" She nodded excitedly. "It would help a lot of people. People who suffer from illnesses that are hard to diagnose, let alone treat."

"Lady," Six shook his head. "I'm not sure I can do that…the place is full of security. You could get me into a helluva lot of trouble."

Emily frowned. "I know…it's asking a lot. But…this is important. It took everything we had at the Fort to pass the credit check to even get in to talk to you. And I wasn't even sure I'd find you…the truth is…"

Six put up his hand, silencing the woman. He sighed, running the idea through his mind. After what felt like an eternity for the woman, he stretched out his palm. "I'll see what I can do."

"Fantastic!" Emily withdrew a small black device from her lab coat. "It's wireless…so you just need to get it close to a terminal. The closer it is to the network's mainframe…the quicker it'll collect the data."

Six begrudgingly took the device. He tapped it a couple times against his palm, then pocketed it. He started towards the Lucky 38.

"Thank you!" Emily called out. "You're doing the right thing!"

Six casually threw up his hand in response.

The elevator opened with an electronic ding. Six strolled at a snail's pace towards the massive electronic terminal – bright green text filled the screen.

‹**Connection Lost›**

"If it isn't our favorite V.I.P!" A patrolling securitron yipped. "Mr. House will be with you presently!"

Six passed it by without responding. He made his way down the stairs and towards the back of the room. He grasped a remarkably well preserved pink chair and pulled it across the room – situating it on a Lucky 38 rug facing the screen. Then he sat – reaching into his duster and withdrawing a pack of cigarettes – he carefully packed them and withdrew one. He flipped out his zippo and lit it. The securitron returned and laid an ashtray on the table at his side.

"Disgusting habit," the voice of Robert House filled the air. "It's good to see you, I was beginning to fear for the worst."

"It calms me." Six took a long drag, held it, then exhaled smoke rings into the air. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"I'm sure you had your reasons. I've been around for the better part of two and a half centuries. A month seems trivial in comparison. I can't help but notice though that you haven't been to the bunker on Fortification Hill."

Six shrugged. "I went to Caesar's camp, as you asked. The son of a bitch threatened to have me killed…then sent me on an errand."

"An errand?"

"To find and kill his former legate, Joshua Graham."

"My my. That's a story you'll have to share some time."

"I brought back a souvenir…" Six rifled through his bag a moment and extracted a snow globe. "All the way from Zion National Park."

"Wonderful," House sounded genuinely pleased. One of the securitrons rolled over to Six's position – the brunette woman filling its screen. It took the snow globe and disappeared behind a ragged set of curtains under the stairs. "Now," House continued, "to business?"

Six took another draw of his cigarette and nodded. "I have a request. A couple, actually."

"And your requests are?"

"Raul. He wants to set up a shop on the Strip."

"There simply isn't any room on the Strip. But…but, the Silver Rush, as I understand, has recently gone bust. Perhaps I could spare a few construction drones to help with renovations."

"Perfect," Six happily agreed. "That'd be great."

"And your other request…would it happen to have anything to do with the bandaged man in your suite?"

Surprised, Six raised a brow.

"Don't be naïve. I was aware of his presence long before you entered the Strip. I've heard rumors of the Burned Man. I assume he is the former malpais legate?"

Six responded with a nod.

"Then, your request, I assume, is for me to reach out to Ambassador Crocker."

"He needs to be absolved of his past crimes…and protected. When the NCR finds out he's here…" Six shook his head. "He's essential to our goals."

"_Our_ goals, or _your _goals?"

"They're the same, aren't they?"

"I hope so. For the sake of this city," House trailed off. "But, I knew you would request as such. That was actually the reason for my delay. Graham…if not absolved…has, at the very least, diplomatic immunity. I have made it clear to the Ambassador that should any harm come to him, or to you or any of your people, the alliance between our two great nations would be compromised."

"And you think that'll work?"

"Yes," House affirmed. "For a number of reasons. Foremost, Crocker wants a peaceful resolution to the conflict in the Mojave. Not to mention, with the Legion breathing down the NCR's neck, he needs our assistance…or, more importantly, the aid of my securitrons. And now that they've been upgraded, he fears us. Which brings me back to Fortification Hill. Now that your _errand_ has been completed, you'll need to go back. We need to get into that bunker."

"And we will. But, as you may have guessed from Graham's still beating heart, I haven't carried out my promise to Caesar."

"Of course…and since you're so keen on keeping him alive…I suppose the only alternative is to take Fortification Hill by force."

"Maybe. But only if Caesar knows Graham is alive. If he doesn't, I can take him the head of one of the thugs that populate Freeside. Scorch it…he'll never know the difference."

"Legion spies litter the Vegas streets. Freeside alike. If he doesn't know Graham is alive by now, he'll know by night's end."

"I could use a stealth-boy…"

"No. I will not risk the chip falling into his hands again."

"You told me not to harm Caesar."

"You haven't left us much choice in the mater with your personal exploits. Saving Benny. Sparing Joshua Graham. I'll begin preparations and negotiations."

"Negotiations?"

"Yes. With Caesar dead, the NCR may feel compelled to turn its attention elsewhere. We must be careful not to reveal our hand."

"No, Caesar's legate will take over…"

"And almost certainly immediately attack the dam. Either way, we need what's in that bunker."

Six took a breath. He was right…_of course_ he was right. The crazy bastard had thought of pretty much everything. "Alright. Preparations. Is there anything I can do?"

"Glad you asked. Your next assignment will be to locate and destroy the remnants of the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. Given their fanatical views on technology, we can count on their opposition to our new regime. Please – put them out of my misery."

"What?" Six shook his head. "I can't do that…Veronica…"

"The robed woman…yes. Don't tell me she's pulled that repulsive hood over your eyes. Stories of noble paladins on a crusade to preserve mankind's technology and to protect _us_ from _ourselves_. Dross! They're a terrorist group! A coterie of militant, quasi-religious, bulging-eyed fanatical lunatics who think pre-war technology belongs to them. Not all pre-war technology, mind you. You don't see them raiding hospitals to cart away auto-docs or armfuls of prosthetic organs. They greatly prefer the sort of tech that puts people in graves. The world has no use for emotionally unstable techno-fetishists. Just wipe them out, will you? They'll never accept our use of robots to defend New Vegas."

"If the NCR can drive them from Helios One…"

"Oh, I'm well aware of the conflict between the NCR and the Brotherhood. And the outcomes of those conflicts. The NCR showed them that ideological purity and shiny power armor doesn't count for much when you're outnumbered fifteen to one. I'm not saying it's a fight we can't win. But I'd rather avoid it altogether, if it's the same to you."

"I can't do that to Veronica. The Brotherhood is her life blood. It's her family."

"The fact of the matter is, this is an employer-employee relationship. Do what I ask or I'll find someone else who will."

Six scowled, but didn't respond. This is why House had been so willing to help Graham and to offer assistance to Raul. _He was always prepared._

"Now that we've settled it...Since 2278 I have lost five roaming securitrons near Hidden Valley. I didn't receive any clear video from the incidents…but the telemetry from the units destroyed indicates they were attacked with energy weapons. The staple of the Brotherhood. It's abundantly clear that they have a base in or near Hidden Valley. Finding it won't be easy…that is, assuming, you haven't already found it. Or that Veronica hasn't shown you where it is."

"And once I find it?"

"Hm. Yes. Finding it will be hard. But the real trick will be getting inside…from time to time, the NCR has assaulted Brotherhood bunkers. In four of the six incidents I know of, the bunkers self-destructed. I would be willing to wager that it's standard practice for those bunkers to house self-destruct systems."

"Or the bunker's reactors were compromised…which wouldn't be too far of a stretch during an all out assault."

"No. No, I don't think so. A fail safe system is consistent with their uncompromising nature. Use it against them. Return when you're done."

Six cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "One more thing," He said finally. "When I was in Zion, I took a fall. Before I go to Fortification Hill…I'd like you to scan the chip. Make sure it's in working order."

"The chip is made from an advanced Beta C alloy. It's a high density storage device crafted at the peak of technological advancement. Believe me when I say it's undamaged."

"Still…if it's all the same to you."

The electronic screen flickered and fell silent. "If you insist."

Six made his way to the terminal and inserted the chip. He withdrew another cigarette from its pack – laid the pack down on the terminal – and lit the cigarette. He took a long drag and exhaled smoke into the air.

"Everything seems to be in working order," House confirmed. The chip ejected from the terminal.

Six pocketed the chip and smiled. "Just wanted to be safe."

* * *

><p>"Where's Veronica?" Six asked, entering the kitchen of the presidential suite.<p>

Boone shrugged. "Wasn't here when we came in."

"Good…we gotta go."

"Where?"

"Hidden Valley."

"There a problem, Boss?" Raul asked – frying up some brahmin steaks.

"No. Not yet anyway. But we gotta go. Now."

They started towards the elevator – Graham emerged from the suites bathroom, applying bandages around his neck. "It pays to be clean," he said. "Where are we going?"

"To see an old friend. You're welcome to join us."

Graham shook his head. "You all go ahead. I'm going to go by the Mormon Fort we passed on the way in. I need medical supplies. Fresh bandages. Ointment."

Six nodded, "Right." He turned to Boone and Raul. "Give me just a second…"

He disappeared into his room. When he emerged, he had the gold bar again. He pushed it towards Raul.

"Oh sure, make the old man carry all the weight. His knees can handle it."

"You're not just carrying it, Raul," Six explained. "It's yours. House has given you the Silver Rush…or what's left of it. There are some construction drones on their way as we speak. This is for you," He dropped the bar into Raul's hands. "It's to help you open your shop."

Raul looked at the bar a long minute, then turned back to Six. "I…don't know what to say, Boss."

"Don't say anything. Just give me free repairs."

Raul smiled. "I'll do that, Boss. Thanks."

* * *

><p>"Julie Farkas, as I live and breathe," Graham's normally vindictive eyes shone softly as he approached the fair skinned woman holding a medical clipboard.<p>

"Joshua," She seemed surprised. "It's…good to see you again."

Graham's pace slowed. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before you discovered my identity, with the legends of the burned man dancing across the tongues of every tribal, NCR citizen, and Legion dog in Nevada."

One side of Julie's mouth curled up into a smirk. Her eyes shifted towards the sky and she flippantly shrugged her shoulders. "Caesar isn't the only one with eyes in the Mojave. What brings you back to Nevada?"

"Business of a very delicate matter," Graham spoke softly. "The less you know…" Julie's smirk faded. Graham continued, "I don't believe I ever had a chance to properly thank you…for what you did for me all those years ago."

The woman flashed Graham a light-hearted smile. "And you don't have to. It's the duty of humanity, to help those in need."

"A lesson well learned."

"So, what brings you to the fort?"

"I'd heard the Followers had set up a colony here," Graham said, eyes wandering to the sky. "I'd hoped to run into you."

She smiled again. "So," she began, casually inspecting Graham's bandages. "How have you been?"

"I've made some changes. Even more since our last encounter," Graham reached into his back pocket, withdrawing a small leather bound book embroidered with a symbol not unlike the Follower's emblem. A crucifix. "Changes for the better."

"I knew there was good in you, Joshua…"

Graham's eyes turned to the ground. "I wish someone would have made me see that before…"

"Every saint has a past. You cannot keep punishing yourself for your mistakes," she quickly interrupted.

Graham didn't answer.

"Can I get you anything?" Julie asked, examining the gauze wrapped around Graham's entirety. "Clean wrap? Bio-med gel?"

"If you have the items to spare. I'd be willing to pay for them, of course."

Julie extended her arm, lightly touching Graham's shoulder. "I'll not hear of it. Give me a moment to gather the supplies. Please," she motioned towards a table and chairs near the fort's entrance, "have a seat. I won't be long."

Graham silently bowed his head and Julie took leave. Graham made his way to the chairs – painfully aware of the vigilant eyes of the fort's inhabitants. As he sat, a tall man with platinum blonde hair and dark brimmed glasses advanced to his location. Graham could feel the man's resentment as he approached.

"_What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbors, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance._"

The man stopped. His demeanor changed, and he raised a brow; "Luke 15."

Graham closed his eyes and nodded calmly. "You judge and condemn me before you give me a chance to show that I have changed," he said. "The Malpais Legate died when Caesar threw him into the Grand Canyon. I am not that man anymore."

"Changing who you are doesn't make up for the things you've done."

Graham lowered his eyes. "No. No it doesn't. Please," he motioned to the seat across from him. "Sit." The man sat, though he couldn't explain why. "It's obvious you know me. Or, at the very least, you know of me. Of the atrocities I had committed when I was lost. So tell me, who are you that you feel so compelled to forsake one of the Lord's flock?"

The man's words stumbled out, "Arcade. Arcade Gannon."

"Tell me then, Arcade. May I call you Arcade?"

Arcade nodded.

"Tell me. Which atrocities have found their way to your ear? The carnage of the Malpais Legate, or the horrors of the Burned Man?"

"The Mojave talks. I've heard all about you. Murdering in cold-blood, entire villages – women, children."

Graham took a long breath.

"They're not just rumors, are they?"

"Unfortunately, no. No they're not."

" What gives you the right to walk in here and ask the Followers for help?"

"The same thing that gives you the right to condemn me for my blunders; free-will."

"And you freely chose to slaughter people who stood against you. Against Caesar."

"It was not Caesar I killed for. It was his aspirations. I do not deny my sins. I do not pretend that my actions were just. But you cannot deny the efficacy of his methods. Arizona was in turmoil when Edward took the mantle of Caesar – the lands under his rule offer safety, stability…far greater than even the lands of the NCR."

"Safety? As long as you don't cross him. His regime is based fear. The people that live in his lands aren't part of his Legion – they're his subjects. Serfs. He conquers people – stripping them of identity and purpose – save any purpose that furthers his own goals."

"The NCR, though admirable, is ultimately no better."

"Who said I was advocating the NCR? I may not have all the answers to solving the Mojave's problems. But what I do know is Caesar isn't part of the solution."

"On that we can agree. But if you do not advocate the NCR, then what government do you support?"

"Government? The Mojave needs to be governed by its own people. Kimball doesn't care about what happens to the people here – he just wants the resources the Mojave provides. The Dam. The profits of New Vegas. Caesar's the same. He wants New Vegas to be his Rome."

"Interesting," Graham clasped his hands together. "So you would support an independent Mojave, under House?"

"Independent? Of course. Only the people of the Mojave care about what happens to the people of the Mojave. Under House? No. Not so much. House only cares about New Vegas. And only insofar as he cares about his control of New Vegas."

"I see. Forgive me, I do not know much of him. When we…Caesar and I…were preparing to enter the Mojave, he didn't seem relevant to what was happening. From what I've gathered since…it seems he handled the Mojave tribes in a fashion not entirely dissimilar to Caesar himself. It's too bad."

"Exactly. He may as well be a machine. He looks only at numbers. Statistics. That's no leader. A leader needs to be able to sympathize with his people. And a leader should be chosen by the people. The Mojave needs to be democratic. The power needs to be given to the people. Let them nominate their own candidates for leaders. Then vote in the best of those candidates."

"Much like the NCR, then?"

"Yes. The NCR has the right idea."

"Then why not be merged with the NCR?"

"You're former Legion. Would you support the NCR?"

"I harbor no ill will toward the NCR. The NCR, as far as I'm concerned, can redeem itself. Like Caesar, they aim for what is good. But, unlike Caesar, they are not so far gone that there is no hope."

The idea of a former legate sympathizing with the NCR baffled Arcade. He raised his brow and opened his mouth to speak.

"Sorry to interrupt," Julie smiled at them, emerging from a nearby tent. She handed Graham a bag of bandages, bio-med gel, and stims. "I hope you'll come back to see me."

Graham stood, and extended his hand. Julie placed the bag into it. For a moment, their eyes met and their skin touched – and he was on fire again.

* * *

><p><em>So...Graham and Julie have a history. But what that history is? You won't find out until The Prodigal Son...which is quite a ways down the road. I'm torturing you all with teasers. You're welcome.<em>

_Remember! Title ideas! Check out the cover art on my Deviant Art profile (link is in my fanfic profile). And...that just about covers everything. I think..._

Until next time.


	23. Chapter 22: The House Always Wins

_This chapter was difficult to write. But...hopefully now Six's motives will become more clear. Up until now, he's really been struggling to find himself. We finally see where his loyalties lie._

_I won't bore you with my antics. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>The flames flickered in front of her. Hands bound, she sat quietly – watching those dancing flames. The tents strewn about the desert floor were quiet. A single armed guard watched over his flock. Caesar's slaves.<p>

Oh yes. The Legion. It had to come down to this eventually, didn't it?

Across from her was a rugged man – short blonde hair with an equally blonde horseshoe mustache. His leather vest sported skull with an ornate helmet…He was a Khan.

"How'd you end up here?" The man whispered – having noticed the petite redhead examining him.

Cass came back to reality. "What?"

"How'd they catch you?"

She pressed her lips…that bastard Johnson. Legion. Sitting under her nose – under the nose of Manny and Ranger Andy all that time. "How do any of us get caught?"

"I was looking for…business venues. There's a little bungalow up on the ridge, not far from Nipton. Figured some Gangers had taken it for themselves. Figured I'd try to sell a little bit of my _product_…only, Gangers didn't answer. It was some Legion fuck."

"I was under the impression the Legion left traders alone."

"They do. Unless they're supplying the NCR…or carrying," the man smirked "…goods of a _remedial_ nature."

"Ah," Cass understood. "Drug running then."

"Yeah," the man laughed. "Turns out the Legion doesn't take to well to it."

Brows raised, Cass widened her eyes and shrugged. "Guess not."

"So," the man shifted his weight from one side of his body to the other. "Going to tell me why they nabbed you?"

"Not really sure…took me from the hotel in Novac. Maybe I overcharged them…" she mused.

"Name's Anders by the way," The man smiled. "It's a pleasure."

"Cass…" The fair skinned woman introduced herself. "I'd shake your hand but…"

"Well…Cass. I have some good news for you. They're likely going to auction you off."

"And that's good news?"

"Well…it's not painful. You'll live out the rest of your days cleaning, cooking, and breeding."

"Yeah," Cass rolled her eyes. "Can't wait."

"Better than the alternative…" Anders trailed off.

Cass eyed him sympathetically. She was almost afraid to ask: "What's the punishment for peddling drugs?"

Anders shrugged. "Crucifixion."

* * *

><p>"Good to see you," Manny Vargas grinned widely at the approaching duo. "What brings you to the neighborhood?" Then he turned to Boone, his smile widening. "Hey. Long time."<p>

Boone grunted.

"I thought I'd check in on Cass…" Six cut through the awkward silence. "See how things were. Veronica told me she was headed this way…but that's been a while ago."

"Yeah, no shit," Manny nodded. "She was here…not anymore. Been gone a couple days now."

"She say where she was going?"

Manny twisted his lips into a ball, thought on it a moment, then shrugged. "Nope. She wasn't happy here I can tell you that…honestly, can't say I blame her. A lot of memories pent up in this place. She talked about leaving a lot…doesn't surprise me she'd just up and go."

"Oh," Six sighed and tightly closed his eyes, massaging them with his thumb and index finger. "Well, if she comes back…tell her I came by. To see how she was."

Manny's smile tapered, becoming less happy and more sympathetic. "No problem," He reached up, slapping Six on the arm. "She talks about you a lot."

"Good things, I hope," Six jibed.

Manny laughed. "Not exactly…but at least she still thinks about you. I have to run though…my shift. Don't want to keep Andy waiting. Old man needs his rest, you know? It was nice seeing you." Manny turned from them and started towards the T-Rex.

"Manny," Six called out. "Tell her…tell her I'm sorry."

"Yeah…yeah, I'll do that." Manny winked and smiled, then continued along his way.

The trip to Hidden Valley was quiet. For many reasons…Six had a lot on his mind. And not just Cass. The Brotherhood…and Vee. Boone…well, Boone was just Boone. He never said much of anything.

But this silence was different. Boone could tell Six had a lot on his plate, and he didn't want to pry. He wasn't very good at consoling people anyway. It didn't take them long to reach the bunker. Six pressed the button on the intercom and waited. Silence.

Six pressed it again. "Ramos?"

Another long silence. Finally: "…Password?"

"I'm looking for Veronica…" Six said. "Tell her it's Six."

Again, silence. They waited.

"Just a minute." Ramos sounded hesitant.

The door hissed. Six twisted the small circular dial and the door slid open. Six and Boone entered – they were, once again, met with four armed guards. Six put his hands up, palms exposed.

The door behind them groaned and opened. It was Ramos. He motioned for the guards to lower their weapons. "Stay close."

The duo followed Ramos through the underground complex. The paladins eyed Boone warily. Even the turrets seemed to track them. Ramos stopped, pressing a few digits on an electronic keypad. The entrance to the second level hissed open. "We've had to increase security since you were last here. There was an insurgence…a few paladins backing Hardin. It wasn't pretty, but we shut them down." Ramos pointed down the corridor to the left of the entrance. "Through there…you'll find Veronica with Head Scribe Taggart. They've been running a maintenance routine on the mainframe, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding them."

Six gave the paladin a brief nod and started down the hall. True to his words, Six found Veronica furiously punching keys on a large green terminal.

"What's this?" Six asked, attempting to mask his anxiety.

"It's the bunkers mainframe…houses everything from our life-support systems to the bunkers self-destruct sequence." Veronica smiled, turning her attention to him.

"These bunkers actually self-destruct?"

"No…" Veronica's voice squeaked. "Of course not…So, what brings you to my humble abode?"

"I came to see how you were…" Six lied, if only partially. "I've been thinking about what you said a long time back. About the Followers of the Apocalypse."

"What about them?"

"Well," Six stroked his bearded chin. "I have a friend…someone I met recently. It turns out he has connections with the Followers. I'd like you to meet him. You and Christine both."

"But," Veronica interjected, "Christine has already been accepted back into the Brotherhood…sort of. She's an initiate…but it's a start."

"You said it yourself, Vee…the Brotherhood is failing. I just think you should leave your options over. I want you to talk to him. I'll have him meet you at the Mormon Fort…"

"I just don't think it's nece…"

"Vee," Six's voice became stern. "Promise me. You'll meet him tonight. You don't have to join them…just talk with the guy. Tonight. You and Christine both." Six glanced at his pip-boy. "Meet with him at eight-thirty sharp. Please?"

Veronica tipped her head to the side. Her gut told her there was more at stake than just her standing with the Followers. Finally she smiled at Six…"For you." She brushed his shoulder. "I spoil you, you know it?"

* * *

><p>Raul perched himself atop an extension ladder. Two stories off the ground…he tugged at the fractured "Silver Rush" sign – it toppled down, crashing into the street below him, narrowly missing the yellow construction drone foreman; who paid it no mind.<p>

"Hard at work?" A voice called out.

Raul looked over his shoulder at the approaching Graham. "The robots do most of the work," Raul confessed. "Hand me that sign, will you?"

Graham glanced at the base of the ladder. A crude wooden sign leaned against the broken doorframe. It read: "Rafaela's Repair and Supply".

"Speaking of repair…" Graham began, "Any progress on my pistol?" He reached the sign upwards as Raul began his descent.

"Oh sure, Jefe. I have repair kits stowed away behind every rock between here and Zion."

Graham laughed. "I don't mean to rush you. It's just that the pistol was a gift. It means a lot to me."

"You'll be my first customer," Raul took the sign and started back up the ladder. "Reparación gratuita, of course."

"You're too kind."

"Just put in a good word for me with the locals."

Graham rested against the scorched building, peering inside. "Going to take a lot of work to get this place up and running."

"It's worth it," Raul said, hanging the shoddy wooden sign. "This one is temporary," he explained. "I put in a request at Michael Angelo's on the Strip. My new sign should be ready in a couple weeks. But people gotta know where to go, right?"

"Of course," Graham chuckled softly. "Of course." Down the street, rounding the corner, Graham saw the familiar sway of Six's duster in the breeze, and – as always – Boone was on his heels. Their matching red berets bobbing with each step. Graham started down the street towards them. "Everything taken care of?"

"Almost," Six replied. His voice seemed tense. "I need you to do me a favor."

Graham nodded expectantly.

"I want you to wait at the Mormon Fort. Two women are going to meet you there. One will likely be wearing a suit of black power armor. The other will be clad in a dark set of…" Six searched for the right description. "Something that resembles light-weight combat armor…sort of."

"Any reason why I'm meeting them?"

"They want to talk to you about the followers. Just keep them busy for a few hours."

Graham studied Six silently, and finally nodded. "Perhaps it's best I don't know why."

* * *

><p>Six stepped off the elevator. He was immediately greeted by the blonde securitron. "Hey sugar!"<p>

"I need to talk with House." Six didn't wait for a response, pushing past the robot, he started down the stairs. The on screen image of Robert House flickered.

"Of course!" The feminine voice of the robot called out behind him.

He was in front of the screen. His body quaking in frustration.

"House," Six's voice was firm. "We need to talk."

"About the radio transmitter you left on my terminal in that cigarettebox?"

Six's eyes widened.

"Yes. It was detected immediately and deactivated in…let's see…39.753 seconds. You thought I wouldn't notice?"

"It…it was for the Followers. A woman…" Six stumbled over his words. "She said it was for medical…"

"They're curious about me…I understand. No harm done, of course. There's no way to plant a surveillance device here in the Lucky 38 without my knowing about it. You need not worry, there will be no repercussion for your disloyalty. At least…not for something so small. You can inform the followers that, when the time comes, you shall personally deliver the medical database to them for me. Now…is there anything else you want to discuss?"

"The Brotherhood," Six took a breath. "What you're asking me to do…"

"You're not still on this are you? Haven't we been through this?"

"Maybe they can help us…to defend the Dam against the Legion."

House sighed. "We don't need their help anymore than we need the NCR's. General Oliver's strategy…or 'tunnel vision,' as I like to call it, has been to mass troops at Hoover Dam. He wants to outfight the Legion in a straight-forward slugging match…then pursue and destroy them in detail. His only goal is to overshadow the tactical ingenuity of Chief Hanlon's defense four years ago. Within a year of occupying the dam, the NCR had it up and running at 50% capacity. As part of our treaty, New Vegas receives five percent of its output. _Five percent_. More than enough to run our city of vice. But, when the time comes, we will take the dam for ourselves. And the Brotherhood will resist us every step of the way. You and I cannot allow that. Though…as I'm sure you know…we can handle them. Or, perhaps you haven't noticed the military men that have replaced the on screen image of police officers on my securitrons. Please…make your way back to the elevator. I have something to show you."

Six rubbed his forehead and eyed the screen for what felt like an eternity. Then, begrudgingly made his way to the elevator. When he boarded it, it zoomed down at a startling speed, coming to an abrupt stop. He emerged into a large underground facility.

"Step closer to the demonstration area, if you would," House's voice boomed over the intercoms.

"As I have already explained, the X-25 gatling laser and 9mm submachineguns are part of my securitrons secondary weapons. Designed to run on the Mark I operating system which lacked drivers for the securitrons' primary weapons. As you know, the chip had the Mark II operating system on it…which I have hence broadcasted to every securitron within range. Now, everything has changed. Since your departure…people on the Strip, and everywhere within range of my transmitters have come to a startling realization. The city of New Vegas finally has soldiers worthy of protecting it! The Mark II upgrade confers a 235% increase in combat effectiveness per unit."

In the demonstration area, the securitrons began to pummel test dummies with a barrage of missiles and grenades.

"The M-235 missile launcher gives the securitron the ability to effectively eliminate ground and air targets at significantly longer ranges. The rapid-fire G-28 grenade launching system ensures deadly force in close-range engagements. The software upgrade also includes drivers for the securitrons highly sophisticated onboard auto-repair systems. All of this thanks to you. And…once you have ventured back into the belly of the beast and activated the system in the bunker on Fortification Hill…you will see exactly why we do not need the Brotherhood's assistance. Now…if there's nothing else, you have work to do."

Six opened the doors to the Lucky 38, welcoming the fresh air that enveloped him. He felt hyperventilated. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Even if he wanted to take out the Brotherhood…and he didn't…how could he do it? The entire bunker was so heavily guarded.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" he mumbled under his breath. He wasn't sure who he was asking…the Father in the Caves? The Mormon God? Maybe the Bright Brotherhood's Creator?

But the answer…as it turned out…came from a shady individual across the lot.

The same man that had returned his weapons to him that night he was rescued by the Legion spy.

Mr. Houldout.

Six approached the man.

"Welcome back," The man smiled. "What can I do for you today?"

"I'm interested in purchasing something of a very particular nature."

"What might that be?"

"I have something that needs to be done. I need to get into a place that's heavily guarded…and I need to do it without being detected."

The man smiled – something sinister. A smile that made Six's skin crawl.

"I have just the thing."

* * *

><p>"Fall in line, profligate!"<p>

The crack of a whip. The sound of a girl in pain. Cass cringed at the cry. She had spent some time with the prisoners…the girl, Sammy Weathers, and her family had been abandoned by their father. He left them to rot in the hands of the Legion. A fucking coward.

Cass resolved that…if she ever got out of this mess…she'd kill that man.

Anders walked quietly in front of her. They walked along a steep embankment. Below them she could see the Colorado, and the overlook. She'd heard the Legion had taken it from the NCR…but she never imagined she'd see the place herself.

"Watch your step," The Legion man barked. "Wouldn't want any of you to fall."

Then she had an idea.

"How far down do you think that is?" She asked, peering down the road.

Anders looked at it, "I dunno."

"Think it'd kill someone that fell?"

"Probably…I mean, maybe not. Why'd you ask?"

"No reason," Cass replied.

The crack of the whip again. "No talking!"

Cass fell silent. They walked on.

"Sorry," She whispered to Anders.

He glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"Sorry," She repeated.

"Why?"

"Whatever you do…don't move."

"What?"

"When you hit the bottom. Don't move. You'll thank me later."

She stepped forward, placing her foot in the small of Anders' back. She pushed hard. He toppled down the hill, hitting hard on the pavement. He rolled down the embankment and out of sight.

The Legion man rushed to the edge and peered over. Anders lay motionlessly at the bottom. He turned to Cass, his face contorted in anger.

He cracked the whip and she braced for contact.

* * *

><p>The stealth field enveloped him; ripples through a pond of shimmering light. He made his way through the corridor at a snail's pace. The hulking masses of metal patrolled the halls – guns at the ready. As he neared the terminal, his heart's pace quickened. He was sure they knew he was there…even though they paid him no mind. He accessed the terminal – beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping to the floor. His hands shook, fumbling with the keyboard.<p>

‹**Logon Admin›**

‹…›

‹**Insert Password Now›**

Six cursed under his breath. Password protected…of course it would be password protected. He swallowed and exhaled slowly.

The terminal flashed, screens flickering and jumping. Six tapped the keys lightly – each click deceived his ears, reverberating off the walls, echoing impossibly loud.

‹**Authenticity›**

‹**1/12 Correct›**

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

‹**Partnerships›**

‹**2/12 Correct›**

Now it was in his throat.

‹**Organization›**

‹**4/12 Correct›**

Now it was in his ears. He held his breath.

‹**Transmission›**

‹**Access Granted›**

The screen flashed and scrolled.

‹**Unauthorized access detected›**

Sirens blazing around him. He was suddenly aware that he wasn't breathing. He gasped for breath. The metallic fiends searching frantically for the source of the incursion. Scanning over him, completely unaware. He made his way around them silently.

The elevator opened with a long mechanical whine. He boarded it, frantically tapping the key to close its doors. He could hear them coming back. To investigate the clattering sound of metal on metal. The doors pressed shut and the elevator began its descent. Deep into the Earth. Finally it stopped…the doors opened, though not without resistance. They hadn't been opened in so long. In front of him he could see it…

One terminal to go.

The last obstacle between him and his decisive task. The ultimate betrayal. He tapped the terminal's keys.

‹**Override Security›**

‹**Yes›**

‹**Unseal LS Chamber›**

‹**Yes›**

‹**Warning! Microbial Infection Risk. Proceed?›**

Six thought on it for a second…and hit the key again.

The chamber hissed – spilling a distilled white cloud across the room. The air was cool and clean. Six stepped back, watching the chamber contently. It twisted around – raising. A gurney. Steel, wire, and tubing. Strapped to it was what seemed to be a withered corpse…frail and unimposing.

This was the great Robert House. Meek. A zombie. More so than the feral ghouls Six had ended time and time again out in the wastes.

"Why!?" House's voice was raspy. He tried to scream, but lacked the strength. All of the sophistication gone. His voice was as frail as his body. More so. Whispering wind across the desert plain. "Why have you done this? Centuries…of…preparation. So much good…undone."

Six felt a sense of sympathy creep over him. His face contorted with remorse. He became suddenly aware of how Robert House had treated him. Fairly. Unwarranted trust. "I…I'm sorry." Six's words toppled from his lips. "I…couldn't do it. I couldn't betray Veronica…I couldn't kill her family."

"Fool! To let…personalities…derail the future of mankind! You've ruined everything! For those…fanatics…you poor, misguided whore! Do you think…" his voice tapered, wheezing, broken. "They will let you govern the wastes? They'll come for the technology you possess…your…vanity project…doomed to fail!"

Six flicked his wrist, the revolver's cylinder fell open. He chambered six rounds. The pistol's ivory grip reflected the light glimmering from House's metallic coffin. He closed the cylinder and raised the pistol. The old man's breathing was less than a whisper now…he'd lost all strength. The moment the chamber had been opened, he'd been exposed to the vicious, unforgiving bacteria of the wasteland. Six stared down the barrel of the gun a long moment…

A flash of light. A trail of smoke.

…A violent, sickening crack of the hammer. Exploding steel.

The great Robert House.

No more.

* * *

><p><em>I wanted it to be clear that with either decision, Six was betraying someone. Veronica is one of his best friends. But since he started working with House, I have been trying to consistently show that House was all about the "we". He saw Six as more than just a means to an end. Six was his protege. His pupil. For House in my story, it was never "I will rule Vegas" it was always "We will rule Vegas". And Six became aware of that at the end.<em>

_Now the question is...what will become of the Strip? And is House right about the Brotherhood? I guess you'll have to stick around to see how it all turns out._

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the latest installment to A Courier's Tale.

_Cheers!  
><em>


	24. Chapter 23: How Little We Know

_I hope everyone had an awesome holiday season. I spent a lot of time with family and relaxed. But now, the new year has started and it's time to get back to work. I've been working on this chapter for the last three days...it's a long one, so settle in. I haven't proofread this yet...but I figured I'd made you all wait long enough, so I'd go ahead and post it. I'll give it a good proofread tonight, but no major changes will be made to the chapter. If you happen to catch any errors and want point them out to me, great. I always welcome the assistance._

* * *

><p>Anders exhaled heavily – pushing a cloud of dust and sand into the air. His body ached all over. What the hell had happened? He searched his brain for some record, some memory or indication of where he was. Of how he got here.<p>

There was a woman. And the Legion.

He pushed himself up onto his knees. A white hot searing pain shot through his left leg – up his spine, setting off alarms in his brain. He quickly transferred his weight to his right and examined his injury. It was bruised badly – a dark blend of purple, blue, and black. Struggling to stand, he pulled himself to a nearby boulder and used it for balance. He surveyed his surroundings; in the distance he could see a row of buildings. Beyond that, the Colorado. Cottonwood Cove, then. He shifted his weight uneasily – testing his leg. The pain shot back in an instant. He held it a second, then took a step. The muscles in his body ached and bellowed in protest – but he managed to do it. Not broken, then. Fractured maybe? In any event, he was good to walk…for now, at least.

But not very far, and not very quickly. He scavenged his surroundings – creating a makeshift walking stick from the twisted remains of an old road sign. Then he set his eyes north – with his leg, he'd have some difficulties traveling too far. But maybe…just maybe, he'd luck out and catch Melissa in Quarry Junction.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure how long he stood there; arm extended, pistol drawn. Just staring down the barrel at the withered corpse before him. Smoke trickled from the end of the barrel – spilling out into the air. His breathing had slowed. Slowly reality began to sink in.<p>

House was dead.

His legs began to shake, he began to pace backwards uneasily – never taking his eyes off his fallen mentor. Never lowering his pistol.

The elevator doors shut before him. When next they opened – he emerged in the Penthouse Suite. The alarms were quiet…the securitrons were stationary. Their emotionless faces locked in place.

Six glided through them. His legs were rubber, weak beneath him. They were moving of their own accord.

Victor. Marilyn. Jane. All unmoving. He walked amongst their frozen bodies. To the Lucky 38's primary elevator.

He emerged in the casino. Trudged slowly to the front doors. He pushed them open – letting sunlight spill into the lifeless building. Outside, gathered around the building was what Six could only assume to be every securitron on the Strip. Their weapons directed at the entrance. Behind them, people gathered en masse. Staring up the stairs at the monumental Lucky 38. Amongst them…Graham, Veronica, and Christine.

Six's form flickered. The stealth boy wearing off.

They pushed past the crowd. They were talking to him…but he couldn't hear them. Their mouths were moving, and no words were coming out. He couldn't hear anything. Graham placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him firmly. "Six? What happened?" He sounded far away. Like he was perched atop Black Mountain, calling out into the valley below. "Six?!"

Sharp ringing. A loud, obnoxious noise. The alarms? They hadn't shut off. But he had walked amongst the securitrons in the casino…and they hadn't attacked. The stealth-boy. Of course.

The bustling noise of frightened citizens began to drown the alarms.

The securitrons demanded that everyone move along. That there was nothing to see. Why weren't they attacking him now though? He was visible…The security override? Or were they just unsure of who had executed their leader? Did they even know he was dead?

He blinked once. Twice. He turned to his comrades, then to the people. He held up his hands…a long time. A small stretch of eternity. People began to notice. They began to quiet down. Six shouted over the alarms: "There was an intruder in the Lucky 38!" The crowd began to talk amongst themselves again. "The problem has been resolved! Please! Everyone return to your business!" His hand found its way to Graham's shoulder. He leaned in close, whispering under his breath, "We need to talk. Now."

* * *

><p>They were in the Penthouse Suite. Screaming over the sound of the alarms. Six turned to Christine. "Shut off those alarms, will you?!" He pointed in the direction of House's panic room.<p>

Christine responded with a nod, disappearing from sight.

"House is dead!" Six screamed, turning back towards Graham and Veronica.

"What?!" Veronica pulled her head back a notch. "How…what happened?!"

Six fumbled for a place to sit. He pressed his palms into his knees and looked at the ground. The alarms were sounding off around them. "I…killed him!"

Graham leaned against the suite's paned glass – peering into the street below. People were hesitantly moving on about their routines. They were so small from up here.

"Why?!" Veronica shouted above the alarms. Her voice squeaked in disbelief.

"I had…" The alarms fell silent. "…to!" Six screamed over the silent alarms.

Veronica pulled away from him.

"I had to…" Six repeated himself, quieter this time. "I had no choice."

"What do mean you had no choice?"

Six pinched the bridge of his nose. "House…wanted me to work for him. What he wanted me to do…"

Veronica placed a sympathetic hand on Six's shoulder.

"Vee…he wanted me to activate the self destruct sequence in the Hidden Valley bunker."

"What?!"

She was screaming again. Christine emerged from the hidden room behind her.

"Security's reset. Everything should be business as usual; at least, as far as the securitrons are concerned."

"He wanted you to wipe out the Brotherhood?" Veronica asked, still in disbelief.

"He said…" Six took a breath. "He said the Brotherhood would hinder our plans."

"Our?" Veronica was furious. "That's why you were asking about the bunker's self destruct system! You didn't think to tell me this?"

"I didn't know how exactly to tell you…" Six spat back, on the offensive. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Vee! How's Christine? By the way, I have to kill your friends and family!'" He scoffed. "What the hell are you so upset for? I didn't fucking do it. House is dead. I killed him. For you."

"That's not the point! You should have come to me!"

"What could you have done?"

"I…" She trailed off. "…I'm sorry. It's just…you can't keep trying to be the hero. You have friends. We want to help you."

"I know…" Six sighed. "It's just…"

"Who knows?" Graham interrupted.

"What?"

"House is dead. Who knows?"

"Outside this room? No one."

"Boone?"

"No."

"Good. We need to keep it that way."

"What?" Six raised a brow. "Why?"

"No one else can know this. No one."

The group examined him bewilderedly.

Graham clasped his hands together, resting the bridge of his nose on his index fingers and his chin on his thumbs. "House was the driving force behind the strip – he was the negotiator for the peace treaty between New Vegas and the NCR. He's the head of the Strip's families…"

"Christ…" Six slumped back in his chair. "When news of his death hits the streets…"

"Chaos," Veronica finished his thought. "The families would begin to struggle. Fighting amongst themselves for power."

"Never mind the families," Graham responded. "The NCR. The Legion. With no leader, New Vegas has been more than weakened, it's been crippled. And that's why Craig Boone cannot know of House's death."

"I trust him," Six shot back.

"Rightly so. He's your right hand. And with anything else, you could trust him; but not with this. Your right hand is loyal to the NCR first and foremost.

Six's stomach began to churn. "Holy fuck…" he took a breath. "I need a drink."

"What's the plan then?" Christine asked timidly.

Graham shrugged. "Someone has to take the helm. Someone has to become House."

"And who's going to do that?" Six asked, his voice trembling. "You?"

Graham laughed. "Of course." His voice was caustic. "Who better to lead the people than the man who failed an entire army and his people to boot? No. The Legion lost because of me. New Canaan burned to the ground. I'm no leader." Graham shook his head. "There's only one amongst us with the gall to lead a nation. We all know who it is." His eyes rested firmly on Six.

"Me? A nation?" Six nearly choked on the words. "You think…" He laughed to himself. "You think I can lead a nation? I don't know the first thing about leadership."

"And yet you're born for it. People follow you. What you don't know, you'll learn. In time. In the mean time…your instincts will have to be enough."

"Yeah? That so?" Six's smile faded. His face became somber. "What if those instincts fail us? Who's going to teach me to lead?"

Graham studied him for a long minute, and gave a solemn nod. "I believe I know just the man."

* * *

><p>"What was with the alarms?" Boone asked, falling into step at Six's side as they traveled north along the Strip.<p>

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Requisition," Boone answered. "Crocker sent for me. He wants to meet with you."

"What? What for?"

"Didn't say. The alarms?"

"Intruder. Legion I think. Got into the Lucky 38."

Boone stopped. "Shit…what happened?"

"Nothing," Six answered casually, keeping in step. "House's defenses put him down."

Boone stood there a moment. When Six didn't turn towards him, he fell back into step. "Christ. Crimson bastards are everywhere."

Six cleared his throat. "That they are."

"Where are we headed?"

"To see an old friend."

They were nearing the embassy. "Friend?"

"Benny."

"Why do you want to see him?"

"House has some questions for him."

With a grunt, Boone grabbed the door to the Strip's Military Police Headquarters, holding it open for Six.

Once inside, they were greeted by an officer seated near the entrance.

"Judy," Six smiled. "Any residents today?"

"Couple drunks. And Benny, of course."

"Fine the drunks. Set them loose. I need to talk to Benny."

She examined him quizzically.

"House's orders," he explained. "Keys?"

With a shrug, she tossed the keys to him. He turned right, starting towards the cells, "Stand guard, will you?"

"Yeah," Boone answered, his voice flat.

Six disappeared down the hall. Moments later, two slightly inebriated prisoners stumbled through the doors spouting slurred profanities as they made their way back out onto the Strip.

"Been a long time, fat cat. How's that skirt of yours? She's a real sex pot, you know that?"

Six frowned, his hand found its way to Lucky – nestled in the holster on his belt. He pulled the hammer back and narrowed his eyes.

"Chill, meat. Don't flip your wig, yeah? You came here for a reason, so lay it on me."

"Hegelian dialectics," Six answered.

"Twice you've said that to me, teach. Didn't know what it meant the first time 'round, don't know what it means now."

"…two opposing forces, the…" Six searched his memory. "Thesis and antithesis, if you will, have a conflict…and the resolution of that conflict creates a…" His hands swayed in the air in front of him, searching for Ceasar's explanation. "You know what? It's not important. What it means, as far as we're concerned is this: you and I have different ideas. But our ideas are fundamentally flawed. If we work together…we build off each other's strengths and eliminate the flaws."

Benny raised a brow. "You just blew my mind, teach. You're a real gone cat, you know that?"

Six grimaced. "I want to talk to you about your plans."

"Is that so? But I have so many…you'll have to narrow it down for me, meat."

"Your plans for the Strip."

"Oh those plans. Well you know…a little of this. A little of that."

"What if I told you I was willing to let bygones be bygones?"

"You'd forgive me? After what I done? Baby, you tryin'ta make me cry? I don't know what to say…except maybe what's in this for you?"

"Us. What's in this for us," Six corrected. He reached into his duster, withdrawing a pack of smokes. He offered one to Benny, who gratefully accepted it. Six flipped open his zippo and lit it.

Benny took a long drag, relaxing against the bars. "You're 18 Karat baby, all the way. What are we talking here? Fifty-fifty?"

"No," Six replied bluntly. "But if I like what I hear, maybe you get the Tops back."

Benny exhaled a stream of smoke into the air.

"The alternative?" Six lit up his own cigarette, took quick drag and exhaled. "You rot in here."

"Bummer. It's a sticky web we weave, I tell ya."

"No negotiations. Either you're in, or you're not."

Benny chewed the thought over in his mind. "I'm hip, baby. I guess I can learn to lump it. Anyways, don't look like I've got much say in the matter. So, you still got the chip?"

"Yeah."

"Good," he flipped a bit of ash into the floor. "So, I figure this chip? It's the House edge, baby. Literally. It's what the old man needs to stack the odds in his favor. Some kind of data storage device."

"Yeah, yeah," Six waved his hands. "Tell me something I don't know. The chip upgrades the securitrons."

"Yeah, that's what I thought it'd do…well…Broad strokes? We're talking a change in management. See, the securitorns are where it's at. But even with that muscle upgraded you still have to do something about House."

"Let's say, hypothetically, that's already been done."

Benny laughed. "House bought it? From you?"

Six didn't answer.

"Yeah well," Benny Grinned. "Hypothetically, eh? Alright. Hypothetically…if you were to take House out of the picture, that's where Yes Man would come in."

"Yes Man?"

"All right…so…Yes Man used to be a securitron, yeah? Square as the rest until I gave him a mickey in the shape of a pulse grenade. After that, I yanked some wires and dragged him up to a workshop in my room. Got some help from a squeeze named Emily…one of the Followers over in Freeside. A real whiz when it comes to all things technical, you dig? So she programmed his personality. Made it so that that cat can't help but be helpful. So here's what you do…" Benny sat on his cell bench with a smirk. He stretched out, crossing his legs and took another drag of his cigarette. "You do whatever it is that Mr. House woulda wanted you to do with that chip. Then…then you hook Yes Man into House's data network. You control him. He controls the securitrons…the securitrons control the strip. Get those ducks in a row…Vegas can defend itself versus all comers…and you'd be behind the wheel." Benny smiled wide.

Six chewed his lower lip. "And you actually think this will work?"

"Baby," Benny said, still smiling. "The odds may look long…but that's just because we ain't done rigging them. And we won't toss the dice until we are."

"You act like this is some game of chance."

"That's because it is. You just don't understand the level of the game here…and the way I see it, games have winners and losers. I prefer the former…" he blew a smoke ring into the air. "How 'bout you?"

Six stroked his chin. "And this securitron, he's in the Tops."

"Last I saw…'less someone's gotten into my pad and swindled the place."

"Right," Six turned back towards the doors. "I find Yes Man, I'll send for you. Until then, you stay here."

"Sounds like a plan," Benny chimed, now standing grasping the bars of his cell. "It's been real…" Then under his breath. "Eh…fuckin' dick."

And, _of course_, he meant it _most sincere_.

* * *

><p>The door to the Tops slapped into the wall with a thick metallic clang. The paned glass vibrated, but somehow didn't shatter. Swank, as per usual, was on Six's heels as he started towards the suites. "Heya, baby! Good to see you always nice to have a celebrity stop by!"<p>

Six paid him no mind.

"We're going to have to confiscate…"

Six pushed him aside, setting his sights on the elevators.

"Hey, pal. I don't care if you are House's lack...agh!"

Boone had him tight around the throat, pinning him against the wall. Swank choked and gagged in response. A group of chairmen leveled their pistols on the duo. Six stepped towards Swank.

"I don't think you quite understand the chain of command here. The Tops doesn't belong to the Chairmen. It belongs to House. The only person that House deals with is me. That means _you_…" He jammed a finger into Swank's forehead, "answer to _me_. I'm not your pal. This isn't a chat amongst coworkers. This is an employee-employer relationship." Six echoed House's words from days past. "I'm in charge. And you'd do damn well to recognize that."

He rested his hand on his revolver. His gaze never wavering – his eyes daring Swank to make his next move.

A gagged response. Boone loosened his grip.

Swank swallowed hard. He put up his hands, entreating his fellow Chairmen to lower their weapons. Then he turned to Six. "I understand that, bossman. It's just…if we allow you to come in here armed…what's that say about us? People need to respect us. And if we don't have your respect…how can we have theirs?"

Six raised a brow and thought a moment, then nodded. He reached Swank his rifle and holorifle. "I keep the sidearm. Boone the same. I need the keys to Benny's suite."

With a sigh of relief, Swank took the rifle and bobbed his head accordingly. "No problem." He fumbled through his pockets, retrieving the key. "Benny's suite is on the thirteenth floor. It's the room with the double doors, can't miss it."

Then they were on the elevator, heading up. The sound of the elevator chime filled the air – signaling they had reached their destination. They stepped off and observed their surroundings. It didn't take them long to find Benny's suite. True to Swank's words, it was the only room with double doors in the joint. Or, at the very least, on that floor. He pushed the door open and shot Boone a glance.

"Guard duty?" Boone asked, irritably.

Six pressed his lips and raised his brows. "Guard duty," he confirmed.

Benny's suite was large – and, though not as luxurious as the Lucky 38, the place wasn't half bad. The ceiling plaster was chipped and cracked. In some areas large chunks were missing – exposing whatever material had been used to build the place long ago. The striped wallpaper – mint green and pink – screamed with Benny's flamboyant personality. He had apparently left his radio on…or someone had made use of his suite. The sweet sounding jazz of Blue Moon filled the air.

Bottles of beer and whiskey littered the bar. There was no sign of this "Yes Man".

Six paced through the room, pushing open the door to Benny's bedroom. The bed was unkempt – the blankets pulled back and the pillows askew. On the floor, near the foot of the bed, something caught his eye.

Leopard skin lingerie.

He lifted it, caressing it between two fingers. Unquestionably, it belonged to Cass. He frowned and pushed the thought from his mind. He turned to his right, heading down a small hall. He opened the door…it was a closet. But the back wall had been knocked out.

It was here he found the securitron. It stood idly in the middle of the room. A goofy, smiling face decorating its display.

"Hey! Hi there! Good to meet you, what can I do for you today?" The securitron practically sang.

Six immediately disliked him. "You're this 'Yes Man' Benny told me about?"

"Allow me to introduce myself! I'm a PDQ-88b Securitron! But to answer your question, yes! I am indeed Yes Man!"

"What kind of name is that?"

"Good question! It's what Benny always called me! Probably because I'm programmed to be so helpful!"

Six raised a brow. "And what exactly is it that you do?"

"Another good question! You're just full of them, aren't you! I was programmed to monitor Mr. House's data transmissions…they're all encrypted of course – but I'm quite the decrypter!"

"So you're in House's network?"

"Well…sort of! A distributed image of my neuro-computational matrix is backed-up on the network, so there's a little bit of me in every securitron on the strip! But I need access to Mr. House's mainframe! And to get that, I have to have access to it directly! He's a clever one, that Mr. House! And his security is foolproof!"

"Foolproof? Right." Six twisted his lips into a ball. "What did Benny want to do with you?"

"Oh! He wants to use the platinum chip to copy my neuro-computational matrix onto the Lucky 38's mainframe! That would give me control over all of Mr. House's defenses! From the anti-aircraft lasers mounted on the roof of the Lucky 38 to the securitrons on the strip! Then…I just do whatever Benny tells me to! Easy peasy!"

"You're pretty forthcoming with all this information…"

"I can't help to be! I was programmed to answer any questions I'm asked with no restrictions on who to answer…probably not the smartest thing to do, huh?"

"And you said you can access any securitron on the Strip?"

"Absolutely!"

"Then access one of the securitrons in the Lucky 38 Penthouse Suite. Upload yourself to the mainframe."

"Oh! I'm not too sure about that! First of all…we need the platinum chip! The one Benny killed a courier for near Goodsprings! House had spent 812,545 caps this year alone on salvage teams to find the chip! And there were seven couriers! Six of them were carrying junk! I knew their exact routes, and the mercenary teams that screened them! It was because of me that Benny knew who to wait for and where to wait for him!"

Six dug through his duster pockets, removing the chip. He flipped it into the air casually, caught it and raised it for the robot to see. "You mean this? Yeah…Benny didn't kill that courier. That was me."

The securitron let out a long, light-hearted laugh. "That's not possible, you still have a head!"

Six removed his beret, tracing the scar with his middle and forefinger. "So you're the one who set me up?"

The robot laughed again. "Oh, that's not funny…you getting shot in the head. I probably shouldn't have taken so much pride in how I set that up, huh? I feel bad now. But the good news is, you already have the chip! And it's a wonderful thing too! The platinum chip is key to overriding and exploiting Mr. House's defenses! Did I just say 'exploiting'? That's not a very nice word…but, even with the chip, the big problem will be removing Mr. House from the picture! He'd detect me once I jumped ship into a securitron in the Lucky 38, sure as the vine twirls 'round the stump!"

"House won't be a problem," Six assured.

"Well that's just not possible! No one's allowed in the Lucky 38! So unless House has had some sort of accident…"

"You say you monitor his transmissions? He's been quiet for a while, hasn't he?"

The securitron mulled the thought over. "That he has!"

"That's because I have access to the Lucky 38."

"You do? Wow! That's amazing! Benny was always scheming about how he'd get in…but you already took care of that! Fantastic! But still, I'll need the platinum chip to reset administrator privileges on House's system! Then everything will be super easy!"

"Well, hop on over to the Lucky 38. I'll meet you there soon."

Back out on the Strip, they were walking at a brisk pace. The sun was beginning to set. Six was lost in thought – his mind still on the lingerie he had found in Benny's suite. Boone was just quiet. Six had gotten used to those silences, though it was no easy task. And, perhaps, that's why they got along so well. Before long, they were in front of the Lucky 38. Six turned to Boone. "Graham said something about going to the Old Mormon Fort…have him meet me back here."

"What's going on?" Boone's ire was getting the better of him. Six was painfully aware of it. He didn't like being left out of the loop. And he definitely didn't like that Graham was in on it.

"I'll fill you in when you get back," Six assured him. "But priorities."

"And where are you going?"

"I have to have a chat with House. I'll meet you back in the presidential suite later tonight."

Boone responded with an irritated grunt. Without another word, he headed for the Fort.

Six started towards the Lucky 38, but stopped at the base of the stairs. One of the Gomorrah girls danced provocatively on the street corner. Six took a breath watching her – his mind shooting back to Cass. To her being with Benny. He felt himself begin to fluster – his blood boiling and his stomach churning. Without another thought, he disappeared into the Gomorrah.

He had been in the other casinos on the strip. He'd had dinner in the Ultra-Luxe. He'd seen too much of the Tops. He lived in the Lucky 38…but he'd never been in the Gomorrah. A festering shithole – a proverbial paradise for vice and sin. An Omerta thug stopped him on the way in…demanding to confiscate his weapons.

And he gave them to him. He wasn't here for a fight. He was here to get his mind off things. And he'd heard great things about the Gomorrah.

"Which way to the courtyard?" Six asked the doorman.

The man laughed. "Looking to take the edge off with one of our ladies?"

"Maybe a couple," Six answered wryly.

The man laughed again, harder this time. "Well, if you're looking to spend some caps…talk to Joana. Best piece of ass on the Strip."

Six nodded lightly. "I'll do that…which way?"

The man pointed across the large, crowded room. Cages hang from the ceiling – girls danced within. People littered the floor, playing an assortment of games ranging from black jack and poker to roulette. "You're going to go to the other end of the room, yeah? Through Brimstone. Pick yourself up a drink there while you're at it…big glass doors lead out to the courtyard. Believe me, bub. You can't miss it."

Six departed without responding. He pushed past people – most of them drunk or high – and winded his way through the tables and stools. It didn't take him long to find the courtyard. He was immediately greeted by a stunning woman – her brown hair tied into a neat bun. She wore pink lingerie that was practically transparent.

"Well, well," The woman cooed. "What do we have here? Let me guess…you've heard about the mistress that makes all your troubles melt away, makes you forget all your pain, and makes all your fantasies come true. So you've followed the call of your desires…all the way to the arms of Joana. Moi." She smiled tenderly, invitingly, and stroked Six's arm and chest as she circled him like a shark circles its prey. "But I wonder…do you have what it takes to please me?"

Six raised his brow and chuckled. "Sweetheart, there's nothing I can't handle."

"Oooh," she chewed her lower lip. "Confident…I like that. So tell me, playboy, how are you going to _handle_ me?"

"I think the question you need to ask yourself is how you're going to handle me," He wrapped his arm around the small of her back in a single motion, pulling her close to him. He lifted her small frame and locked his eyes on hers.

"Oh my," she giggled. "Aren't you something else! I guess you'll have to see for yourself what I can do…" She pushed away, and grasped his hand in her own. "Consider it on the house. Follow me, hon."

Six fell in line behind her as she practically dragged him through the courtyard. Up the stairs and, finally, into a room. The room was seductively decorated in reds and pinks. A large heart shaped bed positioned in the center. She turned back to Six, briefly devouring his lips. Her teeth locked around his lower lip, drawing the faintest bit of blood. Then she pushed away from him, backing towards the bed. "Come here, baby…lay down, and I'll take care of you."

Six stepped forward, she wrapped her hands around his duster and pushed him onto the bed. She positioned herself over him, once again devouring his lips.

But this time was different. And she noticed.

He wasn't kissing her back. "Something on your mind, sugar?"

Six swallowed. His heart was racing, his breathing was erratic. He reached up, stroking the side of her face, then let his hand fall to the bed. "A lot of things are on my mind."

"Oh, love…" She pulled him up and embraced him. "We save the fun for later…and talk a while."

It was then Six noticed the markings on her arm. They were subtle…but definitely there. Punctures…tracks.

She was an addict.

"You're a user?"

"What?" She looked at her arm. "I didn't think it was very noticeable…and frankly, it's none of your concern."

He grunted in response. She climbed off of him and sat with her legs folded on the bed. "You're right. It's none of my business…but I've seen what addiction can do. You don't have to go through this alone."

"And you're going to save me, hero? What are you some kind of white knight?"

Six laughed. "Not exactly."

"Everyone wants a piece of their own personal heaven, hon. Gambling, sex, drugs. So they come here…a paradise on this desolate earth. Military men, NCR ranchers, wanderers…heroes. They're all the same with their clothes off. They come to me…the best lay in the wasteland."

"And you're happy about that?"

Joana snorted. "Yeah…happy. I'm happy that you're here…does that make you happy?"

"Drop the routine, sweetheart," Six shook his head.

"Who do you think you are? Coming here, wasting my time. Time is money, hon. And if you ain't got the caps I ain't got the time. You'd best hold your tongue…or someone will take care of it for good. So why don't you just get the fuck out of here?"

"Right," Six made his way to his feet, he took a few steps and stopped. "You want to know what's bothering me? The reason I came here? Because I had something real. And I fucked it up. Point I'm trying to make, doll…you're throwing your goddamn life away. Sleazing from one drug addicted fuck to another. Wake the fuck up, get the hell out of this life." Then he turned back to the door.

And he had hit his mark. The stifled sound of crying in the air. He looked back at her. Her head buried in her arms.

"I…I don't know what's happening to me. I can't feel a anything anymore…just empty and poisoned. Fear. I'm afraid I won't make it out of here…if the Med-X doesn't kill me, Cachino will. I must look pathetic…I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

Six sat back next to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. "What do you mean…Cachino might kill you first?"

"Filthy monster…I've been with perverted men, but the things he's done to me…even other Omertas would want him dead. And all because he found out about me and Carlitos."

"Carlitos?"

"He was an Omerta…that…fell in love with me. Omertas don't mix with people outside the family, you know?" She sniffed. "Cachino found out about us…and Carlito disappeared. He was the only thing that kept me going…and now I don't have anything left. So now I'm stuck here…and I've accepted it."

"Stuck? You can't leave?"

She laughed between sobs. "Leave? Right. I belong to the Omertas. Nero would never let me leave."

Six was on his feet again. He wrapped his hands around Joana's shoulders. "Come on, we're getting you out of here."

She immediately pulled away. "What? No! He'll kill us both."

"He won't lay a finger on me."

She laughed. "You sound so sure…but the Omertas don't care who you are. They'll kill you if you try to leave with me. They'll kill us both."

"They're not going to lay a finger on House's right hand."

Joana's eyes widened. "You…you're the one that got into the Lucky 38?"

"The same…"

"Are you serious…" She laughed, a brief smile flashing on her face. Her eyes shimmering in the dimly lit room. But it quickly faded. "No…the Omertas won't care. I've heard Cachino talking about some plan…about getting even with Mr. House."

"And House will be glad to know that. Either way, I'm getting you out of here." Six took her hand into his own and started back out the way they came in. He lead her through the courtyard and threw the glass doors to Brimstone open. They weren't halfway through the room when Joana's grip tightened and she ducked behind Six. "What? What is it?"

"That…" She pointed, her hands shaking. "That's Cachino."

Six followed her gaze to a heavyset balding man watching dancers on the stage. He marched across the room with malicious intent, "Hey."

The bald man looked at him. "What the fuck do you want?" Then to Joana. "What are you doing? Get your ass back in the cou…"

Bam! The sound of Cachino's head slamming into his dining table echoed across the room.

The room fell silent.

Six pulled Cachino back up by the back of his head. "Joana tells me you're into some strange things. Is pain one of them?"

"Fuck you!"

Another vicious slam. "She also tells me you ratted on Carlitos?"

"Fuck. You." Another slam. One of Cachino's teeth clattered across the table. He squealed in agony. "Ah…stop! stop! Yeah I ratted on him. We put a hit out on him…but we can't find him. It's the truth, I swear!"

"Thanks for your cooperation," Six slammed his head again, this time with enough force to knock him unconscious. The guests had cleared the room – Six was now staring down the barrels of two thugs armed with sawed-off shotguns.

"Wait!" A scratchy voice filled the air.

Six turned towards the voice, it belonged to a man in a dirty brown suit and a fedora. "And you'd be Nero?"

"No," the man answered. "They call me Big Sal."

"Well, Sal…"

"_Big _Sal."

"_Sal_…" Six continued. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but Cachino here has been abusing Joana."

Sal looked at the prostitute, then shrugged. "She looks fine to me."

"That's not the point."

"And what exactly is the point, tough guy?"

"The point is…she's done with this. And I'm taking her out of here."

Sal laughed. "I don't think you understand the predicament you're in, kid. Send her on over to me, and maybe you get out of this alive."

Six smirked, he pushed Joana behind him. "No. I don't think you understand who you're dealing with. My name is Six."

"That supposed to impress me?"

"It should. I'm the right hand of Robert House. It doesn't matter if you respect or even like House…you will respect his authority. And if _anything_ happens to me, or Joana, then House's securitrons are going to fall down on this Casino like ravenous deathclaws. And you think they were bad before? I don't know if you've noticed the on screen image has changed…from police into soldiers…that's due to an upgrade. Though the securitrons haven't had opportunity to test these upgrades…let me assure you that they are now, more than ever, a force to be reckoned with. Missile launchers…grenade launchers. They're fully equipped and more than capable of handling your thugs and their buckshot. So go ahead." Six presented his chest. "Put a few rounds in me. And give House a reason to test out his new toys."

Sal narrowed his eyes, his face contorted with anger. "Take the slut. Get the fuck out of my casino. Next time…I don't give a fuck who you are…I'll fuckin' put a bullet in you myself."

* * *

><p>"Ah, Craig. I'd like you to meet Arcade," Graham motioned towards the man standing at his side.<p>

Boone looked blankly at the man, then turned back to Graham. "Six wants us to meet him at the Lucky 38."

"Did he say why?"

"No," Boone shook his head. "Just that I should fetch you."

Graham nodded, "Well," he turned to Arcade, "Shall we?"

Arcade pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Uh, yeah. By all means."

The gate to the fort pulled open as they neared it. Great Khans. "Shit…" Boone cursed.

It was Melissa, holding an injured man by the waist. "Great…a perfect way to end a fucked up day." She frowned at Boone. Then, to Arcade, "You a doctor?"

"Not that kind of…" Arcade looked at the man. He was in bad shape. "What happened?"

"Legion," She answered. "He got caught selling drugs…they don't take kindly to that."

"No," Graham agreed. "They don't."

The man looked up at the group, his face pale. Then he leveled his eyes on Boone. "You NCR?"

"Yeah," Boone answered.

"Legion is on this side of the Colorado…you need to hurry to catch them. They've captured a group of people…"

"That's not my conc…"

"…couple kids and their mom, and a redhead …" The man continued. "Girl goes by the name of Cass."

* * *

><p><em>That's it for this chapter. I'll try to get another out by around Wednesday, but I have a lot of stuff I'm trying to take care of right now - so forgive me if I'm a little slow. <em>

_In other news, I've settled on the title for the Fallout 3 story - I had some wonderful submissions, and I thank everyone who submitted something, but ultimately I could only choose a select few. I can't remember who all sent them via messages...and I've cleared my inbox, so I apologize for not thanking everyone individually. The title I ended up going with is "Anywhere I Wander" - a wonderful reference to New Vegas, but suitable for the adventures of the Lone Wanderer. The Subtitle for the first "book" will be "Sins of the Father". Thanks to **TheBestPlayaEvah **for that submission. I'll be breaking the story up a little bit differently for Fallout 3. Book I (Sins of the Father) will cover everything from the escape from Vault 101 to the death of James at Project Purity. Book II (Who Dares Wins) will cover everything from the Enclave capturing the Lone Wanderer and the Brotherhood of Steel taking back project purity to the battle at Adams Air Force Base. Book III (Into The Pitt) will cover the Lone Wanderer's adventure in Pennsylvania. Book IV (Southern Comforts) will cover the Lone Wanderers adventure at Point Lookout. And Book V (Not Of This World) will cover the Lone Wanderers close encounter with the extraterrestrial. I have something special planned for Book V...but that's a long way off. I'll upload all of the covers later this week.  
><em>

_Another issue at hand will be the Lone Wanderer's name. Originally, I was going to go with a nickname - "Thirteen" - because thirteen is my favorite number. But I didn't know if it would seem clichéd or unoriginal because I used a number as the name for the Courier in this series. So my next task for you, my wonderful readers, is to let me know what you would like me to "name" the Lone Wanderer. I'm definitely not going to call him/her Wanderer or Lone Wanderer through the entire story. So they'll have to have, at the very least, a nickname. I would actually prefer a nickname. So...if you think Thirteen works then let me know. If you have a suggestion, then please pass it along.  
><em>

_As always, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you next time!_

_Cheers.  
><em>


	25. Chapter 24: Who's Gonna Save You Now?

_So...yeah, I've been really distracted lately. Trying to get things in order to apply for Grad School in the fall. Still have quite a few things to take care of. What free time I've had, I've been using to play Dead Space 3. Which is pretty much amazing, by the way._

_Also, I played through Halo 4's campaign. The Didact is totally Joshua Graham - or, rather, it's the same voice actor. **Halo 4 Spoilers** - he totally shoots "New Pheonix" with a giant laser. I found that very ironic._

_I don't have anything to rant about today, so...here's the chapter. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>Freedom. She was outside the Gomorrah for the first time in…Jesus, she couldn't even remember how long it had been. Excitement filled her veins. "That was incredible!" She cast her eyes skyward, then further up the Strip, and finally, she brought her eyes to rest on Six. "<em>You<em> were incredible! Those Omertas looked like they were going to kill you on the spot!"

Six didn't respond. He scooped up her hand and started towards the Lucky 38.

That's when her excitement faded.

"Hon…" Joanna looked Six over, up the stairs towards the imposing structure. She was free…after all of the abuse, after everything she had been through…she was finally free. But now, she was following him up the stairs to the massive tower that no one ever entered. And, as far as she knew, no one ever left. In all honesty, she didn't know him. She didn't know why he had saved her…or what he had in store. A man who looked two sawed-off shotguns down the barrel and didn't blink. Who talked to Big Sal like he was any other thug. Naturally, she was afraid.

Six turned towards the woman when he felt resistance. She had quit walking. She stood there, holding her left arm with her right. Her eyes leaving him and shooting up the building that stood before her. How long _had_ it been since she had seen the outside of the Gomorrah? How long would it be until she saw it again? She couldn't let herself walk from one prison into another.

"…Nobody's ever been good to me. And don't think I don't know that there ain't shit in life for free. So what's it going to be for you? Caps? Sex? …Straps?"

Her voice was quivering. Six could quite literally hear her fear. He narrowed his eyes, a look of exasperated confusion on his face. "What?"

"Payment…for what you've done for me. What's it going to be? Of course…I'm willing to pay…anything it takes."

Six cut her off. "No. You don't owe me a damn thing." He turned to Victor, standing idly by the Lucky 38's entrance. "Victor."

The securitron turned its attention to him, as if awakening from a long slumber. "Howdy pard'ner!"

"Take her to the presidential suite," he turned back to Joana. "Go with him. Go eat. Rest. Make yourself at home. I'll be back soon."

"Where are…"

"I've got some things to take care of. You'll be safe here…the Omertas won't dare set foot in the Lucky 38. And don't you worry about a thing…if Carlitos is in the Mojave, I'll find him."

Joana bit her lower lip. She took two steps forward and stretched her small frame up onto her tiptoes. She kissed his cheek tenderly and stroked the side of his face. "Thank you…for everything."

She passed through the doors to the Lucky 38, looking back for the briefest of moments. The door shut behind her, then Six was on the move. Heading down the Strip – towards the embassy. He needed to talk to Benny.

* * *

><p>"Come again?"<p>

The injured man, Anders, looked at Boone. "They were east of Searchlight, last I saw them…I don't know how many. They took a group of people."

Boone stepped forward, grasping the man's chin. He leveled the man's gaze, bringing it to his own. "You said there was a woman. Cass?"

"Yeah," Anders thought back to the woman. "Pretty girl. Ah…" he racked his brain, searching for some defining characteristic. "Said they nabbed her up from Novac. A bit of a spitfire. "

That had to be her. "Son of bitch…" Boone pushed past the Khans, heading for the gate.

"Something I should…" Graham began. But – without another word – Boone was gone. Graham cocked his head to the side, confused and vaguely annoyed.

"Cass…" Arcade repeated, hand on his chin. "Yeah, I remember her. Has a little pendent she keeps around her neck?"

Anders nodded. "That's the one."

"Yeah," Arcade turned to Graham. "A while back, she came in here with an injured man. He'd gotten caught in an explosion near the Silver Rush. They seemed to be an item."

"This man," Graham asked, "Anything you remember about him?"

Arcade shrugged. "Not much more than I've already told you. He was with the woman…rough shaven, sandy blonde hair." Arcade curled his lower lip and thought. Then pointed towards the gate. "He wore a red beret. Like the one your friend was wearing."

This confirmed Graham's fears.

Arcade turned his attention back to Melissa. "Come on, bring him into one of the tents. I'll have a look at that leg."

Graham took a breath. It made sense. The Legion had sent Six as an assassin. He'd failed them…now he'd have to be punished. Their original leverage hadn't enticed him into doing their dirty work…Six had said, himself, that the woman they had originally captured wasn't anything special to him. At least, not anymore. So they'd simply looked for something that would break him – and they had apparently found her.

* * *

><p>"Hey hey," Benny chirped, "you find what you were looking for?"<p>

"I did. Yes Man is in the Lucky 38 now, waiting to be uploaded to the mainframe."

With a laugh, Benny slapped his thigh. "Groovy! Now all you have to do is let me outta here…"

"So you can what? Stick a knife in my back like you did to House?"

Benny's smile faded. "Not cool, baby."

"You want to know the kicker to all of this? House intended to train you as his protégée. You were mere weeks from being handed the position that fell into my lap. If you'd kept it in your pants just a little while longer."

Benny fell back onto his cot. With a huff, he shook his head. "Guess I should have seen this coming, eh?"

Six raised a brow. "Let me be perfectly clear about one thing…House was on to you from the beginning. He knew you had the chip…he knew you were in the Lucky 38…but he sat on his ass, twiddling his thumbs. Instead of sending that army of securitrons to your door step, he sent me. You want to know why?"

Benny didn't answer. Electing, instead, to let his gaze answer for him.

"Image. Can you believe that shit? Image. It'd be bad for business to send the securitrons after you when he could have me do it under the table." Six unlocked the door to Benny's cell and swung it open. "Let me be perfectly clear about something. You're running the Tops…but it belongs to me. House may not have sent the securitrons after you…but I will. If I even get the feeling that you're playing a game behind my back, you'll wish I let you rot in here."

Benny raised his hands. "Love it or leave it, I'm hip. You won't regret it…I promise you."

"First things first…the Omertas…"

The door behind Six swung open with a loud crash – Six spun around, almost expecting to find Big Sal or one of his men. Instead, he found Boone.

"We need to talk," Boone's voice was different…unlevel. If Six hadn't been so preoccupied he may have noticed.

"Can it wait?" Six began to turn back towards Benny.

"Six…it's about Cass."

This got his attention. He turned back to Boone. "What about Cass?"

Boone shot Benny a glance. Then, back to Six. "We need to go. Now."

Six's stomach sank. Boone was already heading out the door – Six fell in step behind him. Stopping briefly to turn back to Benny. "Go back to the Tops. Don't disappear on me. I found you once, I can do it again."

* * *

><p>Six tapped his foot, waiting impatiently for the Strip's mechanical gate to open. Just outside it was Graham. He was becoming more and more imposing with each passing day – standing more erect, more at attention; his icy blue eyes never straying from with whom he spoke. Six had come to respect Graham. But somehow, he was still wary of the man…the man that just wouldn't die.<p>

"Do we know for certain that it was her?" Graham asked hardly, falling into step at Six's left as he began his journey through Freeside.

"It's her." Six answered, Boone exited the gate – immediately joining Six at his right. Veronica and Christine trailed behind.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"Who else could it be?"

Graham's eyes darted around him. No one could be trusted. "How," Graham asked sternly, "do we know?"

"Because she's not in Novac anymore. I went there to talk to her…they told me she'd just up and left."

"Did anyone see her leave?"

"What does it matter? Boone said the Khan confirmed it was her."

"Do you have any reason to trust this man? How can you be certain you're not walking into a trap?"

Six didn't answer. He couldn't be certain. But Graham could see that it didn't matter.

"Did they take her from Novac or did she venture out?"

"I don't know," Six was getting frustrated. He walked, answering Graham's questions flatly. Boone was statuesque – he didn't speak, didn't blink…hell – he didn't seem to even breathe. He just marched on. They were nearing the intersection at the end of the stretch; the crier for the Atomic Wrangler danced and pranced, shouting about the greatness that is the Wrangler. Six turned down the street towards the Wrangler, but, instead, hugged its left side. He was heading towards Rafaela's Repair and Supply.

"Did they know of the relationship between the two of you?"

Again, Six didn't answer. Ignoring Graham, he pressed on to his destination. In a single swift motion, Graham blocked his path and grabbed the duster wrapped around his riot armor. He brought Six close to his face. Close enough that Six could smell the faint aroma of the bio-med gel he applied beneath his bandages every morning. Just as quickly, Boone's rifle found its way to the side of Graham's head.

"This time, it won't be your gun I shoot," Boone assured.

Graham paid him no mind; his eyes narrowed, never leaving Six. "Caesar's Frumentarii are everywhere. Caesar would not hesitate to exploit a weakness – any weakness – that his opposition may have. I'll ask once more," Graham was gritting his teeth. "Did Caesar know of your relationship with this girl?"

Six looked to the ground. "He could have…_I don't know_."

"Is she worth dying for?" Graham's voice was quiet.

"What?"

"_Is_," Graham's voice was louder this time, "_she worth dying for_?"

"_Yes_!"

"_Good_." Graham released his grip. "Because you're likely going to kill us all going after her."

Six's expression shifted – it was his turn to be angry. "We _have_ to get her back."

"And we will. But only if we hurry," Graham eyed the both of them intensely. "If she hasn't already been taken to the fort, she'll be at Cottonwood Cove."

Boone swallowed. "I've been there."

Graham felt a wave of sympathy crash over him. But this was neither the time, nor place. They entered the scorched remains of the Silver Rush. Construction drones were still hard at work, repairing the place. They found Raul in the back, putting some finishing touches on a pistol. Raul turned towards them. "Ah, perfect timing." He reached Graham the pistol – a snub nosed .45 auto pistol with a snakeskin grip. "Improved sights. Carbon steel slide…I don't think even Boone's rifle will put a damper on it now."

Graham took the weapon graciously. "Thank you. While we're on the subject of rifles…" Graham trailed off. "Veronica and I are the only ones without one…"

"Going hunting?" Raul laughed. He pushed his seat back and trekked across the room. "I have a few new toys in…"

"It's Cass," Six interrupted. "Legion has her at cottonwood."

Raul stopped, he looked up at Six with concern. "Oh…Boss, I'm sorry to hear that…" He pushed the shipment crate back into place. "In that case…" He made his way back towards them. Under the desk he withdrew a black case. He opened it, revealing an aged gauss rifle. "Had a couple mercs come in a few days back…one of them needed this repaired. He's made some interesting modifications to it…" he reached the rifle to Veronica. "You're trained with this, right?"

Veronica grinned widely. "I prefer to do things up close and personal…but I definitely know how to put this to use. But, won't they be angry about you giving it away?"

Raul shrugged. "I'll just give him a replacement…have a few of them in stock. I'll tell him it was beyond repair."

"It definitely looks it…" Veronica admitted.

Raul laughed, then looked at Graham. "And for you…" He rummaged under the desk once more. "Fifty caliber…with a few minor adjustments..."

Graham lifted the rifle, inspecting it closely. "Custom bolt…carbon fiber stock and grip…impressive."

Raul shrugged. "Suppressed too. Have a lot of time on my hands, Jefe." He turned to Six. "Want me to come along for the assist, Boss?"

"That's why I'm here," Six admitted.

Raul nodded briefly. "That's what I suspected. He retrieved his rifle – the very same he brought to Zion, and joined the group. "What's the plan?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead…" Six said, as they exited the shop.

"Have you…thought about what you might have to do? If we can't get her out, I mean?" Christine asked, voice quiet.

"No," Boone answered immediately. "We're going to get her out."

"They're not going to just let us have her."

"I'll be damned if I don't try," Boone spat back. His voice showing signs of irritation.

"You just going to walk in and grab her?"

"_I'll tell you_…" He was gritting his teeth.

"Wait…" Graham stopped. "That's not a bad plan."

"What?" Christine raised a brow.

"And that's exactly what we're going to do." He turned to Six. "You have any of those gold bars left?"

"Yeah."

"Grab a couple of them. Meet me at the Old Mormon Fort."

* * *

><p>"Have you met Arcade?" Graham asked Six as he and his group passed through the gate.<p>

Six shot the man a glance. "Not formally. Look…what's this plan you have? We don't exactly have time to have introductions."

Graham nodded. "You're right. We don't. Boone and Christine are your best ranged shooters…but they're not going to be enough." He turned to Boone. "You say you're familiar with the area around the Cove?"

"Yeah."

"Well enough to set up a squadron of snipers along the ridge?"

Boone gave Graham a single, solemn nod.

"And your unit in the NCR, they were snipers?"

"First Recon. Most accurate sharpshooters the NCR has ever seen."

"Where are they stationed?"

"Now…" Boone chewed his lower lip. "Forlorn Hope? Just north of Nelson."

"Good. Get them. And you," Graham pushed his index finger into Six's chest, "stay clear of the Cove. Caesar is no doubt very angry with you. Believe me when I say that he knows I live. You will go to Cottonwood Overlook. There's an old truck there, filled with radioactive material. When the Legion set up camp in Cottonwood, I told Caesar to move the truck, but the foolish old man never listened. Now we'll make him regret it. Blow the truck open…what the radiation doesn't do, your sharpshooters will."

"How the hell is this supposed to get Cass out of there?" Six asked, his voice trembling.

"You brought the gold?"

"Yeah."

"Then you'll buy her. They'll hold an auction… Arcade has agreed to purchase Cass from the Legion. But, they're not going to sell her to anyone outside the Legion. You'll need to find armor…praetorian…preferably centurion armor. There's a safehouse, southeast of Nipton…though I'm not sure where."

"A safehouse? That far west of the Colorado?" Boone sounded skeptical.

"Yes. Though I'm not entirely sure where…I've never been there myself. Never had reason to be."

"Then how can you be sure it's there?"

"It's there. I know where it is," Anders answered. He trudged towards them on crutches, Melissa at his side. "I can take you straight to it…"

"You're in no condition to be hiking across the Mojave," Melissa countered.

"Doesn't matter…they won't be able to get her out without help."

"Fuck 'em," Melissa glared at Boone. "NCR are a bunch of fucking murderers anyway."

"I'm not doing this for the NCR," Boone growled.

Melissa studied him deftly. She turned to Six. "This woman…she mean something to you?"

Six's answer was solemn. A statement of fact. "She means everything."

Melissa sighed. "Look…I know where it is. You helped me out in the quarry…Khans don't leave debts unpaid."

Six's response was an appreciative nod.

"There shouldn't be much resistance…" Graham continued. "Get in…kill anyone you find. Get the armor. No survivors…do you understand?"

"You don't have to worry about that," Boone promised.

"Arcade should be able to walk into the Cove without resistance… He'll bring her to meet you at the Overlook."

"You mean _us_? You and I will be at the Overlook."

"No. I'm not going."

"What?" Six asked in near disbelief.

"Caesar has had his eyes on me since I arrived in the Mojave. I can feel them everywhere I turn. If I accompany you, you'll be escorting me into his arms. Do that, and she's as good as dead."

"And what? You don't think he's got a price on my head?"

"No. If he wanted you dead – believe me, you'd know. He wants to hurt you. He wants you to suffer…I've seen him do it before. Many times. He's vindictive. A child commanding great power. And you've scorned him. Before he kills you, he will strip you of everything that you hold dear."

Six frowned.

Graham pushed the anti-materiel rifle into Six's chest. "If they haven't auctioned her off already…she'll be sold with the rising sun. Go. Now."

* * *

><p>"And you believed him."<p>

Not a question, an accusation.

"He hasn't given us any reason not to believe him," Six answered.

Boone grunted in response. They were nearing the 188 – where he intended to branch off to enlist the help of First Recon.

Six checked his pip-boy. It was getting late…the sun was starting to set. "You'll meet me here," he pointed to the on-screen map. "Highway ninety-five runs close to an old mine…"

Boone was looking at the map. "Coyote mine," he answered.

Six shrugged, he'd never been there. "We'll meet there…and figure out the rest as we go along."

"While Graham sits…"

"What does it matter what Graham does?" Melissa's unique accent filled the air.

"It doesn't," Boone answered irritably. "Keep your friends close…"

"And enemies closer," Melissa finished. "I know the feeling."

Boone's face softened for a moment, he stopped in his tracks and stared at the woman.

"I think I can make my way from here," he said, abruptly cutting away from the group.

Six shook his head, "Raul?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Go with him. Make sure you get to the rendezvous before sunup."

Without a word, Raul fell into step with Boone. Melissa walked, keeping an eye over her shoulder until she was sure he was out of earshot.

"What's with him?"

_What do you think?_ Six wanted to ask. _It's you_. Instead he shrugged. "Boone doesn't talk about things."

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Fuckin' NCR trash."

"You don't even know him," Veronica countered. Her normally jovial voice held an edge. "You don't know what he's been through. You don't know anything about him."

"Excuse me?"

"There's no excuse for you," Veronica sneered. "You think just because he's NCR that he's somehow inherently evil or something."

"You weren't at Bitter Springs, you don't know what it was like."

"I don't need to be. It was a massacre, I've heard all about it. But what I do know is that soldiers don't make decisions themselves. They get orders. They follow orders."

"A man should think for himself," Melissa's voice was beginning to shake.

"Milgram," Arcade said aloud – more to himself than to the others.

"Milgram?" Six asked.

Arcade removed his glasses – he took out a small silk cloth and wiped the lenses. "There was an experiment done in the mid nineteen hundreds by a psychologist. Stanley Milgram…it centered around obedience to authority. In his research, he had volunteers following instructions given by a researcher. The volunteer was mislead to believe they were administering shock therapy to another person – with a heart condition no less – through the use of prerecorded messages. The volunteer would ask a series of questions, and the 'shocks' were to increase by fifteen volts each time a wrong answer was given. What Milgram found was that even when people were uncomfortable, and even when the recorded cries were full of agony , when asked to continue the volunteer would do so."

"Reminds me of a vault I visited once," Six muttered.

Melissa clicked her tongue and shook her head. "What's your point?"

"My point," Arcade explained, "is that sometimes even the most clear headed individual does as they're told. If…if they're receiving orders from a figure that holds some authority over them."

"Sure they do."

"The first time I met you, you were in Quarry Junction," Six pointed out.

"And?"

"Why were you there?"

"To pick up a delivery."

"For who?"

"For the Khans, who the fuck do you think?"

"You decide to do that on your own?"

"No," Melissa admitted. "Papa sent me."

"I've been wanting to check out Dead Wind Caverns. Care to check it out with me?"

Melissa's face contorted with confusion. "What?"

"Dead Wind Caverns. I passed it once on the way back from Nipton. I've been meaning to check it out."

"Are you fucking insane? It's full of deathclaws."

Six laughed. "So was quarry junction."

* * *

><p>"Joshua," Julie smiled. "Here to pick up supplies?"<p>

Graham shook his head softly. "I've come to make myself useful."

Julie tilted her head, eyes wide, and laughed. "We could certainly use any help we can get…Freeside's a damn mess. Townies are constantly picking fights with NCR civilians. Thugs and thieves are always looking for a victim…and the local families are just sitting back making caps. No one's raised a finger, and the Followers can only do so much." She sighed. "But I'm not sure that your _qualifications_ are exactly what we need right now…" Then she paused. "_But_…there is one thing."

"Name it," Graham said, assuredly. "And see it done."

"Old Bill Ronte and Jacob Hoff…great minds, but severely addicted."

Graham grimaced. "I'm not sure I'm the right man to help someone kick an addiction."

"The Followers can help them with that. But not as long as their supply is steady…what they use, it's not your run of the mill stuff. Jet and whiskey laced with Sym."

"Sym?"

"It's extracted from concentrated doses of irradiated dog saliva… and it's four times as potent as even the strongest Jet. They buy their drugs from a man named Dixon. I'm not suggesting that you hurt him. But, if someone were to persuade him to halt the sale of his merchandise…" She trailed off.

"And where would one find this man?"

"Addicts tend to hang around the Atomic Wrangler…that would be as good a place as any to start."

Graham placed a hand on her shoulder. "Say no more."

He was prowling Freeside. People crossed from one side of the street – warily watching him. Avoiding his gaze. He passed through the derelict bus separating North and South Freeside. His eyes scanned the buildings around him. Then came to rest on the young blonde dancing on the corner…he had seen her before. A crier for the Atomic Wrangler.

"Hungry? Thirsty? Horny? The Atomic Wrangler has everything you need!" The woman sang to him as he approached her. Graham didn't respond, he walked towards the woman – his imposing figure growing closer with every step.

"The Wrangler's just down the street!" She choked out. "You're almost there already."

Graham held up his hand. "I'm not interested in your promotions. I'm looking for someone."

She eyed him warily.

"Dixon," Graham clarified. "A dealer who frequents your _esteemed_ establishment."

"I don't know anything about him, mister."

Graham reached towards his waist, bring his hand to rest briefly on his pistol. The woman swallowed, her eyes shining with fear. Then his hand moved to his pocket – he withdrew a small amount of caps, displaying them in his open hand.

"Perhaps you could point me in his direction."

Her eyes skimmed the street. "He's set up in an alley down by Mick and Ralph's. That's all I know, mister. I swear."

Graham dropped the caps into the woman's hands. "You've got quite the voice," he told her – walking away. "You shouldn't waste your life away working for the Wrangler."

Graham wasted no time, he marched with intent towards Mick and Ralph's. He searched the ruined bulding across the street from the establishment. Then, something caught his eye. A man waving to him from an alleyway. As Graham drew near the man, he turned – running down the alley. Graham followed him vigilantly – paying mind to his surroundings. He passed two other men – both armed – chatting near the corner of one of the buildings. The other man had stopped near a dumpster. Graham approached him – he wore a dirty white baseball cap with an old set of goggles strapped around them.

"Looking for a fix, man? I got what you need."

"You're Dixon."

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

"Your merchandise…you make it yourself?"

"Yeah, man! People can't get enough of my shit! You won't find anything better."

"I'm going to give you one chance…you're going to quit selling. Quit producing. Or you're going to leave. Either way works for me. But you have no business here. Not anymore."

"Man, who the fuck do you think you are?" Dixon sneered.

Graham didn't answer. He simply rested his hand on his pistol.

Dixon chuckled. "You want to try your luck, huh? I've been looking forward to a good scrap." He whistled to the men down the alley. They started towards them – but Graham shot them down with two quick and well aimed shots. Dixon retrieved a rifle from the nearest dumpster. He swung it up – Graham pushed it skyward. He drove his heel into the top of Dixon's foot, then drove his hand into his throat. Dixon gasped for breath. Graham placed the pistol to his temple.

"Go fuck yourself," Dixon choked.

Graham pulled the hammer back. Dixon's demeanor changed.

"I'll leave man, I promise. You won't hear from me again…"

Graham let out short laugh. "One chance," he repeated.

Dixon's life flashed before his eyes. But the last thing to enter his mind was the bullet.

* * *

><p>Six peered through his binoculars. The sun was beginning to rise. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. His heart thumped in his chest. He could see Arcade – in full Legion attire – approaching the prisoners in Cottonwood Cove. He saw the unmistakable leather jacket and rattan cowboy hat amongst them. It was Cass.<p>

He turned his sights up the mountainside – Raul, Christine, Veronica, and First Recon were in place. Laying flat, peering through steady scopes. Hell was going to rain down on the Cove on this day. But there was a commotion...Boone was on his feet. He pointed towards Melissa, who in turn was obviously screaming. Manny and Bitter Root were on their feet also. _What the hell is going on up there?_

Back to the Cove. He could see Arcade conversing with a Legionnaire – a Centurion. Cass was on her feet now, shouting what was undoubtedly profanities at the men.

Arcade tossed the gold bar onto the ground at the man's feet. The man lifted it, examining it closely. He smiled and nodded towards another Legionairre. He opened the gate – leading out Cass, followed closely by the other three.

Cass was quiet now. She fell into step behind Arcade; who looked towards Six. They started back up the road. Then stopped.

The Centurion trekked towards them, weapon drawn. Six cursed under his breath. He raised the anti-materiel rifle and leveled it on the Legionnaire's head.

* * *

><p><em>That's it for this chapter. I'm going to get another one to you this weekend...things should slow down a little bit so I should have time to write. Wish me luck with the Grad School application, yeah?<em>

_Also, for those interested, a video was made of a short story I wrote a year or so ago. It's posted on youtube by a user named "MrCreepyPasta". The story is called "Prey". I encourage you all to check it out. The video was made really well - and no, it's not me reading it. I was pretty pleased that someone made a reading of it though.  
><em>

_Until next time.  
><em>


	26. Ch 25: You'll Know It When It Happens

_Alright...really long delay. But it turns out things were just getting started. I've been out of town for the last few weeks (actually, I still am). I had a job interview and I'm waiting to hear back from them. Wish me luck, yeah?_

_In other news, while writing this chapter I decided that Boone deserves a backstory. Or, rather, a retelling of the backstory he already has. It won't be long, but I've started working on a small piece for Boone. It'll be about five chapters or so...and it'll be part of the 18 Karat Run series. It'll be titled "Bullets & Broken Things". I'll diverge to this piece at the end of Chapter 26. I've designed the cover for it and uploaded it to my account on Deviantart. Follow the link on my profile...let me know what you all think of it. I believe it's my favorite cover design yet._

_Also, I've uploaded the covers for Anywhere I Wander...so have a look at them too._  
><em><br>I included a little bit of Latin in this chapter...but it's been a long, long time since I took it. And I only took a little bit in High School...so for you Latin buffs...if you see any mistakes, let me know._

_And now...what you all came for.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"You'll need to stay off of it," Arcade reached the man a set of crutches. "It's nothing too serious, but nevertheless, until it's healed I'm going to recommend you stay here."<p>

"Here?" Melissa chewed her lower lip. "I'm not sure that's a good idea…this is NCR territory."

Arcade's face turned stern – "No," he objected, a single finger pointed in her direction. "No, it isn't. The fort belongs to the Followers – the NCR has no jurisdiction here."

Melissa smiled at the man – he clearly had distaste for the NCR.

Movement at the tent entrance. "Not interrupting, I trust?"

Arcade turned towards the intruder. It was Graham. Arcade felt his stomach shift – he still wasn't sure what to make of the man. The monster. "Well," he answered. "I am with a patient…Julie's in her quarters. I can send someone to fetch her for you."

"I'm here to speak with you, actually. A pressing matter that deserves your full attention."

Arcade raised a brow.

"I'll wait outside. When you've finished with your patient…" Graham trailed off, letting the tent flap fall behind him. Again, he could feel the eyes of the Followers upon him. Unraveling his bandages, picking him apart. He did his best to ignore them, and waited. A wait that, although short lived, felt like an eternity.

Arcade emerged from the tent, removing a pair of latex surgical gloves. He crumpled them up and tossed them into a nearby trash can. Then, he turned his attention to Graham.

"_Salvē, amicus. Me adiuvāre potes_?"

"_Fortasse. Quid faciam vobis_?" Arcade answered.

Graham nodded approvingly. "You speak Latin."

"Well enough. You asked for assistance…what can I do for you?"

"We have confirmation that the woman the Khan spoke of is, indeed, the woman Boone thought it was," Graham said matter-of-factly. "My…" He searched his mind for a moderately appropriate description, "employer intends to rescue her. This is a very delicate matter, as I'm sure you understand. If left to his own devices, he will go in weapons drawn. And likely cost anyone involved their lives."

Arcade scratched his brow and nervously tugged at his glasses. "I'm not sure I can be of much assistance…you'd probably be better off talking with Beatrix." Arcade motioned towards the ghoul standing guard at the gate.

Graham shook his head. "No. No, I believe you're just the man to lend a hand. Tell me Arcade, have you ever been to Cottonwood Cove?"

* * *

><p>"Legion!" Ten of Spades whipped his rifle into firing position, bringing it to rest on the approaching group.<p>

Boone's hand was on the barrel of his rifle in an instant, pushing it ground-ward. "No, it's not." He started towards the group.

"How can you be sure?" Sterling asked him, falling into line at his side.

"They're who we're here for," Boone pointed towards the man leading the group. "See the man in the red beret?"

Sterling peered through the scope of his rifle. "That's the man you were with back at McCarran."

"The same." The two groups were closing in on each other.

"You going to explain this situation now?"

"It's a rescue mission – we're going to infiltrate Cottonwood Cove," he pointed to Arcade. "He's the ace up our sleeve."

"Infiltrate the cove?" Manny scoffed at the notion. "That's suicide."

"No," Boone replied flatly. "It's not."

"What the hell is she doing here?" Bitter-Root practically barked. His eyes were on Melissa.

They were apparently within earshot – which surprised Bitter-Root – as Six answered him. "She's with me."

"She's a Khan."

"So were you," Boone countered. "How are we going to do this?"

"Arcade and I will head for the overlook…" Six flipped through the dials on his pip-boy, bringing up the map. "You still have your flare gun?"

Boone rummaged through his pockets. Withdrawing the flare gun, he handed it to Six. "I'll station the squad along this ridge…" he pressed his index finger against the pip-boy's screen. "We'll have a clear view of the settlement from here."

"Don't open fire until I give the signal. I want Cass well out of the way before we take these sons of bitches out"

A couple hours later they were in position – laying flat on the ground near a makeshift shack. Boone scanned the area meticulously. He could see Cass in an enclosed area around the side of one of the buildings. A large group of Legion soldiers gathered around the front – and a Centurion stood above them on the open balcony of a two story-radio station. They began to push their captives out – one at a time, bringing them to the Centurion. He would speak – and the Legionnaires would yell and wave.

His stomach twisted into a knot. For a moment, he felt dizzy. He sat up, burying his face into one palm. Covering his eyes.

Melissa, having noticed his distress, laughed. "Legion too good for your bullets?"

"You shut your mouth," Manny spat at her.

"Or what? You going to kill me up here on this mountain with no one around to see?"

His hand found its way to his sidearm. He found his way to his feet, but didn't draw his weapon. He stared the woman down – she didn't waver. She didn't blink. She didn't even stand.

"Do it if you're going to," She told him, almost nonchalantly.

She called his bluff.

Cursing, Manny returned to the task at hand. Melissa chuckled to herself. With just enough volume to get under Manny's skin. Still, he held his tongue. Biting his lower lip, he laid flat on the ground – watching the Legion below through the scope of his rifle.

But Bitter-Root did not. He was on his feet, pistol drawn. He marched towards her.

A thick crack and Bitter-Root was on the ground, nose bloodied.

Melissa stood over him, her knuckles wet with blood.

Bitter-Root was on his feet again, poised for attack.

"Stand down," Boone commanded, voice cold.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" Bitter-Root screamed at the girl.

Melissa laughed, wild-eyed.

"I said stand down," Boone ordered again.

"I don't take orders from you!"

"For this mission, you do. I'm the one in command."

"Like hell you are!"

Manny was up in an instant, arms up – trying to be the voice of reason. "This isn't the time…"

"Fuck you," Bitter-Root scowled at him. Then, back to Boone. "And fuck you and your Khan."

"You got a problem with me, you little cunt?" Melissa spread her arms wide, chest presented. "Take your best shot!"

"A problem? Really?" Bitter-Root half laughed. "You fucking Khans think you can do what you want, go where you want. You fucking sell to the fiends, steal from the NCR…yeah, yeah I've got a problem with you. Every fucking one of you backwards, inbreeding…"

"Shut your goddamn mouth!"

"Quiet," Boone growled. "Both of you…I don't care what your problem with the Khans is" he pointed to Melissa. "But she's with us. And you're not going to lay a damn finger on her. Is that clear?"

"What are you going to do, lover boy?" Bitter-Root stepped forward, shoving Boone's shoulder. Boone took a step back, again his stomach twisted into a knot; his eyes practically burned a hole through the kid standing before him. "Huh?"

Another shove, another step back. He clenched his fists.

The rest of First Recon were up – everything was spinning out of control.

"Jesus, look at his nose…" Betsy's face curled in anger. "Nobody touches First Recon…"

"Just a minute," Sterling stepped in front of Betsy. "He came at her first…"

"What does that fucking matter?"

Melissa felt her knees trembling. Her body full of adrenaline. She wouldn't get out of this alive…not against this many.

But she didn't care. She'd take at least one of these bastards with her.

Bitter-Root turned towards her again – he unsheathed his knife. He took a step forward, but hit the ground – stomach first. Boone had the boy's arm pinned to his lower back with his left hand. His right elbow pressed down against the Bitter-Root's neck, pinning him in place.

Everyone was on their feet now. Raul, Christine, Veronica…

Betsy raised her rifle – directing it towards Boone. In turn, Raul directed his at her. Sterling followed suit – aiming at Raul. Then Melissa leveled her pistol at the old man.

"Drop your weapon," Sterling warned Raul.

"For Christ's sake…" Veronica felt her throat tighten. "…all of you. What the hell are you doing? We need to focus!"

The world around them turned red. Boone cast his eyes to the sky – a bright light. The flare. Lighting up the world above the Overlook. It was starting.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ave<em>, true to Caesar."

Arcade locked eyes with the Legionnaire. He cocked his head to the side. "I'd like to procure a few servants."

The Legionnaire smiled. "Then you've arrived just in time. We have fresh stock…more than a few suitable to serve you as you please. Follow me."

Arcade fell into step with the man.

"From where do you hail?" The Legionnaire asked.

"Phoenix," Arcade answered. The first city in Arizona to come to mind.

"Phoenix?" The Legionnaire grinned. "Excellent, amicus! Our Centurion, Aurelius, also hails from Phoenix. Perhaps you two have met?"

"Perhaps," Arcade answered, cursing his luck in the back of his mind.

They followed the road until they came upon a large gathering of men standing before a stone two-story building. Atop the first story, on an open balcony, was who Arcade could only assume to be the man in charge. Aurelius.

Standing next to him was a young girl – perhaps fifteen years of age.

"…untainted by the hands of men! Such a jewel is rare to find and precious indeed!"

A virgin. Arcade grimaced. Around him the rife roars of wicked men filled the air.

"We shall start the bidding at twenty Aureus!"

How much was that? Arcade wasn't sure.

"Twenty!" A man in the back shouted.

"We have twenty!" Aurelius bellowed. "Do we have twenty five?"

"Thirty!"

"We have thirty!"

"Fifty!"

"Fifty!" Aurelius repeated. "Fifty once! Twice! Sold! Severus, kindly deliver this man his prize!"

Severus brought forth the next piece of merchandise. Arcade instantly recognized her. The same cowboy hat, the unmistakable crimson hair. She was bound in shackles and, from the look of it, weak from malnourishment.

"This fiery prize hails from the New California Republic! Tracked and captured by Canyon Runner himself at the behest of the great Caesar!" Aurelius reached out to stroke her cheek, Cass pulled away. Aurelius laughed. "Though impure, her passion is unrivaled! And every lash she takes is a lash against the NCR! We'll start the bidding at fifteen Auereus!"

"Fifteen!"

Again the bidding started. Cass scanned the crowed.

"Twenty-five!"

"Fucking monsters!" She turned to Aurelius, spitting in his face. Aurelius pulled away, wiping his cheek. He grimaced for a moment, then reached out, grabbing a fistful of her hair.

"Thirty!"

Aurelius shoved her to her knees. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order! To foster interest!"

Enough was enough. Arcade pushed through the crowd – when he had reached the front he dropped the gold bar in the sand at his feet. "My offer!" He bellowed. "For the lot."

Aurelius eyed the gold bar, shining in the morning sun. "And where does one come across such a prize?"

"Does it matter?" Arcade asked.

"I suppose…" He said after a moment of silence, "it does not." He grinned. "Sold!" He pushed Cass towards Severus. "However! This buys only the woman."

"And for the rest?"

"This is a business, I cannot simply disregard previous purchases…not for a sum so small."

Arcade swallowed…he retrieved the remaining gold bar from the pouch at his side. He dropped it on the ground with the other.

A wide smile spread across the face of Aurelius. "Done."

Cass, having seen the gold, studied Arcade quietly. She recognized him…but from where?

Severus pushed her towards him. Then the others.

"I don't recognize you," Aurelius said. He was descending the steps, heading for Arcade. "From where do you hail?"

Arcade froze. His mind frantically searching for some exit. "Aurelius!" He practically sang. "You do not recognize a fellow tribesman? I too hail from Pheonix!"

Aurelius raised a brow. "Forgive me…I do not…"

"Of course not! I was a shadow then. Very boring, really…more suited to the life of a Freeside junkie. It took the mighty hands of Caesar to mold me into the man that stands before you today! But isn't such work expected from the son of Mars, himself?" Arcade was bellowing now, proud – jovial. A façade to hide the adrenaline fueled fear that was pumping through his veins. Arcade turned back to the slaves that Six's gold had purchased. "Fall in line, profligates!"

"And where would you take them?" Aurelius asked, curious.

Arcade felt his heart flutter. "Caesar has stationed my men and I near Nipton…a safehouse. Where we await further orders."

"What use have you for these slaves?"

Arcade smiled the most malevolent smile he could conjure. "Entertainment…of course." He gently stroked the arm of the young virgin – who timidly pulled away. Arcade grasped her arm – hard enough to arouse a squeal. "You will do as you're commanded," he growled. He turned back to Aurelius, "If you have nothing else to delay me with?"

Seemingly pleased, Aurelius dismissed Arcade with a wave of his hand. Arcade took leave, his flock following him closely. They started towards the road.

"_Amicus_!" Aurelius yelled, "...Just a moment." He was walking towards them, Severus at his side – their weapons drawn. He studied Arcade. "_Quid sentiendum videatur de diis_ NCR?"

Arcade laughed. "_Victrix causa deis placuit sed victa Caesar_."

A long silence. Arcade forced his limbs to remain still. Finally, a smile broke out across the face of Aurelius. "I like you…we must break words one day soon." He lightly tapped Arcade's armor with his blade, still grinning.

A spray of bone fragment and grey matter. Blood soaked Arcade's face. Severus toppled to the ground.

Surprised, Aurelius hit the ground. Grabbing his falling comrade and taking cover under his corpse.

Red filled the sky.

_Oh, God.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Six leveled his scope on the Legionnaire's head. He watched the man speak with Arcade. Cass and the other prisoners stood silently at their side.<p>

Arcade smiled.

So did the Legionnaire.

Six let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God…" he muttered under his breath.

Then he saw the Legionnaire lift his blade – a curved blade with a wide head that grew more slender towards its hilt. The blade found its way to Arcade's chest. The man held it to the breastplate of Arcade's stolen armor. He had spoken too soon. Six held his breath – and fired. He missed the man brandishing the blade...but the bullet hit a mark. One of the Legionnaires toppled to the ground, his head exploding in a shower of blood. The rifle's recoil knocked him back a step. His shoulder throbbed in protest. He immediately dropped the rifle, instead withdrawing the flare gun. He fired once into the air. Below him, he saw Arcade and Cass bolting up the hill, the other slaves behind them. The Legion was confused at first – but it didn't take them long to give chase. Six whipped around the truck, his pip-boy crackling at every second. He grasped the lever to release the trucks trailer door…it wouldn't budge.

He could see the Legion gaining fast on the group of escapees. What the fuck is going on? What was Boone doing?

Six withdrew his machete. He wedged it under the door and pushed down hard on the blade. The door groaned, but didn't move.

"Fuck!" He scanned his surroundings…then laid his eyes on the rifle Graham had given to him. He wasted no time in retrieving it – sprinting across the way and back again. His bad leg lightly throbbed in protest. He took aim…not at the Legion following the group, but at the lock on the back of the truck. He braced himself and fired. The lock broke free. Grasping the handle, he threw the door up with all of his might. He was immediately struck by a falling barrel of toxic sludge. It hit him with enough force to send him rolling backwards. He fumbled for composure, digging his hands and feet into the rocky hillside. The stones tore at his flesh. Dizzy and sick from the passing barrels, he was growing weak. When the last of the barrels had passed, he pulled himself to his feet. He turned to the encampment – the remaining Legionnaires were vomiting and collapsing. Then he turned to the fleeing group – a trail of Legion bodies littered the hill. He fumbled with his rifle, searching for Boone's location.

Boone's unit had long since opened fire – picking off the Legion bastards one at a time with impeccable speed and precision.

Where was Cass though? Arcade? The others…he didn't see them.

"Six!"

He turned in the direction of the voice. Cass was rushing across the overlook towards him. A weak smile spread across his face.

She enveloped him in her arms…he reciprocated with a long, thick stream of vomit. Disgorging it across her shirt and jacket.

Startled, she pulled away. Six collapsed, unconscious. "Six!" Cass dropped to her knees, lifting his head.

Laughter. She turned to the approaching Arcade. "Guess he didn't take enough Rad-X…" Arcade lifted Six's pip-boy and flipped through some dials. "Doesn't look like he was exposed too much…should be easy enough to take care of. He'll be fine."

* * *

><p>Julie carefully applied fresh – clean – bandages to Graham's arm.<p>

"I'm sorry to have put you in that position," She apologized to Graham. "If I'd had known that he was dangerous…"

Graham held up his free hand. "I'm fine, Julie…I assure you. You may rest easy on the fact that Dixon will not be supplying Freeside with his garbage anymore."

"Still…" Julie twisted her lips into a ball. "I'd preferred that no one got hurt."

Graham sighed. "Sometimes a man must become the very thing he hopes to remove from this world. A necessary evil, I'm afraid."

Julie paused, she gazed into Graham's eyes. "No…no, you don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'd like to see the good in people…but it has been in my experience that few people have good left in them at all."

"I don't think so…I'd like to think there is good in everyone. Sure…" she continued wrapping his arm, "there are times when circumstances call for irrational action. And it might be true that circumstances force us to behave in ways we wouldn't otherwise behave in…but there's hope for everyone."

"Is there?" Graham asked.

Julie could hear the skepticism in his voice. "Yes," she told him firmly. She had finished wrapping his arm, but still grasped his hand. "There's good in everyone too, Joshua."

Graham pressed his lips, and furrowed his brow.

Julie must've sensed it…she squeezed his hand gently. "There's good in you."

Graham raised his hand, gently stroking Julie's cheek. He scooped up her chin, leveling her eyes with his own. "Thank you," he said, sincerely. "For everything you've done for me."

She smiled. "I have to confess…it has not been unselfish of me…"

Graham tilted his head, slightly confused.

"Excuse me…" a meek voice filled the air. Julie turned towards the entrance of her quarters. The source was a blonde woman, clad in a dusty doctor's coat.

"Luria…what brings you to Freeside?"

"It's happened again, Julie…a girl this time. Sixteen years old. Alice Hostetler…she went missing last night, from North Vegas Square…"

"Christ…" Julie sighed. "How many does that make now?"

"She's the fourth one this month…"

Graham made his way to his feet. "Who was the last person she was seen with?"

Luria warily studied Graham, but didn't answer.

"Tell him, Luria…if anyone can help, it's him."

"A ghoul…Andy…uh," She searched her memory. "Scabb. Andy Scabb."

* * *

><p>Boone trekked through the camp – his stomach churned, but the Rad-X he'd consumed was serving it's purpose well enough. Bodies were strewn across the camp. Some fatally wounded from the onslaught of gunfire…others, from the radioactive barrels that littered the shoreline. The camp was motionless…bleak. All had been visited by the black hand of death on this morning.<p>

Save one.

Boone could see the man clenching his stomach, vomiting profusely…sporadically. Radiation poisoning.

It was Aurelius. Boone recognized him well…

A grin spread across Boone's face. He made his way across the camp to the man. "NCR," Aurelius barked weakly. "I should have known…such a spineless attack."

Boone shrugged. "Still standing though, aren't we?"

A choked laugh. The man's mouth wet with blood and vomit. "What a way to live…the life of a coward."

"Better than the life of a monster," Boone touted. He kneeled next to the man. "But that's a life you won't have to live with much longer…" He slung his rifle over his shoulder and withdrew his bowie knife. He pressed the tip into the ground and twirled it with malicious intent. "Do you remember a woman…a slave…of course you do…" Boone's smirk faded. "You were standing next to her…auctioning her off when I shot her."

Aurelius smiled wide. "Oh! I remember her…I remember her well."

"She was my wife. She was pregnant with my child…you know what this means for you, don't you?"

"I know…but before I leave this world, I'd have _you_ know what _we_ did to her. Over…and over…and over…as she screamed and begged for mercy. Begged for the sake of her child…and called out your name…Craig."

Boone felt a wave of fury pass over him. He pressed the knife into the man's leg, breaking skin. He twisted it hard and held it in place. Aurelius would have screamed if his lungs would have permitted it…but all he could muster was the sound of weak groaning; rasping breath infused with the thick gurgling sound of a throat flooded with fluid.

Boone removed the blade and thrust it into the ground – then he dug his thumb into the wound, grasping loose flesh and torn muscle. He wrenched and pulled.

More agonized groaning…but the whimpers faded into laughter. "Do what you will…it doesn't matter. As we speak, Caesar moves against the Bear."

"I'm not here on the NCR's behalf…" Boone growled.

"Then it won't matter to you when your President falls."

Boone paused. "What are you talking about?"

Aurelius lifted himself off the ground, but only slightly. His grin spread wide…"Kimball's vertibird is on route to the dam as we speak. He should be arriving soon. It'll be the last speech he ever delivers…"

"You're lying…you wouldn't divulge plans to assassinate the NCR President."

Aurelius relaxed against the ground, still smiling. "Perhaps. But I'm not long for this world…and the Dam is half a day's journey from here. You'd never make it in time to save him anyway…"

The last thing Aurelius felt was the cold steel of Boone's blade.

* * *

><p><em>Alright. I'll read over this again tonight to check for any typoserrors. I'm in a bit of a rush now, I have things I have to do...but I wanted to get this out to you...seeing as I told everyone I'd post it forever and a day ago._

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. And I'll see you next time._

_Update: The titles have a character limit! This is the first time I've noticed. So I cleverly substituted "Chapter" with "Ch."...does that annoy anyone as much as it annoys me?_

_Also...again, you might notice a bit of history coming up between Julie and Graham. Don't worry...that will be revealed in The Prodigal Son. A long ways down the road, but I think you'll enjoy what I've got worked out._


	27. Chapter 26: Arizona Killer

_So, it's been way too long since my last update. But you all will be glad to know that I have gotten everything together - started my new job, got moved in to my new place, and been accepted into Grad School. I start classes in the fall - going for my Master's degree in Mental Health Counseling. So that's always fun._

_With that in mind - and with things falling into place - I've got more downtime on my hands now. So I'm going to start trying to put out a chapter a week again...but it really depends on my work schedule. As long as they keep me on 3rd shift so I can write while I work, we won't have any difficulties. But my schedule is subject to change, so we'll see._

_I'll be diverging from the main story again after this chapter - and going into Boone's history. I think you all will enjoy the way I'm going to write it. It'll start out as a similar style, but it's going to diverge a bit. Boone will be telling the story, so I'll be switching over to first person. As if Boone himself is telling it to you. So I'm looking forward to starting that._

_The title of the next piece will be 18 Karat Run: Bullets & Broken Things, in case you need a reminder. I know that I said it in the previous chapter's rant too...but it's been a long while since I've posted anything, so it's understandable that some may have forgotten it._

_Now a little bit on this chapter - it was hard to get back into the mindset to start writing again. I wrote this all in about four hours last night...I like the way it turned out, but as usual I wanted to get it to you quickly so you could all enjoy it. There may be errors present - typos or grammatical errors. But they'll be pretty trivial and you shouldn't have any problems following the story._

_My proofreaders are welcome to proof, and - of course - leave me some great comments. If any of you are familiar with the basic fundamentals of behavioral psychology - think of it this way: The more positive reinforcement I get, the more I'll want to write. Which in turn will give you more to read. Reading your comments is almost as rewarding as pay day._

_Cheers._

* * *

><p>She held his hand as he lay there…as she had done before. As she'd undoubtedly do again. A bag of RadAway taped sloppily to her shoulder with the tubes traversing the length of her arm - it came to rest in the veins of Six's own. If she was quiet enough, she almost felt as if she could hear the steady drip of the fluid.<p>

He squeezed her hand weakly, his eyes opening. Her garish smile and the equally vibrant crimson of her hair the first thing to grace his sight.

He returned that smile. "Hey," his voice trembled. Still weak from the radiation.

"Hey, yourself," She chimed. "Are you feeling alright?"

He managed a feeble shrug. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," she lied, thinking back to the crack of the whip. "I'm fine."

"Then I'm fine," he assured her.

A pang of remorse shot through her…a simple lie. One that didn't matter…as the man who had cracked the whip was surely lying dead in the cove with his fallen comrades. Still, she felt guilty; despite the fact that he had lied to her so many times before. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "You had me worried."

"All in a day's work…" Six felt his stomach churn as he pulled himself into an upright position. He closed his eyes tightly and rested his face in the palm of his right hand – he felt a steady percussion in his temples, a steady thump-thump that caused the veins in his brain to pound. For a moment he thought he may vomit, but the feeling subsided.

"Radiation poisoning," Arcade explained, kneeling at Six's side. "You probably should've taken a few extra doses Rad-X before opening that container…but I suppose you weren't expecting one of the barrels to knock you off your feet." He adjusted his glasses and looked at Cass, a faint smile across his face. He removed the duct-taped RadAway from her shoulder. "You're an excellent impromptu I.V. stand."

Cass forced a pseudo-smile.

"That should just about do it…" Arcade said, examining the nearly empty bag. "You should be back to yourself in no time…just watch out for any lasting side effects."

"Side effects?" Six's brow furrowed. "What kind of side effects?"

"Oh, the usual…stomach pain, headaches…"

"Check, check…"

"Nausea…"

"Check."

"Fatigue…"

"Check…" Six was beginning to sing the word, barely paying attention to what Arcade was saying.

"Hair loss."

"Che…wait what?"

"It's not common…" Arcade told him. "But it's not unheard of either. I don't think you have anything to worry about. You've not been on it nearly long enough…unless you happen to be taking it regularly."

"No…"

"Addiction is nothing to be ashamed of…"

"I'm not an addic…" Six sighed, cutting himself off. His head thumped again, aching vilely. He took a deep breath "…can you even get addicted to this shit?"

Arcade shrugged. "It's been known to happen from time to time."

Six scowled. He struggled to stand, so Cass caught his shoulder. The world spun around him for a moment, but leveled out quickly. He cast his eyes across the Cove. Bodies were strewn about, thinly peppering the settlement floor. He turned his eyes towards the mountain ridge to west. There was no sign of First Recon; or his people, for that matter. He scanned his immediate surroundings…Arcade, Cass, two other women, and a boy…likely rescued slaves.

"Where's Boone?"

"Left," a strange, familiar accent filled the air. Six cast a glance over his shoulder. Melissa was treading up the path to the Overlook, Raul on her heels.

"What?"

Melissa shrugged. "He went down into the Cove to scout for survivors…came back a little edgy. Talked to his buddies and they took off."

"And Veronica? Christine?"

"Went with him, along with the rest of First Recon."

"He didn't say where he was going?"

"Not to me, he didn't."

"I might be able to help with that, Boss."

Six turned his attention to Raul.

"When he was in the Cove, he found a Legionnaire…the man may have divulged some sensitive information about some Legion plans."

"What kind of plans?"

"Game changing plans, Boss." Raul cast a suspicious look in Melissa's direction. She raised her hands submissively and began to strut away. Raul leaned in close to Six, "President Kimball…" he whispered, "is flying in to deliver a speech…if what the man says is true, he won't live to see the end of it."

"Christ," Arcade shook his head. "When's the speech?"

"This afternoon…what time is it?"

Six glanced at his Pip-Boy. "Almost eleven."

"Couple hours then," Raul let out a sigh, removing his vaquero hat and running his hand along his fleshy scalp.

"Where?" Six asked.

"Hoover Dam."

Arcade removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "He'll never make it in time…not at this distance."

"When did he leave?"

"Half an hour ago…give or take."

"Shit…" Six cursed under his breath.

"Wait…" Arcade looked towards Six, restoring his glasses to their proper location. "We just might be able to help him…"

"Unless you've got a corvega…or a horse…tucked away in that bag of yours, Boss, I don't think there's anything to be done."

Six ignored the ghoul – Raul could be so pessimistic. "What'd you have in mind?" He asked Arcade.

"If we can get to a Ranger station…we can radio ahead to the Dam. Warn them."

"That's what I said," Raul touted. "Boone shot it down. Said that the NCR would expect assassination attempts. It wouldn't be the first time. The President has body guards…takes precautions."

"Then why are we even worried about it?" Cass asked subjectively.

"'Cause safeguards don't always pull through," Raul replied. "Kennedy, Lincoln, King, Gandhi…all it takes is one bullet."

"Gone-dee?" Cass crinkled her nose.

"Yeah…he was…"

"No time for a history lesson right now, Raul," Six interrupted. "Any other bright ideas?"

"That radio thing might actually work," Melissa rang in, leaning against one of the resort cabins.

"If that'd have worked, I'm sure Boone wouldn't…"

"Listen," Melissa pushed herself off the wall and began towards him. "You're a big shot on the strip now, right?" Noticing the confusion in his eyes, Melissa chuckled. "Word gets 'round. So, you get to the ranger station…you call ahead. You say that House is sending his ambassador…" she jabbed her finger into Six's forehead. "Sending you…to meet with the president of the NCR, to listen to his speech…"

"He'll still be at the Dam," Arcade was nodding at this point. "But at least he wouldn't be out in the open. That's actually not a bad plan."

Six mulled the thought over in his mind. "Alright…we have a plan. Where's the nearest ranger station?"

* * *

><p>As he traversed the dilapidated streets of North Vegas, he couldn't help but feel the eyes of every citizen on him. And why wouldn't they stare? A man covered from head to toe in bandages, sporting a pre-war bulletproof vest. Or maybe they weren't looking at him. Maybe their eyes were on the interesting little trinket he had picked up at the Lucky 38. A floating mass of steel and carbon fibers – the eyebot ED-E. It beeped and swayed jovially at his six, all the while tuning into various radio stations. It was almost as if it was selecting the songs it played based on preference.<p>

Just up the street from his current location, he could see the man he sought; sitting nonchalantly on the curb, cigarette dangling between his lips.

The first thing Graham noticed was the stench. Sure, most ghouls had a particular smell…but this one smelled more akin to a walking corpse. Even worse, really. He smelled sickly. He smelled of death – Graham could quite literally see the pustules that covered his arms and face. Pot holes filled with pus. You had to be wary around people like this – the type that didn't take care of themselves…because if they didn't care for themselves…

"What are you looking at, prick? Answer me…or I'll get trigger happy real quick."

The music faded from the air as the robot grew quiet.

Graham took a deep breath – through his mouth. "I'm looking for someone," he answered. "I was told that she was last seen with you."

"Yeah? And who would that be?"

"A woman…a girl, really. Alice."

Andy ran the decaying slab of meat he called a tongue across his yellow teeth – all the while half smiling. "What about her?"

"She's gone missing…a girl like that," Graham shook his head. "Much too young to be away from her family."

Andy scoffed at the notion. "Family? Let me tell you what family is, bub. Family is a sick joke…a word that the world throws on our shoulders without our say or opinion. You think she cares about her family? Fuck, her family's what drove her to me in the first place."

"What makes you say that?"

Andy shrugged. "Look. Maybe I'm wrong…maybe she came to me because I'm so damned good looking. Or maybe it was because her mother's trying to break her back...making her plant crops in the ground that die a week later from rads. Maybe she's tired of a father that's never there for her…always off fucking that pretty secretary of his."

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, she belongs home. _Honor_ _thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon_…"

"Fuck you and fuck your bible you slimy piece of shit," Andy spat into Graham's face.

Graham cleared his throat. He could feel the thick, warm saliva trickling across his gauze. "Is it safe to assume that you're not going to cooperate?"

"Fuck,"the ghoul repeated, "…you."

Graham tilted his head. "I didn't quite catch that."

Andy's smirk widened. He leaned in close, "_Fuck_," He annunciated the word loudly, clearly. "…_youghhh_."

Graham had him by the neck. He pushed the ghoul backwards, pinning him against a dilapidated gray central building. He felt his thumb slip through an open sore on Andy's neck – viscous fluid squirted out, covering his hand.

"I'll ask once more," Graham growled. "Where can I find Alice Hostetler?"

The ghoul grinned wide despite his predicament – choking on his own saliva and from the force of Graham's vice-like grip.

That was the problem with a man who didn't take care of himself…he wasn't afraid of death. He wasn't afraid of torture or pain. Graham wasn't going to get any information out of this one. But he could sure as hell rid the world of this vile creature.

Graham raised his free hand, planting it firmly around Andy's collar bone – pinning him against the building, giving himself some leverage. "Have it your way." He squeezed hard, gripping Andy's throat. The viscous pus gave way to crimson – Graham violently twisted his wrist and Andy was no more. He let the ghoul slump to the ground and examined his hand – once again tainted with blood.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound…clapping. He turned to see a man approaching; an older man sporting a dark cowboy hat, black leather vest and worn red sweater.

"I was wond'rin' how long it'd take someone to do that piece of shit in."

Graham flicked his wrist, sending fragments of skin and bits of fluid to the ground at his feet. "It was only a matter of time…had it not been me, it'd been someone else."

The man smiled and extended his hand…but quickly withdrew it, eyeing the goo-covered gauze. "Ah, name's Jules. Though I can't blame ya' for takin' that son of a bitch out…s'my job to help keep the peace 'round these parts. So less'in you had a reason…I'm afraid we're gonna have to settle this the old fashioned way."

Graham cast his eyes to the magnum nestled at the man's side. "Your gun is well kept…forty-four?"

"You know yer guns."

Graham nodded. "I've always been partial to my forty-five…may I?"

Jules tilted his head, a light smirk on his face – then rested his hand on his revolver. Graham slowly reached for his own pistol – lifting it with two fingers on the butt – then passed it to the lawman.

"Snub nose," Graham told him, "…custom commander-style hammer, skeletonized trigger, and trench sites with a snakeskin grip."

Jules examined it closely – "Quite a piece o'work. What's this engravin' say?"

"It's Greek, John 1:5," Graham explained. "_And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not._"

"I seen a lot of folks come and go…but none fit yer type, stranger. Where you from?"

"Ogden…you may know it as..."

"New Canaan…" Jules finished his sentence. "I know of it. Yer Mormon?"

"You've heard of us then."

"I done some travelin' in my day…seen a lot. Done more."

"Haven't we all?" Graham asked; a slight chuckle in his voice.

Jules reached Graham's gun back to him. "We see eye to eye, stranger. There're two kinds of folks…some load their gun like ordn'iry men, some like a devil. We ain't ordn'iry men, are we?"

Still chuckling, Graham shook his head. "That we are not."

"So what's yer name, stranger?"

"Joshua," Graham replied.

"Well, Joshua. What brings ya to these parts?"

"I'm looking for a girl…Alice…"

"Hostetler? Yeah, I know her. Seen her too much lately…but not fer a while now, come to think of it. That Andy…he's a bad seed, ya' know? Wouldn't doubt he sold her out…that's the law of the land, idn't it? Never know when someone's gonna stab you in the back."

"I wish I could disagree with you," Graham sighed. "So you haven't seen her then?"

"Not fer some time. But Andy's done a lot of shady dealings with a man out in Aerotech…name'a Kieth. Might try talkin'ta him."

"Aerotech?" Graham grimaced, turning to the eyebot. "Think you'll be able to find it?"

ED-E answered with a triumphant series of bleeps.

* * *

><p>The sound of bubbling water and whisking wind filled the air. As they neared the radio tower, Six's pipboy immediately began to crackle its displeasure – at this sound, his stomach began to fold in on itself.<p>

"Here," Arcade said, having noticed Six's reaction. He withdrew a small brown bottle from an inner jacket pocket, then removed the cap, emptied the contents into his hands and dispersed the pills amongst the group, save Raul – who'd do just as well without it. "Just as a precaution."

Six scowled, examining the tiny dual-toned pill; bright blue and nearly florescent green. "Hair loss, huh?"

"For RadAway, yes."

"But not this?"

"Rad-X is more or less a highly concentrated potassium iodide. It's a non-radioactive salt…by saturating the thyroid with this salt we can…" Arcade trailed off, having noticed the arch of Six's brow. With a sigh, Arcade shook his head. "There are some adverse affects of prolonged or excessive use…hyperthyroidism, swelling of the parotid gland…but no. It won't cause your hair to fall out."

Content with this answer, Six rummaged through his bag. He withdrew a few bottles of purified water and handed them out to everyone. Before long they were walking along a crudely erected fence below the radio tower. They followed it around to an opening in the north-eastern most corner.

"I don't remember being informed about any transfers to this post," A man with what Six was sure was the thinnest mustache he'd ever seen looked over at the group. His wide brimmed hat steadily absorbed the beads of sweat that accumulated along his brow line. He reached up, wiped his forehead, and reclined against a sandbag wall just within the compound. In his left hand he held a clipboard, with loose paper littered with scribbles. In his right, a set of binoculars.

"That's because we aren't transfers."

The man with the pencil thin mustache made his way to his feet. He eyed Melissa warily, then turned his attention back to Six. "Welcome to Ranger Station Echo," he greeted them. "I'm Ranger Erasmus…what can I do for you?"

Six extended his hand and introduced himself. "I need to contact whoever's in charge at the Dam."

Erasmus twisted his lips into a ball. "Six? Like…envoy of Mr. House himself?"

"Something like that," Six answered. "Now…radio?"

Erasmus pointed towards a small make-shift booth just inside the camp. "Talk to Comm Officer Green, he can…"

Six pushed the ranger aside and made his way to the booth. "Green?"

"Yeah?" The man in the booth answered. He looked Six up and down, "What the hell is a civilian doing all the way up here?"

"I need to use your radio," Six replied immediately, almost before the man could finish his sentence.

"What? Why?"

Six immediately disliked the man. Everything about the grimy bastard just irked him in a way he couldn't explain. "For one…Cottonwood Cove has been retaken, if you fucks haven't been paying attention. So you need to get your goddamn radio and call in someone to hold the fucking area. More importantly, I need to reach the Dam."

"The Cove has been cleared?" Green looked past Six and towards Erasmus. He was already scouting the shoreline. After a beat, he turned back to Green and gave a quick thumbs up. "Well, I'll be…why do you need to reach the Dam?"

"What he needs to reach the dam for is not your concern ," Cass answered, "Do you have any idea who he is? He's the fucking right hand of Robert House. You think you're in a shit hole now? All he has to do is say the word and your ass will be so far into Legion territory that…"

"Alright, alright. Jesus Christ." Green shook his head, studying the redhead for a moment. "I was just curious," he clarified, before finally turning to his radio transceiver. He flipped a few dials, twisted the knob to the appropriate frequency and lifted the CB. "Echo Lima Seven to Black Canyon, over."

The radio hissed.

"Repeat, Echo Lima Seven to Black Canyon, come in."

The radio cracked a moment then a voice came through. "Reading you Echo, this is Black Canyon – go ahead."

"Black Canyon, I have House's ambassador here…requesting …"

"Oh sweet jumping baby Jesus…" Six rolled his eyes. He pulled the radio from the NCR communications officer. "By the time you finish fucking telling them we have an issue, the fucking speech will be over…I want to speak to the man in charge."

"Sir, please…" The man on the other end of the radio squeaked.

"Who am I speaking to?"

"Comm. Officer Martin, sir. I have to ask that you return Comm…"

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, sir."

"My name is Six, ring any bells?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I suggest you either get me your superior or patch me through to the president himself. Otherwise, when I get back to the Strip I'll have Mr. House rip your fucking job right out from under your lazy ass."

A beat. "One moment, sir."

Six shot Cass a quick wink.

"Echo Lima Seven, this is Colonel Moore – to whom an I speaking?" A woman's voice…so much for the man in charge…

"My name is Six. You might have heard of me…took back the NCR Correctional Facility, responsible for the death of several big name fiends you fucks couldn't seem to take out…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Six saw Raul's lips twist into a grin – the ghoul quietly calling him on his bluff.

"…Personal representative of Mr. House," Six continued. "You can add taking back Cottonwood Cove to my résumé while you're at it."

"Quite an impressive résumé you've built yourself…but what the hell are you doing on my frequency?"

"House would very much like that I have an audience with President Kimball – I'm en route to the Dam, but I'm still half a day out. House humbly requests the President postpone his speech until my arrival."

"What? Absolutely not…"

"Then you can bank on House pulling his support out from under your President's ass. See how you fair against the Legion on your own." As the words exited his mouth, Six felt his knees buckle. He steadied himself on the table and let the transceiver fall – it hit the table with a heavy thud. It rolled the entire width of the table, coming to rest against the thin glass of the booth.

A long pause – far too long. Were they contacting the president? Had she cut the transmission? All eyes were on Six – Cass, Raul, Arcade, even Greene. The only one who didn't seem interested was Melissa, who leaned quietly against the radio booth basking in the sunlight. Had he overstepped his bounds? Would the NCR attack New Vegas from within? Could he hold off without House's secret weapon…whatever it was that lay in that bunker on Fortification hill? Questions like these were flooding into Six's mind.

When the radio hissed again, a wave of relief overcame him. "The President has graciously extended his stay and delayed his speech until tomorrow afternoon. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I've sent the head of my personal security in advance, he's to be debriefed with whoever you have in charge and given full access to the facility."

"…And does this head of security have a name?"

"Boone. First name…"

"Craig. Former first recon, I'm familiar with him. Moore out."

* * *

><p>"Something I can help you with, buddy?"<p>

"I'm hoping you can," Graham replied. "I'm looking for someone."

The man, a tall brawny blonde man, shifted uncomfortably. His eyes poured over Graham slowly. "If they're from around here," He finally responded, "I'm sure I can help you find them…we only have two sorts of people here. Drifters from the republic…and locals that can't turn a dime. Most of 'em drunken reprobates who don't have the caps to get into the Strip."

"I was under the impression that Freeside was the alternative to the Strip," Graham confessed.

"Yeah," The man nodded. "This camp's for the ones that can't find a place for themselves even there. So, who is it that you're looking for?"

"A man named Keith. I was told I could find him here."

"Keith? He's a crooked son of a bitch, that one. Runs a little gambling outfit…wins far too often to be playing it straight. Kind of suspect he's running drugs too…just can't prove anything. Restrictions, you know? Probable cause."

"Rules and regulations," Graham nodded. "The NCR seems to have a good deal of those."

"Yeah…ties my hands," The man shrugged.

"I have no doubt," Graham told him. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Any particular reason you're looking for him?"

"I've heard tale he's connected to a number of disappearances. I'd like to question him."

"No shit?" The man cupped his right elbow in his left hand then rested his nose on his right. "There have been a few people up and vanish lately…no signs of violence or any feuds. Never seem to have anything in common, so I didn't really think the matters were related, much less suspect foul play…" He trailed off, studying Graham. "You're not with the NCR…I don't think House cares enough…you're a private investigator. Working for the King?"

"The Followers, as a matter of fact," Graham clarified. "Where can I find Keith?"

"He generally hangs around Suite two-hundred…" The NCR uniform clad man started towards the east side of the camp. Graham fell into step behind him. "Name's Parker by the way. You new around here?"

"I've been in the area once before."

"Yeah? Where abouts?"

"Boulder City," Graham answered – a brief memory of his defeat flashing before his eyes.

"Yeah? Not much left of that now…not after that battle with the Legion years back. You there before then?"

"I saw the city before it fell."

"You got a name?"

"I do," Graham told him flatly. "But until my investigation is over, I'd rather not indulge any information…you understand. I can't have that information getting to the people I'm looking for."

"Ah," Parker fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Suit yourself." He opened a door marked 'Aerotech Suite 200' and held it for Graham. The inside was poorly lit, a single drum burning in one corner lit up most of the room, and soft light poured across the room from a security fixture hinged to the wall above the door. A man in a dirty red jumpsuit, with dark hair and a pointed nose, smiled at them as they entered – seated on a couch directly across from them.

"Hey there! Can I interest you in a game of Caravan?"

Before Graham could answer, Parker spoke up. "Can it, Keith. We're looking for some information. Some people have gone missing as of late…and, no surprise, your name's come up. It's got your fucking stink written all over it. So how about you divulge a little information?"

Keith scoffed at the notion. "Fuck you, I got nothing to do with that."

"Bull shit," Parker drew his weapon. "Now, are you going to come with us or am I going to have to hurt you?"

"You ain't going to do shit, Parker. Now why don't you go cry to your wife…oh, that's right," Keith waved his hands sardonically in front of him. "She done run off on your ass."

"You son of a bitch…" Although the words were barely audible, Graham could feel the rage emanating from Parker's very being – then, the NCR captain did something Graham did not expect. He nonchalantly raised his rifle and planted four shots into Keith's chest. "I told you not to fuck with me…" He turned to Graham. "He's not going to be a problem anymore."

"No," Graham growled through gritted teeth. "But now there's a little girl out there and we have no way to find her." He pushed his way past the soldier. "Mark my words…if I don't find her, you'll join him."

Graham walked with intent – he tore across the lot with a brisk stride. Then, he stopped. A familiar voice caught his ear…one that knew his name.

"Joshua Graham…I never thought I'd see the day you walked freely amongst the republic."

"New Vegas doesn't belong to the republic just yet," Graham said, turning towards the voice. "Bert Gunnarsson, I had heard you were in the Mojave. How have you been? How is Nephi?"

"Word through the great vine is that Nephi has passed on, may his soul rest in peace."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Nephi was a good man…but he lost his way."

Graham cast his gaze to the ground. "Something I am all too familiar with," he paused a moment before changing the subject. "How did you find yourself in this hovel?"

"I do what I can to help where I can," Bert answered. "Something that our people have always stressed…the followers taught me medicine. So I have been helping the refugees when I am able to do so. As a matter of fact, I believe I can be of some assistance with your current situation." The ghoul clasped his hands together. "Before Nephi fell out of the fold…he attempted to give salvation to a group of raiders to the west. They call themselves the fiends. These people are the worst…far worse than the Legion ever thought to be. Most of them are so far gone, they don't even know what they're doing. They buy and sell illegal merchandise…drugs from the Great Khans…and," he took a breath. "Slaves. Captured refugees…"

"From the Khans?"

"No. From a couple of scavengers stationed in West Side. Dermott and Saint James."

* * *

><p>Six had watched Melissa as she strayed from the group – her petite body fading in the distance and she headed towards Boulder City. "Going for a drink," She had told him before departing. "Nice little bar in that shithole…really the only place left standing."<p>

And now he and his ragtag clan were nearly at the Dam. He could see an NCR flag billowing in the wind and he could see soldiers scampering about the place. A vertibird was nestled comfortably on the landing platform of the visitor center.

But as he grew closer, things began to seem awry. The soldiers were moving much too fast. Smoke rose from the Dam. Six cursed under his breath and quickened his pace. First only slightly, but before he reached the Dam he had begun sprinting. He was out of breath when he was finally close enough to see the stage.

He could see a man barking orders – a gruff man with an eyepatch over his right eye. When the man saw him approaching, he put his hand on his weapon.

"You Six?"

"Yeah," Six answered immediately.

"I'm going to have to ask you and your group to vacate the premises…" he began.

"What the hell is going on here?" Six nearly barked the words, cutting the man off mid sentence.

The man looked Six up and down for a moment before finally turning to the stage. "The President," he said, his eyes full of desperation. "He's dead."

* * *

><p><em>Alright. Next time, Boone's story. The prologue will be in standard format - but by the first chapter, it'll switch over to first person. I want to try something a little different.<em>

_Until then._


	28. Chapter 27: Back In Our Own Backyard

_**STOP! Have you read 18 Karat Run: Bullets & Broken Things? If not, head on over to my profile and enjoy!**_

_So, it feels good to be back in the Mojave. I enjoyed digging in to Boone's past - but I missed working with Six, Graham, and the rest of the gang. Get settled in, this chapter is a long one - almost five thousand words._

_Enjoy._

* * *

><p>"It's beautiful…"<p>

Cass closely inspected the sparkling silver chain that dangled from Six's fingers before her – a wide, appreciative smile across her face.

Six mirrored her smile. "That's not all either…I wanted to save this. For a…" He rubbed his head. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure what I wanted to save it for. But I found this…at the Sierra Madre."

From the highest shelf behind the desk in the master bedroom of the Lucky 38's presidential suite, Six retrieved a small beige box. The box was neatly kept – clean, even by old world standards – with a neat red ribbon tied around it. Cass let her brow furrow as Six timidly made his way back across the room and at next to her. His behavior was unusual, to say the least. She had seen him nervous before – when they had crept through Nipton, under the noses of the Legion.

But this was different. He didn't seem fearful so much as he seemed…

She couldn't think of exactly how to describe it.

He sat next to her, his hands grasping the box.

"When I was at the Sierra Madre, lost in that red cloud…there were times I didn't think I could do it. That bomb collar around my neck…"

Bomb collars…Cass bit her lower lip and eyed him sympathetically. _This_ she understood, and could relate to.

"…those creatures. You'd have to be there to truly understand it. We wandered in that cloud for days. It was toxic, but…it seemed to get weaker the further away from the Madre that we moved. But there were times that I didn't think we'd ever find our way out of it. I just knew I had to get back. I wanted to get back…I had something to get back to. That morning on the road…when I got back, when I held you, I knew I never wanted to let you go. And when I went to Zion…you were always with me. Always in the back of my mind. I went to Zion for you. To protect you." Six took a breath, noticing the confusion on her face. "Caesar has a woman. She and I…I don't know how to explain it. We were together once, I think. Vague memories and dreams. Caesar tried to use her as leverage…to make me track down Graham. That's why I left for Zion…to find Graham. I don't care about the woman he has. But if Caesar is willing to kill her to get to me, then I knew it would only be a matter of time before he found you." His words trembled as his breathing began to shake. "Before he came after you…what happened…it's because of me. It's my fault…"

Cass raised her hand, pressing a single finger against his lips. "None of that matters now," she assured him. "You came for me. You saved me."

Six felt a twitch in his jaw. He closed his eyes and held her hand, gently kissing her finger. "I got this for you…" He laid the box on her lap. "Open it."

So she did. She untied the ribbon, neatly folding it and laying it at her side. Then, she pulled the top off of the box. The first thing she noticed was the bright red trim – a wave of crimson on a black skyline. She grasped the garment by its shoulders and pulled it from the box. Like a long black shadow, it slunk to the ground – delicate silk so dark and yet so full life, she was almost sure it reflected the crimson of her own hair back at her.

She had never been much for dresses. Growing up, her mother had taught her to dress like one of the guys. It kept her from standing out. That's why she always kept her hair pulled up and tucked away under that rattan cowboy hat. Standing out was dangerous. People who were unfortunate to be noticed usually didn't last long. So she had gotten used to dressing down – to wearing that cowboy hat, the dusty suede jacket, and those tattered jeans. Hell…her faded pink and white plaid shirt was the most feminine thing she owned.

But she loved the dress all the same – no one had ever given her anything like it before. Hell, the last gift she received that didn't involve excessive drinking and a night in the sheets was the wire rose on that tattered string that her father left her; a wire rose that would soon be graced by a sterling silver necklace.

She turned her gaze from the dress and back to Six; who had been standing quietly, observing her.

"I love it," she told him, smiling. She reached out, grasping his duster, and pulled him in close. She leaned her forehead against his and kissed him lightly. "And I love you."

* * *

><p>With her black leather jacket, grey leather pants, and well kept .44 magnum – there was little doubt that the woman standing before him had seen her fair share of trouble in her day. That was especially evident by the abrasions that covered her body – Graham recognized it well. She was covered in burns.<p>

Her burns were not as bad as his own, granted; but it was clear that she had suffered a great deal.

She had _survived_ a great deal. And the woman standing before him now was no fair maiden by any means. She was a warrior. A veteran. Hardened by troubles that would undoubtedly break most.

But, of all this, the very first thing that Graham noticed about her was that she paid him no mind.

She didn't gawk at his bandages, or caution him to be wary around her. In fact, no one in Westside did. They didn't watch his every move or speak in whispers and hushed tones to their fellow denizens as he imperturbably roamed the city streets in search of the men he sought out.

They hardly noticed him at all.

"Welcome to the Casa Madrid," the woman told him, her voice lacking even a hint of enthusiasm. "What brings you to our humble abode?"

"I'm looking for someone, actually," Graham answered. "A girl."

"Sweetie's not seeing anyone right now. She's on the second floor…expensive, but you'll get what you pay for. And Maude's free too…she's an older piece, but she's experienced. She knows what she's doing. Just watch how you treat the merchandise."

Graham chuckled softly, realizing what sort of establishment he had stumbled in to. "Forgive me. I am not here for your merchandise."

The woman raised a brow. "Only reason anyone comes here is if they have an itch that needs scratchin'. If you ain't buyin' what I'm sellin', don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"The girl I'm looking for went missing a while back," Graham clarified, ignoring her comment. "A child, really. Sixteen years of age. Alice."

The woman frowned. "Someone goes missing in these parts, you're not going to find them. At least not alive."

With a sigh, Graham nodded. He knew, in all probability, she was right. But still…Julie had asked him to do a job, to find this girl. And that was exactly what he was going to do. "I was told that a couple of men lived here…they deal in salvaging mostly. Dermott and Saint James."

The woman's frown deepened. "Yeah…_salvage_. I've seen what they salvage. I've seen what they bring back from their trips too. Their trophies…listen, you want to go see Sweetie."

"I've already told you…"

"No," she said with a solemn tone that Graham could not ignore. "You _want_ to go speak with Sweetie. Head on up."

He understood her tone well. This woman, Sweetie, had information that he would find useful. The stairs winded up to his right – he followed them to the second floor. From there, he walked the dilapidated hall – cluttered with broken glass, chunks of plaster, and debris. He passed rooms – he could hear faint moaning somewhere in the distance. The Casa Madrid certainly was busy. Graham coursed the hallway until he found a door that wasn't shut tight. He poked his head inside and gently tapped the door.

From inside, he heard a faint – almost inaudible – groan. He poked his head through the door – stretched out across the bed was a young woman, perhaps in her early-to-mid twenties. She had short red hair, matted and wet – it clung to her forehead. She sat up, letting her blanket fall loosely around her – exposing bare skin. She was sweating profusely – her makeup was smeared, as if she had been recently crying. And her eyes were bloodshot. She slothfully motioned for Graham to join her in the stained, worn out mattress posing as a bed.

"Hey, baby…what's say you and me get acquainted? 300 caps and you can do whatever you want to me."

Making his way into her room, Graham felt a scowl forming on his face. She was clearly spaced out; and if the syringes of Med-X strewn across the floor were any indication, she was in no condition to answer his questions.

Of course, he'd have to try anyway. When Graham had reached the bed, he knelt next to it - he reached out and brushed the hair from her eyes. "How long have you been using?" He asked her, sympathetically.

The girl raised one brow, "You here to play or not?"

"Not," Graham's response was flat. "Are you going to answer my question?"

Graham's icy voice and cold eyes dug in to her deep. She swallowed and pulled away. "I used to work at the Gomorrah," she confessed. "They use drugs as slavery…they force it on their women so they become addicts, then charge them for it or make them _work_ off their debt."

Graham had seen the Gomorrah on the Strip – he had also had a brief chat with a prostitute that Six had rescued from its depths. He had found her nestled in one of the beds in the presidential suite – listening to ED-E broadcasting old world blues music. She had shared a similar account of her time at the Gomorrah; and they hadn't let her go freely.

"How did you escape?" Graham inquired.

"I didn't," she confessed. "I was sold. Replaced."

"The woman downstairs, she bought you."

"Sarah…she's a good woman. Far better than anyone at the Gomorrah. She paid a good sum to Big Sal, one of the heads of the Omerta family, to have him bring me here. "

"And how long have you been here?"

Sweetie twisted her lips lightly and shrugged. "Two, three years…time kind of blurs together anymore."

"That's probably because you spend the days spaced out…" Graham sighed, he reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a small sum of caps. "I need some information," he told her. "I hear you might have it."

"Seems like all I need to do around here to make any caps is open my mouth…" she laughed.

Graham did not. He watched her smile fade.

"Depends on what you want to know, I guess," she told him.

"Dermot and Saint James. What do you know about them?"

Her demeanor seemed to change – she became flustered; nervous. She shot a glance towards the door and then back to Graham. "Shhh…" she shushed him. "You're going to get me killed."

"No one is going to hurt you," he assured her. He stood and sauntered to the door. He shut it tightly and turned to the eyebot at his side. "Can you pick up any radio signals in here?"

The robot chimed and began flipping through stations – ultimately deciding on Radio New Vegas. "_'So be sure it's true…when you say I love you. It's a sin to tell a lie.'_ Mr. New Vegas here, that one goes out from me, to you. Now, let me put on my reporter's fedora, cause it's time for some news. A hostage crisis between the NCR and the Great Khans was resolved peacefully when a third party negotiator successfully secured the hostages release…Lt. Monroe of the New California Republic had this to say…"

Graham made his way back to her bedside. "Now…Dermot and Saint James. Nothing is going to happen to you. You have my word."

Sweetie let her breathing slow. She was still wary, but this man – despite his bandages – was convincing. No one was going to hurt her so long as he was around. But…

"You can't guarantee that," she told him. "Are you going to stay here with me? Are you going to take me with you? How can you be sure? You don't know Saint James…he's insane."

"Insane?"

"The things he does…he has this teddy bear. He props it up on the table to watch. He uses things that should be used…he'll kill me if he finds out I'm talking to you."

"Don't concern yourself with that," Graham said, assuredly. "I'm looking for a girl. She disappeared not long ago. These prospectors…their names came up in my investigation."

"That's no surprise," Sweetie said, holding her knees. "They're monsters."

"What do you know?"

"Saint James likes to talk after…well. No one has any proof, but the things he's told me. Listen…I have an extra key to his room," she turned to the head of her bed and reached into the pillow case, withdrawing a small key. "He told me that Dermot keeps a journal detailing their runs. Their rooms are next to each other on the first floor…just left of the entrance."

She stretched out her hand, holding up the key. Graham wrapped one hand around hers and with the other he took the key. He held her hand a moment – "You haven't nothing to fear, child. God will protect you."

It didn't take him long to find their rooms – Graham tried the key on the first door; no luck. This room must belong to Dermot. Then the other – the lock gave way. He grasped the door handle and slowly turned it. A man was sleeping on the bed; a teddy bear at his feet. _This_, he thought, _must be Saint James._

He inched into the room – pistol drawn. He quietly lifted the teddy bear; light blood stains decorated it's tan fur.

_This man was no Saint_. Graham scowled, withdrawing his silencer from his vest; he attached it to his pistol and pressed the muzzle to the sleeping man's head. _And the world won't miss him when he's gone._

The man began to stir. He tried to sit up, but Graham struck him with the butt of his pistol.

"Don't move," Graham growled.

"What the fuck man?"

"Tell me what you know about the people going missing from around Vegas."

"Man, I don't know nothin' 'bout no people disappearing from nowhere."

Graham fired the pistol into Saint James' upper thigh, then pressed the hot muzzle to his bare skin; Saint James cried out in pain.

"A girl was recently abducted…I spoke with a certain ghoul you may know in North Vegas. Andy…he pointed me in your direction." A bluff…but Saint James didn't know that.

"Look, I don't know where Alice is, okay?"

Graham's scowl deepened. "I never said anything about Alice."

"Man…people talk...you know rumors and shit..."

"I understand that your partner keeps a ledger of sorts. Where can I find it?"

"I don't know what you're..."

Graham shot again, this time through the man's hand. He screamed, cradling the wound in his good hand.

"Once more. Where is the ledger?"

"What's going on in there?!"

Behind him, the door to Saint James' bedroom swung open. A man in a faded blue uniform and an officer's hat entered the room, pistol drawn. As Graham turned, the man fired – placing two shots into his vest. Graham stumbled, but didn't fall. He raised his pistol and fired once – his attacker collapsed to the floor, a bloody hole where once was an eye.

"Dermot!" Saint James screamed. "Motherfucker! I'll kill you!"

The pistol was against his head again. "Last time! Where's the ledger?"

"In his room! It's in his room, okay! Please! Just…just let me live…"

"Your femoral artery has been severed," Graham explained. "The first shot was fatal…you'll likely have bled out before I find the ledger. But I thank you for your cooperation."

Graham stopped briefly, taking the keys from the Dermot's dead body – and left Saint James there; as he searched Dermot's room, he could hear the man screaming at him; spouting profanities one moment, begging for salvation the next. People gathered in the hall, warily staring in.

When Graham found the ledger, he flipped through its pages. So many innocents sold to slaughter. The ledger detailed it all: who was sold, who they were sold to. A young boy and three girls sold to a fiend named Cook-Cook. Two more men sold to a woman named Violet…who proceeded to cut them up and feed them to her dogs. And…Graham frowned. Even some sold to Nephi.

Graham listened to the man's screams die down. The last entry was the only one he was interested in – the only one recent enough to be able to do anything about. A girl, sixteen, sold to a man named Motor Runner, in Vault 3.

That would be his next stop.

* * *

><p>"Christ, Boone…" Six shook his head. "If I'd known, I'd never have asked you to go back to the Cove…"<p>

The four of them were sitting in the Ultra-Luxe's Gourmand – Six sat across from Boone, next to Cass. And seated next to Boone was the last person Six ever expected to see him seated with.

"It wasn't easy to get out of him," Melissa admitted, "believe me." She poked through the omelet on her plate, finally deciding on a chunk of lakelurk meat. She chewed it a moment, her face lightly twisted into a grimace.

"There's no way I wouldn't have gone," Boone told him. He looked at Cass, "You wouldn't have gotten her back."

"You're not the only sniper I know," Six told him. "I could have made do with First Recon."

"I am the best sniper you know, though" Boone said, shoveling a fork full of brahmin wellington into his mouth.

Melissa eyed his plate a moment and stuck a piece with her fork. "Mmm…yeah, this is much better than this omelet."

Boone turned his gaze towards her. "Here," he said, switching out the plates, "we'll trade."

"No," Melissa laughed. "I wouldn't wish this thing on anyone."

"What's wrong with the omelet?" Boone asked. "I like omelets, I'll take the omelet. You take this."

"No," Melissa shook her head. "It's fine…"

But he had already switched the plates and started on the omelet.

Cass felt a smile creep across her face.

"Anyway," Boone said through a mouthful of omelet. "I'm going to Bittersprings…I think it'll do me some good."

"Do _both_ of us some good," Melissa chimed in.

"…and I was wandering if, maybe, you'd tag along?"

Six grinned wide. "Yeah," he laughed. "I mean…if that's what you want."

Half an hour later, they were on their way – and it didn't take them too long to get there. They had nearly reached the settlement when Boone stopped. "That's where we were that night," he said, gesturing to a small, rocky hilltop in the distance. They stared at the hilltop for a while.

"We could…set up camp there if you wanted…maybe."

"Yeah…no," Boone shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know if it would do any good." He turned back to the settlement, "Something's wrong," he said, after a pause. "Flag's upside down…"

Six looked at him inquisitively.

"Signals distress," Boone explained. He started towards the camp, the group at his heels. There were people throughout the camp – some bad off, others worse. Their bodies were vestiges of their former selves – shells of people, really.

"These people are starving," Cass was horrified, looking around the camp.

"Refugees," A voice said, from within one of the tents. "From settlements razed by the Legion all over Nevada and Arizona. They travel a long way to get here…then they sit in tents, waiting for medical supplies. For food. For stuff that just isn't going to show up." It was an NCR woman – a captain, given her markings. She emerged from the tent and had a seat at a makeshift fire pit. She poked around the fire a bit, then rested her arms on her legs. "NCR's spread thin…got too many people and not enough to feed them. Can't get enough water, cazadores have a nest in that old building by the dock. These people are just waiting to die."

"Why don't they go somewhere else?" Cass asked.

"Can't…even if they had somewhere to go."

"Why?"

"Been a rash in shootings lately…people being shot. Refugees, soldiers, men, women…makes no difference. These people have to stay down. Out of sight."

"Should we be standing around out here?" Six asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

"We should be fine. Last shooting was a few days ago…usually about a week between each one. All sniped. Whoever's doing this is good…always a single shot, and it's _always_ in the head."

This aroused Boone's curiosity. "Sniped?"

"Yeah. About six months ago, supplies started going missing. We thought it was just the refugees sneaking off with stuff, but people started dying. We're thinking there's someone using the cave systems in the mountains to hide in, only we can't track them. Whoever it is, they're good. Never leave a trail or any sort of clues. Always take off long before anyone knows where the shooting is coming from. And I simply don't have the numbers to launch a manhunt."

With a grunt, Boone looked in Six's direction.

"Using the mountains, you say?" Six looked towards the rear of the camp. "These caves are all connected?"

"For the most part, yeah. The ones that aren't connected overtly usually have smaller chasms leading to one another, or their adjoining tunnels are flooded with water."

"Well…" Six pressed his lips and nodded lightly – more to himself than to anyone else. "Looks like we're going spelunking."

* * *

><p>Graham stood before a dilapidated building in the South Vegas Ruins – from within he could hear talking. Laughing. And he was certain he heard muffled grunts.<p>

There was certainly a commotion going on inside. ED-E scanned the area – the sound of his engines lightly buzzing the only indication of either of their presence. Graham took a step back and looked up the old building. "I'm much too old for this," he said aloud to himself. Then he took two quick steps forward, launching himself off the building's brick wall and towards a window. He caught the window seal with one hand and held on – dangling briefly, then swung his other arm up onto the seal for a better hold. He lurched himself up with a bit of effort and made his way through the ruined construction – an old board ran from a second floor window to the window of an adjacent building. He could see, across the road, fiends patrolling the ruins. He eased across the board and peered inside. The second floor had mostly fallen through. On the first floor, he could see three fiends: they were attacking an NCR soldier. A young man – Hispanic, from the look of it, clad in NCR Ranger patrol armor.

_A perfect distraction_, Graham thought. He could now sneak by the fiends and get into the South Vegas Ruins with little resistance. Once he was within the ruins, he'd be able to make use his environment and reach the vault without being detected.

He made his way across what was left of the second floor, towards the ruins. It was a straight shot from the second story window. He perched himself at the window's edge and peered into the street below. It was clear…

He glanced back over his shoulder at the soldier. He was only a boy – Graham let out an agitated sigh.

"_What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone says he has faith but does not have works?_"

The fiends turned towards the source of their sermon – Graham stood above them, pistol drawn.

"What the fuck?" One of them muttered under his breath.

"_Can that faith save him?_" Graham continued. "_If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, be warmed and filed,' without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?_" He took aim.

"What the fuck are you going on about freak?" Another fiend called out, a woman – bruised and dirty, hand clenching a baseball bat.

"_Faith by itself…if it does not have works…is dead_," Graham growled. "As are _you_."

* * *

><p>The caves were dark, cold, and wet. It reminded Six of Zion…he was starting to hate caves as much as he hated vaults. He rummaged through his bag, withdrawing a small bottle of pills – Cateye. After Zion, he always made sure to keep a supply on him.<p>

He distributed the pills to the group.

They searched the caves – high and low. They fought and killed giant ants, nightstalkers, and geckos. They talked, they laughed – even Boone – and, for a while, they forgot their worries. They weren't tracking a man intent on murdering refugees. They weren't worried about the Legion. They were just four friends sharing an adventure.

Until Boone found a trail. The assailant had made use of the caves very well – hiding food stashes and caches of equipment throughout the tunnel system; all locked up tightly behind makeshift gates embedded into the cave wall.

This guy – if it was a guy – was thorough, Six had to admit. He was briefly reminded of the survivalist, Randall Clark. _How awesome would it be if that skeleton didn't belong to Clark_ – _if he somehow survive, maybe he wasn't ill. Maybe it was the ghoulification process…_foolish thoughts. But Six mused them over, nonetheless.

Before long, they were near the mountain peak – through breaks in the cave ceiling, Six could see the sun was beginning to set. The sky was alive in orange and reds.

Boone, now crouched, rummaged through a pile of brush on the ground. "It's bedding," he said. "This is where our guy's been sleeping."

"So we wait," Six suggested. "He'll come back to us."

"Maybe…or maybe he saw us coming and made off," Cass thought aloud.

Melissa let out a light gasp. "Or maybe he's watching us right now..."

The group looked at Melissa – who's eyes were no longer on them, but looking beyond them. They followed her gaze.

A man, aged and weary. He wore a spiked metal helmet – a piece of leather hung loosely from it, covering his neck. He was aiming a rifle at them – "How'd you find this place?"

"We're here on behalf of the refugees in the encampment at Bitter Springs," Six explained.

"I'm not talking to you," The old man barked. "The only reason you're still alive is her…" He turned his gaze towards Melissa. "How'd you find me? What are you doing with this NCR filth?"

"Oscar…" She stepped forward, hands before her chest. "Put your rifle down…"

"Why are you with them!?" He screamed, inching towards them.

"To put a stop to all this," she explained. "Those people down there are not your enemy. They're scared – of Caesar, of you, of _dying_."

Oscar's aim waivered. "Maybe you're right…but that doesn't change anything. _They're_ still the enemy," He said, his eyes shining with rage – he was looking in the direction of the duo in red berets.

"No," Melissa shook her head, "They're not. They're good men."

He steadied his rifle in Boone's direction – Melissa stepped between them.

"Get out of the way, Mel…" Oscar warned.

"You want to shoot them, you're going to have to shoot me too."

"Mel…"

"That's just the way it's going to be…" Melissa drew her weapon; a lever action rifle, in gorgeous condition.

Had the situation been less dire, perhaps Boone would have asked her a thing or two about it. She had painted the gun's lever and receiver white – and had decorated the stock with a strange symbol: similar to the emblem on Graham's book, yet somehow distinct.

"Now," Melissa flipped her rifle upwards and dropped the butt to the ground – she held the barrel in one hand, and kept her other hand in the air. "Please…Oscar. Put down your gun…go back to Red Rock Canyon. Go home…"

Oscar stared hard at the woman before him. Then he looked behind her and at the others. With a grimace, he pulled the rifle into aiming position.

A shot. A scream. Then silence.

* * *

><p><em>Well, that's it for this chapter. Hopefully everyone enjoys it. Also...I want to develop Boone, but trauma like he's sustained makes it challenging. I don't want him to be hopeless, so that's what I'm working on - not so much curing him as letting him let go. But I don't want to do that too soon either, so it's a little rough. I've got some big plans for Graham, so there's going to be two story lines to follow for a bit. I do intend to integrate him more into the group, but he's going to have a bit of a plot that revolves around him a good deal. It'll all tie nicely together in the end though. With any luck, at least.<em>

_I realized that I hadn't mentioned Melissa's weapon at all this entire time. I was going to give her a pistol - since it wouldn't really make sense that no one noticed her rifle. But, in game she uses a rifle - and playing off of the fact that I've been giving the characters the unique weapons, I thought the Medicine Stick would suit her pretty well. She does kind of have that tribal thing going on for her._

_From here on out, the story is really going to revolve around these five characters though - Six, Cass, Graham, Boone, and Melissa (though she won't have as active a role as the other four). I'm going to integrate Christine, Veronica, Raul, and Arcade from time to time. And Benny is going to make a few appearances too. I'm promoting a few minor characters to be major players - and not just Melissa. You'll see who soon enough. But these five characters are going to be central to the story I have planned out, for the most part. _

_We'll pick back up next week. Things are only going to heat up from here._


	29. Chapter 28: We Are Legion

_Just finished this chapter earlier this morning. Meant to have it finished Thursday night, but I went to watch The Hobbit...it's pretty damn good. I really enjoyed it._

_I'm kind of going back and forth on some things with my writing lately. I kind of feel like I've lost that spark that really made the earlier chapters stand out. But maybe not...maybe I'm just fretting over nothing._

_Anyway, enjoy._

* * *

><p>Sweat accumulated along the brim of his helmet, across brow and trickled down his face; carving fissures in ages of dust and mud. Motionless – statuesque – he stood, staring down the barrel of his rifle. Smoke seeped from the end and the distinct smell of gunpowder filled the air. He peered down the sights, into the darkness, past the intruders that had invaded his humble abode, and at the cave wall; decorated in cave paintings, some of which he'd made himself, and now – a neat little hole in the sandstone.<p>

Six peered over his shoulder at the point of impact – where the bullet had struck the cave wall. Melissa stepped forward, slowly – when Oscar made no move to harm her, she reached out. Gently, she pressed the barrel of the rifle groundwards. "That's it…easy." She turned towards the group – towards Boone – who's hand now rested on the butt of his pistol. "It's okay…"

"You weren't there…" Oscar spoke in murmurs. "You didn't see what they did…"

"_They_ didn't do anything…" she told him, keeping her voice reassuring. "They weren't part of Bitter Springs." A lie, of course; but for good reason.

"_They're First Recon_," Oscar's words were more an accusation than a statement. "_They_ were there."

"First Recon goes through a lot of members," she responded. "Manny was First Recon too…he wasn't there." Again, she gently pressed the rifle groundwards – this time he didn't resist.

"No," Boone shook his head. He stepped towards the man, simultaneously securing his sidearm snugly in its holster. "That's not the truth."

Melissa shot him a look – one that told him to _shut the fuck up_; one that he ignored.

"I was there…" he confessed.

"And you've paid your dues," Six barked.

"That's not for you to decide," Boone's gaze was locked on to Oscar's. He raised his hands into the air.

Oscar felt a scowl creeping over his face – he turned towards Melissa, then back to the man in the red beret: this "Boone". He pulled up on his rifle, but Melissa held on steadfast.

"Oscar."

He paid her no mind – his heart was racing. His breaths were shallow and rapid. Every fiber of his being ached with a thirst that only blood could quench. This man…this monster…he _needed_ to die. Oscar was practically fuming; he pulled on his rifle again, ripping it from Melissa's grasp.

"_Oscar_!" Melissa's voice cut through him like a frigid breeze, "I don't want there to be any confusion about this. _If_ you shoot this man, it's going to play out one of two ways. You're either going to kill me with him, or you _will not_ leave this cave alive."

Immediately, he felt his scowl vanish – he felt his anger fade. His face twisted with confusion and concern. "Mel…I'd never…I took care of you. Your mother…" he stammered, searching for words to say.

"Then do this for her," she released his rifle. "_Do it for me._"

He stared at her a long moment – then looked back at the gruff NCR man. "I sure hope you know what you're doin', sweetheart."

* * *

><p>Graham lifted the young man to his feet. "You're lucky I happened by when I did." He examined the man's uniform, he was a scout. Graham recognized the uniform well. He glanced at the ranger's name tag – Bryce Anders. "You're NCR. What are you doing out here?"<p>

"Forgive me, sir." The soldier apologized, "I appreciate what you did for me, but I don't know you…and I don't feel inclined to share privileged information…"

"Oh, I trust you've heard of me," Graham laughed. "I'm an independent contractor…I work for the head of the Strip."

"You're Six? Excuse me, sir! I didn't…I didn't imagine you anything like this."

"You're referencing the bandages?"

"Yes, sir."

"…I intend to infiltrate Vault 3. I'm looking in on a missing person's case for the followers."

"Vault 3? It's a hornet's nest. Group of fiend's took up residence there…killed or absorbed the local populace."

"Absorbed?"

"Yeah…the ones that weren't murdered joined the fiends; if they were tough enough…or fucked up enough."

"Who are these _fiends_…how organized are they? Why hasn't the NCR moved in to eliminate them?"

Anders shook his head – Graham could tell he wasn't entirely sure of the answer himself. "Degenerates is what they are. Human garbage. They're always so strung out on chems…most of the time they don't even know when they've been hit. They're not particularly organized though. They're lead by a man named Motor Runner – but even his control is limited. Any one of them wouldd kill him for a shot of Med-X, if they could. He's about the only one left that can still rub two brain cells together. He used to have a few lieutenants, but from what I hear you took care of that already."

"Hm," Graham pressed his lips, but didn't disagree. It was fortunate that this man had never met Six…it made him far more cooperative to believe his own lie. _So_, Graham decided,_ I'll let him believe it_.

"We don't have the man power to take them all out. There are scores of them. But, my C.O. figures that if we take out Motor Runner, they'll fall apart. Like I said, they're not particularly organized. You help me take him out…I'll help you find who you're looking for."

"Fair enough," Graham nodded. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"

"Yeah…took one to the leg, but I should be alright…give me a second…" Anders limped to one of the dead fiends. He searched through her pockets – finally withdrawing a small syringe. "Med-X…this should do the trick." He jammed the needle into his thigh and injected the contents through gritted teeth.

"That'll tide over the pain for now," Graham admitted. "But it's not going to help your leg. You shouldn't be moving about…"

"I'll be fine," Anders assured him. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>"So, how'd you know him? The man in the cave?" Cass asked, perched next to a roaring fire – the flames tickled the cool air, stretching towards the starry sky. They had made their way back to the camp in Bitter Springs. Cass didn't like it here…it stunk of piss and vomit. Around her, in makeshift huts and tents, people lay in heaps – huddling together for warmth in the cool mountain air. A lot of tourists and travelers passed through these parts – they would always pack lightly. Rightly so…during the day, even in the winter months, the desert was a warm place to be. But then the night would roll in…it wasn't entirely uncommon to find people dead in this desert. Exposure to the elements could be harsh…and nature isn't very forgiving. This was particularly troublesome around Lake Mead. In the hot daylight hours, unwary travelers may go for a dip to cool off. You lose track of time…find yourself still in the water when the sun begins to set. If you weren't prepared or adept…it rarely ended well.<p>

More than that, most of these refugees were starving or sick. Or both. It was no wonder the camp's flag was upside down.

"Oscar? My mother…" Melissa's voice cut through the night air – breaking Cass' concentration. "…she was a Khan. Killed here, from what I'm told. Buried in one of the mass graves over that ridge…" She glanced up towards Coyote Tail. "That's where they retreated to…didn't know what was waiting for them. Anyways, Oscar and her had a thing after my father left."

"And Boone was there. During the massacre," Saying it out loud seemed surreal. Cass just couldn't imagine Boone having been part of what went down here at Bitter Springs. Everything that she knew about the man said he was just – he was a good person. And what happened here was anything but that.

"Yeah…" She trailed off.

"Seems to have done a number on him."

"You have _no_ idea," Melissa laughed – it was a shallow laugh, uncomfortable.

"You're okay with that?"

"With what?"

"Him being involved with Bitter Springs?" Cass clarified.

"Oh," Melissa picked up a branch and poked the fire, moving the kindling and ash about. "I mean…I don't like it. But people make mistakes. Besides, it wasn't his fault. Not really." She glanced across the camp – at the two men in red berets sitting atop a ramshackle structure of tin sheets and old wooden planks. "He was following orders."

"Is there something going on between you two?" Cass asked, candidly.

"What? No…we just…I barely know the man."

"I mean, I understand why…he's a handsome man. Silent strong type…mysterious," Cass smiled flippantly, "…kind of thing that makes a girl fawn over him. When I first met him, I kind of wanted to jump his bones."

"Wouldn't matter either way. Khan and NCR…how would that even work?"

Cass shrugged. "Maybe it wouldn't. But maybe it would."

"It wouldn't."

"Unless it did," Cass got the feeling that Melissa was ill at ease – she didn't like this topic. "So," Cass asked – changing the subject. "How'd you meet Six?"

This, Melissa seemed far more comfortable with. "Met him the same time I met soldier boy…they helped me out in the Quarry. Well…we helped each other out really."

"Yeah? How?"

"Deathclaws. Loads of 'em. Mother and an Alpha too."

"Fuck me… what'd he do?"

"Blew the bitch up with a mininuke…threw it at 'em. Soldier boy shot it in midair."

Laughing, Cass took off her hat and sat it alongside her. "Yeah…he's a resourceful one. And Boone's a helluva shot."

"Yeah, he is. What about you? How long have you two been together?"

"Six and I? Few months now we've been traveling together; we met…"

"No, I mean, how long have you two _been_ together?"

"Oh…" Cass smiled, lightly blushing. "On and off again for almost as long."

"He really cares about you, you know?"

"Yeah…he has a funny way of showing it sometimes. But he's always there when I need him." Cass let her gaze wander to the duo as well – sitting up on that rickety shack. "What about you? Anyone special in your life?" _Other than the obvious,_ Cass wanted to add.

No answer – not with her mouth. But her eyes…her eyes told a different story.

"Can't help who you love," Cass told her, returning her gaze to the flames.

Across the camp, Six adjusted the scope on his holorifle, then took a long drag of a cigarette. "You know…you should see about getting a night vision scope."

Boone shrugged. "I can see well enough."

"Wouldn't hurt though, right?"

"I suppose."

"I was talking to that woman…fuck's sake…the captain in the camp? What was her name?"

"Gilles."

"Yeah. Well, she said the infirmary needed some supplies. And some of these patients need psychiatric help as much as medical. I'm going to talk to Arcade…see if the followers can help."

"Probably a good idea."

Twisting his lips into a ball, Six sat his rifle down across his lap. He looked over at the man he considered to be his best friend – the red beret snug against his scalp; his shades folded and hanging loosely from the bandolier draped around his torso.

Boone stared off into the night – looked out across vast distances, his mind wandering with his eyes.

"She's pretty," Six said, after sitting in silence for a while.

"Who?"

"Who do you think?"

Boone grunted.

"You know, when we were in Zion…I half expected you to want to stay. With that girl…Kurisu?"

"Kurisu."

"Yeah. You two really seemed to hit it off."

"She was a kid."

"Right. You're what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-six."

"And she was what? Seventeen?"

"Something like that."

"Not that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. Cass is a bit older than I am."

"Not the same."

"So her age is the only reason you didn't stay?"

Boone shrugged and continued to stare off into that void.

"You and Melissa seem to get along nicely."

For the first time since they had gotten there, Boone's concentration broke long enough to glance over his shoulder. "Doesn't matter. She's a Khan. Khan's don't associate with NCR."

"Seems to me she was 'sociating with you just fine. Who knows? Maybe one day you two will get married."

"My wife's dead."

"Let me ask you this, Boone," Six spun around, crossing his legs and leaning towards his comrade. "Why'd you marry Carla?"

Second time. Boone glared at Six through the darkness. "I loved her."

"And what does that mean, exactly? To love someone?"

Back his eyes went – peering into never-ending darkness.

"Know what I think it is? I think it's a load of bullshit. Compromise. Sacrifice. All this give, give, give. Then there's always that risk you'll turn around one day and they're fucking gone." He snapped his fingers and waved his hand. "You lose _everything_. And it's not worth it. You know? That pain. Like searing needles and broken bones," he took a drag of his cigarette and held his breath a moment, staring up into the night sky, then exhaled. "Vulnerability is what it is. Something someone can take advantage of. Bend you to their will. Send you off to do impossible things because if you don't you'll lose _everything_. Or one day you wake up and you're sixty – and you'd be lucky to make it that far. And the goddamn wasteland rips them out from under you. And you lose _everything_. Just opening that door risks _everything_. But there's this…this common ground with it all, right? What you're always risking. What you always lose. _Everything_. Because that's what love is. It's everything."

"Seems that the common ground is that no matter what you do, you're going to lose everything."

"Well…yeah. I mean. You can fight a lot of wars. You can win a lot of fights. But you can't beat death. All of us die…eventually."

"So if you're going to just lose it all, what's the point?"

"Well, the way I see it, you're going to lose it anyway. Either you give it up before you ever have a chance to lose it…or you have it for a while and you lose it. So, what I figure is…why not enjoy it while you have it? I don't know if the New Canaanites or Bright's group knows what they're talking about with some notion of a Great Beyond or some afterlife. But we're here now. And it sucks. So why not try to make it a little bit better? Take a risk. Fall in love."

"I've been in love."

"Let me ask you this then…how did Carla feel about you?"

Another glare.

"Did she love you?"

"We loved each other."

"And what would you give to have her back here tonight? For her to be alive and happy? Anything? _Everything_, right?"

Boone grimaced.

"Right?"

"Right."

"And what about her? What do you think she'd give up for your happiness? Anything? _Everything_?"

No answer.

"I'm not wrong, Boone. You know I'm not. And part of anything? Part of _everything_? That includes letting go…when the time comes. You don't have to be alone. Hell, _you're not alone._"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"No, _shut up_…" Boone stood. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Boone peered through his scope, scanning the hills in the distance. "_There._ Movement."

"What?" Six fumbled with his holorifle, peering out into the distance. He could make them out – a sizeable force. Legion?

"_Legion_." Boone confirmed Six's thoughts. "A lot of them…" he turned towards Six. "You need to go. Warn Gilles. Get the refugees into the caves. Get Melissa and Cass out of here."

"What are you going to do? There's too many of them…"

He grasped Six's shoulders. "I've been waiting for this…I always knew this was how it was going to end." He sighed. "That day you showed up in Novac…I knew from the moment I saw you that I was supposed to go with you. That it was time for all of this to end."

"You can't hold them off by yourself…"

"And I can't ask you to stay."

"You don't need to ask."

"I don't _want_ you here…I don't want them here." He pointed towards the girls sitting by the fire. "Now, go goddamnit," He shoved Six away. "_Go! _Make sure she gets out of here! _Don't let anything happen to her_!" He laid flat on his stomach, bringing the rifle into firing position. He took a breath – held it – and fired. The crack of the rifle echoed throughout the canyon. Mechanically, he readjusted his aim. Another breath – and he fired again.

* * *

><p>As they neared the large mechanical door to Vault 3, Graham paused. He inspected the door and the control mechanism to the side.<p>

"What's the plan?" Anders asked, joining him at his side. "This place is going to be crawling with those drugged out mother fuckers."

Graham casually glanced over his shoulder – he reached into his vest, withdrawing his silencer – he casually rolled the silencer between his fingers, attaching it to his .45 auto. "Before we go in here, I want you to know that should anything happen to you – I will finish this task. Motor Runner will fall. But I also want guarantees. Should I die today, you need to find the girl I'm looking for: Alice Hostetler. Return her to the Mormon Fort in Freeside. Find Julie Farkas…tell her of my departure."

Anders nodded. "So…how are we going to do this?"

"There is a time for subtlety. Just follow my lead…" Graham's heel found its way to the bullet wound in Ander's thigh – a fierce kick that brought the man to his knees. Graham scooped up his rifle and turned to the control mechanism; pressing a key.

A woman's voice answered – "Yeah?"

"My name is Joshua Graham. I am Legate of Ceasar's Legion. I have been sent on his behalf. He would like to negotiate with Motor Runner."

"Fucking Caesar? Are you serious?"

"Ceasar has seen your strength of character and will. The trouble you have dealt the NCR has proven fortuitous…I've discovered an NCR assassin in your midst. As a show of good faith, I wish to bring him to Motor Runner to dispose of personally."

"You mother…" Anders cursed through agonized moans.

Another swift kick silenced him.

Laughter. "Wow! Yeah!" The vault door began to groan and buzzing filled the air. A flashing yellow emergency light lit up the ruins.

When the vault door had opened enough, Graham grasped the NCR ranger by his collar and dragged him in. He dropped him on the floor in front of the woman guarding the entrance.

"Joshua fucking Graham…unbelievable. We've heard all about you. We thought Caesar cast you out of the Legion."

Graham laughed. "A ruse. So that I may infiltrate certain territories."

"Wow…A long plan in the making. All so you could get into Vegas?"

Another chuckle. "No, no…to get in _here. _You misunderstand. Being cast out of the Legion was not the ruse." His eyes grew cold. "Being sent on Caesar's behalf was."

The woman had time to widen her eyes before the bullet found its mark. The others drew their weapons, but were no match for Graham's speed and precision – the muffled sound of gunfire lost long before it reached the ears of the other vault inhabitants; the faint sound of bullet casings bouncing off the floor. When the entrance had been cleared, Graham dropped the NCR soldier's weapon to the ground.

"You said you were House's courier!" The man spat, taking aim at Graham.

"No. You assumed I was House's courier."

"You said you worked for the head of the Strip!"

"And I do."

Anders made his way to his feet. He pulled his rifle to his shoulder and readied it at Graham's head. "I should end you right now…"

"Perhaps," Graham stood; resolute and unblinking. "But, you gave me your word. If that is the decision you make, you must find Alice. You must return her to the Followers so that she may be reunited with her family."

"Who is this girl? Why do you care about her?"

"_Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing_," Graham took a breath. "There are two types of evil in this world – sins of commission and sins of omission. The first, we are all familiar with – acting in such a manner that perpetuates or causes some harm to befall another. Acts of omission are every bit as common, but often overlooked: when one fails to act in a way that could prevent harm from befalling another. You can pull that trigger. But if you do not save the girl that I have come to find, then you are every bit as responsible for her death as you are mine."

Behind the sights of his rifle, Anders narrowed his eyes. He studied Graham for a moment – which, with a gun pointed at him, felt like an eternity. Finally, he lowered his rifle. "I can't believe I'm doing this but…let's go save that girl."

With a nod, Graham handed the man a magazine. "You'll need this."

Anders looked at it with bewilderment - it was the magazine from his rifle.

"Had you have pulled that trigger," Graham explained. "It would have been the last thing you'd ever done."

* * *

><p>One; two; three; four; five – reload.<p>

Peering through his scope he could see them pouring up the hill. Dozens of them. Why?

Why Bitter Springs? The refugees here were sick, malnourished – they'd be near useless as slaves. Strategically, this camp was a death trap. The Khans had found that out the hard way. And now, it seemed, the NCR was going to as well.

_A karmic balance_ – Boone thought. He was here the night that the NCR murdered the Khans and took this canyon from them. It was only fitting he'd be here the night the Legion did the same to the NCR. He had warned Melissa…something was out there, and it was finally time to cash in.

These were low level Legionnaires though – _or very high ranking Legionnaires_. They had nothing with which to return fire...so either they weren't important enough to warrant firearms, or they were well trained without them. Boone had heard tales that Caesar had Praetorian Guards that specialized in hand to hand combat.

His guess was that it was some combination of the two.

He could see them swarming across the hill – lesser ranks taking the lead. Cannon fodder. Hounds with them.

He wouldn't have enough ammunition to hold them off.

Another reload.

They were closer now. He could hear them – every step they took. The rocks they kicked down the hill. The steady thump of feet hitting sand and stone.

And metal.

Boone rolled out of the way in time to see a ballistic fist slam into the tin roof. They had used the pass to get around behind him. He fumbled with the holster at his side – fighting to release his sidearm. The Legionnaire regained composure and stalked towards him, cracking his knuckles.

"For Caesar!"

Blood splattered Boone's face as the Legionnaire fell – a tire iron protruding through his chest. Behind the Legionnaire stood his salvation – she extended her hand.

"You thought you were going to have all the fun?" Melissa asked, a faint smile on her face. "Not a chance."

Over her shoulder, she could see the refugees in the town taking up arms – shovels, rakes, pipes, anything they could get their hands on. The soldiers – the few that remained in the canyon – had taken cover and were picking off the Legion as they made their way through the pass.

Further up the mountain, a blaring ball of blue-white light tore through the darkness.

"You didn't really think he was just going to leave you out here, did you?"

Boone sighed. "I don't know what I was expecting."

A grunt – the Legionnaire that had attacked him was still alive. Boone rolled him over. "He's alive."

Melissa drew her rifle, "So let's remedy that."

"No…not yet."

* * *

><p>The camp was littered with bodies of the dead and dying. Six made his way casually through – putting an end to any Legionnaire that happened to be breathing. When he reached Boone, he found him knelt over a dying man. The man looked vaguely familiar; salt and pepper hair, matching beard.<p>

As Six drew nearer, the man smiled, spitting up blood. "Courier Six…" he coughed. "There's the reason we're here."

"What?" Boone looked at Six then back towards the man. "What do you mean?"

"Caesar told you there would be repercussions for disloyalty."

"Lucius, right?" Six knelt beside him. "Caesar never had my loyalty."

"That much he is certain of. Where is Joshua Graham?"

Six curled his lip and shrugged. "No idea. How'd you know I was here?"

He coughed again as a laugh struggled to escape his throat. "The eyes of Caesar see all…"

"Then he should already know where Joshua is."

The man smiled. "What makes you think he doesn't? I was curious as to whether or not _you_ know where he is."

"What does that mean?" Boone growled.

"It doesn't mean anything," Six answered for the dying man. "He's trying to spread discontent."

"Am I? You asked how we knew where to find you."

"Graham told you?" Boone's scowl deepened.

"Graham didn't tell him shit," Six spat. "Are you going to give me anything useful, or should we just kill you now?"

Another guttural laugh. "Caesar is displeased with the attack on the Cove. Your NCR will pay dearly for it – hope is lost. Within the fortnight, the dam will fall to the Legion. Caesar will rule New Vegas with an iron fist."

"Will he now?" Six nodded and took a breath, he placed his foot on the man's chest and unsheathed his machete. "Shame you won't be around to see it."

A single stroke saw the man's head severed from his body.

"How do you think he figured that hope is lost?" Cass asked – looking around the camp and the bodies of Legion men strewn throughout.

"We got lucky," Boone told her flatly. "Hope is lost…the NCR has a camp. Forlorn Hope."

"We should probably check it out," Six dropped the severed head to the ground.

"I'm just saying, we kicked their asses," Cass jibed.

"They had only two ways to get in...they were funneling in with no firearms. They split their group...lower level attacking from the front. A distraction...the Praetorian attacked from the side. Luckily, you all caught them. If it would have been anything more or if the Praetorian would have gotten through, we wouldn't have survived," Boone said, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

Six grasped the severed head by the hair and lifted it – staring into its eyes. "Two ways in…but when they attack the dam, they'll only have one."

* * *

><p><em>So this ark with Graham searching for the girl will end next chapter. I want to integrate him more into the main story. There are a couple other things that I have planned for him to do though. So it'll probably be a little bit before I regroup him with everyone else. I feel like Graham is Six's left hand, where Boone is his right. Graham's going to do the jobs that Six doesn't think that Boone is up for.<em>

_My aim is to have the completed the Second Battle of Hoover Dam by the time classes start back up. But I don't think that's realistically going to happen. It's about seven chapters away, according to my outline. I might be able to pull it off though._

_I really like Lucius in the game. He seems very honor driven...but, I thought to myself, if Caesar was going to send someone after Six, he'd send someone he knew he could trust._

_I'll start working on the next chapter tonight at work - so long as it's not too busy. I'll try to have it posted by Tuesday morning. If I can manage two chapters a week, we'll be able to get to the Battle for sure. But that's a big if._

_Leave me some encouragement. Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter._

_Cheers._


	30. Chapter 29: Restoring Hope

_Alright - so, before we dive in to this chapter I want to clear a few things up and answer some questions you all have had._

_I **do** intend to end the main story line after The Flags of Our Fathers (Lonesome Road); that being said, I am going to write a prequel of sorts for Joshua Graham. The prequel will be slow going though, since I have to do pretty much everything on my own without much to go off of with the game. So, while I'm working on the prequel, I'll also be working on my take on Fallout 3, which will be a long one. I will **not** be taking Six back to New Reno._

_The Second Battle of Hoover Dam will take place **before** both Curios & Relics (Old World Blues) **and** The Flags of Our Fathers. The main story will still have ten chapters or so after the Second Battle, with Curios & Relics starting at the end of Chapter 40. The Flags of Our Fathers will start after the conclusion to the main storyline and will take place about a year after the main story ends. _

_I will be incorporating the Boomers before the Second Battle._

_I think that covers pretty much everything. This chapter was difficult to write, I had a hell of a lot to cover and I needed to get it all covered before the next chapter began. The good news is...I managed to do it and I am really pleased with the way this chapter turned out. The next chapter is already laid out, I just need to write it. I know exactly where I want it to go and what I want to cover, so it should be a fairly quick write. With any luck, I should have it posted Tuesday morning._

_Anyway. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>The trip back to the Lucky 38 was a quiet one. In more ways than one; it was uneventful, and just, well…quiet. Boone's initial response to the warnings of the departed Praetorian was to make his way to Forlorn Hope. It was with a bit of careful persuasion – and not without difficulty – that Six was able to convince him to return to the Strip. After all, if Forlorn Hope was, in fact, in need of assistance – they were going to need some help.<p>

Boone took point – as he often did, and Six elected to bring up the rear. He could feel the tension in the air between them – so could the girls. What Lucius claimed had hit its mark. Six was certain that the dead Legionnaire's intent was merely to cast seeds of doubt; to sow dissent. And if that was his wish, he had succeeded. The silence didn't bother him very much. He had long grown used to walking miles without so much as speaking a word when he was accompanied by the man of stone. Sure, in their months together, Boone had opened up some – he participated in daily banter and on rare occasions might even crack a joke. But the man that Six knew well, he didn't really know at all – a man consumed in silence and words unspoken. He had gotten good at reading Boone's body language. He knew what conversations to avoid – and he learned what buzz words really lit Boone's fuse a long, long time ago – topics that Boone wished to avoid: his time with the NCR; his wife; Manny Vargas. And now he knew why. Boone had opened up; and it was because of a Khan woman, no less. Six could see why. Underneath layers of grime and dust, Melissa was a beautiful woman. Then again, so was Christine, despite her afflictions – and she hadn't been able to break that shell.

But what _did_ bother him was the intent behind the silence.

The thing about silence is that it doesn't truly exist, or – at the very least – not entirely. Silence can exist in the physical world – and that type of silence is useful. When they were treading through enemy territory or lands rife with danger, Boone's unnatural silence came in handy. Other silences had a more malicious origin – deception, betrayal, contempt, suspicion. Any one of these – or, perhaps, all of these – could be singled out as the culprit for the silence that consumed them now. Even as they passed the old train yard – careful not to alert the deathclaws – this silence was still unnerving. Even though these creatures heard nothing as the group trekked towards the Lucky 38, the silence wasn't truly silence.

That's because actions speak loud – Boone was silently screaming at him every step of the way.

_Why trust a Legionnaire? What the hell are you thinking? Why are we headed back to the Strip when we should be headed to Forlorn Hope?_

In fact. The only thing that proved to be louder than Boone's words were Six's thoughts. No matter how much he tried to clear his mind; it sat perched on his shoulder like the little devil it was, _and it just wouldn't shut the fuck up_. That's why true silence can never exist. You can choose to be physically quiet. Shutting up your thoughts…that's a different matter.

"We're not even sure that Forlorn Hope is in any real danger," Six, tired of his mind's queries, finally cut through the tension as the gates to the Strip groaned and struggled to part.

"We're not sure that it's not."

"Why would he tell us? It doesn't make sense."

"They told us about Hoover Dam."

Six curled his lip – _he has a point_, the little devil perched on his shoulder spouted. "But that's because we couldn't do anything about it," he replied – more to that little devil than to Boone.

"We could have. We just didn't," Boone stopped, turning towards Six.

"Not for the lack of trying."

"That's not the point. Why did Caesar send assassins after us?"

Cass shot Melissa a sidelong glance – her eyes saying what her mouth didn't. _Jesus, they're like bickering children_.

"They were probably after Graham…"

"Or," Boone interjected coldly, "Caesar isn't pleased with the fact that you fell through on your end of the bargain."

"I don't think I'd warrant so many for an assassination attempt," Six said, propping the door to the Lucky 38 open with his foot.

Boone grunted, pushing past him – headed straight for the elevator. The group piled on behind him. "I'm just pointing out that it's strange, alright? They knew where to find us."

"Graham did say Caesar had spies all over the Mojave."

Another grunt. The elevator beeped and Boone immediately exited. While Six and Cass made their way to the master bedroom, he made straight for the guest room – flinging the door open, causing it to crash against the wall with a raucous thump. The noise was loud enough that it stirred the young prostitute turned guest asleep in one of the beds. She sat up, rubbing her eyes.

Boone quickly glanced around the room, then made his way to the bathroom; game room; and, finally, the kitchen. Seated around the table, Christine, Raul, and Veronica looked up at him.

"Jeez, Boone…" Veronica squeaked, "Something wrong?"

No answer. He immediately headed back out, stopping momentarily at the elevator. Melissa was still inside – uncomfortable with the situation. "I think I'm going to head back to the canyon," she told him quietly.

He responded with a sympathetic nod.

The door to the master bedroom crept open – Six emerged, carbine in tote. "Anti-material rifle had a little bit of a ki…"

"He's not here," Boone spat.

"What?"

"Graham _isn't_ here," Boone's voice was irate. "I told you, _he's Legion_. He _can't_ be trusted. I _don't_ work with Legion. Current _or former_ – and I don't give a rat's ass what the reasons are."

"Look…he's probably just out…"

"If you want me to stick around," he interjected, "this ends now. No more of this charade."

Bringing his hand up to his face, Six pinched the bridge of his nose; he took a long, deep breath and shook his head. "We'll talk about this later. For now…get everyone ready. We're going to Forlorn Hope."

* * *

><p>Fire engulfed the corridors – laughter echoed throughout the halls.<p>

"We got'em boys!"

"Nowhere for you to run now, asshole!"

"Graham! How are you on ammunition?"

Graham checked his last magazine and frowned, at his feet the broken remains of Six's eyebot sparked and buzzed. "One in the chamber," he told Anders – who was ducked across the hall behind an overturned terminal desk in the room directly adjacent to his. "You?"

"I'm out!"

Son of a…Graham peeked his head around the corner, peering through the doorway at their attackers – four fiends, two side by side wielding flamethrowers. The hallway was immediately lit up with flame.

"Get him, Daniel!"

"I'm trying!"

If he could hit the tank…His scowl deepened. "Anders!"

"Yeah?"

"You get them out of here…I'll handle these two. When I do, you get the keys and you get them to safety."

"What do you think you're going to do?"

"When you pass through waters, I will be with you…" Graham took a breath. "And when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you." He pulled the hammer back on his pistol.

"What are you doing?" Anders peeked up from behind the overturned desk. "Are you insane?!"

"When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned…" Graham closed his eyes, and took a final – deep – breath. "The flames will not set you ablaze…"

He stepped towards the door.

"Hey! Still have one trick up my sleeve!" Anders bellowed, peeking out from behind his desk again – he chucked something out into the hall. "Take cover!"

"What the…"

"Grenade!"

Graham's palm slammed against the door's emergency lock.

The explosion was immense – in part due to their close proximity, and in part due to the fuel tanks strapped to the fiends' backs. Fire seeped under the door as it shut – the objects in the room shook in protest.

He waited a moment. Then another. Silence…he twisted the door's center dial. With a groan, it opened slightly. Must have been damaged, he thought. He gripped the bottom of the door and pulled. It wouldn't budge. He was trapped.

With a scowl, he pressed his back to it. He gripped it with both hands and heaved upwards. Nothing.

"Lord give me strength…"

One more time. It moved, slightly.

Again. It gave way with a mechanical whine.

"You look like you needed a hand," Anders said, releasing the door.

Graham sighed, a breath of relief. "From time to time." He scooped up the remains of they eyebot and joined Anders in the hall, black and scorched – littered with the remains of the fiends. Graham observed the carnage. "Find the keys," he said solemnly. "I'm going after Motor Runner."

Before Anders could respond, Graham was gone.

"The Legion are at Nelson breathing down our neck…they're not pleased with the attack on Cottonwood. I appreciate what you tried to do, I really do. But they're retaliating, and they've hit us hard. I don't have the supplies or man power to hold out much longer. They captured a group sent down from the resort – bunch of greenhorns. Not properly trained…they have them crucified in the middle of town. "

* * *

><p>Major Joseph Polatli was a gruff man in his early forties. He had been through his fair share of combat, and his weary eyes were testament to it. His black hair was longer than Boone remembered, and unkempt. He hadn't changed a great deal outside of that…and the matching mustache that perched itself on top of his lip; which, to be truthful, was in no better condition than his hair. It was thick and untrimmed – the hair had begun to cover his mouth. Much of his talking was muffled and incomprehensible. Stress had taken its toll on him – the hopelessness of the predicament he found himself in. Heading a camp that had been under constant threat by Nelson for close to eight months. He lost good friends when the Legion took Nelson…and it seemed now that they were gunning for Forlorn Hope.<p>

A trail of saliva tinted yellow from coyote chew tobacco drizzled down the left corner of his mouth. Six wasn't sure if he even realized it was there. He seemed to favor his right side. Six had read once in an old copy of D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine that people who had suffered strokes or seizures – which could sometimes be brought on by stress – would neglect one side of their body. More often than not, it was the left and was often the result of injury to the brain.

He really didn't know why he remembered that.

One thing was certain though. The Major certainly had cause for stress…it made Six wonder just how far his misfortunes extended.

"And now they're gathering their forces. They're not going to wait around much longer. And neither are we. We're putting a squad together now, we're taking Nelson back," bits of tobacco flew from his mouth as he talked.

"But won't they kill the hostages if you attack Nelson?" Veronica asked, tepidly.

The Major sighed, his gaze sympathetic. "I've received orders from HQ to end their suffering."

"You…you what?" Boone's voice was irate. "Mercy…mercy killings? You're kidding me, Joe!"

"General Oliver green-lit the orders himself. First Recon is moving into position as we speak."

Boone cast Six a sidelong glance – one that Six understood well.

"Look," Six bit his lower lip. "Let us go in there…let us find the hostages and get them out. You don't have to risk the lives of your men. We'll take that risk. All you have to do is have them hold off until we're out of there."

Polatli thought on it a moment – then spit a long trail of tobacco out; it splashed across the ground at his feet. "You have 'til sunrise. Then the matter is out of my control."

Outside the command center, they made their way south. Six stopped briefly at a clear stream that cut through the camp and filled his flask – he took a long drink of the cool water.

"Boss…" Raul said, looking around the camp. "These guys look how I feel."

Six looked up, at the men and women stationed at the camp. They were underequipped – even by NCR standards. Six understood that the NCR was spread thin. But these men and women were equipped with caravan shotguns, low caliber "varmint" rifles, and 9mm pistols. They all looked tired – some looked drugged out (and probably for good reason).

"So what's the plan, Boone?" he asked, taking another drink from his canteen.

"Christine, Raul, and I will take to the cliff east of Nelson; we'll cover you and take out as many as we can without alerting the others. You take Cass and Veronica in from the north…stay low and out of sight. With any luck, we can get you in and out without anyone ever knowing we were there."

* * *

><p>"She's in the cell…I swear, I didn't touch her…"<p>

"Didn't touch her?" Graham looked down at his prey – the leader of the fiends. A man that, by any definition of the word, was barely a man. His eyes were sunken, his body slender. He definitely was not a particularly imposing individual –by any physical standard. He was an addict; sickly and pale.

"For what reason would a man buy a slave…a sixteen year old girl…and leave her alone in her cell?"

"I swear, man…I didn't…"

"You can lie to me. But the good Lord knows the truth."

What made these other fiends follow him? What made him so special?

Graham had learned a great deal in his day. Not the least of which was the fact that you didn't have to be physically imposing to be a leader. Caesar, in his old age, had lost what physical prowess that graced him all those years ago. Even then, he wasn't an especially stout man. Not to say that he was a pushover – he could defend himself. But his rise to power – his claim to fame – came from his tactical genius; his knowledge of weapons and war.

This man, on the other hand, likely shared Caesar's second most prevalent quality – what had ushered his transition from a revered ruler to an infamous tyrant.

"Daniel has the key," Motor-Runner spouted. He cowered, crawling backwards – a mutilated stump where once was a leg, leaving a bloody trail winding across the room not entirely unlike that of a sidewinder through the desert sand. Graham paced forward – revving the chainsaw as he walked. "He's in the living quarters…"

"Don't concern yourself with the girl," Graham told him flatly. "She's safe, and is of no use as a bargaining chip for your life."

"I bought her for the boys…so they'd have…"

"So they'd have what? You think that your lack of participation in their activities makes you innocent? You think that it makes you any less guilty? You kept her here. You are the reason she has gone through everything she has," as Graham spoke, he could feel the fire welling inside of him. "I wonder…just how many people have fallen at your hands? How many have you fed to your hounds?" Graham turned towards the two mange ridden mongrels that now sat silently, their eyes glazed over, unblinking – watching their master bleed.

What this man had – the reason he was able to keep the other fiends in line – was his ruthlessness. His iniquity.

"Please…please, don't! I'll do anything! We found the vault armory! We have guns! Meds! You can take anything you want! The password…the password is 'Billy Boy'…we keep the everything in the maintenance closet just outside…just, take what you want. Let me go…"

"My Lord and Savior would have that I forgive you. That I turn the other cheek. Leave you to live so that you might find your way back from the darkness. A good friend tells me that there is decency in everyone…and perhaps she is right. It could be the case that I leave you here today a changed man."

"I am. I am a changed man – I swear it."

"Or…" Graham sneered, "It could be that I leave you here today and you gather your remaining forces and terrorize the good people of the Mojave. We all sin. Our Lord's laws teach that we should be very careful to do no wrong. Directly or indirectly. So then…if I were to leave you here today and you were to find salvation in the arms of Christ, I would have made a wise decision. But…if I were to leave you here today and you were to kill again…all of those who found themselves wronged at your hands, at the hands of those you lead…all that blood would be on me. I can wash the blood of a sinner from my hands. But the blood of the innocent would never wash away. You have raped, maimed, and murdered," Graham sighed. "Eye for eye…the law of lex talionis. Regrettably, our Heavenly Father is all forgiving – and would have me spare you."

"Thank you…thank you, and thank your father…"

Graham scoffed, revving up the chainsaw. "Our Heavenly Father is all forgiving – but I am not."

When he had finished _God's _work, he made his way back towards the entrance – stopping briefly at a door with a terminal next to it. He tried the door – it was locked tight. So he turned his attention to the terminal to the right. He punched a few keys.

‹**Admin›**

‹**Enter Password›**

Graham complied – the door hissed. He reached out, twisting the small circular dial at the door's center. With a groan, it retracted. He stepped into the storage room – it was littered with meds and chems. Strewn across the ground, across desks, piled in crates stacked against the wall. This supply would do wonders for the Followers.

Near the back, a set of lockers stood alone. Graham approached them. He pulled up on the handle – the locker opened without resistance. Inside he found a number of firearms – pistols, automatic rifles. He turned to the remaining locker. Again, it opened without resistance. More firearms…but one stood out. He reached into the locker, withdrawing it.

A rifle – rather large. The stock was likely once white, or silver; but time and nature had not been kind to it. It was rusted in places, black grime had collected across the body – giving it a dirty, weathered appearance. The grip was still in rather good condition – stained wood. He ejected the magazine – 5.56mm rounds. From the look of it, Graham guessed the magazine would house about twenty-five to thirty rounds. The barrel, scope, and magazine were all faded black – as well as the butt of the rifle. From the look of it, he also guessed that it had been highly modified. He stepped back into the hall…he peered through the scope and at the body of the once mighty Motor-Runner. He pulled the trigger – expecting a single shot. Instead, the body was littered with a barrage of projectiles. What was more impressive was the rifle's kick – namely, in that it barely had one of note.

A smile spread across his face. "Looks like you had something worth bargaining after all," he whispered contently; _if you hadn't been so forthcoming with the password.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Through the scope of his rifle, Boone counted seven Legionnaires patrolling the camp. Two more were positioned in towers on each end of the encampment. The hostages were strung up in the middle – tied to crosses and left hanging. They hadn't driven nails through their hands, yet. Probably because they wanted to keep them alive and well enough to keep the NCR from attacking.<p>

Fuck lot of good that did.

"Keep your eyes on 'em," Boone told Christine.

"You don't have to tell me twice," she replied. She followed the trio with her scope. Should any undesirables pass too close to them, they'd meet an untimely end.

Inside the camp, Six hugged the corner of one of the rundown buildings. He rummaged through his bag before finally settling on a cracked rearview mirror. He used it to peer around the corner.

Clear.

He waved Veronica through – she darted across the camp, stopping just short of the hostages, taking cover in the remains of a particularly decrepit building.

She watched as a duo casually strolled by, chatting amongst themselves. They were followed by a particularly vicious looking hound. It stopped – sniffing the air around it and let out a low growl.

_Shit shit shit._

"Lupa," one of the Legionnaires slapped his thing. "Come."

The dog ignored his call, pacing towards Veronica.

"Lupa!" He let out a fierce whistle.

It stopped, and peeked back over its shoulder.

"Come!"

The mongrel looked in her direction again, then turned back to the men; running to catch up to them.

"Close one," Christine whispered. She turned her sights back to Six and Cass. Six was, again, using the mirror to peek around the corner. Cass had her back pressed firm against the wall of the building, her hands gripping the camouflaged shotgun Six had given her tightly – one hand on the stock, the other on the barrel. She curled her wrist and took a deep breath – Six waved his hand, and she took off as fast as her feet would carry her, staying low to the ground. It didn't take her long to reach Veronica.

"Two down," Christine updated Boone.

Six watched the patrol carefully. When he was certain the moment was right, he started across the camp.

The sound of gunfire perforated the silence of night.

"_What the…_" Boone swung his rifle around, struggling to find the source of the incursion. From the south, a squadron of NCR soldiers were being lead into Nelson by an NCR Ranger – Boone recognized the man well. Ranger Milo – he had been responsible for saving a number of men and women when Nelson fell to the Legion. Highly decorated…and every bit as callous. The reason he had been able to save so many at Nelson wasn't heroism – despite being paraded around as a hero.

He was able to save them because he had been willing to distribute large amounts of psycho to his men. They defended the camp with a ferocity nearly unrivaled while he evacuated Nelson. Not all of his men made it…but the way the republic saw it, he saved a lot of lives.

He had been displeased with the NCR officer commanding Nelson that night, and had voiced his displeasure to Polatli. And if anyone was going to take back Nelson, Polatli knew it would be him. They just needed the right distraction.

Below them, Six had taken cover. The Legionnaires were scurrying around like the vermin they were – some equipped with well kept repeaters, others with high end magnums. They pelted Six's location with gunfire.

The Legion rarely resorted to firearms…especially in this number.

_They really want to keep this post_.

"I don't believe this…" Boone turned to Christine and Raul. "Open fire. Polatli used us. We're a decoy."

So they did – firing without mercy, dropping Legionnaires like flies. But there were so many. Veronica had Cass by the collar – dragging her away from the camp. She fired continuously at the Legion men – screaming at the top of her lungs.

Boone could just make out what she was saying. She was calling out _his_ name…and _he_ was nowhere to be seen.

Six was gone. Boone swept the camp – around the buildings, near the generator…_the generator!_

Without a beat, he fired. Sparks decorated the darkness as the lights around Nelson went black. He rummaged through his pockets,_ cateye_. He dispersed it amongst the group. "Find Six," he demanded. "We're getting them, _all of them_, out of here _alive_!"

Then he was on his feet, charging in to Nelson.

The Legionnaires were blind – firing desperately at the onslaught of NCR soldiers pouring in from the south.

Boone was in the camp, quietly making his way through the ruins, rifle slung around his shoulder – bowie knife in hand.

The first man he encountered never knew he was there – he didn't even have time to scream. He quickly made his way through the ruined buildings, straight for the hostages – killing half a dozen more along the way. There were three of them – all men, strung up in the middle of the camp. They weren't moving. Boone quickly cut the ropes and let them collapse to the ground; no time for consideration or subtlety. He checked their pulses – all alive. Then their dogtags: O'Hanrahan; Poindexter; and Razz. He grasped two of them by the collar, pulling them towards a nearby building.

"Need a hand, compadre?"

He turned to see Raul.

"Grab him…follow me."

"Sure…" Raul grasped the remaining hostage. "I'll risk my life for someone I don't even know…no problem."

Around them, Legion numbers were dwindling. Nelson was well underway to being in NCR hands again.

Now at the building, Boone planted a solid kick near the handle – sending the door crashing into the wall. He quickly pulled them inside and stood. From behind him, he heard movement – withdrawing his sidearm, he spun around.

"Whoa!"

"Six!" Boone lowered his pistol. "Jesus Christ, I almost shot you."

"Yeah, no shit…" Six shook his head. "What the fuck happened out there? Where's Cass? Vee?"

"They're safe, Boss. NCR…they're taking back Nelson."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No," Boone told him flatly. "What are you doing in here?"

Six looked over his shoulder – across the room, handcuffed to the bed was a young woman. Severely beaten, bloody, and naked; her blonde hair matted and stained red with her own blood.

"She's alive," Six told them. "Names Maggie…um…Mags. When the shooting started, I tried to find Cass and Vee…thought they may have ducked into one of the buildings. Found that son of a bitch there about to kill this girl…" He nodded to a Legionnaire with an ornately decorated helmet – red cloth, black and red feathers.

This man was high ranking.

"He dead?"

Six shook his head. "No, unconscious…I thought he might have some useful information."

* * *

><p>Across the vault, Anders was sure he could hear screams…or was his imagination playing tricks on him? He flipped through the keys – trying different ones. Inside the cell, the captives were eager to escape their own personal hell – save one, who lay motionless in the corner.<p>

"He alright?"

"Carter? No…he snuck out of the cell, he was trying to make it to the Overseer's terminal."

"What's on his terminal?" Anders asked, trying another key – he wasn't really concerned. He just wanted to keep the prisoners' minds off their current situation.

"A password to get into the armory…he was going to try to fight these bastards off."

"Doesn't look like he faired very well," Anders tried another key – this time the door clicked. He grasped the metal bars and pulled it open. "They catch him, then?"

"Well, they let him hack the terminal. Then killed him…and used the password to get into the armory."

"That explains the flamethrowers…"

"Name's Rick by the way…this is Rachael," He motioned towards a woman with short red hair, then towards a ghoul leaning idly on the cell's bars. "And this handsome young fellow is Dennis."

The ghoul tipped his hat.

"And this desert flower here is Alice…" Rick continued, "We've been locked in here for a while. We were traders – caught just outside of Brooke's Tumbleweed Ranch."

"So you're Alice?" Anders looked at the young girl seated on a small cot in the cell. "Someone's here looking for you…"

She looked up at the man, a hint of confusion in her eyes. "What? Who?"

Anders opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. The legends of the Burned Man were widespread. Everyone knew of the ex-Legate. "I think…I think it might be better to let him introduce himself."

Though excited, the group made their way back to the entrance slowly. They were malnourished, dehydrated. Weak. They passed over the bodies of fallen men and women – fiends who, without exception, would have killed them in a heartbeat if it meant getting a free high.

And some of them…hell, they'd have done it just for kicks.

They stopped just outside the entrance – they needed to rest. _And_ _they needed to wait_.

An hour passed before Graham emerged from the vault – his new rifle slung over his shoulder.

He dropped a fractured skull-bone helmet to the ground at Anders' feet. "Motor-Runner is no more," he turned towards the former captives. "Alice? Alice Hostetler?"

The young woman looked up at him, her eyes peeking from behind the short strawberry blonde bangs that draped across her forehead.

"I'm with the Followers," Graham explained. "I'm here to take you home.

* * *

><p>Six's fist tore through the air – hitting its mark. A fierce punch that sent Polatli spiraling towards the ground. Around him, soldiers took aim.<p>

"_You son of a bitch_…you could have gotten us killed."

"Your reputation precedes you…" Polatli laughed, picking himself up. He dismissed the soldiers with a wave of his hand. "I figured you'd be safe."

"I don't give a god damn what you _figured_…"

"Look…I'm sorry. I had to do what was best for the NCR. And the best way to take back Nelson was with them preoccupied. You still got everyone out alive…even the hostages. Those misfits will never be able to repay you, let me tell you. Plus, you captured Dead Sea. We're going to transport him to McCarran for interrogation. The last man we captured met an untimely end at Carrie Boyd's hands…the NCR doesn't permit torture, so she had to be creative. Dr. Hildern suggested a truth syrum. Said he could synthesize one. Didn't work…kind of foolish, if you ask me. But Silus was a tough nut to crack. Maybe Dead Sea will be more…_compliant_."

Six scowled – he didn't like this man. And he didn't like his ways. But he had a point. Dead Sea could in fact have something that could come in handy…after all, war was on the horizon.

"The NCR can't torture for information?"

"No," Polatli rolled his eyes. "Some…ethical bullshit. These activists are going to find out their ethics don't mean shit to the Legion, if we can't put an end to it."

"The NCR can't torture for information…" Six nodded contently. "_But I can._"

* * *

><p><em>Alright...so as usual I've taken a few creative liberties. I wanted the soldiers at Nelson to be more than just nameless faces, so I elected to make them the Misfits. I also made Major Polatli a bit older than he looks in the game, and toyed with what I imagined him to look like after being on the front lines for so long; the stress of it would definitely get to him, and I have actually seen a stroke victim who was an avid tobacco chewer suffer from the same affliction (tobacco drool) to the point that it left streaks down his chin. I thought that gave him a little more character...so I kind of ran with it. Also, with Ranger Milo. I thought it would be fun to make a Ranger who wasn't as good as he's made out to be. In the game you can persuade him to just give his men Psycho to make them attack. I thought it might be interesting to have him more open to this idea himself...plus, it gave me a good villain Ranger. I also thought it was pretty stupid that the fiends never went after the weapons mentioned on the Overseer's terminal in the "armory" of Vault 3 (which is just a couple lockers at the end of each one of the flooded passages). So I integrated that in to it...and figured that would have been a good source for them to find the flamethrowers. Also...I decided to give Graham the Bozar because it's one of my favorite weapons, and Graham is my favorite character. He'll still be using his pistol primarily though...he is, after all, very lethal with it.<em>

_We're going to start seeing another side of Boone as things wind down...things are going to start setting in motion that are going to change who he is and what he believes. Whether or not those things are for the better...well, you'll have to wait to find out._

_I wanted to incorporate the interrogation of Silus...but ultimately decided to go with Dead Sea because it was easier to make the connection between taking back Nelson then going straight to Camp McCarran that way._

_I've got a few other twists up my sleeve as well._

_Hopefully everyone enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it._


	31. Chapter 30: Don't Tread On The Bear

_So, I've had this done since Tuesday afternoon, but I haven't been able to log in. Kept getting a 503 error. So...yeah, it's late and totally not my fault for once. __What was bad is that I was just getting ready to post the chapter when it started doing it - so I had logged in, and was editing the chapter in the document manager and when I tried to save the changes, I got the error and couldn't log back in. So that was fun._

_I'm really starting to get back into the groove of things, I think - but I don't think I'll be able to make it to the second battle before classes start back. I'm going to try...but I just can't see it happening. We still have a number of chapters before the battle._

_The good news is, I have the next two chapters already outlined - so the planning for them is done. All I have to do is write them out. Which shouldn't take too long. So long as I'm able to write while I'm at work (since I work graveyard shift), I should be able to finish the next chapter by Saturday; if so, it'll be posted Sunday morning (provided the site doesn't go down again)._

_A whole lot happens in this chapter...it was close to six thousand words pre-rant. So, settle in. You've got a good read ahead of you. If this chapter is half as good as I believe it is, you'll really enjoy it._

_Hope everyone had a great holiday season. Here's a present from me to you...so dive on in and enjoy._

* * *

><p>Sitting at this post day in and day out was tiresome. She was sick of doing nothing – a war was on the horizon, and every fiber of her being could feel it.<p>

She missed being at Camp Golf. She missed being sent out on recon with the rest of her team. When she joined the rangers, she was under the impression that it would entail more responsibility. It would require more action.

Not that she had a thirst for blood or combat – but there were lives at stake. And every Legionnaire she put down had the potential to save dozens of lives. _Or more._

The sun was hot, beating down on that old roof – she removed her cap, brushing her hair from her face. Behind her dark glasses, her eyes almost shined; a bright red hue unique to her, and her alone. Twenty five years she had been on this shit-hole of a planet. Eight years she had traveled with the NCR. Not one other person shared her appearance – shared her _condition – _that she had ever met, anyway.

A lot of people want to stand out. They want to be known.

Not her.

She wanted nothing more than to blend in. To be one of the crowd. To go somewhere that people didn't gawk with those awkward stares – their jaws agape and their eyes wide.

She peered through the scope on her rifle – scanning the images in the distance.

When she had signed up for the NCR, they told her she wouldn't make the cut. _She did._ When she asked to be transferred to First Recon, they told her that her _condition_ would prevent it. _It didn't. _

Albinism comes at a heavy cost – and one of the prices she paid with was her eyesight. What _they_ didn't count on was her determination – and just how far she'd go to get what she wanted. It cost a good deal of training and habituation, and heavy sum of caps – most of which had been covered by the Followers, but, the doctor at the New Vegas Medical Clinic promised her that with an optics enhancer, she would be able to live out her dream. It helped that the good doctor sold it to her at a discounted price; on count of her _condition._

And since the Followers were kind enough to assist her…she went for it.

Even with the enhancement, her eyesight was far from perfect. But a modified scope on her old repeater had been more than enough to remedy that. She had run into a girl at the trading post on the 188. A girl that struck her as a bit strange, dressed in a getup that screamed beggar…but that was okay. After all, she wasn't the picture of normality, herself. But after having dinner with the girl, and mentioning her predicament, the girl offered to assist her.

Turned out, the girl was quite intuitive – and pretty damn good at making things. She fashioned the repeater with a scope modified with an optics lens from an old securitron. When she had questioned the girl on where she came across the optic lens, the girl had been mostly dodgy. But she did say that she found it near the hole in the ground where she lived; _the securitron had already been destroyed, of course_.

Nevertheless, the scope did what it was intended to do. And when she took her exam on the firing range – her score was near perfect. The second highest that day. She was bested by a man that, in time, she grew quite fond of: Private First Class Craig Boone. One of the few people that treated her worth a damn – never so much as took a second glance at her complexion. He was a good man, and a damn fine soldier.

Modest man he was, though – he never admitted to scoring higher than her on the range. And he always maintained that she was the best shot he'd ever seen.

Which, with the exception of himself, he was probably telling the truth.

After the Bitter Springs incident – she had her fill of fighting Khans, Fiends, Vipers, Jackals, and other wasteland junkies. She wanted to concentrate on the trouble stirring in the east. A threat that everyone knew was looming, but no one seemed to _do_ anything about.

Caesar's Legion.

And the best way to do that, she figured, was to join the Rangers.

So that's what she did.

When Corporal Sterling reached out to Ranger Jackson, who pulled some strings, she was ecstatic. A week later and she was in training, well on her way to becoming a ranger. She surpassed every expectation and was the top of her class.

She could see her greatest aspiration coming true – Veteran Ranger Ghost. She _loved_ the sound of that.

Then things came to a crashing halt. Jackson was stationed at the Mojave Outpost, and he requested that she be stationed with him. So now, here she was, sitting on this roof staring through the scope of her rifle watching the Mojave go to hell.

And she _hated_ it.

Footsteps behind her broke her thoughts. She glanced over her shoulder. "Heard you coming a mile away, Kilborn."

The man, Sergeant Kilborn, laughed. "You wouldn't hear me if I didn't want you to."

"Keep dreamin'. What brings you around? Aren't there geckos that need shootin'?"

Another laugh. "Just until the Legion run us over. No, Major Knight wanted me to fetch you."

She sighed – just what she needed. "Alright, thanks." She stood, with a stretch, and slung her rifle over her shoulder. Then she made her way down the ramp and in to the outpost headquarters. Knight sat comfortably behind his desk, shuffling papers. "You needed to see me?"

Knight looked up at her. "Just a moment…" he turned his attention back to the papers he was filing.

"Don't have all day," Ghost balked.

The major ignored her – giving the papers his full attention. She waited in silence for a while before he finally looked up at her. "Have a requisition for you."

"Requisition?"

"Yeah. You're being transferred. General Oliver himself put the call in."

"What? To where?"

"The Strip."

* * *

><p>Another twist of his wrist and Six felt the c-clamp loosen as the bones in Dead Sea's hand broke…or maybe the wooden chair's arm broke.<p>

The man let out a cry of agony. _Ah…it was his hand._

_Good._

Naturally, Six tightened it again.

"How do we get into the Fort?!"

The captive's cries faded in to laughter. "Go to hell, profligate," he said through gritted teeth.

A frown spread across Six's face. The man had proven a tough nut to crack…and Six was running out of options. He had pulled teeth, fingernails…used a cattle prod in the most unpleasant of places…branding iron, even removed a few toes.

Dead Sea would not break.

Outside the interrogation room, Carrie Boyd turned away.

"How can you watch this?" She asked Boone, the smooth complexion of her face contorted with disgust.

"With my eyes," Boone said, almost nonchalantly.

"Christ…" She shook her head. "I'm going to go have a smoke."

"Suit yourself."

With a look of exasperation, Six turned towards the makeshift window, little more than a hole in the wall with a sheet of Plexiglas mounted across it on either side – and looked out at Boone. Boone reached into his bag, rummaging around a moment. What he withdrew put a smile on Six's face. He opened the door to the interrogation chamber and handed the item to Six; who, then, proceeded to turn to Dead Sea – smile still plastered from ear to ear.

"Have you ever seen one of these?" Six asked.

Dead Sea didn't respond…so either _he had_ and _he was terrified_. Or _he had not_ and _had no idea_ what to expect.

"All of these shacks built around New Vegas…can you imagine how long it took the people to make them? Driving nails through the wood with worn out hammers or rocks…now…if they'd had one of these…" he held the object up so Dead Sea could appreciate it wholly. To Dead Sea, it appeared to be a yellow colored SMG, with a black grip, muzzle, and clip.

Six rotated the object, examining it with a look that bordered insanity and delight. "See…this clip holds about ten nails. It fires these nails at about 300 pounds per square inch. Adjustable, of course. But that's about enough to drive through concrete." He reached out, grasping Dead Sea's restrained hand, then forcefully straightened his index finger. Then, he pressed the muzzle to the tip of his finger. "So…I don't think I could even imagine what this is going to feel like…"

Outside, Boyd heard the man scream. _Jesus Christ_.

She removed her beret and ran her fingers through her dark hair, a frown on her face, and she took a drag of her cigarette – her hand quivering. Her foot tapped the pavement anxiously and she closed her eyes. She was a nervous wreck. She didn't want to be here. This goddamn job was draining the very life out of her; blackening her heart and ripping out her soul: supplies going missing – entire shipments – and people sneaking around in the dead of night doing who-knows what. To top it off, somehow the Legion had gained the upper-hand on their scouting parties. So had the fiends…though, given that Ranger Anders had returned from Vault 3, his mission apparently a success, she expected that would come to an end. Hsu had Motor-Runner's helmet proudly on display in his office. That relieved her some, knowing that the Fiends were without leadership.

But there was still just so much on her plate. She wanted nothing more than to go home. To be with the man she loved and her baby girl. She was tired of being here.

The door beside her opened, Six strolled out, using a damp rag to wipe down his hands – Boone at his side. He crumpled the rag, tossed it to the ground and reached into his duster, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. He packed them carefully then offered Boone one. Boone held up his hand and shook his head. With a shrug, Six lit one up and took a long drag – then leaned against the terminal building.

He exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Guy's tough. Not saying much."

"It's Silus all over again. Fuck's sake…I don't know why I thought you'd fare off any better than I did. This shit is useless."

"Well," Six smiled. "Not useless."

Boyd looked at him expectantly.

"He didn't give up much…but he let something slip. There's a traitor in our midst."

"…are you serious? That's what you got? I could have told you that."

"Yeah…" Six waved his hand dismissively. "We don't know who it is. What their rank is. What they look like. But what we know is that they're giving out information. So I came to the only person I could trust."

"What makes you think you can trust me?"

"You're a woman," Six said, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Legion would have nothing to do with you."

"Fuck…" She fumbled with her own cigarette pack – withdrawing one. She brought it to her lips and let it hang from her mouth as she searched for her lighter.

Six flipped reached into his pocket for his Zippo. He flipped the cap and lit it simultaneously and extended his arm. She leaned forward graciously, lighting the cigarette in the dancing orange flame.

"Think you'll be able to get anything else out of him?"

"I doubt it," Boone said, with a light smirk.

Boyd blew smoke in his direction. "Why?"

"He's dead."

"What?! Do you know how much shit we can get in to? The NCR has laws that explicitly protect prisoners of war!"

"From you," Six said, his face wry with content. "Laws that protect prisoners of war _from you_. But I'm not NCR, am I?"

* * *

><p>"I don't think we can ever thank you enough for what you've done for us, Joshua."<p>

Graham looked out across the Mormon Fort – at the young woman reunited with her parents. For the first time in a long while he felt truly good about something.

"I'm only doing my part," he responded quietly. "To make up for things I have done so long ago."

"That girl is alive because of you. She's home because of you."

Alice held her father in a warm embrace. She glanced up momentarily, her eyes locking with Graham's. She smiled at him – a smile so genuine that it made his chest flutter.

"You've come far," Julie told him. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come, on…" she said, looking at his charred and bloody bandaging. She took his hand and began leading him across the lot. "Let's go get you patched up."

Graham followed her, amongst tents and people, towards a tower door in the southwestern-most corner of the fort. "Will April be able to repair the eyebot?"

"And upgrade it," Julie promised. "The information on it will be of great value for the Followers. We'll be able to do a lot of good. For the entire wasteland."

She opened the door and held it for him. The inside of the tower was cool and dimly lit by a single bulb hanging from a loose plastic coated copper wire on the ceiling. A lone partition and end table decorated the room. Atop the table, an old chemistry set worked away – brewing chems that would no doubt be ineffective for the burned man. He made his way behind the partition.

Behind it was an operating table, a filing cabinet, and other medical supplies. He sat upon the operating table and waited while Julie rummaged through the boxes of supplies. Finally – turning back to him with gauze, ointment, bandaging, and surgical tape – she reached up, grasping the bandage around his head.

He pulled away lightly, wrapping his hands around hers. "No…I can take care of this."

She didn't respond – she just looked at him a moment with sympathetic eyes, she pulled her hands free and reached for his bandages again. This time he did not pull away.

He sat silently as she began to unravel the bandages.

His head was mostly hairless – save his eyebrows and parts of the left side of his scalp, which were covered in very short thinly spread salt and pepper hairs. His ears were frayed and his skin, a light combination of pinks and reds, was littered with fissures the color of salmon. His eyes, the most brilliant blue she had ever seen, stared back at her. She dabbed gauze in the ointment and began to gently pat it across his skin. The ointment was cool to the touch – a relief that he seldom felt. As she neared one of the deeper fissures, Graham pulled away – his eyes momentarily reflecting pain. She leaned in close and blew air into the wound. He swallowed and locked his gaze with hers. He could feel his pulse racing and his mouth was dry.

"Better?"

"Yes…"

She smiled and reached for the bandaging.

She had nearly finished when they heard the door creak open. "Julie?"

"In here, Arcade."

Arcade crept around the partition. "Oh, excuse me," he turned away. "I just wanted to update you…the King has agreed to meet with Crocker. He's also agreed to have a word with Pacer about his recent behavior. It wasn't easy setting that up. Also I've persuaded Elizabeth Kieran to provide aid to the Freeside citizens as well as those of the NCR."

"That's excellent news, Arcade!" Julie rang vibrantly.

"Arcade, would you consider yourself to be well trained in the diplomatic arts?" Graham inquired.

Arcade shrugged. "I know a good deal about a lot of things. Politics is just one area that I've studied."

"Hm..." Graham was quiet for a long moment. "I'm going to share some sensitive information with you two," he said, finally. "It must never leave this room. Give me your word."

"Of course, Joshua," Julie responded immediately.

Arcade hesitated. "What's the nature of this information?"

"You must give me your word."

Arcade sighed nervously. "I…don't know if I can do that. It really depends on what kind of information you give me…"

Graham let out an irritated moan. After an uncomfortable silence, he spoke: "Robert House is dead."

Julie's expression went blank. She looked at Graham with disbelief. "What?"

"Six has freed New Vegas from his tyranny."

"No…no…" Julie shook her head. "Joshua, this is bad…_this is really bad_."

"If the families find out…if the Kings find out…"

"If the _NCR_ finds out…" Julie chewed her lip. "_What happened_?"

"He had no choice, I assure you. If he had not, a good deal of innocent lives would have suffered for it. Believe me when I say he is aware of the potential repercussions of his actions. We have installed an AI that, for now, will run the securitrons on the strip. It will all be automated. But that will not be enough…eventually, he will have to step up. He will have to run the Strip himself."

"You mean _rule_ the Strip," Arcade spat. "You've helped create another dictatorship! It's going to be Caesar's Legion all over again!"

"That is not our intent…which is why, after much consideration, I have come to you. You believe in democracy…but democracy is inherently flawed. There exists too much corruption in a democratic world. Autocracy is every bit as dangerous. Giving a single person absolute power…I have seen what it can do. But…a true republic can succeed where a democracy would fail."

Julie looked at Graham, face rife with confusion. "The NCR is a republic, isn't it?"

"In name only," Arcade spoke up. "Republics and democracies are more or less the same…with some key differences. Namely that, where a democracy is governed by group, republics place a larger role on individuals. The old world government was a blend of the two…with the senate acting with majority rule and individual court systems acting closer to what a republic represents. A single vote can stop an execution in a jury…it doesn't work that way in a democracy. A group of representatives deciding on the fate of whatever issue is brought before them relies on majority rule. I mean…it's still not perfect, but it's certainly better than the alternatives." He turned back to Graham. "But what makes you think that he'll give up the power he has now? With House dead…he's inherited the Strip, as the only person with undivided access to the Lucky 38."

"He is terrified to lead a nation. He not only needs, but he wants help."

"And for that he turns to us?"

"For that he turned to _me_. _I_ turn to _you_."

* * *

><p>"Comm station in the eastern most tower…" Boone pointed to the tower. "It's a control center for the planes, for back before the Great War. But it wouldn't take much work to get those old radios up and running. And they'd broadcast one hell of a range."<p>

"So we wait for the bastard there. Inside?"

"No. We're going to need proof that he's using the radio for ill intent."

"Breaking and entering isn't enough?"

Boone shook his head. "I was stationed here a long time. A lot of these soldiers are kids…sixteen, seventeen. Men and women. Sometimes they want to have a little fun…need to duck out of sight."

Six laughed.

"I figure we'll wait around these boxes…whenever he shows up and heads into the tower, we'll follow him up. You use your pip-boy…record his conversation. And we'll have him."

Six nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

They waited hours. When those hours had passed, they waited more. Six was beginning to think that the traitor may not even show.

"So, where'd Melissa get off to?"

"The canyon."

"Ah…you going to see her again?"

"I don't know," Boone answered dryly. He was quiet a moment, then sat up – looking at Six. "I hope so."

Six grinned. "Oh…she's put a spell on you, Boone."

"Maybe," Boone stroked his chin. "I guess it's just…I'm so tired of waiting. I've been waiting for death…for…something…for so long. So long that I've forgotten what I was waiting for." He pulled up his binoculars and observed the tower. Still no sign of movement.

He sighed. "I guess…I was so lost in the past that I forgot to live in the present. She's not going to replace Carla…no one will ever do that."

"And that's okay," Six interrupted. "See, you're looking at this all wrong. You're not _replacing_ Carla. You're not even _starting over_. You're _moving on_…one chapter to the next."

"Yeah?" Boone grimaced. _But how is this book going to end?_ He took another look at the tower. Someone was standing out in front of it, typing on a terminal mounted on the wall next to the door. "Captain Curtis? That can't be right."

"Maybe he's checking in on the matter himself?"

With a grunt that neither confirmed nor denied Boone's position on Six's proposal, he hopped down off the boxes and started towards the tower. Six followed him. When they had reached the tower, Six started to set up a connection to the terminal.

Boone tried the door.

"No need," he told Six. "It's open." He pushed the door open; inside was a narrow hallway leading to a winding set of stairs. As they started up the stairs, they could hear talking. Six flipped through the dials on his pipboy.

"Lupa, this is Frumentarii Picus – copy."

‹**Voice Log›**

"Lupa, this is Frumentarii Picus – can you read me, over."

‹**Record›**

Six selected the option; a red light flashed on the screen.

‹**Recording›**

"Go ahead Picus."

"Afternoon Patrol is entering Fiend territory at 1300 – the underpass near the Samson Rock Crushing Plant. Have them set mines along that stretch."

"Ten-Four, Picus. Fiends will be alerted."

"Roger, Lupa."

"What's the status of your primary objective?"

"Charges are set. Detonation will occur shortly after the train leaves the station. Over."

"How long?"

"Couple minutes, over."

"Good work, Picus. Keep us updated. Over and out."

"You son of a bitch!"

Boone was on his feet. He tore across the room, slamming into Curtis with tremendous force; the captain stumbled forward, smashing against the communication tower wall.

"Get up!" Boone let out fierce kick, planting his foot into the Captain's ribcage. "Get up, goddamnit!"

He pulled back for another kick, but Six grabbed his shoulder. "Boone…"

He jerked away, wheeling around to look at Six.

"Boone! He's dead…"

Boone stared at Six, panting. Then looked down at the traitor on the tower floor – his head had struck the corner of the communications console on the way down. Blood pooled around it.

"He said something about a detonation?"

Boone, suddenly aware, made a dash for the door. "The monorail!"

Six struggled to keep up with him. He shot across the airstrip and towards the terminal. When he reached the door, he slammed his shoulder into it, splintering the lock – barely losing momentum – and continued towards the monorail. The train had just begun to leave the station. Boone rushed it, jumping onto the train's rear platform.

Six wasn't far behind, but the train was beginning to pull away. He reached out for the railing and couldn't quite get a firm grasp. He watched Boone disappear into the train.

_Fuck it._

He launched himself forward.

And fell short. _This is going to hurt._

He braced for impact…but it never came. He felt his body jerk, and he looked up. Boone had him by the wrist. He wrenched back, pulling Six into the train. Then he was on his feet again. "Check the front car! I'll check this one!"

Six rushed to the front car. _Somewhere on this train, there's a bomb. _His thoughts raced. _Where? Where would I…_then it hit him. Beside the door…_ventilation_. He tore off the vent's cover.

Plastic explosive lined the vent…attached to a makeshift timer. _Oh shit. _"Boone!"

Boone was there in an instant.

"Which…which, uh…which wire…"

Boone froze. _He didn't know_. The clock was ticking.

"We have to separate the cars…" Six said, his heart racing.

Boone looked at him.

Six stood, "We have to…we have to separate the cars. Get everyone into the rear car."

Boone complied – ushering the passengers, soldiers and civilians alike, into the rear car.

Six dropped to his knees, examining the explosive.

"Fuck…" he ran his fingers through his hair. "_Fuck!_"

"Let's go!"

"No…" Six shook his head. "This is headed for _my_ city. I have to stop it."

"You _can't_. _Let's go!_"

"I'm staying," Six's mind was made up, and Boone could see it. "Now go."

Boone cursed under his breath. He stepped towards the door…then reached down and released the rear car and slammed the door shut.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Six was on his feet. "I told you to get off this train!"

"And leave you to die?!"

"Calm down boys…"

They turned towards the source of the voice, still seated on the train – casually chewing a fresh apple was a familiar face.

"Ghost?"

"Boone," She stood with a smile, walking the distance of the train. When she had reached them she knelt down beside the vent.

"C4…egg timer…this is actually pretty standard." She reached into a utility pouch strapped to her waist and withdrew a set of surgical scissors. Then reached into the vent.

Six cringed – again, waiting for the inevitable.

And again, it never came.

She stood, taking another bite out of her apple.

"Good to see you again," she turned back to them. "Both of you."

Boone raised a brow, his lips curled in confusion. "You can defuse bombs?"

"Part of the training in the Ranger's Academy," she told him. "I told you that you should have joined."

* * *

><p>The train had nearly reached the station. The trio sat comfortably – Six quietly – as Boone and Ghost caught up on old times.<p>

"So," Six asked Ghost, feeling left out. "What brings you to the Strip?"

"I've been reassigned," she answered. "I have a meeting with General Oliver at the embassy."

"What's Oliver doing at the embassy?"

"I don't know, why don't you go ask him?"

"You do still need to meet with Crocker," Boone told Six. "He wanted to meet with you…"

"I'll do it…eventually."

"We'll already be in the area," Boone said flatly. "It'll only take a minute."

Six begrudgingly shrugged.

Half an hour later, they were in the embassy, sitting in the lobby. The building was in poor condition – plaster missing from portions of the walls and ceiling. The chairs were uncomfortable. It was clear to Six that House didn't exactly give the NCR any funds to maintain their presence on the Strip – despite the fact that they helped with security.

"Six?" A woman behind a large horseshoe shaped desk called. He stood. "Crocker will see you now. Take the door on your left, sweetheart. Follow the hall all the way to the end, you can't miss it."

Crocker's office was fairly better off…not particularly built better, but at the very least better decorated. He sat behind his desk, reclined with his feet propped up on the table. He was talking to another man, seated in one of the two chairs situated in front of his desk.

"Yes, sir." Crocker said, as Six entered the room. Crocker was a short, balding man in his late forties. His dark skin was wrinkled and weary. He wore a faded, dirty grey suit- complete with golden boutonniere, above the left breast pocket. When he saw Six, he stood – straightening his suit – and extended his hand. "Ah…here he is now."

Six shook his hand lightly, then turned to the man still seated. He wore a sand colored uniform with a dark brown cap, boots, and belt – his collar and cap were decorated with golden stars.

"So you're the man who's been the stir on the Strip? Your reputation precedes you," He extended his hand.

Six shook it as he sat down. "I'm guessing you're General Oliver?"

"That would be a safe bet to place," Oliver told him with a lighthearted smile. Oliver was a well groomed man – clean shaven, short kept dark hair, mouth full of pearly whites. Six would wager that it would also be a safe bet to say that this man had never seen a day of combat in his life. He took an immediate disliking to the "general". And the general either had no idea or paid it no mind.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Six asked – his eyes never leaving Oliver's.

Crocker – who could somehow sense Six's displeasure – spoke up. "We're glad you could make it – we have something special we'd like to discuss with you." He stood, making his way across the room to shut his office door. "It's a very important matter…"

"I'm listening."

"As you're probably well aware – things are a little tense around here with all the issues between the NCR and Mr. House. It doesn't take a genius to see that. To be honest…we're in a tight spot. With the Legion breathing down our neck and House maintaining radio silence, things aren't looking good. The NCR's stay here is tenuous at best…and even still, we're not like. Tolerated, sure. Even still, not by everyone. Reports come in from all over the Mojave…from the little settlement in the Northeast, Freeside…all the way down to Nipton. Our soldiers are victim to violence every day. Worse, something big is going to go down…and soon. The Legion are preparing for war, and – without the help that House promised us – we simply won't be able to hold the dam. And we don't want that…_you _don't want that. If we fail now, the NCR isn't going to be the one that suffers. Nor is it the Strip. It's going to be the people of the Mojave. Given all you've done for us – and for everyone else…I don't think you're the kind of person that's willing to let that happen. And I'm not either…"

"Jesus, Crocker…" Oliver rolled his eyes. "Enough of the diplomatic bullshit," he turned to Six. "Truth is, we want your help. You're a goddamn commodity. Could use a hundred of you…just…" he sprinkled imaginary dust across Crocker's floor, "…scatter you like jacks all over the east. Give those plumed fucks the what for. More than that we want _House's_ help. And House has been even more silent than usual. We want you to set up a meeting. None of this…screen bullshit with a goddamn TV on wheels. Face to face."

Six laughed. "I'm not sure I can set something like that up."

"You damn well better…the fact of the matter remains, you've employed a criminal of war. One of the worst to boot. You don't set…"

"Listen to me you slimy little bastard…" Six jabbed his index finger into the air in front of him. "You don't come in to _my_ town and threaten _me_."

Crocker immediately stepped between them. "Of course…of course not. He's just letting you know…in exchange for your help, you – and anyone you employ – will receive complete amnesty for any past crimes against the NCR." He glanced over his shoulder at Oliver – then back to Six. "As well as any additional benefits and perks."

Oliver sneered, reclining back in his chair.

"All we ask is that you set up a meeting with House…so we can discuss what he's already promised us."

"I'll tell you this," Six said, making his way to the door. "House deals with me, and me alone. Anything you want to set up, _you set up through me_. You want the securitrons to aid you when the Legion attack the dam? Pissing me off isn't the way to make that happen." He let his gaze fall on Oliver. "Now you think about _that_."

Oliver let out a quiet, snide laugh as the door shut. A moment later, the woman from the front desk emerged.

"Ah," Crocker smiled. "Liza…what can I help you with?"

"Ranger Ghost is here."

"Good…"

"Send her in," Oliver interrupted. He turned to Crocker. "I'll need a minute. This is a private conversation."

* * *

><p>"Where have you been?"<p>

"Not now, Boone," Six pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining table in the Lucky 38's master suite. He popped the cap off a Sunset Sarsaparilla and knocked it back – drinking it all with a few heavy gulps. He looked at Graham – who sat at the end of the table, carefully polishing his pistol. "Well?"

"The Followers had a bit of work to be done. You'll be glad to know that the Fiends have been dispersed…they no longer have leadership, and – as such – the rest should be easy enough to track down and eliminate."

"Yeah," Boone grimaced. "Boyd told me the Fiends were out of the picture…but said it was a Ranger that did the work."

"Not without assistance," Graham assured. "Your mission was a success, I understand. I've had the pleasure of meeting Miss Cassidy. She's been waiting for you for a while now…sound asleep in your bedroom."

Six twisted the cap off another bottle and took a drink. "Shit has hit the fan," he told Graham. "We need to talk."

"About?"

"Oliver wants to meet with House."

"Ah," Graham sat his pistol on the table. "That _is_ of concern."

Boone shot Six a sidelong glance. "_Why_?"

"Caesar also had a man in the NCR…" Six said, ignoring Boone's question. "A captain, no less."

"He has the loyalty of members much higher up than that, I assure you."

"Well this is the first time he has outright attacked the Strip. I'm not going to stand for it…something needs to be done."

"What would you propose?"

"I want him dead. And I want him dead soon."

Boone frowned. "An outright attack on the Fort is suicide. They hold the high ground…it's completely enclosed…sixteen foot high barricades on all sides. We can't get to him."

"We can't, but _I _can…" Six said, thinking aloud. He'll want to see me…"

"He trusted you once…he won't do it again…but maybe…" Graham tapped his fingers on the table. "Have you heard the Iliad?"

"What?"

"The Iliad…it's an ancient Greek epic written by one of the most revered poets in history."

When neither of them responded, Graham sighed.

"It's set during the Trojan war…a conflict between ancient Greece and the city of Troy. Now…Troy was completely fortified. Walls surrounding the entirety of the city. For years, the Greeks tried – unsuccessfully – to infiltrate and capture the city. They found it couldn't be done even with the mightiest of warriors. So, Odysseus…the cleverest amongst the Greeks…devised a plan. They erected a large hollow wooden horse – engraving upon it an inscription for the Goddess Athena pleading for save passage home. Then, the hollowed statue was filled with Greek warriors – and, believing that the Greeks had retreated, they celebrated and pulled the horse into the city beyond the walls. When night fell, the Greeks emerged and ransacked the city…finally ending the war."

"So, you want us to what? Build a giant wooden bull?" Six asked skeptically.

"No, no…nothing so extravagant. Caesar doesn't trust you, so he won't have an audience with you. So we find someone he does trust…and we take Fortification Hill from the inside out."

* * *

><p><em>So I really wanted to highlight Graham's tactical genius here - he's grown a lot, learned a lot, since he lost at Hoover Dam. I'm also trying to highlight this internal struggle in him - his demons are very much still alive. But he wants to fight them - to be a good person.<em>

_I've given this a proofread, but I'm not perfect. If anyone finds anything they'd like to give me a heads up on, feel free to do so via comment or pm. Other than that...leave me some reviews. I like reading what people have to say...it's like Christmas. And it is Christmas. So it fits together pretty well._

_With any luck, I'll see you all back here Sunday morning._

_Hopefully the site holds up this time._

_Cheers._


	32. Chapter 31: Unfriendly Persuasion

_So, I meant to post this as soon as I got off work this morning. But I fell asleep at the computer. I must've been really tired. This one actually broke six thousand words - as could have been much longer, but I switched some stuff around so it was more fluid, and that entailed saving some of the stuff originally in this chapter for the next chapter._

_Sadly, classes start back on the 13th, so I'm definitely not going to be able to make it to the second battle before they begin. However, I do intend to keep posting one chapter a week until I reach the second battle **at least**. Potentially even after, depending on my work load. These chapters (those in the main story) are much easier to write (than the one in the 'side' stories) and I do it far quicker because I'm covering in game content and I have a lot more I want to talk about._

_I kind of jump around in the timeline here at the beginning - but hopefully everyone can follow it well enough._

_I've realized we're over halfway through this series now...though not quite three quarters of the way. Kind of makes me sad._

_Hope everyone enjoys the chapter. And I'll see you next year._

* * *

><p><em><em>As they neared the train station, Cass grew increasingly annoyed with the two men. Boone scouting ahead, Six bringing up the rear…but both of them so far away that, should anything happen – they'd more than likely not be able to do much.

Well…Six wouldn't be able to do much. Boone would be in his comfort zone.

What was worse was the reasoning behind this charade – the dying words of a Legion man. Cass found herself agreeing with Six. The man just wanted to turn them against each other. Then again, she could understand why Boone was so aggravated with the entirety of the situation…after all, Joshua Graham was Legion once upon a time.

And among the very worst of them, at that.

Or so she'd heard. She hadn't had a chance to meet the man…yet.

The Gibson train yard stunk of death – for good reason. Even from this distance, she could see the erect _towers_ that patrolled the quarry. She could see them…but they couldn't _see_ her. Oh, but they knew someone was there. Scents in the wind carry far. She could see them raise their flaring nostrils to the sky, trying to decipher just where their potential prey may be. So they had to move quietly – taking advantage of the fact that the deatchlaws that inhabited the trainyard all had the same – apparently genetic – defect. _They were blind_.

If you asked a dozen wastelanders why these deathclaws had this defect, you'd get a dozen different stories. Some theorized that when the Boomers took Nellis, they drove the pack away with heavy ordinance. Flamethrowers, explosives…high end explosives…and that the explosives had the unintended effect of blinding the deathclaws as they attempted to retreat, looking back into the flash of light generated by such weapons. The deathclaws found they didn't need sight to hunt…so their continued offspring just weren't born with it.

Some blamed it on a mysterious group known as the Enclave.

Still, others told of Alien abduction and experimentation.

But the story she gave the most credit to, she had heard from a group of Followers. They talked about it being the result of some genetic mutation.

She wasn't sure how such stuff worked, nor did she care. But what she was painfully aware of was that their blindness didn't hinder them at all.

In fact, she was certain that they could hunt _better_ than those that could see.

When they had put enough distance between Bitter Springs, the Gibson Train Yard, _and the deathclaws_, she turned to Melissa. Boone and Six may want to travel in silence…but she certainly didn't.

"Where'd you two run in to each other?"

Melissa glanced over at the rose haired woman and grinned. "A bar…in Boulder City."

"The Big Horn!" Cass said excitedly. "Oh! I didn't think it survived…lot of good memories there."

"Yeah? It's pretty much the only place that did survive."

Smiling, Cass rummaged through her pockets. She withdrew a bottle and knocked it back – then handed it off to Melissa. "My own personal brew…"

Without hesitation, Melissa took a long swig. She coughed, covering her mouth with her forearm. She felt like her throat was on fire. "What the hell do you put in to this?"

"Oh…you know. The usual…" She laughed, returning the bottle to its resting place. "So…how are you going to break the news to the Khans?"

"What news?"

With a wry smile, Cass let her gaze wander from Melissa, to Boone, and back again. "That you're falling for a real Californian hero."

"You don't know when to let up, do you?" Melissa asked – vaguely annoyed.

"Just calling it like I see it," Cass told her.

With a sigh, Melissa shook her head. "I'm an idiot…ain't I?"

Cass rolled her shoulders. "Maybe. Same could probably be said about most people, though - to be honest."

"It's just…after what our people have been through. Not all Khans hate NCR…there are exceptions. But the one that matters does. And Papa Khan has had this Legion man in camp for a while now. Working out a truce…" she looked at Cass, her eyes shining with regret. "I wanted to tell him, you know? That the Khans are in bed with the Legion…"

Cass, her smile faded, stopped dead in her tracks. "They're what?!"

Ahead of them, Boone turned around. Behind them, Six was catching up.

Melissa's eyes begged Cass to hold her tongue – begged her to keep moving.

And for the sake of the man who had lost everything, she did.

* * *

><p>After Nelson – and her conversation with Melissa – Cass found she needed to relax…so much shit had happened in the last forty-eight hours. She had her fill of the Legion for a lifetime. Six and Boone were in McCarran and had been all day. No doubt interrogating the man they had captured when they took back yet another outpost for the NCR.<p>

Come to think of it…she'd had her fill of the NCR for a lifetime too.

So, while Six attended to business with the Legion prisoner of war, she had gone to the Tops with Veronica and Christine. They played blackjack, shot craps, hit the slots, and stopped by the Aces to watch women swoon over the new hire...a ghoul with a voice that could melt even the coldest woman's heart.

And, despite his apparent affliction, had many women in the audience waiting for the chance to _show their appreciation_.

After the show he had stopped by to talk with Veronica and Christine. She wasn't sure how they knew each other, and she didn't particularly care.

She was content with a bottle of whiskey in her hand. And with the fact that she hadn't seen Benny all night.

She didn't understand why Six had tracked the man down and followed him to the Fort only to let him go again. But she was happy he did…not because she cared for Benny. But because it meant that Six had finally let go of that weight that was bogging him down.

Or so she hoped.

It was a little after ten when they decided to turn in. It was early, but they were all exhausted. Christine and Veronica had decided to rent a room at the Tops, as it was much too late to travel back to Hidden Valley.

It was at the front desk that the snake of the Mojave reared his head. He was talking with that puppet of his, Swank. When he saw them, he went out of his way to give them a farewell.

"Well, well…" He said, a smile stretching from ear to ear. "Loveliest ladies on the Strip…all together and under my roof? I must have done something right in a past life, let me tell you."

She rolled her eyes.

"So, you lasses turning in for the night already? The night's still so young!"

"That'll be 500 caps for the room," the man behind the desk said, returning with a key and reaching it to Veronica.

"What?" Benny shook his head. "Absolutely not…these lovelies get the High Roller suite…and on the house," with a smile he winked in their direction. "You ladies deserve a taste of the VIP life-style. And I won't take no for an answer!"

Veronica smiled. "Thanks…I guess…"

"Now…what about you, sweetheart? You needing a room too?"

"No," Cass said flatly. "I don't."

"You and Daddy-O got everything sorted out then, eh?" He looked her up and down. "Shame." Then, back to Veronica and Christine – "You dames enjoy your night."

The Lucky 38's master suite was consumed in darkness when she made it back – save the kitchen. Light poured into the hall from the seams around the doorframe. _Maybe Six was back…and maybe he was making something to eat…_she hadn't realized just how hungry she was before now. She made her way into the kitchen…but Six was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, she found a man covered from head to toe. Bright blue eyes shining from behind a bandaged face. He had pretty much every weapon Six had collected laid out across the table in front of him. Cleaning and maintaining them quietly. As she entered the kitchen, he looked up at her.

"Cass, I presume?"

Cass raised a brow. "You are?"

"You may call me Joshua."

_So this is the Legate…doesn't look like much. _

With a yawn, Cass started towards the refrigerator. She opened it and eyed its contents…_where's Raul when you need him?_

"Can I interest you in some loaded potato soup?"

"Some what?"

"Please," Graham extended his hand, "have a seat."

She sat at the table as Graham made his way to the counter. He pulled a few potatoes out from under it, and grabbed a cutting board – then he grabbed a couple of the kitchen knives Six had brought back from the Sierra Madre. He handed her a bowl of potatoes and a knife. "Peel them…careful of the knife, it's sharp."

She began to peel them.

"So," Graham said, beginning to peel his own potatoes. "Your name is interesting. Cassidy…any relation to John Cassidy?"

This got her attention – she looked over at the man. "What of it?"

"He was an interesting character, that one…" Graham glanced over his shoulder at Cass. Her expression made him smile. "Oh yes, I've met your father. I never thought I'd actually meet you…he spoke highly of his time with you. Short as it was."

"You're lying…"

Graham let out a soft chuckle. "What purpose would that serve?"

"How did you meet him? When? Where?"

"I first met your father outside of Kanab...that was some thirty years ago," He paused, taking a breath. "_Seems like a lifetime ago_. I suppose, in a way, it was. You see, I was born in Ogden…at a missionary in Utah. Raised a Mormon and taught the ways of the New Canaanites. A rite of passage we New Canaanites undertake is to spread the word of our Heavenly Father to the people across the wasteland, so that they may find salvation in His grace. I was sixteen when I left in 2246…"

He watched Cass pull her head back a notch.

"Oh yes," he laughed. "I'm an old man, well on in his years. Your father, as I recall, was searching for a place he'd heard tales of. A research facility with the technology to replace his heart. I suspect the facility he spoke of is the one somewhere north of the Divide. At the time, I did not know of this place, or I would have pointed him in its direction…"

He began to dice the potatoes. "In the refrigerator," he instructed, "would you be so kind as to grab a block of cheese? It needs to be shredded."

Cass dropped the last of her peeled potatoes back into the bowl and sat it next to Graham, then did as she was asked.

"Your father," Graham continued, "talked about you often. Your name…do you know its origins?"

"Some book…"

"Oh," Graham shook his head. "No, no. Not just _some_ book…one of the influential writings of the twentieth century. A book that your father enjoyed very much."

"What was it?" Cass asked, handing him a bowl of grated cheese.

He emptied the contents into a pot – adding a few other final ingredients – before turning on the stove's burner. "_The Grapes of Wrath_," he said, matter-of-factly. "An excellent read…should we ever be so lucky as to come across it."

"What did he say about me?" Cass asked, timidly.

"You're all he ever talked about really…I met him in the summer of '46…I had been traveling for quite some time. I was en route to Pheonix, actually. I met your father shortly before meeting Edward Sallow…"

"Who?"

"Caesar," Graham clarified. "Your father told me of his heart condition shortly after our first meeting. I stumbled across him in the ruins of Kanab. He looked lost…in more ways than one. He was a fighter, but he was weary from his travels and getting along in his years. It was his aim to find this facility he had heard tales of…so that he may spend more time on this earth. With you."

Cass felt her heart sink.

"He also told me that he never said goodbye. But there was reason for that. He didn't think his heart could take it…and he didn't intend for it to be goodbye. He always wanted to come back. Your father was a great man. I last spoke to him just before crossing the border from Utah into Arizona – he was headed north to King's Peak. The highest mountain in Utah. He had heard tales of Big Mountain...and he thought it was as good a place as any to start."

They ate, and they talked…talked for what seemed like an eternity – about her father, about Six, about anything that came to mind. Graham, she found, was very easy to talk to. Something about his voice – his tranquility – had an almost soothing effect.

Talking with him seemed to lift a great burden from her shoulders. A burden she had grown so used to carrying that she had forgotten that it was even there.

Before too long, she felt her eyes getting heavy, so she made her way into the master bedroom and found sleep.

"Where have you been?!"

Boone's voice echoed throughout the suite – stirring Cass from her slumber. With a yawn, she sat up – rubbing her eyes.

The refrigerator door slammed shut. "Not now, Boone," she heard Six's voice respond.

_He's home_ – she thought with a smile.

She made her way across the room, fumbling in the darkness for her belongings; with a bit of difficulty she dressed herself and opened the bedroom door.

"Have you heard of the Iliad?" She heard Graham's voice ask.

Nope…too late for a history lesson. She disappeared into the bathroom; making her way to the tub, she twisted the knobs until the temperature was about right.

_Maybe Six would like to join me_…she thought. She started back towards the kitchen.

"So, you want us to what? Build a giant wooden bull?" Six sounded cynical.

"No, no…nothing so extravagant." She heard Graham answer coolly. "Caesar doesn't trust you, so he won't have an audience with you. So we find someone he does trust…and we take Fortification Hill from the inside out."

She opened the door, peeking inside at the three men – all seated around the dining table.

"And who do we know that the Legion trusts?" Six asked. "Who can get an audience with Caesar? They conquer anyone they encounter…"

"Anyone…but not everyone…" Boone responded flatly.

"Why do you need an audience with Caesar?" Cass asked, as she pulled the Sunset Sarsaparilla from Six's hand and took a drink, then she leaned in close and planted a soft kiss across his lips. "Running a warm bath for us, hero…" she whispered.

Graham and Boone fell quiet.

Six sighed, "We're just…Ceasar …"

"You're going to kill him?"

"Yes," Boone answered coldly.

"Sounds good to me…but, in that case, you might want to talk to the Khans."

"Why?" Six asked.

Boone laughed. "Yeah…yeah that makes sense. You remember what you said to me that night in Zion? The enemy of my enemy…"

"Is my enemy's enemy…" wide-eyed, Six shrugged. "What of it?"

Bone shook his head. "This time…I think the usual proverb might be the better choice. If anyone hates the NCR as much as the Legion does, it's the Khans."

Graham was nodding at this point. "It fits. Caesar talked about sending an ambassador to the Khans before the First Battle. I ultimately dissuaded him…and that was my undoing. I believed our best chance would be an ambush."

"So we convince the Khans to join up with Caesar and what? Just walk into the base with them?"

"That's exactly what we do," Six said, a wry smile on his face. "We walk right in. Like we belong…" He looked at Graham. "You sure he'll want to meet with the Khans?"

"He'll meet with their leader…and maybe a few of his trusted advisers. But you've been to the fort. He won't let you come in armed."

"So we sneak something past the guards," Boone suggested.

"Easier said than done…I may be able…" Graham's eyes drifted off as he lost himself in thought.

"No," Six shook his head. "You wouldn't get within a mile of the Fort. You won't be joining us."

Graham scowled. "The blood that Caesar has spilled is every bit as much on my hands as it is his own. I _will_ be there when he draws his last breath."

"_No_," Six said, resolutely. "_You won't_. There are other matters for you to attend to here on the Strip. Namely, the Omertas. And I want you to go to the Tops. Talk with a man named Benny…I've heard some disturbing tales about the White Glove Society and I want him to investigate the matter."

Graham looked as if he was about to interject when Boone spoke up. "What makes you think he'll be so willing to meet with the Khans?"

Graham's icy eyes stared at Six for a moment, then he turned to Boone. "Had the Khans been a part of the first battle, the NCR couldn't have retreated, as they would have been flanked from both ends. It would have changed everything. But – at my suggestion – he never sent an ambassador to the Khans, though I'm certain he'd still be willing with war looming on the horizon. If he can box the NCR in at the dam, you'd better believe that's what he'll do."

"You're right…" Boone grimaced. "We would have lost the Dam…"

"Well, he's wrong too," Cass said flatly. "Cause he has sent someone to talk with the Khans. They're still ironing out the details, last I heard…"

"How do you know?"

Cass frowned, sympathetically eying Boone. "Melissa told me…she's been…"

Boone was on his feet. "She…she what?"

"She wanted to tell you…Boone, she…"

But he was gone – out the door. They heard the hiss of the elevator door sliding open.

"We can use this," Graham said, looking at Six

Six made his way to his feet, his eyes finding Cass as he did.

"Better hurry," she told him, a smile on her face. "Bathwater'll get cold."

* * *

><p>"Sir."<p>

General Oliver examined the woman. This was the woman he had heard so much about – highly decorated, well respected.

Concise, precise, and efficient.

"At ease," he said, motioning toward the chair across from him. "I'm sure you're curious as to why I've brought you here."

"The thought had crossed my mind, sir," Ghost admitted as she sat down.

"You're record is impeccable _and very_ impressive…" he said, reaching into a briefcase situated at his side. He withdrew a file and opened it, casually thumbing through its contents. "Joined at the age of eighteen – completed your training in the academy in less than four months – breaking three different records, including one set by yours truly. Rose through the ranks at an alarming rate - subsequently requested transfer to First Recon, outshining your fellow classmates…"

_With one exception_, she thought.

"…Joined the Rangers. Then…dropped off the radar," he plopped the file on the desk beside him. "Tell me, what happened?"

She didn't know how to answer that. Jackson had given her the chance to become a ranger…but he was also the reason she had hit the ceiling. "I'm not entirely sure, sir."

"Well," Oliver tapped his fingers of his right hand on the chair arm, while resting his chin in the palm of his left. "Your skills are in high demand. I could really use someone with your talents. For a couple of reasons. If you're interested…I can guarantee that by the time this war is over, you'll be a Veteran Ranger."

Ghost felt her stomach flutter. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir?"

"A couple of things, actually. Foremost…it has come to my attention that a certain courier has gained access to the Lucky 38. Since then, he's paraded around the Strip like he owns the place. Even referring to it as 'his' city. House has been on radio silence for far too long. I believe something has happened…I just don't have any proof. That's where you come in. I want you infiltrate the Lucky 38. Find out what happened and report back to me – and to me alone. If you're caught, you were acting on your own. Not I, nor anyone else in the NCR, will hold responsibility for you."

Ghost was quiet for a moment. The Lucky 38 had garnered it's fame for being impenetrable. What he was asking was damn near impossible.

_Near_ _impossible_.

"And your second assignment?"

Oliver smiled. "The capture or termination of a notorious war criminal."

* * *

><p>"Hey bean! Swank sent word you'd be up! I have to admit, I've got a little smog in the noggin…" Benny poured himself a drink as Graham entered his suite. "I think I'd remember a fream like yourself. We going to trade handles or what?"<p>

Graham didn't like this man. Not in the least. "Who I am is of no consequence. What I am is more to the point – and I am the person you will be reporting to from here on in. Six has given me a set of tasks that need to be done."

"So you and the boss man are tight, huh?" Benny reclined on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. "That touches home…he's going to need some straight muscle…and scary to boot. You certainly fit the bill. So you want to clue me?"

He _really_ didn't like this man. "Tell me what you know about the White Glove Society."

"Oh…those squares give me the heebie-jeebies. You ask me, there's something definitely not right about them. Word back in the day was they refueled on a particular brand of chow, if you get what I'm saying." He paused long enough to take a drink of his scotch. "A strange meat pie or two. Then House rolls in and cleans their act up. Or so they claim. But people have gone missing from that place – some think they're getting off'ed by House's bots. Some think there are slavers on the Strip. You ask me? I think those cubes are back in their old ways. You know what they say about old habits, right chief? Well, their old habits involve chopping up their fellow man and serving him up like a goddamn blanket."

"And what of the Omertas?"

"The Omertas are degenerates. Two-faced, low-life pond sucking scum. I don't trust them as far as I can throw them…and if you've seen that Cachino's fat ass around, you'd know that ain't very far. Mark my words, they're up to something. Been too quiet for too long. They're lead by a couple Neanderthals…Big Sal and Nero. Cachino's runner-up for head honcho. You want my advice, we need to move on them and move on them quick. Take them out. Clear up room on the Strip for someone with the know-how, can-do, and the apple butter to run a sophisticated joint. That all you needed?"

"Not quite," Graham replied. "You're going to investigate these claims. If you find that the White Glove Society is guilty of these accusations, you are to report back to me at the Lucky 38. _Do not_ engage or confront them. _Do not_ put yourself in harm's way. Am I understood?"

"Crystal, baby. Can't say I'm on cloud 9, but if that's what the boss man wants, then that's what the boss man'll get."

Graham grunted in response - then, made his way for the exit. As he left the Tops, Graham caught site of a familiar face headed into the Lucky 38 – he jogged forward to greet him, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun. "Raul, perfect timing."

The ghoul turned towards Graham. "Perfect for you maybe, Jefe…I have eaten all morning."

With a laugh, Graham held open the door. "Then by all means…"

"So, what can I do for you?" Raul asked, pressing the elevator key.

"Six has asked me to deal with the Omertas…"

Raul frowned. "Yeah," he said, solemnly. "Those pendejos are a thorn in the everyone's side, that's for sure. I wasn't around before House tamed them…but I heard tales of them even in Arizona. What do you intend to do?"

The elevator opened with a ding, they walked inside – Raul pressed another key.

"I'm going to have a conversation with their leaders. If they can't be persuaded to leave the Strip, then…" Graham sighed. "I'll do whatever's necessary."

"I'd say that it'd be a suicide mission, what considering there are two of us and two dozen of them…but I've seen you in action. I don't doubt you could do it. By yourself, no less."

Coming to a crawl, the elevator opened again. They headed towards the kitchen – the door was already open. Inside, Veronica and Christine sat – quietly dining on leftover soup.

Graham had a seat across from them. "Convenience is really on my side this morning."

Veronica looked at him quizzically.

"Six has asked me to help out with a few things around the Strip. Namely the Omertas and the White Glove Society. I have Benny investigating the Ultra-Luxe as we speak. The Omertas, on the other hand…Six has made it quite clear that no investigation needs to take place. He wants them expulsed from the Strip. Or terminated. Though I have every confidence that I can handle such a task on my own…I would feel much safer knowing that I had backup, should the need arise."

"I guess we can do that…" Veronica said, her lips twisted into a ball. She glanced at Christine. "Up for it?"

Christine nodded, swallowing a mouth full of soup. "Yeah…I think we have time for romp or two."

* * *

><p>"I'll wait here," Boone's eyes instinctively scanned his surroundings. They had arrived at the entrance to the canyon, and were now situated near the destroyed frame of an old building. One that looked as if it had been long since forgotten by the rest of the world.<p>

The canyon was adequately named. More than adequately, really. It seemed almost alien – the greys and browns that dominated the rest of the Mojave quickly surrendered to vibrant crimson.

Six eyed the precipice – scarlet rivers parted fields of grey. Red dust littered the canyon floor. Had the circumstances been less dire, he would be inclined to just admire the canyon's beauty.

"That's probably a good idea," he said – still staring up the cliffs. "We already have one war on our hands…don't want to start another."

"Yeah…"

"I'll be back shortly," Six called out over his shoulder as he trekked into the canyon.

The Khans watched him vigilantly – staring from crevices and behind broken rocks. He couldn't see most of them…but he could _feel_ them, their eyes boring into his skin. The canyon was speckled with tents – their once bright white fabric, stained red, blending in with the canyon around them. Atop one of the hill, Six could see a longhouse – a stark contrast to the other dwellings of the canyon.

His bet – if Papa Khan was anywhere in this canyon, that's where he would be.

He had nearly made it up the hill when he heard a voice carry out along the canyon walls.

"Look at you…" it said. "Walking in to my canyon, bold as you please – a cub in the wolf's den. Well, cub. What is it you want?"

Six looked up – blinded by the morning sun. He could see three figures approaching him.

"I've come to talk with the person in charge," he told them – straining his vision. He could just make them out, silhouettes on a cherry milieu. The center figure wore an ornate helmet – horns protruding from the front, above each eye – and a series of spikes across the crown. A single, larger barb was situated at the top, pointing towards the heavens. His eyes were shielded by a pair of red shades. His shoulders were protected by leather pauldrons, and his right wrist encased in a makeshift steel gauntlet. Similar protective coverings decorated his knees and waist, and he wore a leather bandolier.

The men on either side of him were dressed far more commonly. One wore common Khan attire: black vest, worn jeans. The other…clad in clothing that many mercenaries ordinarily made use of: red sweater, bandolier, leather vest and dirty, brown corduroy pants. Something was off about him. He didn't belong.

"But I guess that's who I'm speaking with now, isn't it?"

"Perceptive, aren't you? Yes…I'm the chief of the Khans. The…Khan of Khans if you will. You've got some guts kid…marching down here without even knowing who I am. Why are you here?"

"I've come to talk with you about Caesar…"

The man on Papa Khan's left balked at the notion. "Caesar has sent word about this one," he said to Papa Khan. "He's not to be trusted…he's an enemy of the Legion."

"You must be Caesar's bitch."

"My name is Karl…" the man growled. "I am one of Caesar's frumentarii – and I will not be spoken to in such a manner. Glorious Caesar has sent me as an emissary to the Great Khans as a token of our alliance."

"Alliance? Like you allied yourself with the other tribes of Arizona? Tell me, Karl. What happened with those tribes?"

"Those tribes were different – the Khans are a tribe of great warriors, oppressed by the NCR. They will be worthy additions to the Legion."

Six turned back to Papa Khan. "What's Caesar offering you?"

"All the lands west of New Vegas – so long as we fight alongside him at Hoover Dam."

"And you believe him? Caesar leads a totalitarian empire – he's expanding faster than the NCR ever thought to. You think he'll stop his expansion to surrender the remaining NCR territory to you?"

"Don't listen to him," Karl growled. "He's a lapdog to the Republic – here to do their bidding."

"There's no room here for your kind, dog," Papa Khan warned. "I won't hear any more ill will against Caesar. Now tuck your tail between your legs…and leave this canyon…"

"You have to listen to me…"

"Khans!"

From behind every rock, every nook and cranny, Khans began to emerge.

"Drive this dog from our canyon! If he does not run fast enough, kill him where he stands!"

* * *

><p>"Sorry to inconvenience you, sir – but I'll need you to hand over your weapons. We simply cannot have anyone waving their weapons around in the hotel…it's not the-"<p>

"Baby! Do I look like I'm packin' heat? Cause let me tell you – the only weapon I have on me is kosher. And the only way I'll be waving it around is if I knock back a few foamers, dig?"

Benny strolled by the door greeter, his hands in his pockets. He looked around the Ultra-Luxe, taking it in. The hotel was gorgeous…by post-war standards. Of that there was no doubt. Sure, the marble tile was cracked here and there, and in some places the plaster on the wall was starting peel…but, compared to the other joints on the Strip, the Ultra-Luxe was the real deal. The room was grand – open and well lit. Casino tables were distributed evenly about, with games ranging from blackjack to roulette. At the room's center was a large, enclosed, circular bar. Benny took a seat next to a troubled looking old timer with a black cowboy hat. He tapped the bar and the bartender made her way to him. "Scotch on the rocks, dolly."

If he was going to investigate this place, he was at least going to have some fun doing it.

"Put it on Six's tab."

"Of course."

Benny cast a sidelong glance at the man next to him. "Why the long face, Old Timer?"

The man looked at him somberly. "Oh…" he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a photo. "Have you seen this young man?"

"Can't say I have…pally. Who is it?"

"It's my son…name's Heck," The old man extended his hand. "Heck Gunderson."

"Gunderson? As in Brahmin Baron?"

The old man let out a cynical laugh. "That's the one…have dozens of brahmin, bighorners too…always accounted for. On the Strip for less than an hour, and I lose my own boy."

"Ouch…that's gotta sting," Benny knocked back his drink and tapped the bar. The woman filled his glass. "Well, look…I'm here, ah, investigating the disappearance of a few other people. If I find anything on your boy, I'll let you know."

Heck smiled at him. "Thank you, son…if you find him, get him back to me safe…I'll see you handsomely rewarded. If he's not…I'll pay for the names of those responsible."

With a smile and a nod, Benny made his way to his feet. He slapped the man on the shoulder as he passed. "Count yourself lucky, pops…Benny's on the case."

Though he didn't much care for the White Glove Society – House's rules and regulations set up communication between each of the families. Benny knew that if anyone had any information on the missing people, it would be the head of the family._ So – the best place to start would be with Majorie_,Benny thought as he started towards the Gourmand – the finest restaurant in New Vegas.

But today, she was not in the Gourmand. Instead, Benny found her talking with that fink, Mortimer. Benny didn't like Mortimer…he had no style, no class. He wore a zoot suit to try to make up for it, and a flashy top hat. But he was a tool and his personality was a well that had run dry a long time ago. Something about the man rubbed Benny in all the wrong ways.

Marjorie, on the other hand, she seemed like a straight arrow. Doing her best to put the White Glove Society on the path to righteousness. As far as Benny was concerned – she was doing for the White Glove Society what he had done for the Chairmen.

"Marjorie!" Benny opened his arms wide as he neared her. "It's been too long."

_Oh, great. Him. _Hissing through clenched teeth, she embraced him. "How _nice_ to see you again…what brings you to the Ultra-Luxe?"

"Looking for someone actually…you didn't tell me you were doing business with Heck Gunderson!"

"Of course I am, darling…the finest cuisine on the Strip has to come from somewhere. Who are you looking for?"

"Heck's boy, actually. The old timer said he went up in a puff a smoke…"

"…Two people in two weeks?" Marjorie groaned. "This is going to _kill_ our image…" she turned to Mortimer. "That private investigator that was looking for the girl…has he checked out?"

"I don't believe he has…" Mortimer scooped up the registry – a little wire-bound, black leather booklet – and skimmed its pages. "No. No, it says here that he hasn't left us…

"Go speak with him," Marjorie instructed. "He might be able to assist you. I do hope you find them."

With a nod, Benny turned to Mortimer expectantly. "Take the left elevator at the end of the hall," Mortimer told him, pointing in its direction. "Fourth floor…first room on your right. Can't miss it."

Benny did as he was instructed – when he found the room, he tapped the door lightly.

No answer.

So he tapped it again, a little harder this time.

And still nothing.

With a frown, he tried the door handle – the door creaked open. A wry smile spread across his face and he glanced over his shoulders to make sure no one was around. The coast was clear…so he pushed the door open. The room was mostly barren, save a suitcase laid out on the bed. On the night stand was a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray. A solitary cigarette in the ashtray let out a steady stream of smoke.

_He's in here then…maybe in the bathroom?_

Benny made his way to the bathroom door. He tapped it lightly and it gently opened. So he pushed it, peeking inside as he did.

The shower was running, but he couldn't see the silhouette of anyone standing behind the curtain. So he drew it back…

It was then he found the investigator; lying lifelessly on the floor of his tub. Benny stepped back. "Oh shit, what have you gotten yourself in to…"

A sound. Footsteps. Behind him.

He turned in time to see the cane as it crashed over his head.

Then it was dark.

* * *

><p>The decrepit, weathered, and decaying body of the once mighty House made her stomach cringe. He was attached to some sort of machinery…a large metallic coffin. The console in front of her read his vitals…but she didn't need to read the vitals to see that he was dead.<p>

Ghost grimaced.

It was exactly what Oliver had suspected. House was dead…and Six had taken the strip for himself. She started back towards the maintenance elevator. She opened it and pressed a key.

Within moments she was back in the penthouse suite. As the elevator opened, she pressed herself against the wall, peeking out into the control room.

It was empty.

She just needed to make her way back to hotel's casino's main elevator…and make it into the elevator shaft. She couldn't risk taking the main elevator. It may stop on another floor to pick someone up. Then she'd be forced to do something she'd rather not do.

The securitrons patrolled the penthouse suite vigilantly – but, as her name implied, she was able to make it through without being seen. She'd watch their patrols closely. Learn the way they moved, the paths they took. Before long, she was back on the Casino's main floor – lying prone in a vent, overlooking the lobby. Clear.

Piece of cake.

She gently pushed the vent's face off…catching it before it fell…and dropped to the floor. She repositioned the vent. No sense in leaving any evidence. Then started towards the main entrance.

It was when she reached it that she felt her heart sink. Movement, from behind her.

"What are _you_ doing here?" A woman's voice asked.

Ghost swallowed, her hand grasping her silenced .22 pistol.

"I asked you a question…"

She wheeled around – with speed unparalleled – and fired. The whisper of the silenced pistol drowned out by the dull thud of a body collapsing and the sound of a whiskey bottle shattering as it crashed into the casino floor.

Ghost looked at the woman a moment – her slender figure laying on the carpet, crimson pouring from her abdomen, spilling out onto the floor around her.

She was still breathing.

Ghost silently walked to her, her eyes shining with sympathy. The woman looked up at her – face full of fear.

"I'm sorry," Ghost spoke softly. "It won't hurt…I promise."

She aimed…and fired.

* * *

><p><em>So, I know Papa Khan doesn't wear his unique armor in the game. But I decided that it'd make more sense if he wore something that set him apart. Things are going to continue to unravel as we get closer to Hoover Dam.<br>_

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. As always - keep an eye out for errors, and feel free to let me know if you find any. And, of course, leave me some reviews - I love to hear from you all._

_Cheers._


	33. Chapter 32: Ace In The Hole

_As of last week, classes have started back up - and damn if they haven't taken their toll. Who knew Grad School would require so much work?_

_And to make matters worse - this freeze out is killing me. Here in Lexington, we had ten inches of snow or better this week. I hate the cold, so it's been miserable for me. I don't see how you people further north can handle it. I need to move somewhere warmer. Like Hawaii. Or the Florida Keys._

_They're calling my name._

_This chapter was difficult to write, so I took my time with it. Writing during my down time at work and when I didn't have to pour all of my soul into homework. I have three papers due Monday night by midnight._

_Three. So I figure I'll write two tonight and one tomorrow before I head in to work. As of next week, they're switching me to day shift, which is cool. It's a lot easier on me when I'm not having to switch from days to nights twice a week (working nights on the weekends and having class on the week days)._

_I don't think I have anything else to rant about so...enjoy._

* * *

><p>The water was soothing. Steaming – almost warm enough to make the hue of her skin match her rose colored bangs, which now clung to her forehead.<p>

Tiny bubbles enveloped her body. She took a deep breath, feeling every fiber in her body relax, sinking further into water and letting her neck rest on the rim of the tub. She laid there for hours…though it felt like days. Letting the water lap at her skin, washing away the desert sand and the past week with it.

When she woke the water was cool. She could just make out voices in the kitchen – Graham was having a conversation with Christine and Veronica.

About…something. She stretched, hauling herself out of the tub. Then she reached for her towel, dabbed it across her skin, and wrapped herself in it.

As she neared the door, she could make them out a little more clearly.

"I have Benny investigating the Ultra-Luxe as we speak," she heard Graham tell the others. "The Omertas, on the other hand…"

She frowned.

Benny investigating the Ultra-Luxe?

_On his own?_

She had heard tales about the Ultra-Luxe. People going missing.

Oh, the stories people spun. The first time Six had taken her to eat there, she was reluctant to try anything. It was not without hesitation that she finally decided to try the brahmin wellington.

It was delicious. And that _scared _her.

She couldn't shake those thoughts in the back of her mind.

Was she _really_ eating brahmin? Or were those stories true? Was it _something else_? The thought terrified her.

The White Glove Society maintained that the stories were, of course, just that. Stories…revenants of a past time when they were plagued by a _different_ image. _Different_ beliefs and practices. A dark piece of their history that just refused to die.

But…they had changed though, hadn't they? At the very least, they claimed to have changed.

In her time she had found that the thing about such stories was that they were always somehow grounded in reality. Even the most outlandish tales had elements of the truth woven into their darkest fabrics.

Old No-Bark was testament to that.

And if those stories were true…and if Benny was, in fact, investigating the White Glove Society on his own...

He was in danger. So she had a choice to make. She could throw on some clothing, fetch her shotgun and sidearm…and waltz over to the Ultra-Luxe and do what she could to assist him. Or she could leave him to his own devices.

She grimaced, thinking back to the night they spent together. Like an intermittent slideshow, flashes of memories danced throughout her mind. A fragmented night of drunken debauchery – bits and pieces that her mind allowed her to recollect.

Benny was an asshole. A _charming_, _sophisticated_, _smooth-talking_ _asshole_.

And even though it killed her to admit it…and even though Six wouldn't like it…she couldn't leave him to die at the hands of a bunch of fucking cannibals.

"Up for it?" Veronica's voice asked, undoubtedly conversing with Christine.

But Cass let her mind answer too. _You're goddamn right I am._

In the master bedroom, she rummaged through drawers and cabinets. She dressed herself, laced up her boots, and loaded her shotgun and her pistol. As she finished dressing, she heard the elevator in the lobby beep. Likely the others headed to the Gomorrah.

She wrestled with her jacket on her way to the elevator – jabbing the recall key with one finger of one hand while struggling to get the other through the jacket's sleeve. She checked her pockets – extra ammo, a few stimpacks, and her favorite whiskey bottle. All safely nestled within.

The elevator opened with a beep – and she boarded it, withdrawing the bottle as she did. She pulled the cork from the lid with her teeth, dropping it into the palm of her left hand, and took a drink.

* * *

><p>"Please, have a seat."<p>

Graham studied the two men carefully. These were the Omerta bosses...Nero and his right hand, Big Sal.

Sal was a gruff looking man in his mid forties. He dressed neatly – brown suit, matching fedora. He casually leaned back against the wall, his left hand cupping his right elbow, his right scratching at the stubble growing in around his chin.

He watched Graham vigilantly – as if he was waiting for him to make a move. Which was understandable, the security guards at the casino's entrance hadn't checked him for firearms. His pistol rested neatly in the holster at his side. Someone was trusting of him, that much was certain…it was equally as certain that the trust wasn't coming from Sal.

Then, there was another man at Nero's left…in a much darker suit. A silenced .22 sub-machinegun hanging loosely at his waist. Something about him looked familiar…

And that left Nero. Nero was far more relaxed – he stretched out in the chair behind his office desk; propping one foot up on the desk and gently bouncing the other against the floor. He was calm, confident. Though, Graham suspected it may have some to do with the carbine draped across his lap.

Nero leaned in close to the man; they whispered back and forth a moment, then the man sat next to Graham.

Graham studied him for a long moment…then, it clicked. "Alerio…"

"Joshua."

Nero let a laugh escape his lungs. He ran his hand through the dark hair atop his head and plastered a grin across his face. "So, it is you. You're the burned man, right? Joshua Graham? Caesar's Legate?"

"Former Legate," Graham corrected.

"Yeah…we were just discussing that…" He cocked his head to one side, inspecting the bandaged man before him. "They say you didn't even scream on the way down."

"Embellishment…for…dramatic effect, I suppose."

"So, you're here to get back into Caesar's good grace, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Joshua…you know that Caesar would never allow it."

With a sigh, Graham let his icy eyes fall on the Frumentarii. "And still, I serve. _For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many_."

"You New Canaanites and your holy texts…If you truly serve Caesar, then why have so many fallen at your hands? Why do you yet breathe?"

"Because my work here is not done, my faithful Alerio. _You remember Flagstaff_. You were there at the Dam. You witnessed my failure…broken as my body may be, my spirit lives on. And until I make right that failure, I will never find peace."

A wry grin spread across the Frumentarii's face.

"So tell me then, burned man…why should we clue you in?" Nero cut in.

Graham was silent a moment – letting his cold gaze rest on Alerio. Though the Frumentarri donned a façade of nonchalant serenity, Graham could sense the fear in him. He turned to Nero, "Caesar is a difficult man to please. If you intend to gain his favor, he'll require a substantial sacrifice…or decisive victory. I am living proof of what happens when you fail. Caesar and I have been acquainted for a very long time. Yet, still, I found myself lying at the bottom of a dark chasm upon a single defeat. So…you can only imagine what failure on your part will mean."

Nero laughed. "Oh, we're not going to fail. We've thought this through…Caesar asked us to provide a, uh, a distraction on the Strip. To preoccupy Not-At-Home and his bots while he storms the dam. So that's what we're going to do…we're going to…"

Sal coughed. "We got something big planned…we should leave it at that…" His voice was scratchy – the mere sound of it irritated Graham's throat.

"What? Why? Who's he gonna tell? The NCR?" Nero shook his head. "They'd sooner have him whacked than listen to anything the Malpais Legate had to say. Way I see it, we can help each other."

Sal grimaced – Graham, ignoring it, nodded quaintly. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Like I was saying…"

"Nero…" Sal began, again.

Nero glared at him. "_Like I was saying_…Caesar asked us to distract those big tubs of tin out on the Strip. Figures if Not-At-Home is preoccupied here, the Dam will be easier pickings. So we put together a little something – we have a man on the inside, see? He's supplying us with NCR weapons. Weapons that we're not supposed to be able to get on the Strip. High end ordinance…carbines, grenade launchers, the works. And we have another ace up our sleeve. Went and found ourselves a demolitions expert…guys nuttier than a fucking fruit basket, but he can make things go boom. So we plant a bomb in the embassy…the guards that don't get blown straight to hell, we have our soldiers go in and clean up."

"Well, that's your first mistake…" Graham said, leaning forward. "Caesar's not going to want anything to happen to the Strip. Damaging it is only going to make him angry."

Nero frowned. "Yeah, we thought of that too…but there's no way around it. We have to kill a good portion of their soldiers and fast. Bomb's the only way to do that…"

"Not necessarily…" Graham clasped his hands. "Well…no, you're right. A bomb…but it doesn't have to be incendiary."

"What? Like toxins?" Nero stroked his forehead. "Heard a story a while back 'bout some fools bombing a cazador nest up near Red Rock. Used a chlorine bomb. Problem is...we ain't got the know-how to do something like that."

"I can help you with that…or, rather, have someone who can. Who's in charge of demolitions?"

"Man named Clanden…he's kind of a dickweed…talks like he's got somewhere he's gotta be. Dismissive little prick. But he's smart."

"I'll need free reign of the casino. For myself and my people too…I'll have my man talk to Clanden. We'll get your bomb situated. Now…this man, bringing in these weapons…rifles and grenades will work wonders on NCR soldiers. But on the securitrons, you're going to need plasma, laser, or pulse weaponry. It just so happens that I have a contact inside the Brotherhood of Steel. I can get you what you need. But my contact will want to meet with your weapons dealer…where can she find him?"

"She?"

"She."

Nero frowned. "Have her head down into the lower Gomorrah. She's going to want to find a man, name'a Troike. Funny looking mother fucker with greasy hair…hangs around the girls a lot down in Sodom...little nickname we gave to the lower Casino..." he chuckled. "Usually in one of the party rooms. Can't miss 'im."

"I'll have her speak with him right away. You can expect a shipment of gauss rifles as early as next week."

Nero smiled wide. "I knew there was a reason I liked you…anything you need, you got it. I'll let my boys know."

"I'll also need to brief them. They all need to know the plan and they need to understand it. Give me a few hours to contact my people…then gather your men in the lower level. The information we will discuss cannot leave this casino. No workers, no prostitutes, no customers. Just you, your men, and myself…and we'll discuss our next move."

Still grinning, Nero turned towards Alerio – who gave him a single, solemn nod.

Sal seemed less pleased.

"I'll return soon," Graham said, making his way to his feet.

Alerio fell into step behind him.

As he left Nero's office and headed down the stairs towards the bar, Graham heard the distinct scratch of Big Sal's voice. "I don't like this, Nero…"

"As well he shouldn't…" Alerio chimed in. "What do you have planned, Joshua?"

"Planned?"

"Don't be coy," Alerio reached into his left vest pocket – withdrawing a dingy handkerchief that had long since lost its pallor. Simultaneously, he withdrew his hat from his brow and dabbed the cloth against his skin.

Brimstone was an adequate name for the casino's bar – decorated in roman furnishings, which included statues holding vast bowls of flammable liquid set ablaze. Paired with the fact that hundreds of people peppered its floor – releasing their noxious, humid gasses into the atmosphere…Brimstone, one might argue, quite literally felt like hell.

Yet, despite this, Graham didn't seem to break a sweat – even with all of his bandages. He kept himself calm and collected. He glanced over his shoulder at Alerio and stared at him with those icy eyes. Eyes that made the hair on Alerio's neck stand…even with the room temperature topping off at over ninety degrees.

"I suppose you should run off to your handler, Alerio…have him deliver a message to the mighty Caesar. That I breathe still. That I am nestled comfortably within the walls of his Rome. And that _I will burn again_ or _I will burn this city to the ground_ before I let this it fall into his hands."

They were nearing the stage. Graham's pace had slowed to a crawl. He turned to face his former comrade in arms.

"Of course, be aware that once you step foot outside this sanctuary…your life will have run its course."

Alerio forced a smile – one that he was sure the Burned Man could see right through. "Fear not, Joshua. Whatever plan you have, I will not intervene…if not for Flagstaff…then for no other reason than humble curiosity. Caesar cares not about these dogs, as I'm sure you're entirely aware. When the Strip is in the hands of its new master, the Legion will see it purged of these…drug addle miscreants."

Replacing the fedora atop his head, Alerio tipped it – a smirk across his face; a pitiable attempt to mask the fear that coursed through his veins…emanating a stench that no amount of manmade chemicals could ever mask.

When he had disappeared into the courtyard, Graham turned to the table nearest to him. He sat down and glanced at the three individuals nonchalantly watching the dancer on the stage – swaying her hips, bending in ways that seemed inhuman.

"Well?" One asked.

"I did not attempt to persuade them to leave the Strip. It would have been in vain," Graham explained.

The figure turned towards him – trace scars decorating her fragile face.

"What do we do now?" The hooded woman at her side asked.

"We have much work to do," he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and weaving his fingers together intricately. "The Omertas intend to bomb the Strip. I have dissuaded them from using explosives…instead, they intend to use a chemical weapon. Chlorine…only their weapons expert isn't sure how to put it together. I have given them my word that Raul will help with that."

"What? Why?"

"I'm not so sure about that, Jefe…" Raul said, finally turning from the stage. "We don't want to get tied up with these boys…"

"We do what we must…and it's better that you don't know everything." Graham replied flatly. "They've also amassed a good deal of weaponry. I'm not sure where they're keeping it, but a man named Troike is your way in. You'll find him somewhere in the lower levels. Just tell the one of the thugs my name and who you're looking for…they'll take you to him."

"And when we find him?"

"Get him to talk. Find out where they're hiding their weapons. Do whatever's necessary to dispose of them."

* * *

><p>Boone reclined against the old building, looking into Red Rock Canyon. In the distance, he could see Six approaching the longhouse. Six must've got the same vibe from the house as he did – the best fortified place in the canyon. Which wasn't saying much. The tents that peppered the canyon offered very little in way of shelter.<p>

A fierce bang off to his side sent him spiraling around, weapon drawn.

"Whoa, soldier boy!" Melissa held up her hand. "Calm down…you come to see me or what?"

She laughed.

Boone lowered his sidearm. "As a matter of fact, yeah…and your chief."

Melissa let a look of confusion spread across her face. She had emerged from the dilapidated building's storm cellar. She turned back to it, "I'll send Regis and his boys out on a run!" she called down into the cellar. "We'll stock back up on three-oh-eights and five-mil as soon as we can!" She turned her attention back to Boone, clumsily slamming the cellar doors as she did. "Why do you need to see Papa?"

"Cass told us…about your deal with the Legion. Seems like something worth mentioning."

_Fuck_…that little _bitch_. Melissa felt an insurgence of rage creep into her being, bubbling beneath the skin.

Then she looked at the man standing in front of her and all that rage faded into guilt. She didn't know what to say.

"Nothing to be done about it. Not my call."

"You're going to join the Legion, then?"

She clenched her teeth and let a sigh escape her lungs. "I'm going to do what Papa tells me to do."

"You know what the Legion does to women…I've told you…"

"Karl promises that I have the makings of a speculatore…"

As she said it, she knew it was bullshit. If the Khans backed the Legion, she knew she'd be lucky to be sold as the wife of some high ranking Legionnaire.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?"

She brushed past him, making her way into the canyon. "Come on, then soldier boy…let Papa hear you out."

He took a step, then hesitated.

Melissa laughed again. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you."

The walk into the canyon was mostly silent. Melissa couldn't think of anything to say…she wanted to defend her people. She trusted Papa. But, at the same time, she knew she couldn't trust the Legion. She couldn't trust Karl. And, despite the misgivings between the NCR and the Khans, she trusted Boone with every fiber of her being.

"We're going to infiltrate the Fort," Boone told her, finally breaking the silence. "That's why we came to talk to your chief."

She pulled her head back, and studied him for a moment. "How do you intend to do that?"

"Six is the one with the plan. As far as I understand it…he wants to use the potential alliance between Caesar and your people to get into the Fort…"

"To get close to Caesar," Melissa nodded in accordance. "Makes sense. _If we can get Papa to agree with it_. When does he want to pull this off?"

"As soon as possible."

"We'll have to put together a…"

"You keep saying, 'we'…"

"Well yeah, if this is going down, you better damn believe that Papa's going to want me there."

"It's not safe," Boone told her, solemnly. "They'll confiscate our weapons at the gate."

"How do you know?"

"They did when Six had his meeting with Caesar."

"So we'll sneak some in."

"If we get caught, they'll crucify the lot of us."

"Risk we have to take."

"No," Boone grasped her hand, spinning her around to face him. "It's a risk _we_ have to take. _You_ don't need to be there."

She let a coy grin spread across her face. "That's not up to you, it's up to Papa."

"No, it's up to you."

"You don't have to worry about me, soldier boy…I can take care of myself."

"But I will…" Boone held her hand firmly. "I am."

She wrinkled her brow – staring past those dark shades that covered his eyes.

The crackle of gunfire echoed off the canyon walls, breaking the silence that had consumed them. They turned towards the longhouse – Six was hauling ass in their direction. The Khans were on his heels.

"They're shooting at him!" Boone dropped to one knee, shouldering his rifle as he did.

"No!" Melissa instinctively stepped in front of him. "Those are my people!"

"They're going to kill him!"

She looked over her shoulder – they were still in pursuit. Still firing.

"_No_," She shook her head. "If they wanted him dead, he'd be dead. They're running him out of the canyon."

Boone, now peering through his scope, held back. He watched them traversing the canyon floor. The distance between them…there was no way their shots were that bad.

Six fumbled in the sand, kicking up red dust as he darted from side to side – trying to make himself a hard target.

Melissa was running towards him now. As he saw her approaching, he nearly reached for his pistol…but seeing Boone with her, he elected not to. When she had made her way to him, she stepped between him and the pursuing Khans.

"Hold your fire!"

"Get out of the way, Melissa!"

"Regis, what the hell is going on?!"

"Papa has spoken. This man is no friend of the Khans."

"Bullshit!" Six rang out. "The Legion is no friend of the Khans! Your Papa is going to get you all killed! _Or worse!_"

Regis felt his stomach sink. Though he'd never dare speak out against Papa Khan – this man wasn't telling him anything he didn't already suspect.

"Melissa," Regis warned, his voice stern. "Get out of the way."

"No."

"You'd side with the NCR? Our sworn enemy?"

"They're not our enemy," Melissa barked. "They saved me in the quarry!" She pointed to Six, "He risked his life getting _our_ supplies from behind NCR lines!"

Regis growled, lowering his rifle.

"You know our ways, Regis…we can't kill him."

He took a breath, then eyed Six. "Go on then…but consider our debt paid." Then he turned to Melissa. "Melissa…Spring Mt…"

She nodded, turning back to the duo in red berets. "Come on…"

* * *

><p>"Gentlemen…"<p>

Graham stood on the stage of Club Zoara's lower level. A den of vice and sin – the walls peppered with bullet holes and the floor sticky with blood and…other fluids. He looked out across the crowd – a swirling mass of hatred and ignorance. Demons barking orders to Neanderthals who did as they were commanded.

If not for their drug use and love of automatic firearms, this group would be prime examples of the dogs Caesar sought.

Situated before him was a propane tank – fixed with the innards of an egg timer, various electronic components, and loose copper wire. All of this held together rather sloppily with yards of duct-tape.

Raul did not have the time he desired to work on it. But he had assured Graham that – when the time came – it would do what it needed to do.

Big Sal and Nero sat before him, eagerly awaiting his instruction. Situated neatly beside them was Alerio.

The crowd bickered amongst themselves – chatting and laughing. Mostly ignoring the man before them.

"Gentlemen…" Graham repeated. He raised his hands and waited for the crowd to hush. "Caesar has tasked you with something of monumental importance. As he wages war with the likes of the NCR…"

The crowd erupted with boos.

"…at Hoover Dam, he will be at his weakest. The NCR has allied itself with the great Robert House, in all his technological glory. If he is not stopped, his steel soldiers will roll over the Dam and send the Legion scurrying in the other direction. Scattering into the four winds. For, though the Legion is strong, there are not so many of us that we can overcome the destructive force of House's army with sheer numbers alone. Contrary, we must be vigilant. We must be intelligent. And we must drive a dagger through the heart of the tyrant in his own city! Long before he ever suspects his very life is in danger! For that reason, I aim to outfit you with these…"

He stepped off the stage and lifted a rifle – neatly placed alongside the stage's base. As he climbed back on to the stage, he held it for all to see.

A large, rusted black cylindrical weapon with a wooden stock and a black scope.

"The Brotherhood extensively use these weapons against the NCR…their numbers are few, and still – with this technology – they eliminate hundreds of men. Where one Paladin or Knight falls…dozens of NCR soldiers fall at his hands. All because of this…" Graham turned it over, examining it. "Alerio…" he motioned to the stage beside him. "Join me. And…if you could be so kind. The refurbished power armor the NCR makes extensive use of…put it on. And bring the helmet too, if you would…please…you will be perfectly fine, I assure you."

Alerio hesitantly made his way to his feet; stopping briefly to don the refurbished chest piece, and snugly fit the helmet to his head – then, he tiptoed to the stage and stood beside Graham. "I'm not so sure about this, Joshua…"

"A demonstration?"

An epidemic of cheers filled the air.

Graham turned towards Alerio. "The crowd has spoken…would you have them believe a son of Caesar to be a coward? If it will persuade you, you may leave the helmet…I'll shoot your chest. It's going to hurt…but you will survive."

A scowl spread across Alerio's face. Dropping the helmet next to Graham's feet, he took ten paces across the stage and stopped, turning to face the Burned Man. Graham cast his gaze out through the audience…across the room, he watched as the doors begin to shut.

Graham raised the rifle. "This weapon's impact is similar to being kicked by a brahmin…"

Across the stage, Alerio's eyes widened with fear. Staring into Graham's eyes, he saw something that he'd never before seen.

Pure malice. Anger. The icy gaze had been replaced by fire.

Looking down the rifle's barrel, Graham growled, whispering through gritted teeth. "_Flee for your lives…Don't look back, and don't stop anywhere in the plain…Flee to the mountains or you will be swept away!_"

As he squeezed the trigger, time stood still. The white hot bolt of ferromagnetic energy zipped across the room finding its mark in Alerio's skull. Bits of bone fragment, brain matter, and tissue sprayed the stage and crowd – who had begun to cheer even more excitedly. Simultaneously, Graham turned, kicking the table on which sat the chlorine bomb. It bounced across the stage and into the cheering spectators; he took aim, firing again. The bomb exploded – a shockwave of kinetic energy knocked most of the crowd off their feet. Then came the toxic gas. He quickly reached down, scooping up the helmet – slipping it over his bandaged head.

Gunfire, in all directions. The Omertas were firing at him; at each other; at everything in the room. The gas had fulfilled its purpose; they were disoriented. Dying.

But Graham, too, could feel a burning sensation coursing through his body. The helmet wasn't filtering the gas well enough.

A thunderous explosion shook the room…likely the work of Veronica. She had found the armory.

He was at the door now. Again, he raised the rifle – he fired, knocking the door off its hinges and bolted for the stairs. The room was spinning, he bounced off walls, furniture…

But the halls were clear of people. Raul and Christine had managed to evacuate the building. He slammed his palm against the stairwell door, sending it crashing into the wall. He felt himself losing consciousness.

He had to fight. If he passed out now…

Arms around his waist. His weight settling on someone's shoulder. He turned to his savior…that damned scribe.

"Get out of here…" Graham beckoned.

"What? And leave my rifle?"

* * *

><p>"How long are we going to wait here?" Six was getting flustered. He scooped up a handful of stones.<p>

They had been sitting in the ruins of this charred ranch house for damn near two hours. The yard was mostly enclosed – a wooden fence ran along the property border. Just beyond the fence was a pond – the clear, cool water reflected the blue of the sky – a deceitful tranquility, Six was sure. His pipboy had been crackling since they arrived; picking up the trace amounts of radiation emanating from the pond's crystal depths. Despite this, trees and grass grew around it…an oasis in the middle of a vast desert. Across the pond, Six could see a trail; a couple of cazadores zipped back and forth along it. Nearby, a group of bighorners lazily grazed on the tall grass.

Melissa shrugged. "He'll get here when he gets here."

_No shit_. Six frowned and, one by one, began skipping the stones across the pond. "The man just tried to kill me. What makes you think he's interested in meeting?"

"Why else would he have us wait?"

"Probably to finish the job…"

"If I wanted you dead," an approaching voice called out, "you'd be dead."

It was Regis. He casually strolled towards them, two other Khans at his side; a man and a woman. Definitely Khans – they wore the distinct Khan vests.

The man at his left was disheveled and unshaven. A thick black beard covered his chin and an equally dark mustache perched itself below his nose. Six could tell by the way the man walked that he was either stoned or had gone days without sleep.

Maybe both.

The woman to his right was different than the other Khans Six had seen – her hair, loose and wavy, formed a golden shroud across the top of her head. She wore her leather vest, a staple of many of the Khans, but she wore nothing under it – granted, Melissa did the same, but she kept hers zipped up. This woman didn't even bother doing that. It hang loosely from her shoulders. With every step the leather vest swayed, exposing bare skin to the harsh desert air around them. For the briefest of moments, Six could feel familiar demons creeping back in. Lust and desire. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

"I'm not a violent man. Not when I don't need to be. Papa wanted you to flee, and you fled."

"With you all firing at me the entire fucking time…"

Regis let a grin spread across his face. He cocked his head to the side, smiling in the direction of his companions, and then stared out over the pond – at the cazadores zipping to and fro, carrying mud and dirt.

"They're building a nest," he explained, nodding towards the vicious insects. He flipped his repeater off his shoulder and took aim. He watched their movements carefully, then squeezed the trigger. The force of the impact sent one of the cazadores spiraling into the canyon wall.

Out of the corner of his eye, Six saw Boone raise a brow. He was impressed.

The other cazadores perked up, fluttering and investigating the area – but only momentarily. They quickly lost interest and resumed their construction. Still grinning, Regis turned back towards Six. "Like I said…if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. When my first shot missed, my people knew to let you escape."

"So what's your angle?"

"My angle?" Regis reclined against the old building. "Well, that's a complicated question. You want to convince Papa not to ally with Caesar, right? Believe me when I tell you that you'll get nowhere, fast. Talking to him about it, you may as well head on over to those cazadores and convince them that Red Rock isn't the place to set up a nest."

The dark haired, spaced-out Khan chuckled at the notion.

"He's fixated on restoring the glory of the Great Khans, and sees Caesar as the path to that restoration," Regis continued. "He's a great man, and one of the best leaders the Khans have ever had…but Bitter Springs changed him. He didn't like the NCR before the Massacre…but afterwards…" he shook his head. "It really poisoned his mind."

"And what do you think about the NCR?" Boone asked tepidly.

"They've done horrible things…sure. I've gladly killed many of them in battle. But the Legion…Papa doesn't realize just how bad things would get if the Legion was in control. I've heard tales of what they do to their _allies – _reduced to slaves, torn apart, consumed. That doesn't really matter though…I can't go against Papa Khan based on doubts alone."

"So convince him not to ally with the Legion."

"Easier said than done. Papa's no tyrant…but he's a stubborn man. And that representative of Caesar's? Karl? He's fast friends with Papa…and has him twisted around his little finger. So long as he's in the picture…"

"You want us to take him out of the picture…" Boone smirked.

"No…" Six stroked the stubble around his chin.

"Yeah," Regis pulled his head back, slightly confused. "That's exactly what I want."

"No," Six said again. "It isn't. What you want is to convince Papa that the only way he can have a truce with Caesar is to speak with the man himself. Have Karl set it up."

"Why?"

"Because that's the easiest way to get into the Fort. You do that…" Six cast a look at Boone, then let his gaze fall out over the pond.

Without so much as a whisper between them, Boone dropped to one knee. He raised his rifle and aimed across the pond. He watched the remaining two cazadores fluttering and zipping back and forth. Carrying their clay and mud to construct their nest.

He squeezed the trigger. A single shot – as the two creatures passed each other by – and they were both dead.

"You do that, and Caesar's a dead man."

* * *

><p>The sky was impossibly bright. He was on his knees, breathing hard. The world was shaking as his vision pulsated. Around the Strip, people had gathered – staring into the Gomorrah. A tomb where the Omertas had breathed their final breaths.<p>

"How long will it take the gas to clear out?" Christine asked.

Raul shrugged. "It was a big bomb…two, three days?"

"That explosion?" Graham coughed. "What was it?"

"Thermite," Veronica answered. "I laced their armory with it. When the others heard the commotion going on in the basement, Cachino gathered them in the armory. When he turned the light on…"

"So they're dead? All of them?" Christine sounded remorseful.

"We did what needed to be done," Graham struggled to his feet, Veronica wrapped one arm around his waist again.

"Easy…"

They started towards the Lucky 38, passing by confused people and the silent, cold robotic sentries.

Raul split off from them halfway across the street.

"Where you off to?" Veronica asked, masking her anxiety with a cheerful disposition.

"Gotta get back to the shop," Raul answered, looking over his shoulders. "Customers waiting…you know how it is." With a nod, he continued along his way.

Graham struggled up the stairs – his lungs were still burning. His insides on fire all over again. He coughed; his mouth filled with the taste of copper and iron. Blood.

"You're going to need medical attention…" Christine said, examining the bandages around his mouth. They were stained red.

"I'll be fine…"

They pushed open the door.

And that's when they saw her. Lying face up, staring at the ceiling. Blood pooled around her waist and head. A shattered whiskey bottle at her side.

"Cass!?"

Veronica let Graham's weight fall from her shoulder – leaving Christine holding the burned man by the waist. She felt her knees momentarily buckle, but Graham quickly steadied himself against the wall.

Graham followed Veronica's gaze as she made her way across the casino floor, towards the elevator. At the foot of the stairs, near an overturned table he could see the body. Graham's vision pulsated and his head ached. He couldn't make out any detail.

"I got'cha," Christine told him.

He released the wall and began the long tread towards the elevator – towards the body on the floor. With each step, the room shook and the floor spun. Crashing from side to side as he struggled along his way.

Veronica was kneeling next to the woman now. She reached down; brushing her hand across the woman's face, silencing her glassy stare – she was long dead.

As Graham grew nearer, he began to make out features. Red-brown hair, shoulder length – in pink, velvet lingerie.

"That's not Cass," Christine observed, near enough to the body to see it. "It's the prostitute Six saved from the Gomorrah…"

"Joana…" Graham confirmed.

"Retaliation from our attack?" Veronica halfheartedly suggested.

"No…we only just attacked them. And besides, no Omerta made it out of that casino alive. This woman has been dead a while," He scanned the room. There was no sign of forced entry that he could see. And she definitely wouldn't have let a Gomorrah thug in. Two shots – one to the abdomen, one to the head. Pushing away from Christine, he slowly knelt next to the woman's body.

He recognized the style – he had used it on many occasions himself. "This was an execution…not Omertas. The thugs in the Gomorrah…all used shotguns, revolvers, machine guns. The kill is too clean…professional."

"You think it was a hit?"

"No," He stood, resting against the railing surrounding the elevator platform. He locked one knee and took a breath. "It doesn't make sense. She's just a girl…no target for assassination. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

"Or it was a case of mistaken identity…" Christine thought aloud.

He lightly nodded. "That's certainly within the realm of possibility…"

At this, Veronica's eyes lit up again. "Cass!" She stood, making her way to the elevator. She impatiently tapped the recall key in quick succession.

Christine wrapped her arm around Graham's waist. "We need to get you into bed…"

"No…I'll be fine. I just need a moment to catch my breath. You go with Veronica. Find Cass. I'll wait here."

Christine hesitated a moment, but ultimately joined Veronica in the elevator. Graham listened to the bell ring as it closed – then watched the numbered lights flash as it began to move from floor to floor.

He pressed his thumbs into his temples and closed his eyes. Then he looked through the small window where the register sat; into the Casino floor's security room. "Legion or NCR?"

No response.

"There's no reason to hurt anyone else. You're here for me, aren't you?"

A brief silence…broken by two words. A soft voice. "I am."

A woman's voice. "NCR then…" He confirmed. He could see movement, a pale woman in a cowboy hat. She opened the security room door and calmly made her way towards him, weapon drawn. He let out a low laugh. "Not necessary, I assure you…I'm in no condition to resist you."

"If it's all the same…"

"Of course," He turned, raising his hands and locked his fingers together behind his head. He listened to the sound of her footsteps as she neared him.

A few more steps and she'd be within reach…

A sharp pain. He felt his joints lock up, his muscles tightened. The air around him echoed the sounds of crackling electricity.

Then it stopped – but only briefly. She hit him again, this time at the base of his lower back. He dropped to one knee.

The pain was sharp, causing his body to convulse. A dull thud – as the butt of her pistol slammed against the back of his neck. And finally, darkness.

* * *

><p><em>And that's it for this chapter. About four chapters and we'll have the battle wrapped up. Things after the battle will slow down a little bit as we make the transition into Curios &amp; Relics, which will start around chapter 40.<em>

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. See you next time._


	34. Chapter 33: Render Unto Caesar

_So I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I've put a lot of creative thought in to it, and I'm really pleased with the way it turned out. Settle in, it's a long one._

* * *

><p>"You're going to be okay kid."<p>

Benny felt a wave of sympathy crash over him. The young man, little more than a boy, was pale; laying across the steel serving table. His body convulsed and shivered…partly due to the frigid temperatures inside of the walk-in freezer. But mostly due to the loss of blood. His right leg had been severed above the thigh, and was being roasted to perfection by that prick of a chef, Philippe.

"When my daddy finds out…he's gonna kill all of these bastards for this…"

It took all of the strength he could muster to cough out such an empty threat. Benny laid a hand on the kid's shoulder. "You just hang in there, alright. When my people realize I'm missing, they'll send someone looking for me. We're going to be alright…" he took a breath, letting his gaze fall on the kid's leg. Blood trickled from the torn thigh, oozing across the table and dripping on to the floor. "We're going to be alright…" he repeated. Trying to convince himself more than the boy.

* * *

><p>"Hey, mister."<p>

"Hey kid…" Six knelt in the dirt under the overpass. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a hand full of caps; dropping them in a jar at the boy's side.

"So you're here for a forecast?"

"You've not steered me wrong yet, kid. Everything that's happened…you knew it all along."

The young boy smiled. "Oh, I don't know anything, mister. I just think…and then I don't. But I'm glad to help…so long as you got the caps." He reached up, grasping the leather strap under his chin. He fumbled with it a moment, then lifted it off his head and sat it in his lap.

He took a breath, closing his eyes as he did. Six could see his face contort with pain – under his eyelids, his eyes were darting from side to side.

"Death incarnate stands in your way, but their bells toll not for you and yours. Strange whispers never heard before, these are not the norm. A poison pawn; a gift of destruction is given. The enemy surrounds. The Roman God King, will fall. Two of a score will join him before the journeys end. Thus begins the celestial struggle, Taurus and Ursa thirst for blood. A light shining in the darkness? Breaking ties once held; thus comes end to a rising tyrant. And from Vegas? Ball spinning on the wheel… more than two at the table. Placing bets…but all will lose. How much remains to be seen. A dam of corpses, the dead overrun the streets, bodies strewn like droppings in the sand. A rain of blood will flow over this land…washing without purifying…" He took a breath. "That's all I see, mister."

"Dead overrun the streets? How can I stop it? What do I do? You have to tell me…"

The boy grimaced, returning the device to his scalp. With a shrug, he opened his eyes to examine his client. "Stop it? Stop what? Mister…there is no fate. We live. We breathe. We die. And when we die…the world goes on without us. Not everything happens for a reason, but there's a reason for everything that happens. You see? What you do now…it's what makes what happens happen. In trying to stop it…are you going to stop it or cause it? I don't have the answers, mister…I just have these thoughts."

"Six."

Six looked up – in the direction of the disruption. Boone was standing on the overpass, binoculars in hand.

"They're here."

Six, took a beat. He dropped a few more caps into the boy's jar and then made his way around the pass, climbing a steep embankment. Boone was sitting atop a picnic table, binoculars glued to his eyes. Six reached into his bag, withdrawing his own set. He peered through them – he was immediately greeted by a large billboard; plastered with a red robot with two small children. It read:

_Hold up, Rocketeers! Looking for a tour? Blast up Highway 95 for Repcon HQ in lovely Henderson!_

Six's eyes followed the board's advice – he scanned further up Highway 95.

A large group of Khans made their way towards the 188 – Papa, Regis, and Melissa amongst them.

Six removed his binoculars and turned to Boone, he almost laughed at the man...standing pensively in Khan attire. The Black vest suit him well…the pointy helmet…not so much. "Now or never…" he said aloud. They turned to the overpass and headed towards a decaying bus-turned-public residence. Boarding it, they waited. Before long, the Khans began to pass the bus. The duo slipped out of the bus and into the rear of the group. They marched in relative silence, surrounded by Khans.

Ahead of them, they could see Papa Khan conversing with Karl and Regis – Melissa following them close behind. She glanced over her shoulder at the two of them and slowed her pace enough to fall into step with them.

"Everything set?"

"Regis isn't comfortable with this…we're betraying Papa."

"You're saving your tribe," Six promised. "If the Legion takes the Dam, New Vegas won't be far behind. And after they take Vegas – you've served your purpose. You can bet your sweet little ass that every woman in your tribe is going to be passed around from one Legionnaire to another until they can't walk anymore."

Melissa grimaced; she didn't appreciate Six's tone…or his choice of words. But he had a point to make, and she got the message.

"How are we going to reach the Fort?" Boone asked. "Nelson's reclaimed. The Cove is dead."

"We'll be crossing the Colorado near the Promontory…"

"The Promontory?" Boone stopped dead in his tracks. "You're joking?"

Melissa shook her head. "It's the safest place to cross. River's usually infested with lakelurks…NCR patrols most of the beach that isn't. They see us crossing the river, we'll be begging for a shootout. Only one reason we'd cross the river, and they know it – meeting with Caesar. And if we're meeting with Caesar…"

"Then you're against the NCR…" Six frowned. "What's the Promontory?"

"An outcropping south of the Fort. Heavily infested with deathclaws," Melissa told him.

"Heavily doesn't quite fit it," Boone huffed. "The place is worse off than Dead Wind Cavern."

It was Six's turn to frown. "And we're going to march right in…and do what, exactly?"

Melissa shrugged. "Thanks to your little stunt at the Cove, we don't have much choice. We could travel further south…cross at Dry Wells. Legion still holds it, but it's a few days out of our way."

"We may not have that kind of time," It was Regis. He had fallen back enough to join their conversation. "If what Karl says is true, then Caesar is already pulling his best troops out of Arizona. Legate Lanius himself is headed back in. They're fighting a war on three fronts…NCR in the west, a group of techno-fanatic warmongers in the northeast, and a Brotherhood faction in the southeast."

"If they've got a war going on three fronts, how is he pulling his troops west?" Boone asked.

"In the east, they've reached a stalemate. The religious cult has access to advanced weaponry…the brotherhood…well. That's self explanatory. But another Legionnaire is holding the line while Lanius is away. They're calling him the Conqueror of the eighty-seventh tribe."

"Eighty-Seventh?"

"Yeah…the Twisted Hairs. The eighty-seventh tribe the Legion conquered. They were allies first, worked alongside the Legion. After Caesar was through with them, he conquered them…murdering or crucifying those that resisted."

"Where'd you hear this?" Melissa asked skeptically.

Regis reached into his vest, withdrawing a small leather notebook. "Carl's ledger…says a bit about us. Less than flattering too."

Melissa's eyes widened. "Why haven't you told Papa? He wouldn't even consider joining the Legion if he had this information!"

"Right. And that's the problem. If we want to get close enough to cut off the head of the beast…the beast needs to trust us."

"Our people could die!" She squeaked, having trouble maintaining her volume.

"My men know what we're walking in to. This isn't a negotiation, it's an assassination."

"_Your men_?"

Regis glared at Melissa. "You know what I mean."

An awkward silence enveloped them.

"So," Six interrupted the tension, "how far away is he?"

Regis turned from Melissa, directing his gaze to the path before them."They're saying a week. Maybe days. Quickest way to the Fort now is through the promontory. You want to get to Ceasar? You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs."

* * *

><p>Cass slipped the mask over her face. The faded pink fabric of the dress fell loosely around her waist. <em>Why did Veronica want one of these so badly<em>?

She didn't understand the appeal of dresses. Sure, the one that Six had given her was gorgeous. Elegant. Far more than any of the others she had ever stumbled across in the wastes.

But they were just so…high maintenance. And cold. The chills that shot up her legs made her shiver.

She could almost forgive the dresses though. If it weren't for these damn masks. She couldn't breathe in it – she couldn't see. The breaths that she had to force herself to take left damp residue on the mask's inside, which – in turn – clung uncomfortably to her skin.

So far, the ruse had worked. She had picked up the dress from a worker in the sauna. A young woman who she had been able to pay off for a tip.

What she had learned, though disturbing, came as no surprise. Benny had been captured – and now lay in wait somewhere in the depths of the hotel's kitchen. Waiting to be sliced, diced, and sautéed to a finish.

The stories had been true. It made her stomach churn.

How many times had she and Six eaten at the Gourmand?

She didn't even want to think of it.

She felt nervous, walking down the long hall. It was dark and quiet. Several doors lined the hall on either side. The one at the end was open.

She peeked inside.

"I'm the fucking god of New Vegas cuisine…and what the fuck do they have me doing? Preparing a meal for a bunch of lowlife, bottom feeding, scum sucking…"

It was a man. Sporting a buzz cut – short brown hair, roughly shaven. He was dressed neatly – as all White Glove members. A dark suit with a white shirt and bowtie. He was slicing in to some meat, dicing it into small chunks. He glanced up from the countertop. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I…uh…" Cass's mind was racing. "I'm here to help."

He looked her up and down a moment. "Well then why the fuck are you still standing there like you aren't the lowest form of life ever to be flushed down the evolutionary toilet?"

"I…what…"

"They're going to need wine or a little champagne."

"Champagne?"

"Yeah…a little bubbly? You want to get it? Like, today?"

"Where…"

"In serving room?"

Cass stared at him blankly.

"Circular room, two rooms down?"

"It's locked…"

"Oh, for Christ's sake. Just go get another slice of thigh from the freezer."

The man stormed out of the room. When the door had shut behind him, Cass snapped back into her investigation.

The meat on the table…what he had been dicing. Something about the skin. She lifted a fork, prodding through the meat.

One piece still had most of the skin still attached. Flesh…a pasty white. And a tattoo.

_Christ, I'm going to be sick._ She dropped the fork and brought her hand to her mouth. She turned away – towards the freezer. The freezer was large. A walk in freezer. She edged towards it and peered through the window.

She could see him inside – Benny, his skin taking on a bluish hue. He was standing beside a body. Some kid. His leg had been sawed off just below the hip.

She grasped the handle and pulled. The door wouldn't budge. She stepped back, observing it. Next to the door handle was a card reader. The door was locked.

She had to get him out of there…before he froze to death.

Noise behind her. She wheeled around – it was the Chef.

"Didn't I tell you to get a slice of thigh?"

"It's locked…"

"Use your key?"

"I must've forgotten it…"

"Useless!" He said, slamming the bottle down onto the table. "Now…you want to get the cork screw, or should I do that too?"

"No I got it…" She searched around the room.

The man rolled his eyes. "You might check the drawer! No…No! Not that one! Top right!"

She opened the drawer and rummaged through it. True to his word, she found the cork screw within. She pulled it from the drawer and turned towards him.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

Her grip around the cork screw tightened. She took a step towards him. Two. Three more steps and she was before him – she thrust the make-shift weapon upwards, piercing his flesh. The jagged screw tore through his throat. She twisted her hand clockwise – drilling it further into neck, then she ripped it back. His attempt to cry out drowned out by the river of blood that filled his lungs.

He struggled a moment, toppling to the floor. He crawled across the floor – leaving a crimson trail behind him. When he had fallen silent, she searched his pockets; as she suspected, his keycard was on him. She slipped it into the reader and pulled the handle. The door buzzed and opened. When she entered, Benny was on his feet; his fists held high.

"Let's do this, darlin'."

"Don't be an idiot," Cass slipped the mask from her face. "Who's that?"

Benny turned back to the body. "Just some kid," he replied, a ping of remorse in his voice.

"Well, let's get the fuck out of here."

The hall was clear, so making their way out wasn't much of an issue. They exited the basement into a large dining area. The White Glove Society was holding some type of meeting – with an elaborate meal, of course. A man in a top hat stood before the group.

"...not long ago, we were bound together not as members…but as family. As a clan."

Cass peeked around the corner. The group was intently watching the man in the top hat.

"When Mr. House came to us with his proposal, we accepted…knowing we stood to gain much. Little did we know how much we'd lose in the process. As a society, we've endeavored to sample the finest food and drink the world has to offer. But we are living a lie…"

Cass glanced over her shoulder. "Come on…"

Benny fell into step at her side. They quietly began towards the exit.

"There is a meat sweeter than the most confined livestock. Most of us have tasted it. We've all coveted it. Marjorie!" The man pointed to the woman sitting at the head of the table. "Because of you, it has been deemed a crime to return to the ways that unified our people. But tonight, that all changes. The taboo ends…for amongst us is the cry to return to our old ways. And tonight, we intend to do just that…"

The woman turned towards the rest of the group. "What the hell is going on here?!"

When they reached the door, Cass glanced over her shoulder one last time – and in that momentary glance, as the door swung shut behind her she caught a glimpse of the group's true nature, as they surrounded their former leader.

For a moment, she wanted to go back. To help. But part of her knew it'd be fruitless.

Back in the main casino, Benny stopped at the bar. He sat next to a man in a black cowboy hat and tapped the bar. "Give me a stiff one, barkeep."

The woman poured him a straight shot of Vodka.

The man watched him down it, and understood.

"My boy…he's not coming back, is he?"

Benny kept his eyes on the table.

"What happened?"

"He was murdered," Benny told him solemnly. "I'm…I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do."

The man swallowed and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes. They were quiet for a long moment…then the man looked up at him, eyes full of hatred. "Who did it?"

* * *

><p>There were dozens of them. Nestled along the cliff face. Patrolling the narrow gaps between mounds of jagged stone.<p>

"No mininuke this time 'round," Melissa chirped.

Six swallowed, looking through the gorge. "It'd take more than one anyway…"

The Khans were lined along the river bank – all waiting on the return of their scouting party. Melissa had elected to take Boone and Six along.

"There're too many," Boone shook his head. "We're not going to punch through this canyon."

"Right," Melissa smiled. "We're not going to _punch_ through. We're going to _cut_ through." She shot Boone a playful wink. "Sometimes brute force just doesn't cut it…and where brute force fails, a little know-how prevails…There, along that crevice. That area is the least infested. See that big one?"

"The Alpha?" Six asked.

"No, no…look at the size of that sonuva…" Melissa extended her arm, pointing in its direction. Six followed her gaze – at the end of the ravine nearest to them was the single biggest deathclaw he had ever seen. "I've never seen one like that…"

It seemed to have its eyes locked on him; watching his every movement. It's eyes practically shined through the dusk light – burning crimson. Its skin…cold as stone and the color of pavement. Stranger, still…it wore a cloak. A loose brown cloth covered nearly the entirety of its being.

Six felt his stomach sink. _Why hasn't it alerted the others?_

Following Six's gaze, Boone had frozen in place. "It's gigantic…" Melissa continued, "bigger than the ones in the qua…"

Boone reached out with one arm, placing a single finger over Melissa's lips. "_It sees us_…" he whispered, simultaneously swinging his rifle around his shoulder.

He checked the chamber. Took aim. Adjusted his scope…rested his cheekbone against the stock, leveling the rifle on the beast's skull.

It cocked its head to the side…then, very slowly, very solemnly, it shook its head.

He froze.

"Did it…did it just…"

"It did…" Six was on his feet now. _"Death incarnate…their bells toll not for you_…" he whispered, thinking back to the boy at the 188. Slowly, decisively, he began to tread across the canyon floor. He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Don't fire unless I give the word."

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Melissa nearly shouted. She stood, but Boone caught her wrist – pulling her back to him. He took aim again. "What's he doing?" She asked Boone, quieter this time.

"_I don't know_…"

The creature watched contently as Six made his way towards it. Studying his movements, his stature. Studying everything about him.

He was walking amongst them now – the deathclaws paced the ground around him. None of them attacked – few of them paid him any mind.

Then he was standing before the creature. It stood, towering above him – the cloth that had been draped around it fell loosely to the ground. "Most humans…" it growled, "shoot deathclaws on sight."

"Holy hell…"

It let out a long growl, lowering itself so that it could look into his eyes. "But then…you're not like most…are you?"

"What are you?"

Another low snarl. "I am Goris. I am…the last of my kind."

"The others here?"

"They are the same. But different."

"Why aren't they attacking me?"

"You're full of questions, aren't you little one. They do not attack you because they follow me. So long as you pose no threat to us…we pose no threat to you."

"I don't understand…Deathclaws are…I mean, they're not…"

"I know very well what you mean. The Enclave…a…military organization. Remnants of a dying nation. When hellfire consumed the land, they watched from a safe distance. Waited…for the fires to dissipate. And when they were certain it was safe, they ventured from their sanctuary in the sea…only to find a land rife with mutated beasts. They used my…" The creature groaned, searching for the words to use. "…My kith and kin. Experimented on us. Weaponized us. But we are not so easily tamed."

"What are you doing here?"

"Running. Always running. From you…and your kind. My family was desecrated by the Enclave in a vault deep inside NCR territory…your kind shows little compassion for my own."

"Well…it's not like your kind are innocent."

"No, they're not. But we weren't created to be."

"I've never heard of the Enclave," Six told the creature. _At the very least, not that he could remember_.

"For good reason. I was given the chance to work with a man that toppled an empire…" He motioned toward a suit of power armor that lay torn to shreds a few yards away. "Even with their empire collapsed…they still hunt my kind. Vengeful creatures, you humans."

Six smirked. "Can you help me to topple an empire?"

The deathclaw let out a long breath – bordering a sigh, or perhaps on some level, laughter. Six couldn't quite make heads or tails of it.

"Caesar's Legion rests on the cliffs above us. Oh yes, I'm aware of the men of which you speak. As amoral as the men who brought me into existence."

"More than amoral. They enslave, butcher, exterminate…"

The creature glanced over Six's shoulder – at the man and woman silently standing in the distance. The man's rifle still leveled on it.

"I will not risk the lives of my clan to settle human vendettas."

"You don't have to. You only have to let us pass."

Its eyes found their way back to the duo watching from afar – it let out a soft grumble and blinked a few times. "I will move my kin to the opposite end of the canyon. Be warned, little one…if your people fire on us, we will show no mercy."

* * *

><p>"Look, Rexie…visitors," The King reached down, scratching the robotic pooch behind the ear. The dog winced and let out a little whine. With a frown, the King looked back up at the duo who had entered his studio. "Poor boy…he hasn't been feeling well lately."<p>

Cass mirrored his frown. "What's wrong with him?"

The King shrugged. "You know, I don't rightly know. He's been acting right peculiar for some time now. I had the Followers check him out…they said his brain was bad or something, and that he was only going to get worse. I don't right know what to do."

Cass let her frown deepen. She took a knee and reached out to the cyberdog – it let out a soft moan and cautiously stretched out its nose to sniff her hand. Recognizing her scent, it gently licked her.

"So…Cass, was it?"

"Yeah."

"How's that fella you were with? The one with the leg? He doin' alright?"

"He's doing much better, thank you."

The King smiled, and motioned to the seats across the table from him. "Please…have a seat. Stay a while."

Cass sat – as did her companion.

"Now," the King smiled. "I know you…but your friend here, I'm not familiar with. New boy toy?"

She let out an uneasy laugh. "No…no, nothing like that."

"You're breaking my heart, baby doll," the man in the checkered suit said with a sly smile. He turned to the King. "Let's get acquainted, fat cat," he extended his hand. "Name's Benny. Let me ask you a question…you always charge your guests for an audience?"

The King pulled his head back a notch, but made no effort to extend his hand. "Benny- head of the Chairmen, Benny?"

Benny's pointed to the man with his extended arm. "Bingo. You've heard of me…"

"Nothing good."

With a laugh, Benny shrugged. "Good, bad. Free publicity is free publicity, baby. I'd rather be known for having a bad rep than not be known at all."

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that. But, to answer your question…no. No I don't. Pace is at it again…how much did he take you for? I'll see you reimbursed."

"Not a damn penny," Benny answered cheerfully.

With a grunt, the King grinned. "Must be losing his touch…either that, or you're a smooth one."

"Smoothest, baby."

The King let his eyes fall back to Cass, "You know, you never brought that fella of yours back to see me."

"Six kind of has his own agenda. He meant to stop by…but…he has a lot on his plate right now."

"Maybe so, maybe so…what can the King do for you two today?"

"Ask not what you can do for us…but what we can do for you…you dig?" Benny reached into his jacket pocket and removed a crumpled red packet of cigarettes. He tapped it against the table, and tipped the pack lightly – letting one fall into his palm, quickly directing it to his mouth. "You mind?"

The King shook his head and raised one hand. "Not at all."

He offered the King one – who politely declined. So, with a flip of his wrist, Benny lit the cigarette and took a long draw. "So, no doubt you've heard of the Ultra-Luxe?"

A single nod of confirmation.

"Then you're already halfway in the groove. As it turns out…there's an opening. Management didn't quite agree with the way things were being run there. So the White Glove Society has been…politely asked to remove themselves from the Strip. Straight from the top, you dig? Securitron and MP escorts and all."

"That so? And what's that got to do with me?"

"Well, that opening got me thinking…we're going to need someone else to help out on the Strip. Two empty casinos…" with a scrunched nose, Benny shook his head. "Won't work. The Tops certainly lives up to its namesake…but, let's be realistic. Won't be enough revenue to really get things amped. Now…I wanted to give the casino to my right hand. Have to Chairmen run two casinos on the Strip. But that'd stretch my boys too thin and leave one casino open to boot. So I figure we bring in an outsider, right? But who? The Khans? Crimson Caravan? The goddamn Atomic Wrangler?" He rolled his eyes. "But then I think…well, the Kings have kept a smooth operation in Freeside. Protecting the people. Community service type deal, right? And that's the type of management we need. We need someone who can run things…legitimate like. So I figure…"

"Let me just stop you right there, chief. The Kings on the Strip? I don't know if you've noticed, but since the NCR came to town…Freeside's not as safe as it used to be. What happens to the people we're protecting? NCR rolls over them. They can't defend themselves."

"You know…I thought of that too. But see…things are in motion, right? Let's just say…everything goes as planned, NCR won't be a problem for Freeside anymore. Or anywhere else in the Mojave, for that matter."

Cass shot Benny a sideways glance. _What's that supposed to mean_?

"I'm guessing things aren't going to go smoothly though. And even if the NCR is taken out of the picture…Freeside's still has House to contend with. His army of robotic police. Soldiers now…I have to look out for me and mine. I don't want some kind of unfair advantage…I just want a level playing field. For my boys. For these people. It ain't right…while the Strip thrives, folks in Freeside have to worry about where their next meal is coming from. Worry about where they're going to get their water…"

Benny shrugged. "Look, it's a dog-eat-dog world out there. I'm giving you a golden opportunity here. You want to help these people? What better way to do that than to get on the inside? I'm offering you a chance to sit at the table with the big boys. Play a few hands and see what turns up. You can use part of the proceedings from the casino to donate to the Followers to help Freeside. Or establish your own damn charity, for all I give a damn."

The King twisted his lips into a ball. "And House will sanction this?"

_No…but that doesn't matter._ "Each Casino gets to keep a portion of its revenue. House's cut isn't exactly modest – at forty-five percent. But you'll make plenty enough to cover expenses. And of course, you don't always have to report _everything_ you're making…I'm just saying, there's an opportunity here. You can sit out here in this hovel…waste away and watch Freeside fall to ruin. Or you can play a hand. See how the cards play out. Have a Heartbreak Hotel all your own."

* * *

><p>"The Great Papa Khan in the flesh," Ceasar stood, a plastic smile stretched across his face. "It's good to finally meet you."<p>

"My Lord…" Karl stepped forward.

Caesar cast him an irritated glare. "You speak only when spoken to," he glanced over his shoulder. "Remove him from my tent, if you'd be so kind."

One of the guards stepped forward, grasping Karl's arm. He guided him to the exit.

"Now," Caesar continued. "What was I saying? You've done a lot for your people. Led them across the wastes after the fall of Darion. Created a mythos…a legend of ruthlessness and ferocity that struck fear into the hearts of unexceptional wasteland rats."

Noting the surprise on Papa Khan's face, Caesar's smile widened. Genuine this time.

"I've done my homework. Something happened though, and all that greatness…" he waved his hand. "Vanished. Into thin air. All because of House…and the NCR. I'm giving you a chance to fight back. Join me, and you can take back your canyon. Or any place you wish to call home."

"There's nothing I want more than to drive the final nail into the NCR's coffin…but…" Papa Khan sighed. He thought back to their track through Caesar's camp. He'd seen many Legionnaires; all men. Even boys being trained…little more than children.

"But?"

But something was off. He had seen many slaves as well. They were all women. "Karl promised that the women of my tribe would be treated equally. Would fight alongside us…"

"And they will."

"But all throughout your camp…"

Caesar sighed. "You would be honorary members of the Legion…women are not usually granted the same rights as the men of our tribe. But there are always exceptions."

"Are there?" Papa Khan glanced over his shoulder – at Melissa, Diane. "These women are more than just my clansmen. They're family. And I'll die before I see any harm come to them."

"And that's exactly why the Legion needs a man like you. Someone willing to fight for what they believe in…someone willing to die for a just cause. Someone who hates the NCR as much as we do," Caesar's grin turned smug. He sat back on his throne and rested his arms on his knees. "These NCR soldiers…the people of the Strip. They're corrupt. You think that your people were killed by their soldiers? No. They were killed because the soldiers were given orders. All of the men that have fallen at the hands of the Legion. My men are innocent of their blood. What the Legion does, it does because I have dictated it. And unlike the shallow, self-serving, weak-willed, cowards that send other men's sons to die while they sit back and grow rich off bribes and profits of war…I won't be bought out. And I won't bend. My Legion _will_ win at Hoover Dam. And when we take the Dam, New Vegas will fall. This isn't a question of whether or not you _should_ join us. It's a certainty. Because if you don't join us…when we roll through Nevada, you'll only be in our way."

It was in this moment that everything became clear to Papa Khan. He realized the type of man he would be fighting for. An oppressive, pitiless, vicious tyrant. The Khans weren't being invited to join the Legion. They were being given an ultimatum. They could willingly join, or they would be conquered.

This wasn't a diplomatic meeting…they weren't forming a truce. They were here for their terms of surrender.

Papa Khan felt his heart sink. He looked over his shoulder at his people. Melissa, Regis, Jack, Diane…they'd follow him to the grave if that's what he asked. Had he led them to it?

While he boiled these thoughts over in his mind, Regis had already made up his own. He shot Boone a sideways glance.

It was time.

"So? Are you with me?" Caesar asked, almost cynically.

Boone grimaced. He reached behind his back, gripping the handle to his bowie knife tightly. "_Thumbs down, you son of a bitch!_"

He withdrew the knife with incredible speed – and let it fly. It tore through the air, zipping by Legionnaire and Khan alike and found its mark. Pinning Caesar's skull to his wooden throne.

Then hell broke loose.

* * *

><p>He could see the faint outline of a light through the black cloth that enveloped his face – obscuring his vision. He could hear movement nearby – the muffled sound of people talking. And he could smell the stale, coppery smell of blood.<p>

A loud mechanical screech filled the air around him – a door opening. Then the soft pit-patter of feet. Two people approaching him. One stunk of thick aftershave. The other, of cigarette smoke.

They were in his field of vision now, blocking the yellow ceiling light. He couldn't make out any of their features from within the bag. But…he had a feeling he knew who stood on the other side of the fabric.

He felt a hand grasp the cloth on his scalp – practically ripping the bag from his head. He squinted, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust.

Three people stood before him.

_Three_?

The third was the woman who had been his captor just hours ago. She had an almost unnatural silence to her.

The others…a woman. Her nametag read _Lieutenant Boyd_. And a man…Graham didn't need to read his nametag. The man had a sort of haughtiness about him – an air of arrogance, though Graham was certain he'd never seen a day of combat.

General Lee Oliver.

"Joshua Graham…" Oliver smiled wide as he said the name. "You're probably wondering where you are…"

"I know where I am."

"Do you, now?"

"The McCarran airport. Five miles south of the Strip. I can give you the coordinates, if you'd like."

"So fucking clever…aren't you. But that cleverness didn't mean shit when you were pitted against the best the NCR has to offer."

Graham turned his eyes to the ranger woman standing to Oliver's left. "I suppose it didn't."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Oh," Graham shrugged. "For the hundreds that have fallen at my hands. Civilians and soldiers alike. For leading several decisive victories against the NCR…for nearly taking Hoover Dam…"

"Nearly. But you didn't."

"I didn't. Hanlon saw to that."

Oliver's smile faded.

"Yes," Graham assured. "I know you had nothing to do with the Legion's defeat at the Dam."

"Joshua Graham, under NCR Code 2441, you have been deemed a criminal of war. The actions you have taken hitherto have gravely breached Articles 3, 13, 21, 22, _and_ 26 of the Shady Sands Convention as signed by the Original Five in 2189. These grievous violations include torture, murder and enslavement of civilians, genocide, mass execution of prisoners of war, human vivisection, sexual enslavement of captured women, mass rape…"

Laughter.

Oliver raised a brow. "Is this funny to you?"

"No, quite the contrary. The crimes that I am guilty of are too many to count and too horrible to comprehend. For my crimes against humanity and peace, I will undoubtedly burn in the deepest corners of outer darkness as I await the divine justice of the Lord. What I do find amusing is the notion that you can make me pay for the things that I've done. That sort of power doesn't rest in mortal hands."

A grunt. "You'll see your God soon enough. But, in the meantime, I'm going to let you reacquaint yourself with Ranger Ghost. You have information that we need. Numbers. Locations. Limitations. Strengths and weaknesses. You were Caesar's right hand from the beginning."

"I haven't been part of his Legion since my failure at Hoover Dam."

"That doesn't mean you don't have information we can use."

"Any information I have will be severely outdated."

A vicious smile spread across Oliver's face. "Well, that's for us to decide. And…if we find that the information you have isn't worthwhile…" He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Well…we won't need you then, _will we_?"

* * *

><p>Corpses lay strewn across the sand of Caesar's tent – Legionnaire and Khan alike.<p>

Boone stooped low, sweeping an attacking Legionnaire off his feet – then buried his foot into the back of the fallen man's skull. He listened to the sickening crack of the man's neck as he went limp.

He glanced around the tent – no other Legionnaires were present. Regis sat crouched in the corner, cradling a body. Boone trekked across the tent, stepping over the bodies of the fallen.

Regis was cradling Papa Khan near the entrance, Jack and Diane with him. The old man was gasping for breath, his eyes staring up at Regis.

And he was apologizing. Not in words…he didn't have the strength to speak. But he was mouthing his apology over, and over.

"Sorry…Sorry…"

Regis's face was streaked with tears.

Boone swallowed, and glanced around the tent. Melissa?

He didn't see her.

Or Six.

He frantically began searching the bodies – rolling them face up one at a time. Six was nowhere to be seen.

But Melissa…

She was comatose when he found her – bleeding from her right temple. Breathing, but barely. In Caesar's tent; a Legion Praetorian lay dead next to her. His ballistic fist tainted with blood, and a tomahawk secured deep into his forehead.

He rolled her over and scooped her up. He felt his heart in his throat – he could barely breath. His stomach twisted in knots.

He couldn't speak. His knees were shaking with every step.

_It had to come to this. It always had to come to this._

As he exited the tent, he felt the eyes of the other Khans on him. But he didn't care. Six was gone. Melissa lay dying in his arms.

Right now…that was all he cared about in the world.

* * *

><p>"Thumbs down, you son of a bitch!"<p>

Six watched as Boone hurled his blade across the tent. He watched it pierce Caesar's forehead. _Bullseye._

He reached into his pocket and wrapped his hand around its contents…cold metal. Circular. The platinum chip. He watched chaos break loose. Boon rushed forward, planting his foot into Caesar's chest. He grasped the blade and yanked it from its bone prison. A Legionnaire rushed him from behind, but Melissa leaped forward, burying a tomahawk into the Legionnaire's spine.

Six slipped back towards the tent's entrance – then out. He rummaged through his pockets, withdrawing Boone's flare gun – and fired it into the air.

Bullet fire echoed throughout the fort. The Khans were attacking.

He crouched low and started through the camp – towards the stone building at the western most wall of the fort. He slipped by the guards – sometimes narrowly. When he had reached the building, he crept in. It was empty.

Quickly searching the building, he found a console – the Lucky 38's insignia branded on the front. He removed the platinum chip from his pocket and slipped it into the console.

With a loud mechanical groan, the ground beneath him shook – the concrete on the floor began to crumble as two steel doors pressed up, breaking through the concrete.

He cautiously made his way into the bunker. As he neared the bottom of the stairs, he saw a clearing. Inside the clearing – a large screen. He stopped at it, twisted a few dials and flipped a switch.

"C'mon…"

The screen flickered to life. An eerie smile cut through the static.

"Hi!"

"What the fuck?"

"I'm accessing this terminal through House's database! Neat, huh?"

"What is this place?"

"This is House's failsafe! Inside this bunker is an army of securitrons! All waiting to be activated! Now that I have access to the bunker, I'll be able to remotely activate them at your command! After they've been updated, of course! More than that, the bunker houses blueprints, building material, and automated assembly and repair lines! You'll not only be able to build more securitrons, but repair any existing ones with ease! Have a look!"

The screen flickered as the complex's security cameras began to activate. Six could see hundreds of steel soldiers frozen in time. Standing silently, awaiting orders from their new sovereign.

…_Nothing can stop us. Not the Legion. Not the NCR. This was the ace House had tucked away under his sleeve. And now, it belonged to him._

"The mighty Caesar has fallen…"

Startled, Six wheeled around, withdrawing his magnum.

It was Vulpes.

"The mighty Caesar has fallen…and at the hands of a New Reno courier, no less."

"How'd you get out of the Caesar's tent?"

"I led Caesar's Frumentarii…you didn't think I would recognize your NCR dog? That I'd recognize you?"

"So you left…and let Caesar die?"

Vulpes smiled. "Caesar was on his last legs as it was. A brain tumor…his time was coming to an end, one way or another."

"And with the Legate still en route…"

"I'm in charge of the Legion. And I've come to make an offer. Your old position…"

"What position?"

"You've yet to regain your memories…or, maybe it's that you don't want to remember."

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

"When the Savatore family fell, you were an outcast…until Tiaret Van Graff. It was through her that I found you…that Caesar found you. Because of you Hopeville lies in ruins. You crippled the NCR…giving the Legion the decisive edge it needed."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It can be like that again…we could do so much together," Vulpes raised his hand, gently pressing down on the barrel of Six's magnum. "Don't you want to remember? Don't you want to know who you are?"

His heart was racing. His chest thumped and heaved in and out as his lungs filled with and expelled air.

Had he been part of the Legion?

Had he worked for Caesar?

Or was he just another pawn? In Caesar's game? In Vulpes's?

As he closed his eyes, a smile spread across Vulpes's face. His thoughts raced, his head ached.

Then he saw everything clearly. Not his past. But his future…not a psychic vision. But a vision of hope. A clarity of everything he wanted in life. His best friend. The love of his life. A grand city.

His eyes shot open and he raised his magnum.

"I know who I am."

* * *

><p><em>And that's all for this chapter. A while back I got a review...someone wanted to see the talking deathclaws. So, I kind of threw that in with a bit of improvisation. It wasn't originally part of the story, but I thought it was a pretty cool concept, so I wanted to integrate it.<em>

_As you can tell, there were creative liberties abound in this chapter. I knew from the beginning that I was going to remove both the White Glove Society and the Omertas from the Strip. But finding someone to replace them was difficult. I didn't want to go with the Kings, originally. Cressida Isolde did that in her fiction, which is absolutely wonderful. But the more I fought the idea, the more practical it seemed to be. So I decided to borrow that from her. If you haven't read her masterpiece, then you owe it to yourself to give it a read. It's pretty much mandatory. You can find her under my favorite authors._

_As for the other Casino...I have something special planned for it. Something that kind of just popped in my head. I think everyone will enjoy it._

_I was also going to have Six travel through the bunker to activate it...but it seemed kind of pointless. So I thought just having him activate the terminal at the bunker's entrance would be enough to let Yes Man activate it would suffice._

_I've also decided that I really like the whole psyker spin. I'll probably make use of that kid a couple more times before all is said and done._

_Three more chapters until the the Second Battle. Seven more until Curios & Relics._

_Until next time._


	35. Chapter 34: Si Vis Pacem

_Another long one. These next two chapters are really going to be focused on pulling all the pieces together for the battle. I actually finished this chapter a couple days ago - but I've been working pretty much nonstop since then, so I haven't really had time to post it. Still haven't really had time to proofread it either...but, I'll get around to that eventually (most of the time I say that, then I never do...such is the life of a habituated procrastinator)._

_For those of you interested in my school affairs - this semester has, thus far, gone really smoothly. Fantastic grades all around.  
><em>

_Did anyone else play the Titanfall Beta? Cause in a word...it was awesome. I mean, sure it could use some tweaking. But, overall, I really enjoyed it. Particularly after I unlocked some of the better weapons. It plays sort of like CoD and Mirror's Edge...I guess. With the parkour type stuff - wall-running and what not. With mechs. Now...I don't like the mechs, mind you. Which isn't going to change...it's the staple of the game. But even in Halo 4 I hated those damn things. Still, the game itself is quite fun._

_I'll be picking up Theif Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. Just whenever I can get the time to go do it. So I'll probably be chatting about it come next chapter.  
><em>

_Anyway. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>Graham could feel his blood soaked bandages sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He took a breath – straining his eyes in the dimly lit room. A trail of crimson liquid trickled from his forehead, down his face, and across his right eye – further blurring his vision.<p>

The woman before him paced back and forth. She was growing irritated – and, despite her calm demeanor, he could see she was running out of ideas.

She stepped out of the room. Graham could see her silhouette conversing with someone on the other side of the glass. Likely General Oliver himself.

After a beat, the door opened and she reentered.

"We're going to try this again…and this time, I'm not going to play nice."

Graham laughed at the notion – this irritated her further.

"What can you possibly do that hasn't already been done?" Graham balked. "I've been burned alive. You think you're going to get anywhere by beating me? Cutting me? Pulling nails?"

She smiled to herself. "No…we've been through all that." Reaching into her vest, she withdrew a pair of sheers. "I figure we skip the nails and go straight to the fingers."

Graham grimaced. "There are half a dozen people standing guard out front. I will warn you once, child. If you make any further move to harm me, no amount of soldiers, bullets…nor God himself will keep me from ripping the heart from your chest."

Though her stomach sank – she knew better than to show him fear. She had learned a great deal in her time. And she had heard a great deal about the Malpais Legate. About his prowess. His brutality. An immortal beast trapped in this mortal coil.

He was a man to be feared. And make no mistake, she was afraid of him. But that didn't mean she had to let _him_ see that fear.

So she reached up, removing her shades. She looked at him, a smile across her face. The red of her eyes seemed to shine in the dim light.

"Then tell me what I need to know."

Graham choked out another laugh. "_I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me…someone like a son of man…The hair on his head was white like wool, and his eyes were like blazing fire…When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. Then he placed his right hand on me and said, 'Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last.'"_

"What are you talking about?"

"Perhaps I have spoken out of turn…perhaps _our Lord has saved you already._"

Ghost felt her knees tremble. She fought the shiver that coursed up her spine.

"You wish to know what Six plans?" Graham let a smile slip across his face. "He and the Khans are staging a coup. Before the Sun rises in the morning, Caesar will fall."

On the other side of the glass, it was Oliver's turn to smile. There were two possible outcomes to this scenario: either Six would march into the Fort and eliminate Caesar…and in turn, be eliminated by the scores of Legion men that lined the coast east of the Colorado.

Or he would fail, and fall still. The Khans with him. And the Fort would be weakened.

Then, the NCR would sweep across the dam and take the Legion by storm. And, with House already out of the picture – New Vegas…without leadership…would follow.

And, the only ones that knew of House's demise were in this room…or walking into Caesar's hands. The NCR would come out on top no matter what. Of course…Oliver would receive all the credit.

* * *

><p>He was always out on that balcony. Staring out over the lake. The clear water reflected the blue sky. Waves lapped at the shore, steadily carrying away the desert shore. Come rain or shine. It was his refuge. It was where he found peace.<p>

It was here he could let go of the thoughts that plagued him day in and day out. He just watched out over those waves, listening to the water as it cascaded along.

In the distance, he could see the dam. Towering above the surface of Lake Mead – a monument to humankind's glory. A skeleton of an age that the world had long ago left behind.

An epitaph for the dead.

Somewhere on the other side of this lake, surrounded by his Legionnaires, was Caesar himself; sitting, twiddling his thumbs while the Legion raped, maimed, pillaged, and killed in his name.

_That dam will be the death of us, _he thought.

The NCR was over stretching, expecting to be able to patrol and maintain hundreds of miles of the Colorado. All with the Legion breathing down their neck.

And if it wasn't the Legion, it'd be someone else. There's always someone else.

To be entirely honest, that was the least of their concerns. New Vegas was bleeding the NCR dry. Relying on the protection of its soldiers all the while draining their pockets of every fucking penny they had.

He reached up, running his fingers through the grey of his grizzled beard. Bits of bread crumbled and fell off – peppering his lap. With his free hand, he brushed it away.

_Four decades of service, and this is what I get? A front row seat to impending disaster._

His gaze was hard – experienced. But it echoed pain and fatigue. He was so damn tired of the Mojave. His joints were sore, his body ached.

Still, he was king of all he surveyed. A wasteland of cacti, sand, and weary soldiers that would die at his command.

The radio at his side hissed with static.

"…of Khans headed across the river…proceed?" the first voice said.

"Say again?" This voice was clearer. And he recognized it – Cassandra Moore.

"Reports of a large group…across the river, near the…promontory. How should we proceed?"

"We have intel that the Khans are _not_, I repeat, _they are not_ in union with the Legion," Moore answered.

This caught the old man's attention. He lifted the radio transceiver. "What _sort_ of intel?"

"Who is this?" Moore barked.

"Who the hell do you think it is, Moore?"

She didn't need to answer him. She knew. Chief Hanlon had been the reason the NCR had held the dam those years ago. Driving the Legion back over the Colorado. In his old age, he had been relegated to desk duty. Something he didn't exactly appreciate. It wasn't the first time he'd intercepted _and_ interjected in classified radio transmission.

"Oliver has captured one of House's men. In the interrogation, he revealed a that House is moving against Caesar under the ruse of a negotiation."

He could hear the irritation in her voice.

"You're telling me that some kid House has running around Vegas doing his dirty work and the Khans are attacking the Fort?"

"That's the way it seems."

A wave of resentment and irritation crashed over him. This was likely the work of Oliver himself. After Kimball's untimely demise, Oliver had stepped up…taking matters in his own hands. Making decisions he had no right making; no doubt, trying to pave his way to a political campaign. Oliver would drain every resource he could. If that meant sending every man the NCR had to their death…so be it. A victory over the Legion and securing the Mojave…shit. The republic would beg him to take the reins.

The problem was…securing the Mojave would mean the republics death. No one seemed to understand that. No one but him.

"You want to explain to me why we're letting a group of tribals and a courier take it to the Legion for us?"

"If they can rile up the Legion from the inside, or – Lord willing – put an end to Caesar himself, they'll be making our jobs a hell of a lot easier."

"They'll never make it out of that Fort alive."

"Not our concern."

"Are you shitting me?" Hanlon sat up, his face turning red. He could feel that vein in his forehead bulging like it did from time to time when he lost his temper. "Haven't the Khans suffered enough at our hands? We need to do more than sit on our asses. This is going to mean chaos – chaos that's going to severely weaken the Legion. We need to move. _Now_!"

"Oliver says we wait."

"Yeah? No shit. You can tell Oliver to kiss my ass. Me and mine are going in."

* * *

><p>The crackle of gunfire had changed. The bolt action rifles the Khans made extensive use of was still there…but there was something else. Semiautomatic…and, even more, the boom of high end rifles.<p>

Boone recognized it. The NCR had sent the Rangers in.

Melissa's body was limp. It was like he was carrying Dhatri's boy all over again.

But he'd be damned if this story had the same ending. Around him, the battle raged on. He marched on with a resolve unmatched. _He was getting her out of here_.

"Boone?"

He turned in the direction of the voice. A woman…bruised, battered, hiding in a tent with dark skinned woman. "Stella? You were at Charlie…"

"In here."

Boone ducked into the tent. "How'd you get here?"

"Apparently I was just too pretty to go to waste. Legion slapped a collar on me. The things they've done to me…I can't even begin…" She took a breath. "But I've done my fair share, too. They'd fight me in the arena from time to time."

Boone laughed. The fact that she was still standing meant she had _indeed_ done her fair share. Her hands were wet with blood. So was the Legion machete she carried.

"You hurt?"

"No. Used this to liberate myself…took it off a Legionnaire. The one that had the key to my collar. Who's this?"

"Khan girl…"

"Who gives a shit about the Khans?"

"I do," He replied flatly.

She could hear a ping of remorse and a fistful of scorn in his voice. "She alright?"

"I don't know."

"Well…" Stella nodded to the woman cowering in the tent with her. "This here is Siri. She had some medical training before the Legion caught her. Siri?…Siri!"

The woman looked up. She was quiet, her hands clasped around her knees.

"Please…" Boone laid Melissa out across a nearby picnic table. "Help her."

Siri studied Boone for a long moment, then let her eyes fall to the woman on the table. She swallowed and held her breath.

"Please…" Boone said again. His voice had changed. It was sorrowful, broken.

Siri felt her heart beat steady. Years of abuse, oppression, and fear melted away as – somewhere deep inside of her – that spark of compassion that guided her to help others awakened.

She was on her feet and by the woman's side in an instant. She checked her pulse, then her breathing. "Do you have a light? Flashlight? Lighter?"

Boone fumbled through his pockets – withdrawing a weathered zippo. The woman swiped it from his hands and turned back to Melissa. She flipped the lighter open and lit it with one hand, while holding Melissa's eyes open with the other. She moved the flame back and forth inches from her face.

"She's not responsive…" She scanned her patient, a fresh wound along the right side of her head. "What happened?"

"I had to guess? Ballistic fist."

The woman frowned. "This is bad. Really bad."

"Don't tell me you can't help her…"

"No…I mean. I can stabilize her. But she needs serious medical attention…and she needs it soon."

Movement behind them. Boone wheeled around, his pistol drawn.

"Whoa, soldier…" The man reached out, his hand on his own sidearm. "I'm a friend."

"Hanlon?"

Hanlon's weathered face studied the man in Khan attire – and it clicked. "I know you…First Recon, right?"

"Craig Boone."

Hanlon smiled. "I should have guessed as much. What do we have here?"

"She's hurt…"

Hanlon spit out a chew of tobacco - a long trail of brown saliva shot from his mouth. Still more clung to his lip, dribbling into his beard. "Well, we've got the hill secure. My people are holding the lines…Khans with us. Legion has retreated further east. Let's get her out of here."

* * *

><p><em>I know who I am.<em>

Six looked down at the lifeless body of Vulpes Inculta.

"Well, what about that?! There's nothing quite like self discovery, is there?!"

"What?"

"You likely killed the only man in five hundred square miles that new anything about who you really are!"

Six shook his head, casting a sidelong glance at the frozen grin plastering the terminal's screen. "Plenty of people know who _I am_. Who I used to be…that doesn't matter."

"I wonder if your friends would agree?"

Six frowned. "How do we start the facility?"

"Well, now that I have access to the mainframe, we can begin immediately. But I do still need to platinum chip."

"You want me to insert it into this console?"

"What?! Goodness no. This terminal hasn't been active in ages. I'm afraid of what critters have made home within it. Bring the chip back to the Lucky 38. I'll wirelessly broadcast the signal to the weather station! That way, if anything happens, the chip will be safe!"

Six nodded. "I knew I kept you around for a reason."

"You know it, chief! You want me to begin initializing the boot sequence on the securitrons?"

"How long will it take?"

"It shouldn't take too long. But it really depends on the strength of the signal and the condition of the circuitry in the bunker. I'd estimate four hours for initial sequencing, and a further twelve for diagnostics, updating, and programming."

"Start it. I'll be there soon," Six took one last look at Vulpes as he left the bunker. If only to avoid tripping over his lifeless heap. He could hear gunfire in the distance, but the Fort was quiet. NCR Veteran Rangers patrolled its confines.

"You Six?"

Six raised a brow at the woman approaching him. "Nice scar…Boone said I'd recognize you."

"Where is he?"

"He's gone. Taking that girl of his to the New Vegas Medical Clinic. Name's Stella," the woman extended her hand.

Six ignored her. "Melissa's hurt?"

She held her hand out for a minute, until it was clear Six wasn't interested – then she let it fall to her side. "Yeah. Pretty bad too."

"When'd he leave?"

"Half hour ago?"

Six shot her a half nod and brushed by her. He had some catching up to do.

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, doll…he's who we need!"<p>

"Never heard of him!"

"He's only the swingin'est cat in Vegas, baby! Well…outside of yours truly, of course!"

Cass followed Benny up the stairs to the Aces theatre. The Tops was particularly packed with drunken NCR soldiers, celebrating for some reason or other. Cass didn't particularly care why, though. They needed to shout over the drunken hoots and hollers of the crowd.

A flush of anger sweep through her as, for the third time since they'd arrived, some bumbling moron groped her backside.

Benny flung the door to the Aces theatre open; never giving any thought to the possibility that someone could be standing on the other side.

On the stage, a group of dancers swung their legs to and fro, encircling a man in a dark full-dress tailcoat, tears decorating its fabric sporadically – complete with bowtie, sloppily tied and set askew.

"_Everybody loves somebody…_"

"This guy?" Cass eyed the ghoul – dark shades over his eyes. His voice was smooth, not like most other ghouls she'd met. It had retained some of its human element…like Raul.

"_Everybody falls in love, somehow…_"

The women in the audience seemed to swoon over him. She couldn't _see_ why, but if she closed her eyes…she could certainly understand. His thick accent was unique. Strange and alluring.

"This guy's got swag, baby doll," Benny lit up a cigarette and took a draw. "And if anyone can run a fine establishment, it's gonna be him."

"So you want to set up a ghoul casino?"

"Not just ghouls baby…all comers."

"Super mutants?"

Benny shrugged. "So long as they have the caps, why not? See, the way I see it…we're missing a whole lot of market. A world of profit being disregarded because they look a little different? Hell, we may as well start picking and choosing based on hair color. Baldies need not apply."

Cass chewed her lower lip. "Well, ultimately it's going to be up to House…"

_He hasn't told her yet?_ Benny chuckled. "Well, let's just say that a little birdie told me that everything is going to work out fine."

"I don't know how welcome mutants are going to feel, though. Even in a casino run by a ghoul."

Benny grunted, rubbing the silky smooth skin of his chin. "You got a point, Red. Muties might want a representative too…but where are we going to find a co-pilot to fly a plane with Dean Domino?"

Cass raised a brow – she thought back to the super mutant settlement in Jacobstown. "I think I might know someone."

* * *

><p>"Nice to see you again. How's your leg?"<p>

Six kicked his leg back and forth a bit. "Gets stiff sometimes…but, overall, it's good."

"That's good to hear," Julie Farkas smiled. "What can the Followers do for you today?"

"I've actually come on Boone's behalf," Six explained. "There's been an incident."

A look of concern swept over Julie's face. "The First Recon soldier?"

"Yeah."

"I hope he's alright."

"Oh, he's fine…he's fine. It's his…ah…" Six removed his beret and ran his hand through his hair. He could feel the rough contours of his scar. Remnants of Benny's poor aim and Doc Mitchell's patchwork. "His…the woman in his life."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I'm sure you've heard the Fort has fallen, by now?"

"We have…" It was Arcade. "That was your handiwork?"

"I had a bit of help…but yeah."

A wide grin enveloped Arcade's face. "I know I shouldn't place value on life…but in Caesar's case I'll make an exception. You've done the world a real justice."

"And paid the price for it…" Six sighed. "Look," he said, turning back to Julie. "The Followers do a lot. I know that. But I need your help. Caesar's dead…sure. But Lanius is making his way west as we speak. The Legion's in retreat now, but in a week's time…they'll be back. And they'll have reinforcements. I need my sniper on his A-game. And with the condition that this girl's in…" He shook his head.

"Where is she now?"

"She's being treated by NCR doctors at Hoover Dam."

"What's her condition?"

Six rubbed his brow. "Unconscious? Vegetative? I don't know…she took a serious blow to the head."

"Have them move her to the New Vegas Medical Clinic. Dr. Usanagi and I will see what we can do."

Six nodded. "I don't think I can thank you enough."

"You've rid the Mojave of Caesar…you've thanked us plenty," Arcade placed a firm hand on Six's shoulder. "We'll do everything we can."

Six took a breath and turned to towards the gate.

"One other thing…" Arcade called out. "If you have a moment…I'd like to talk to you."

"About?"

"The pending battle…I think I might know some people that can help."

* * *

><p>"Keep close," Ghost ordered. "It won't be far now."<p>

The man holding Graham's leash tugged it – it tightened around his neck. There were four others, all veterans. Marching in unison around him. Blindfolded, hooded, and bound, Graham counted their footsteps – every drop of their boots.

_And Ghost makes five_.

"Where are we taking him?" One of the Veterans asked. His voice housed a sound of distress that was music to Graham's ears.

"Yes," Graham derided. "Where _are_ we going?"

Ghost knew better than to answer. She couldn't give him any details of his whereabouts. No indication, no clues.

Her silence told him that.

But Graham could feel the sun beating down on his left shoulder – although, the air was beginning to cool. This told him two things – it was getting late, and the sun was in the western skies. They were headed south.

Long ago, when he was still Legion, he had heard reports of a safehouse not far from McCarran – near an old rail station, north of the quarry.

"Just up around this bend," Ghost said quietly. A tug at his leash, and their course shifted. The sun was beating down on his back. They left the relatively flat, hard surface of broken pavement – replacing it with the rough, graveled texture of hardened sand and stone.

Somewhere in the distance, Graham could hear the rough grinding of stone and the moaning of steel.

The sound grew louder – but not because they were nearing it. The sound had the heavy undertone of reverberation. They'd entered a canyon.

Another fifteen minutes passed before they stopped. "Unlock it," Ghost ordered.

Graham listened to the sloppy steps of the veteran as he passed him – the crunch of desert flora, sand, and rock. Then he heard the metallic jingle of keys and the soft moan of metal as a door not often used was hauled open.

A shove on his back sent him marching again.

They were inside. The warmth of the sun no longer graced his being. Somewhere in the cave was the trickle of water. Another door. They were inside some sort of wooden structure.

The veterans marched him through the underground building.

"Spin him," Ghost told them.

_Smart_, she wanted him disoriented.

They did as they commanded – then he marched forward again. Three more times he would be spun.

Then he was being tied down.

Ghost was nearby. As per usual, he couldn't hear her. But he knew she was there.

He could _feel _her eyes on him. Burning like the stars themselves. Eyes of fire.

"Do you ever long for more?" Graham asked.

No answer.

He peered into darkness – the blindfold tight around his eyes, the sack sealing away any hope of ever seeing.

"You're obviously not happy. I can hear it in your voice. The question is why…too much responsibility? Not enough? The realization that you're working for a corrupt system that preys on the weak every bit as much as the Legion?"

"Not as much as the Legion."

"_Ah…_" Graham listened to her voice. She masked it well, but it shook. Wrapped in contempt…it cut through the air like razor wire. "Perhaps not. But nevertheless."

"The Legion destroys entire tribes. Devours them. Strips them of their identity."

"And the NCR taxes them into oblivion, stripping them of their resources and rights…all the while failing to protect the people it sets out to serve."

Ghost felt a grimace sneak across her face. She fell silent again.

"You're a good soldier," Graham praised. "You do as your leaders command…and you do not question those orders. I know of another that followed that path. Blindly following the orders of his superiors. Once a decent God-fearing man…he turned into a savage."

"I'm nothing like you."

Graham smiled. "The NCR forbids torture…does it not?"

He waited for her to answer. When she didn't, his smile widened.

"The NCR protects its prisoners of war…except, it seems, when they've outlived their purpose."

"Or if they've done enough to piss us off."

"One rule for one person and another rule for someone else."

"It fits."

"Does it? People will not stand for it. Eventually…the oppressed will rise."

"They didn't rise against Caesar."

"Caesar treats all his subjects equally. He may not treat them well, but the lowest is equal to the highest…I learned that the hard way."

He heard Ghost take a breath. "See to it that he's fed," she sighed. "We want to keep him alive."

The door opened. Four sets of footsteps, all disappearing into the hall.

He was alone with one of them.

The man approached him slowly, tugging at the sack around his head. Then he removed the blindfold. Graham's eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. He was in a well lit room, lined with shelves. Various tools, weapons, and instruments. The veteran stepped back; his eyes locked on Graham.

"I can't believe it's you…"

Graham raised a brow.

"You've murdered…countless souls. Soldiers. Civilians."

"A long time ago, yes."

Laughing, the Veteran removed his helmet.

"Cato…You've infiltrated the Rangers?"

"Caesar's orders. He wanted someone inside."

"That's certainly a risk to be taking...all the same, it's good to see you."

Cato half grinned. "You think I was going to let them take the Legion's greatest warrior without a fight?"

"I'm not part of the Legion anymore."

"Caesar's dead. Lanius is no leader. You're true heir to the throne."

Graham let out a soft chuckle. "So the Fort has fallen?"

"Yeah. You played a role in that, it seems."

"Caesar's days were limited. He's been sick for a very long time. Though, I must say, it's hard to believe – even after all he did to me…all he tried to do to find and erase me from this world – that he went first. I only hope that the tribes of Arizona do not suffer as the Legion falls apart around them."

"The Legion doesn't have to fall apart…not if you step up. We can retreat. Leave the Mojave. We have Arizona…we have Pheonix. To Hell with Vegas."

Graham grunted.

"Here…" Cato removed Graham's cuffs; then reached into his duster, retrieving his pistol. "We need to get you out of here. You need to get to the Legion…to take control. Before the monster of the east does. When Lanius arrives, he'll order a full onslaught of the Dam. Even if we beat the NCR here…he'll follow them into California. We will _never_ see the end of war."

Graham stroked his wrists – sore from the cuffs. "Lanius will lead the Legion into battle. The last efforts of a man who does not yet realize he's walking dead. He will not give up the his leadership without a fight."

"_Then fight him for it_," Cato extended his hand – reaching the pistol to the former Legate.

Retrieving his pistol, Graham turned to the door. "Perhaps. But first, we need to make it out of here…alive."

* * *

><p>"My father was part of a group known as the Enclave," Arcade removed his glasses, wiping them with a small cloth.<p>

"The Enclave?" Six thought back to the deathclaw in the promontory.

Arcade seemed to grow nervous. He wiped his brow and removed his glasses. "Yeah…look, that was a long time…"

"I don't care about that. What can they do for New Vegas?"

"In short? Change the tide of the entire battle. Look, the Legion are a bunch of mongrels. No tech, poor training…they've got only numbers."

"And they have that whole fearlessness going on for them…"

"No. No, they don't. It's not fearlessness. It's brainwashing. When they're staring down the barrels of twin SW-9700 five barreled Gatling lasers, RG-13 high velocity auto launcher, M72 Gauss Cannons, and a goddamn VB-02 VTOL...it'll strike the fear of whatever Mars into them."

Six grinned wide. They traversed through the weary streets of Freeside – towards the immense steel gates separating the rags from the riches. The bots patrolled the street slowly – stopping to scan their surroundings at almost random intervals.

"So, these people…" Six mused. "You think they'll be up for helping the NCR to defeat the Legion?"

"The NCR? No, they're not going to do that. But they will help me. And I'll help you…so long as you do what's necessary to secure the freedom of these people. The Mojave needs its own government. It doesn't need to be mandated or ruled by an external group that will only want to drain it of its resources."

"So you want me to give the dam over to House?"

"Heavens no!" Arcade shook his head vigorously. "House is…he's only concerned with the Strip. There's more to the Mojave than those casinos. We need a leader that can usher the Mojave into its own age."

"And you think that's me?"

"Well, what if it is?"

"I don't know anything about politics…"

"See, that's the beauty of it though. You don't have to. These people…" He motioned around the streets. "They know you. Whether you realize it or not. Word gets round…and these people know what you're capable of." The metallic gate groaned as they approached it – opening to let them pass. "And you've done a lot of good. Your reputation definitely precedes you. You helped the NCR take back their prison…taking vagrants and homicidal thugs off the roads in the process. You cleared out the quarry…yeah, I heard about that. Which has since reopened…bringing new revenue and new jobs to _this _nation's citizens. You took back Cottonwood Cove. You took down the Fort. These people don't need a tyrant to rule them or a foreign bureaucracy to tax them into the ground while simultaneously draining their resources and depriving them of their basic rights. They need a leader. And you're a leader."

Six held the door to the Lucky 38 open, letting Arcade pass. "I'm no leader. I just do what I can, when I can…I don't have any interest in creating a nation. I do what I can to protect my city."

"And that's the paradox of it all. Your lack of interest in the power that running a nation will give you…it makes you the perfect candidate for the position. But first…you have to get out of House's shadow."

They stepped on to the elevator – an uncomfortable silence enveloping them as Six mulled the notion over in his mind.

"Well, I have some good news for you…" Six said, as the elevator rang – signaling the end of their journey. Six walked out of the elevator and in to the bi-level room. He turned left and made his way down to the massive terminal – Christine knelt beside it, mind lost in thought as she tinkered with its organs. She would occasionally reach out her hand, and spout out the name of a tool; Veronica would oblige her, rummaging through a small toolbox perched on the terminal's end. "Cause House is dead."

Arcade stopped dead in his tracks. "House is what?"

"He's dead. I've already been running Vegas. _Well_…he motioned towards the screen…which was blank. "_Sort of_. What's the issue?"

"Signal's been cutting in and out all day," Veronica told him, her eyes leaving Christine for the briefest of moments.

"I've got it mostly figured out," Christine spouted quickly. "Shouldn't be much…"

The screen flickered – the familiar, quirky, yet somehow creepy gaze of Yes Man filled it.

"Hey! Good to see you! Do you have the chip?"

"An AI has been running Vegas?" Arcade's eyes grew wide. "Astounding…"

"Well, he keeps the securitrons in check…" Christine clarified. "Keeps them on their routines, helps keep things civilized."

"Look, we need to talk about something…" Veronica's voice grew sorrowful. "It's about the girl you rescued from the Gomorrah…"

"Joana?"

"She's dead."

"What?"

"We found her. I think it was the Omertas…but Graham seems to think it was something else."

"Like what?"

Veronica shrugged.

"Where is he now?"

"We don't know," Christine shrugged. "We thought that it was Cass…"

"What? Where's Cass?" Six interrupted.

"She's waiting for you…in your suite. She was at the Ultra-Luxe. Saved Benny's ass. But she's fine."

"And the Omertas? The White Glove Society?"

"Gone. All of them…the securitrons are going to be clearing out bodies from the Gomorrah for a while. The White Glove Society left without much of a fight."

Six nodded – then, his mind returned to the task at hand, he inserted the chip into the slot.

"So, the Fort was sitting on top of some prewar bunker. Inside it is an army of securitrons. I'm going to have him activate them," he explained.

"What?" Arcade turned from the AI's frozen smile. "You can't be serious? There are dozens of them on the Strip as it is."

"And now there will be more. You want me to run the Mojave? This is going to help."

"No, that's not governing. It's conquering."

"It's going to save lives."

"But at what cost?"

Six pointed out the window. "Caesar's Legion is retreating _for now_. But you think we've won this fight? They'll be back. Scores of them. And we need to be ready."

"We will be. With the help of the Remnants, the NCR…"

"And what do you think the NCR is going to do when we take back the Dam? Just hand it over?"

"This isn't defense though…it's…" Arcade fumbled for the word to say.

"He's right," Veronica chimed in. "These machines…they don't know what its like to take a life. They don't know how it feels or…they work solely on statistics and probability…"

"This isn't a matter of probability, Vee. It's fact. Let's say the NCR withdraws. Then we have the Legion to the east and the NCR to the west. We're sitting right in the middle…we need to be able to defend ourselves."

"You saw the Sierra Madre…technology like this is dangerous. Power corrupts…absolute power…"

"This isn't the same situation," Christine objected, shaking her head. "Elijah was insane. And he was trying to placate the entirety of the wastes. Trying to kill everyone so that the Brotherhood would inherit it. And even still, only if they followed him."

"Christine!" Veronica couldn't believe her ears. It was the Brotherhood's sworn duty to protect people from themselves. It was in the codex. It was…

"She's right," Six told her flatly. "The situation is different. I don't want to have to kill anyone…I'm just trying to protect the Mojave. And her people."

"Protect them or enslave them?"

"The people of the Mojave will be free."

"So long as they follow your rules…" Arcade sighed.

"Rules for their own good!" Six was getting exasperated.

"I just don't think…"

"Quiet!" Six hushed.

Arcade furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

"Shh…" Six cocked his head to the side, holding up the forefinger of his right hand. "Do you hear that?"

The group listened. Very faintly, they could hear whistling – then the whistle began to echo. A second whistling. Then a third. A fourth.

Six crinkled his nose. "What _is_ that?"

Before anyone could respond, the Lucky 38 began to tremble. The immense boom of an explosion filled the air around them. Veronica stumbled back, falling into Christine. Losing his footing, Arcade followed suit – crashing into the floor. Six fumbled for his balance and staggered to the window. He looked out over the Strip. To the North, another explosion. The farmsteads, the houses…were all aflame.

They were under attack.

* * *

><p><em>Alright. That's it for this chapter. One more chapter, and we'll be ready to tackle the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I think it turned out pretty well...but, of course, I'm biased.<em>

_The next chapter won't be as long as the last few have been, thought it should still be a bit longer than the chapters of Bullets and Broken Things. Or, I don't imagine it will be. It's going to serve mostly as a precursor - setting the stage for the battle and what comes after._

_Until next time._


	36. Chapter 35: Para Bellum

_Settle in, this one is a long one. Seven thousand words or so. I've been working on it (slowly) for the last week. Classes have really buckled down on me - and I've picked up quite a few extra shifts at work as of late. Crazy ass utility bills going up during the winter. But I managed to finish this up tonight...I probably should have been doing homework, but I wanted to get this done and get it out to everyone._

_This is the last chapter before the battle of Hoover Dam. So brace yourselves...a storm is on the horizon. Be warned, this chapter has a couple pretty graphic scenes in it. You'll know it when you get to it. So brace yourselves._

_Enjoy.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em>The floor of the Lucky 38 rocked beneath his feet. Six grasped the terminal – steadying himself.

"What the fuck is happening out there?! Who the fuck is attacking us?!"

"Oh! We're not under attack!" The jovial voice of Yes Man filled the air.

"What do you mean we're not under attack? Who's launching fucking missiles?"

"Not missiles! High end artillery rounds! Likely from a howitzer! Given the trajectory of the artillery, I'd say their point of origin is Nellis!"

Arcade was on his feet now. The Lucky 38 swayed with every strike. "Artillery fire?" He squinted, examining the area they had targeted. "Outside of North Vegas…much too far away to be causing the tower to shake…"

"Excellent observation!" The jovial voice of Yes Man filled the air. "The Lucky 38 is equipped with anti-air pulse cannons! They're targeting the incoming artillery!"

"Well then, why the fuck is the ground on fire?!" Six barked – his patience wearing thin.

"Another great observation! They're not as accurate as they could be! I guess I should probably calibrate them, huh?" The screen flickered, filling with static for a moment. Then Yes Man's blank stare filled it again. "…Analysis indicates that the population of their targeted area is less than .01% of the Mojave's total population!"

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"No one lives there," Arcade explained.

"Exactly!"

"Then turn the fucking cannons off!"

"Whatever you say, chief!"

The floor trembled fiercely once more, then the rumbling subsided.

Six waited a moment, letting the room settle. Then he turned back to the screen. "_Who_ was firing artillery rounds at _my city_?"

"The Boomers," Arcade told him – removing his glasses and wiping them down with a small square-cut piece of cloth. "But the A.I. is right, they weren't attacking the Strip. They can target _single_ individuals as they approach Nellis. And with damn good accuracy. If they wanted to attack Vegas, they wouldn't have missed."

"Then what were they doing?" Veronica wondered aloud – more to herself than to her comrades.

"In all likelihood…creating a diversion," Arcade replaced his glasses. "Think about it. When those rounds started dropping – all eyes were on North Vegas."

"I can confirm that securitron activity has raised seventy-eight percent in the North Vegas vicinity!" Yes Man sang.

"So they wanted us looking at North Vegas…" Six shrugged. "_But Why? _What's the point?"

"The Boomers are isolationists…the only reason they would want to draw attention is if they were sneaking out," Arcade guessed.

"No, that doesn't make sense…" Shaking her head, Christine began typing at the terminal. Yes Man's face was replaced by folders, files, and bits of text. "If you're sneaking out, you don't want attention on you at all. No one was paying them any mind…why draw attention to themselves at all?"

"So what were they doing?"

"My bet…" Christine tapped a few keys, opening a file. The image of an old newspaper clipping filled the screen. "Here…_The Mystery of Lake Mead_. I saw this old clipping in House's collection. In 1948, a bomber crashed into the lake. The Boomers are isolationists, but they've definitely earned their name. Given their reputation…"

"You think they're going after the bomber?" Arcade's forehead wrinkled as he scrunched his nose.

"It'd make sense. They're interested in all things that go boom. They have enough artillery, high end ordinance, and small nuclear devices to wipe out half of the Mojave."

"And now they have a plane?" Veronica's voice sounded worried.

"Well, no…I mean, as long as that thing's been underwater? I don't know what they'd want with it."

"They _are_ at Nellis afterall…" Arcade's brow furrowed further. "They may have another plane there. If they did, the one at the bottom of Lake Mead might be able to be used as salvage…"

Veronica squeaked – the sound of concern in her voice even more apparent than before. "…You're telling me we have neighbors with nuclear weapons…_and_ they're working on a flight?"

Christine shrugged. "It's just a guess…"

"Better than a guess," his voice sounding nervous, Arcade's face curled into a frown. "I'd say we have a superpower on our hands."

"Do you think they're gearing up for war?" Six asked, his voice even.

Arcade shrugged – he simply didn't have an answer.

"So…we have a whole new threat to worry about." Veronica sighed. "This just keeps getting better."

While the rest of the group seemed content on misery – Six found a smile spreading across his face. "No…not a threat." He reached up, stroking the hair around his chin. "What we have here is opportunity…"

* * *

><p>The room was cold – damp.<p>

They had tried to get him to leave the room. They'd told him that there was nothing more that he could do. They told him to go home – to relax.

_Ha_.

Home. Where exactly was that? That god forsaken dinosaur? The festering pile of refuse it protected?

Or the Lucky 38? With that goddamn legion bastard watching his every move. Poisoning Six's ears with drivel and lies.

Eventually, they gave up. He wasn't going anywhere. Not until he knew for sure. That she was safe. That she was okay.

Or…

He took a breath. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything. So instead, he sat and watched them as they checked her vitals; her pulse, her breathing. They hooked her up to all sorts of alien machinery and stuffed her full of tubes – IV in her arms, a breathing pipe in her mouth. Her face was swollen – puffing out over the edge of the brace that gripped her neck tightly. Her head clean shaven – those once graceful feathered Mohawks stripped like the crown of a fallen queen. The skin around her eyes and her right temple was discolored – reds, purples, yellows, and blacks decorated the pink of her skin.

It didn't look like her. _It couldn't be her._

Boone's mind raced – retracing his every moment in Caesar's tent. Was there any way he could have done anything? Did he even see her get attacked? _How could he have missed it_?

Julie Farkas and Dr. Usanagi were hard at work. Taking blood samples, running tests.

The Legion slave girl, Siri, walked in – very briefly – handing a few slides to Julie. Julie studied them carefully, her forehead wrinkled as her brow furrowed; eyebrows stabbing the grooves around her nose.

She looked up from the slides – face stricken with despair. She didn't need to say anything.

She took a step towards Boone, but he was already on his feet. Several dozen panicked breaths later – he was out in the open air.

His legs were not his own – they marched across broken terrain.

As he marched, he felt only hatred. Anger and desolation coursed through his veins.

He had felt this way before. On many occasions.

When he had opened fire on the Khans as they retreated through the canyon. When he dragged the cold corpse of Dhatri's boy from the dam.

…with Carla.

But this time, it was different. All the hatred that brewed inside him bubbled to the surface – and with it, not a single shred of remorse.

He was guilty of a lot of things. Unspeakable things. _But this_…_this wasn't on him_.

This was the work of the Legion.

And the Legion would pay for it. He would make damn sure of that.

Even if it cost him his life.

* * *

><p>Graham pressed his back to the wall. His eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the room – he locked them on to Cato as he gently pressed the door open. The two rangers stationed outside the door paid him no mind.<p>

"So how are the kids, Gomez?" One asked.

"Good," the other – Gomez – replied, a voice distinctly feminine. "They're good. My tour's almost over. Two months left."

"I bet you're excited."

Graham grimaced.

"Yeah, yeah I am." Her voice sounded wistful.

Graham watched as Cato drew the hammer back on his magnum. S_equoias, _the rangers had taken to calling them. Monsters of the West.

A double action revolver with enough kick to put a neat little hole in that riot helmet.

Graham narrowed his eyes at his comrade in arms.

But Cato wasn't paying attention – his attention was focused solely on the rangers before him. He raised his revolver and fired.

"I can't wait to…"

Gomez never finished her sentence. Just as she'd never see her children again. She'd never hold them.

Through gritted teeth, Graham followed suit. He raised his .45 and fired – his bullet finding its mark in the opposing Ranger's helmet.

_So much for the subtle approach_.

"There's only two more," Cato could see Graham's irritation. "We won't have any trouble."

"Pray we don't."

They made their way through the underground building. Graham hoped that Ghost and the other ranger had made their way out of the cave. That they hadn't heard anything.

But he knew better.

Even if they were out of the cave – the boom of Cato's magnum was loud enough to draw soldiers still stationed at McCarran to their location.

But, despite Graham's disbelief, they passed through the building and into the cave without incident. Then, they were out in the open.

Once more, Graham felt the warm rays of the sun on his face, though he knew better than to relish the moment.

He felt the fierce jolt of electricity course through his being. He dropped to one knee – but refused to go down.

_Ah, there's my girl_.

The cattle prod dug deep into his spine. Ahead of him, Cato turned to see the commotion.

Ghost held firm, giving Graham the full charge of the prod.

Cato drew his weapon – but didn't fire.

"Can't get a clean shot?" Ghost mocked. "You're Legion?"

Cato smiled in return. "And so is he."

Ghost felt a sharp pain in her neck as the remaining ranger brought the butt of his magnum crashing down into her neck. She stumbled forward, losing footing.

She crashed to the ground.

The ranger scooped up the prod as he approached his fallen prey. She rolled over onto her back, staring up at her assailant.

"Mother fucker…"

"This one's got a mouth on her…" The man laughed, planting his boot firmly into her stomach.

Ghost let out a yelp, rolling on to her side. Twice more he'd kick her – the last of which slammed into the base of her chin.

Graham grasped his knees, pushing himself up from the ground.

The ranger was circling her now – Cato eyeing the two viciously. The ranger began undoing his belt.

"I never liked you," he told her. "Always such a bitch. I've been waiting for this day a long, long time."

Cato grinned wide as we watched them. His eyes windows into a merciless soul.

"Fuck you!" Ghost coughed – spitting up blood.

The ranger laughed. "She's a fighter…" He looked up at Cato. "That's okay though. I like when they fight back."

Graham was on his feet now. "Leave her," he commanded. "We don't have time for this."

"What are you talking about?" Cato laughed. "We have all the time in the world."

"Caesar is dead. Lanius makes his way west as we speak. If I am to seize command of the Legion, I must move quickly."

"We can spare a moment," Cato maintained. "Let him have his fun."

Looking back towards the two, Graham watched as the ranger grasped the leather of her vest and the fabric of her shirt, fiercely tearing it aside.

Graham felt his vision blurring – his head spinning.

The ranger had her flipped over now – her red scarf wrapped tight around her throat. He hauled her up on to all fours.

She looked up at him – at Graham – her eyes burning into his soul.

He turned away.

He heard her cry out as the ranger entered her.

His breathing became erratic – his stomach twisted into a knot.

Laughter around him – from Cato. From the ranger.

He looked back at her – her pale skin exposed to the bright sunlight. The ranger slammed into her again and again. She grasped at the scarf around her neck, struggling to breath.

Graham exhaled through gritted teeth, shutting his eyes tightly. _Enough_ – his mind screamed at him. _Enough!_

Graham's hand instinctively reached for his pistol. With lightning speed, he raised it – firing twice. The first shot hit the ranger's chest – making him stagger backwards. The second found its mark in his throat.

Then Graham turned his attention to Cato. He fired once – disarming the Legion Frumentarii.

"What the fuck!?" Cato grasped his hand. "What are you doing?"

But Graham didn't answer him. He stalked forward and planted his boot into Cato's chest – shoving him groundwards. He raised his pistol again.

Cato's eyes shone with fear and bewilderment. "_Why_?" He whimpered.

Graham sneered. "_And I will punish the world for their evil…and the wicked for their sin_." His finger pulled the trigger – the echo of his .45 bouncing off the canyon walls – and Cato was no more.

Graham knelt next to his former comrade; cocking his head to the side and studying him closely. Then he heard the distinct sound of a hammer locking into place. With a sigh, he closed his eyes.

"Drop it…" Ghost commanded.

Graham's grip on his pistol tightened.

"_I said_…_drop it._"

He raised his head, staring off into the distance – then he made his way to his feet. He turned, slowly, to face her. She was on her feet – Cato's revolver leveled at his head. Her clothes was ripped and torn – though she had done what she could to cover herself. She was bleeding from her mouth and nose; her eyes wet with tears, though she refused to cry.

Graham raised his left hand, beckoning her to lower the pistol – while simultaneously holstering his own with his right. "Hasn't there been enough bloodshed today? Will there not still be more to shed when the Legion marches on the dam?"

She laughed. "Caesar's dead. This war is over."

"No…it's only just begun. As we speak, the Monster of the East marches west. With an army at his back. Caesar was by no means a good man…but this man – this, beast – he has his own plans for the Mojave. For its people. _His name is Death, and hell follows with him._"

Ghost felt her lower jaw quivering. Graham stepped forward – reaching out his hand. She raised the revolver, steadying it. "Stay where you are…"

He stopped in place. "If you are going to kill me, then kill me. If you are not…I have work to do."

She swallowed.

He waited – and when he felt enough silence had passed, he turned from her. He had taken a handful of steps when she called out to him:

"Stop!"

So he did. He glanced back over his shoulder.

"Why?"

"Why?" He echoed.

She pressed her lips, lowering the revolver. "Why'd you save me?" She clarified.

"_Mercy triumphs over judgment,_" Graham's voice was barely a whisper. "The Lord isn't done with you yet."

* * *

><p>"Through here, boss…" Raul twisted the knob to the doorway leading into the maintenance area of the old rail tunnel. "My house is near here…when I was building it, I got a lot of the material from inside this tunnel. It'll take us right on through to the other side. We should be able to sneak into Nellis from there…"<p>

"Good thing we ran into that old prospector," Cass said aloud, more to herself than to the group. "Would have sucked to have mortars lobbed at us."

"How'd you find this place?" Six asked.

"Fella passed by while I was building my shack…he had passed through the tunnel. Collecting the ferals to take them to their salvation. A journey to the Great Beyond…" Raul laughed. "Something like that anyway."

"What are we doing, anyway?" Cass carefully stepped through the tunnel debris.

"Introducing ourselves," Six explained, taking a breath. "The way I see it…the shit's about to hit the fan. So we can either stand in front of the fan…or we can turn the fan towards the Legion. That's why I sent Christine and Veronica to talk with the Brotherhood. I already have the NCR's support…if we get the Brotherhood and the Boomers on our side…" he grinned wide. "We'll roll over the Legion and send them whimpering back into Arizona."

Arcade pressed his lips. "That's a big _if_, though. I mean…the Brotherhood and the NCR don't exactly see eye to eye. And I'm not sure you want the Boomers allying with the NCR. The NCR has tried to make contact before…if they make an alliance with the Boomers…" he shook his head. "Things could go from bad to worse. And quick."

"That's exactly why I'm going to talk to them myself. I want them to side with me. Not the NCR."

"Might be best to leave them out of the equation all together."

"And risk the Legion getting to them first? You said it yourself. They've got a monopoly on high end ordinance. You saw them shelling outer Vegas. I can't risk them shelling the city."

"Maybe…" Arcade shrugged – reluctantly agreeing. He didn't sound convinced, but that didn't matter. Six had made up his mind.

"Speaking of introducing ourselves…Benny wants to give the Gomorrah to Dean Domino."

Six raised a brow. "No. Hell no. That son of a bitch is as crooked as they get. I told you about the Sierra Madre."

"Yeah…which is why I think we should talk with Marcus."

"Marcus?" Six scoured his memory. "Who the hell is that?"

"You remember the mutant leader of Jacobstown?"

"Yeah."

"He said he was a sheriff at one point…a mayor at another. He'd be perfect to head one of the families. Or a new family."

"Open a casino for ghouls and super mutants?" Six sounded cynical. "I mean…I don't think…"

Raul cast a glance over his shoulder. "Oh yeah, Boss. What kind of leader promotes equality for his nation? At least if you don't, you'll be safe if you decide to catch a show at the Aces."

Six frowned. "I mean, I didn't…"

"Don't apologize to me, Boss. Save your apologies for mutantkind."

"You know, that's actually not a bad idea…" Arcade chipped in. "I know Marcus. He's a damn good leader. He'd make a valuable ally."

Six shrugged. "I guess we'll head up to Jacobstown then."

"Perfect," Arcade nodded. "We'll make a pit stop along the way."

"For what?"

"The help I was telling you about."

An hour and a dozen landmines later and they were outside a large fenced in area – men patrolling with shoulder mounted rocket launchers and fat men…so called _nuka launchers_, he'd heard them called a time or two. Shoulder mounted catapults that flung mininukes with enough force to cause detonation.

Now they stood at the fence staring down the barrel of rocket launcher being held by a particularly vicious looking man. "How the fuck did you get in here?"

Six shrugged. "Luck I guess."

"Bull shit. No one gets through this town without me knowing."

"Things change…"

The man grimaced. "Aren't you a smart mother fucker…You know I could take care of you real quick…"

Another shrug. "Maybe…but here's the real question, buddy…a magnum round travels at about fifteen hundred feet per second. You're about eight feet away from me. I don't know how fast you can aim that thing, but I'm willing to bet I can pull the trigger before you do…"

"You think?" The man narrowed his eyes.

"What's going on here?"

The man looked behind him at a woman – dark haired, Asian decent – who'd emerged from a nearby tent.

"Who are they? How'd they get through?"

"I was just seeing to it that they went on about their way, Raquel," he answered.

"I'll take over from here, get back to your patrol," She spat.

The man's face sunk – he cast a final glance at the group before heading off further along the fenceline.

"What's your business here stranger?" Raquel asked, her eyes glued to Six's hand, which still hovered over his pistol.

"I'm just here to talk…"

"We got nothing to talk about," She nodded her head back towards the destroyed town. "Now why don't you head on back the way you came. We won't open fire on you, you have my word. But your kind ain't welcome here."

"Oh, when you hear my offer – you'll do more than welcome us. You'll invite us in."

"You got nothin' we need."

"No – I've got exactly what you need. I know what you pulled out of Lake Mead. And this man right here…" Six gave Raul a pat on the shoulder. "He can help you fix it."

Raquel narrowed her eyes. "Mother Pearl will want to talk to you…" she reached into a pouch at her hip, retrieving her keys – then, she unlocked the gate. "Stay close." They started through the camp, staying close to her side. "You'll have to forgive him…" She glanced over her shoulder. "We don't normally let outsiders in. Or even close, really. Mother Pearl says that things are going to be changing soon though. Said it was only a matter of time before someone got through. Looks like that was you…and your friends. You all must've been pretty sneaky though…I didn't even hear the howitzer firing…"

"Didn't see us. We came through the tunnel…to the south."

"Then you did good to avoid our mines."

"I've gotten pretty good at spotting them…" Six admitted – of course, he'd had training. And help – Raul wasn't half bad himself.

"Well…I'll make it more of a challenge for you next time," She stopped, and motioned towards a door of an old, worn out building. "Mother Pearl's inside."

"You want to confiscate our weapons first?" Six asked.

Raquel pulled her head back a notch, slightly confused. "Confiscate your weapons? No…" she laughed. "Personal armament is the foundation of social trust and responsibility. And I'm damn good at killing savages. I'd rather you not give me a reason to show you."

Six couldn't help but laugh. "No worries. You have my word."

The inside of the building was well preserved. And clean. Bookshelves and lockers lining the walls, and a set of faded tan couches sitting across from each other; wooden end table between them. On one of those couches was an elderly woman – easily in her eighties. She was frail, but her eyes housed an unrelenting youth. Deep blue and full of wisdom. She smiled at them as they entered – genuine and kind. "Good evening, children. You took your time getting here, didn't you? I've been waiting years."

Six stopped in place. "You…knew we were coming?"

She laughed. "I knew that someone would eventually make it through. Our howitzer's aren't only for show…but it was only a matter of time."

"We might have cheated a little bit."

"Cheated?" Pearl shook her head. "Call it…creative compromise. So what brings you to Nellis?"

"I've come to offer help, actually."

"Help?"

"The B-29 at the bottom of Lake Mead…"

Pearl's face hardened – the kindness fading from her eyes, becoming more stern.

"Yeah…I know about it. What you are to the Boomers…well, that's what I am to New Vegas. When your people started shelling around my city, I did some digging."

"Well, this is an awkward situation we've found ourselves in. I'm not sure how to approach this…we've been working on reviving the Lady in the Water for a long time. I can't very well let anything interfere with that…"

Six held up his hands, "And I don't plan to. Quite the contrary, actually," he gestured to the Raul, who stood quietly across the room, casually leaning against the door. "The ghoul…his name is Raul. And he's very likely the best damn mechanic that's ever walked the wastes."

Pearl narrowed her eyes.

"He's come to offer his services…to help repair the aircraft."

"There was an aircraft here when we arrived over fifty years ago…Loyall has been hard at work repairing it since. I'd wager that he could do what needs to be done without your help…he has come this far, after all."

"Doesn't hurt to have a second set of eyes, though…right?"

Pearl's face softened again. "I suppose it doesn't, outsider…and what of this one." She turned to Arcade. "A doctor?"

"…When I need to be," Arcade answered.

"We recently had an incident with a colony of ants in our power station. A few of our youngsters were injured. Our doctor, Argyll, is hard at work on them now. But this one speaks the truth…a second set of eyes never hurt…"

Arcade nodded. "I'll…I'll do what I can."

Mirroring Arcade's nod, Pearl turned back to Six. "It is very generous of you to travel all this way to offer your assistance. One has to wonder what's in it for you?"

One side of Six's lips curled up into a light smirk. "I'm glad you asked…"

* * *

><p>He was on the balcony when Boone found him; Chief Hanlon – staring out over the lake. He looked up a moment, but only briefly. Then he lost himself again, staring out over that pristine water – the crystal blue reflecting the midday sky.<p>

"It's beautiful isn't it? You don't see lakes like this back home. Natural or manmade. We drained them a long time ago…irrigating. Draining the aquifers. Just a bunch'a…mud and dust now." His eyes had a sort of sadness about them. He reached down, scooping up an old empty canister of cram. He spit into it – a thick black stream of tobacco juice. Then he wiped his face with his sleeve. "It's a different feeling, you know? Watching the sun set over the water. Waking up to a sky lit up with pinks and oranges…takes some getting used to."

Boone removed his beret and kneeled next to the old man. He looked out over the water.

"The Mojave has a way of burning people up, son. But you're a good man. Done alright by the NCR. I'm sorry that we let you down."

"You didn't let me down, sir."

"Didn't we? One woman lost to the Legion. Another lost fighting our battle for us."

"She's not lost yet."

Hanlon forced a smile and scratched his chin. "What brings you here, son?"

"I need your help. The Legion is retreating…heading back into Colorado. But they're not going to stay there. You know that as well as I do. But if…if we can catch them. Before they have time to regroup. We can end this war."

A quaint little laugh escaped Hanlon's lungs. "There ain't no end to war, son. It's been with us since the first man saw something he wanted but couldn't have. It'll be with us 'til their ain't nobody left to wage it."

"We can save lives."

"And we can take them."

"_Exactly_," Boone nodded. "That's that's why I'm here. We have the advantage…for the first time in a decade. But we need to act quickly."

Hanlon sighed. "Listen, son…I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. Even if this wasn't just some suicide mission. Look, I understand that the Legion put a hurting on you – and it ain't right. And even if we do have an advantage…it's not in my hands anymore."

"What do you mean?"

A frown spread across Hanlon's face – his grizzled beard dropping downwards. "I thought I could help get us out of here…thought I was doing what was right. But how we plan things ain't always how things turn out. General Oliver has given me a choice…an ultimatum. I can step down. Retire…head home and live out my days on my ranch. Or I can be dishonorably discharged…"

Boone furrowed his brow. "What?"

A thin smile spread across Hanlon's face. "I guess this old man has outlived his usefulness…"

"Have you talked to Crocker? To Hsu? Oliver's not the only man in power…they have connections…they can…"

"Ain't nothin' to be done, son. It's over," Hanlon spit again – this time on to the wooden deck of the House Resort. He swallowed, staring at the deck for a long while. Then looked back out over the water. "Ain't nothin' to be said neither. I can't tell you that those misfits you rescued at Nelson would follow you and that courier to the grave. Or that First Recon and Gorobets don't give two shits about what Oliver has to say. I can't tell you that reports are flying in from all over the Mojave that Lanius is at our doorstep. That he's setting up camp just over the Colorado as we speak," his eyes turned from the lake, leveling on Boone's shades. He stared deeply into them – past them, into his own reflection. "I can't tell you 'cause all that's privileged information."

Boone stared back in silence. He didn't know whether or not to thank the Chief – for a moment he thought he might. But when the Chief turned from him and back towards the lake, he knew. The chief didn't want to be thanked.

He wanted the Legion dealt with – and that was something Boone was happy to assist with. He quietly made his way back into the building – his mind in sort of a daze. He didn't respond to the rangers that threw up their hands as he passed, or to the women who batted their eyelashes at him.

_My mind right now is on the Legion – _he'd said to Veronica all those months ago. _I don't really want it on anything else_.

That was still the truth. And it wasn't. His mind raced full of thoughts – about his wife, about Carla. About the child he'd never know. About the courier – and the burned man. About the man he used to be and the man that he had become.

And about Melissa. Why couldn't she have just listened to him? What did fate have in store? He knew he shouldn't have bought back into the game…now everything was falling apart again.

He was nearly out of the camp when a woman did catch his eye. He recognized her. A pretty young girl – short honey blonde hair. She had her eyes glued on him from the moment he'd emerged from the resort. She was standing with a group of men – one sporting a Mohawk.

And that made him think of _her _all over again.

"Hi," the girl smiled, extending her hand. "Name's Maggie…people call me…"

"Mags," Boone nodded. "I remember."

"Yeah…I just wanted to thank you. For what you did for me…for us. Back in Nelson. If there's anything…"

"There is," Boone said, cutting her off. "But it's not going to be easy."

* * *

><p>"Well, this is where we part," Arcade smiled. "The next time I see you, I promise you…you won't recognize me."<p>

Six reached out, shaking the man's hand. "You're sure they'll help?"

"They won't be thrilled. Working with the NCR _and_ the Brotherhood?" Arcade shook his head. "But I'll get them to come around."

"And how will we know it's you?" Cass asked, coyly. More a joke than anything. "I mean…if we won't recognize you."

Another smile. "Oh…just look to the sky." With a wink, he turned from them and headed into the wilderness just east of Jacobstown.

"And then there were two," Cass jibed – as she and Six headed towards the mutant settlement. "It's pretty here…if it wasn't so damn cold."

Six slipped his duster off and wrapped it around her, then took her hand into his own. With every step, he could feel his heart beating in his chest.

"When the time comes…" He turned to look at her. "When the Legion attacks the Dam…I don't want you there."

She stopped. Her face saying the words she did not – _Excuse me?_

He stopped too – turning to face her. "You didn't see Melissa…you didn't see what that did to Boone. I can't do that, Cass. I can't lose you."

"And you think that I want to let you charge into a fight without me? You take off on these damned adventures, Six…you leave at the drop of a dime and I don't know whether I'll ever see you again. You left me in that damn slum while you explored those vaults and ended up only God knows where in the middle of nowhere. You wouldn't let me help with Christine and Black Mountain. Then you take off with an expedition with people you barely know – you ended up in Zion for crying out loud. You come back with the fucking Malpais Legate. No." She shook her head solemnly. "When are you going to understand that I can take care of myself. That I'm not some goddamn damsel in distress…and that I'm not going to lose you. I'm not going to let you wander off again…I'm just not. That's the end of it."

Six stared at her in silence for a moment – then his lungs erupted with laughter. His hand still wrapped around hers, he pulled her close and devoured her lips. When he pulled away, he lost himself in her eyes a moment. "I feel sorry for the Legion."

"Why?"

"Because they haven't seen you pissed…"

They shared a smile. Soon after, they were standing at the gates of Jacobstown – Six recognized the mutant at the gate.

"Neil? What brings you here?"

"With Tabitha moving on from Black Mountain, Marcus sent for me. I help him out here where I can."

"That's good to hear. Where is he now?"

"He's inside…" Neil turned from the duo and began lumbering towards the resort. "What brings you to Jacobstown?"

"I have a proposal for Marcus, as a matter of fact."

"A proposal?"

"I'm a pretty big player on the Strip right now."

"So I've heard."

"I want to offer a slice of that pie to you all."

Neil slowed briefly, casting a glance over his shoulder. "You want to let mutants into New Vegas?"

Six nodded, "I've learned a little bit in my time, Neil. I've run into some bad mutants. Put down a few too. But I've done the same with more than a few people."

Neil nodded as well. "There's good and bad in all." He stopped short of the resort. "Head on in…Marcus is on the second floor. Just ask around if you can't find him."

"I'll do that," Six extended his hand. The mutant looked confused for a moment – then shook it quaintly.

The duo turned towards the resort – they were nearly at the door when a voice called out.

"Jimmy?! Sweet little Jimmy! You've come to see your grandma!"

* * *

><p>The inside of the tent was dark – dimly lit by a smoldering torch in one far corner. Near the center was an elongated wooden table; a man seated at one end, adorned in golden armor with medium length salt and pepper hair. He glanced across the room at a woman – hands and legs bound.<p>

Her soft sobs filled the air around him.

He smiled at her – a smile that betrayed his intentions. He lifted a small blade and directed it towards her. "Our victory will be swift. We will take the Dam, secure it, and the road west will be built with the bodies of the fallen. It was Caesar's will…the will of the Legion. The west, all beneath the flag of the Great Bear exist only as a test of the Legion's strength. And we _will_ prevail."

The girl didn't respond. She let her eyes fall to the ground – tears welling in them. Daylight broke into the tent as another entered – a woman, gauze covering her eyes, accompanied by the sweet smell of grilled meat. She walked slowly – carefully – her feet feeling the ground in front of her. She placed a plate on the table.

"You are a fortunate whore…to have the privilege to gaze upon the face of greatness and not be stricken blind," he reached up and pulled the gauze from the young woman's face. Dark holes where once her eyes lay. He lowered the blade – cutting into the thick steak on the plate before him. "There's something to be said about yao guai…it is quite delicious." He stabbed into it and lifted it to his mouth – taking a moment to smell it. Blood dripped from the meat, falling back on to the plate before him. "Once we cross the Colorado…nothing will stand in our way."

"You're wrong…" she whispered. Barely audible.

"Excuse me? You think your boyfriend can save you? That he'll come in like a shining knight galloping upon a white horse?" He laughed – a booming sound. "Legate Graham tested the Legion once…and he deserved the gift of flame that Caesar bestowed upon him. It will be no different this time around."

"You don't know him…you don't know what he's capable of."

"And do you know what _I _am capable of, little one?"

She didn't respond.

"You will soon enough," he laughed – casting a glance at the far end of the tent. Two NCR men hang, strung up by their feet. Throats slit ear to ear – their blood pooling in tubs beneath them. "When my army has arrived. When the blood sacrament is complete. When you have been purified…you will bear witness."

* * *

><p>"Make yourself at home, grandma…"<p>

Six couldn't help but be amused with the mutant. That silly straw hat perched crookedly upon her head.

"Oh! Thank you, sweetie!" She trotted off through the casino as Six and Cass made their way to the elevator.

Six pressed the key and impatiently tapped his foot. Before long, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They made their way on and he jabbed a key.

"So what now?" Cass asked, her voice shaking lightly.

Six shrugged. "I don't know…"

"Do we attack? Do we take the securitrons from the Strip? What about the NCR?"

"_I don't know_…" Six said again, his voice showing irritation. He clasped his hands over his face. "Cass…I'm…I never asked for this. I'm scared…I…" he turned towards her, locking his eyes on hers, then looked downwards. "I don't know what I'm doing half the time," he sighed.

She reached out, grasping his hand and stepped in close – placing her lips gently across his. Her small frame felt good against him – he held her tightly, cupping the small of her back and resting his forehead against hers.

"Sometimes you have to just let things happen…" she consoled him, quietly. "We do what we can…and leave the rest up to fate."

"Sometimes that's not good enough…" He held her tighter and locked his lips around hers.

Another ding, and the door slid open. They were stumbling for the master bedroom – disrobing along the way. The door swung open, crashing into the wall. They were nearly on the bed when Cass let out a gasp – covering herself.

"I'll come back…" Graham said – making his way to his feet.

Six turned to him – "Where the hell have you been?"

"I was a little tied up."

"With what?"

"It is of no consequence…Lanius moves east. If he isn't already here, he will be soon. The Legion will attack the Dam. And they _will_ take it."

"What do you mean they _will_? Where the hell have you been?"

"We need to move," Graham told him, brushing off the question. "If we are to protect this city, we need to act fast."

"Answer the goddamn question, Graham."

Graham stopped, cocking his head to the side. "What does it matter?"

"Because Boone thinks you're helping the Legion. That you want to take it over. And since we've been back, you've conveniently backed out of every confrontation we've had with them. You didn't go with us to Cottonwood Cove…you weren't there when we took back Nelson. You weren't at Bitter Springs…and they showed up. _They knew we were there_."

"Or they were looking for an easy target for slaving."

"I'm only going to ask you one more time…" Six grasped the magnum in the holster at his side. "_Where were you_?"

Graham's hand found its way to his own pistol. "Don't do anything that you'll regret, my friend."

They stood – eyes locked on each other for a long while.

Six felt his hand shaking – he knew what Graham was capable of. He was terrified…and Graham could see it. What was worse was that Six knew he could see it.

"Why won't you just answer the question?" Six asked. His tone of voice had changed – it was closer to a plea.

"You just have to trust me…I have my reasons."

"I…I can't," Six shook his head. "Just get out."

Graham scowled – letting a long breath of air escape his lungs. He backed towards the door, careful not to take his eyes off of the man standing before him. He backed across the hall, then into the elevator.

Minutes later he was out on the Strip – headed towards the large metal gate. Then he was in Freeside – passing people by with a swift stride. Outside of the Mormon Fort…then in it. He needed to see her…to see Julie. He needed someone he could talk to.

But she wasn't there.

Instead, he found a crowd. All gathered around a woman – dark skinned, bloodied, bruised. She was lying on the ground. He pushed his way through the crowd.

"The burned man…" she cried. "I need to see the burned man…"

Graham froze in place.

The woman looked at him – at his bandaging – her eyes swollen. "They…they took her. We were on our way back…from the clinic. Julie and I…we were attacked. They took her."

"Who?" He knelt next to her, taking her hand into his own. "Attacked by who?"

"Legionnaires…they…they had a message for you. _Si vis pacem…Para bellum_."

Graham frowned – he felt his heart racing. Beating with the ferocity of a stampeding bull.

"What does it mean?" Someone from within the crowd asked.

"_Si vis pacem…para bellum_. It's Latin," Graham explained. "If you want peace…prepare for war." He looked down at the women – his eyes saw fire and his heart bled with fury. "_Mihi vindicta, et ego retribuam, dicit Dominus._"

* * *

><p><em>And that's it for this chapter. I wanted to clear a few things up - I wrestled with the scene with Ghost a while. But I wanted to show the brutality of the Legion and show the change in Graham. At the same time, the Legion now has Julie Farkas, and this was done to get to Graham specifically. Lanius has thrown the gauntlet. How will Graham answer that? <em>

_Boone seeing Melissa in the state she was in would be terrifying. I'm not sure how many of you have seen someone after a traumatic accident - but I wanted my description of that to capture just how intense that is. I might have watered it down too much though. I hope I didn't...I wanted it to be powerful, but at the same time I didn't want to bombard everyone with one gut-wrenching experience after another._

_Which is why I drastically shortened the scene with Lanius and Julie Farkas. The blood sacrament is meant to purify her **for** Lanius. And originally, Lanius was pretty brutal. But I decided to just allude to the fact instead of spelling it out. Again...the Legion is vicious. Particularly Lanius._

_Things are moving into place. All the pieces have been set and now all the major players are on the board. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam is finally upon us. After the next chapter...everything changes._

_I hope I don't disappoint._

_Until next time._


	37. Chapter 36: No Gods, No Masters

_So I know this has been a long time coming - class has been out for over a month, and I just kept putting it off and putting it off. I struggled with finding a way to write the battle that I was satisfied with. After a lot of writing and rewriting...this is what I've come up with..._

_I hope everyone enjoys it._

* * *

><p>There's an undeniable truth to war. No matter how much you prepare for it, you're never ready for it. Not really.<p>

You can see it coming a mile away…a hundred miles away. But then, when it's on you…it happens so fast. It always takes you by surprise.

You get this sinking feeling in your stomach. Some mixture of fear, trepidation, and hopelessness.

Time around you almost slows down…but your heart, it races a mile a minute.

Six had seen it coming. He had made his preparations – he'd upgraded his securitrons and he had made all the right connections. In every sense of the word – he was prepared.

Prepared, but not ready.

_Any day now._ He told himself. He kept telling himself. Everyone knew that Lanius had already set up camp.

But life was carrying on around them. Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. The threat of war always on the horizon – looming over them like humid fog rising from the waters of Lake Mead.

Graham had disappeared.

Boone had taken a group of soldiers under his wing – the _Misfits_. Those kids they'd rescued from Nelson. He had begun training them himself – with Hsu's blessing. His life was a delicate balance – and he almost never slept.

His instincts told him to take First Recon and the _Misfits_…give chase to the Legion. Hell, Hanlon had more or less given him his blessing to do so.

But he didn't. He wanted to…with every fiber of his being he wanted to. But something Hanlon had said had made him reconsider. It _was_ a suicide mission. Not just for himself, but all of first recon. For the Misfits…and they were just kids. The risk was just too high.

_Especially for those kids_.

So his days were spent training the Misfits. The group couldn't seem to get away from the name, so Boone suggested they embrace it. _A misfit was nothing more than someone who stood out – _he'd told them. _So do it_. And do it they did.

His nights were another matter. The New Vegas Medical Clinic had done all they could for Melissa. Now she lay quietly in a tent in the Mormon Fort; awake…but not herself. Some days she'd sleep for countless hours. Other days…

It had taken some persuasion, but Christine and Veronica had managed to convince McNamara to join their cause. Veronica reminded him of all that Six had done for the Mojave Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel.

When that had failed, Six had stepped in to negotiate.

Raul and the Boomers had long finished the Lady in the Water – decorating the plane with a mural of a much younger Pearl. In her heyday, Six was sure her beauty rivaled even the beauty of the late Joana.

Arcade had traveled to the Remnant's Bunker; and with a few switch flips and button presses he sent out a radio signal to people he hadn't seen in years. Within days they were prepared to move – and now they quietly awaited orders for their newfound purpose.

Benny had the Strip running like clockwork – he and Yes Man worked well together. Of course…Six kept him on a short leash. The newly formed Heartbreak Hotel & Casino and The Inferno, formerly The Gomorrah, proved to be successful.

For a while – it seemed as though the stalemate would never end. It seemed as though the great bear and the raging bull would forever be locked in sort of a stare down – eyeing each other from across the an ocean of differences manifested as Lake Mead.

It was on a Wednesday – a warm spring afternoon – March 15th, 2282 when they marched. When the Legion drew first blood.

They swarmed the Dam like the vermin they were. NCR spotters had been fortunate enough to see the attack coming – but that was by Lanius' design. There was no honor in sneaking in like a shadow in the night.

No. He wanted the Mojave to know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, who their conqueror was. And he wanted to see them tremble in his wake.

In retrospect, the General Oliver felt he should have known when the Legion intended to attack. It would be just like the Roman inspired nation…to attack on the Ides of March. Perhaps Lanius saw something almost poetic in it.

Perhaps it was Caesar's intention all along.

The NCR had buckled down – holding the Dam against the Legion's superior numbers. Their sharpshooters had positioned themselves along the ridge once more.

It wouldn't prove to be as effective as it had been last time – Legion howitzers peppered the mountainside with artillery.

The Rangers, absent Hanlon, threw themselves between the Mojave and the Legion. The Mojave's last bastion of hope against enslavement or annihilation.

Grim didn't begin to describe the situation.

But that's the thing about war. An undeniable truth – it always surprises you.

And that surprise would come from the west – where another army marched. A battalion of steel – Brotherhood and securitron alike. One that could turn the tide of the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.

One that could drive the hordes of Legion east again.

Oliver didn't know if that gave him hope…or terrified him.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Thursday, March 9<strong>**th****, 2282**

**Six**

He had slaughtered her…even know, Six could see her. Life drained out of her eyes – a look of morbid horror forever frozen on her face. Her straw hat strewn to the side – stained red.

He couldn't move…he could barely breath. A powerful crushing force held him in place – pinning him to the ground.

The Minotaur towered over him, hoof pressed against Six's chest –golden armor shining fiercely in the midday sun. His left hand clasped around a monster of a blade. The creature was truly a behemoth…and Six recognized him. That day at the Fort…that very blade…he had used it to send Benny toppling over the cliff into Lake Mead.

Six could recall just how heavy that blade had been – he had struggled to even lift it. This man…this beast had been swatting NCR veterans away like brahmin swatted bothersome flies.

And he had used it on her…as she charged in to Six's rescue. A single swing of that massive blade had cut her down. More than that…he had cut her in half, just above the waist.

Now, he stood erect. The blade casually lopped over one shoulder; blood dripping from it – decorating the desert sand with a dye to rival the crimson of the Legion.

"Will you not attempt to negotiate for your life? Fighting with words, like all beneath the flag of the Bear?" He leaned forward, casually resting his elbow on his knee – increasing the pressure on Six's chest.

Six didn't answer him. Couldn't answer him would probably be closer to the truth. He scowled – his lips twisted and contorted with hatred and anger.

"You will not die this day," the Minotaur's voice was gravelly and yet, somehow, smooth. A battle raging on around him and he had not a worry in the world. "No. I will have you strung up…nailed to the walls of Hoover Dam. Your body facing west so that you may watch your world burn."

Six awoke with a shudder and a cold sweat. He struggled to regain composure – controlling his breathing. When he had regained control, he stretched out across the bed – taking in a deep breath.

_A dream_. It felt so _real_…but it was only a dream.

He wrapped his arm around Cass and pulled her close to him. He liked the way she fit in his arms. Something about it felt right – felt natural. The curve and contours of her body seemed to compliment his own.

They'd moved from the presidential suite…taking House's penthouse for themselves. The presidential suite had become more of a guest floor…though these days, it was mostly empty.

Six pushed himself up and made his way to Yes Man's massive terminal. He reclined in a chair before it – his mind jumped back briefly to the day he had pulled the chair to that resting place…when House was still part of this mortal coil.

He felt a pang of sympathy creep over him – remorse for those deeds done what felt like ages ago. House would have a plan…_what good can I do_? It's all he thought about lately…when the time came, what would he do?

He had toyed with some ideas…but that's all he had, really. House would have had it all figured out by now.

He reached up, rubbing the space between his eyebrows with his index finger. He felt his head throbbing lightly – fantastic. A stress migraine.

_But House isn't here, is he?_ His mind screamed at him.

His lungs filled with air as he took a deep breath. He held it – counting to four – then breathed out slowly.

_No. House isn't here…but…_

Yes Man's terminal flickered and that ever smiling face filled the screen.

"Good morning, chief! I hope you slept well!"

"Keep it down, Cass is still sleeping," Six commanded, cringing at the sudden boom of Yes Man's cheerful voice, shielding his eyes from the terminal's light.

"Sorry!" Yes Man sang, albeit with decreased volume. "What can I do for you today?"

"Update me on House's bunker."

"Upgrades are complete! The securitrons are ready to march on your mark!"

"No. No, leave them where they are."

"You got it! Any particular reason?"

"Don't want to reveal my hand too early," Six mulled aloud, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "You still have access to House's database?"

"Of course!"

Six smiled. "…Think you can remotely access my pipboy?"

"Absolutely!"

**Boone**

"How are they doing?"

Boone looked out across the El Dorado Dry Lake. The Misfits were laying in single file, along the edge of the road – their standard service rifles replaced with DKS-501 carbon fibered rifles, chambered in .308, each outfitted with its own silencer. Boone had spared no expense…hell, what else was he going to do with his share of the Sierra Madre riches? Swarms of fire-ants scurried hectically across the sand – fleeing for their very lives.

"They're coming along."

Christine chewed her lower lip. "What the hell are they wearing?"

"Contreras called it…hue…guy…hue…ghost armor," Boone curled his lip and shrugged.

The NCR had found the Hei Gui stealth armor stowed away in the dam and Contreras had stumbled across them in one of his consignments. These suits of "unknown material" had been locked away for the better part of two centuries. Five in total. The requisition form had referred to them as "ghost armor". The suits had a built in stealth field. Unfortunately, they had long ago malfunctioned. Maybe because they were kept near bins of radioactive waste in the dam.

Or maybe they'd simply ran out of juice.

Contreras had offered to _acquire_ them for the group at a discounted price – but, Boone politely declined. A gold bar was all he needed to persuade Crocker to put them on retail. He had given the armor to the Misfits as a rite of passage when they had completed their training – save one.

Trading in their NCR brown for the sleek – but nonfunctional – black Hei Gui armor, the Misfits were specters now – they lived apart from the world. They were like _him_.

He'd trained them to look at the world in a different light. To see things that others could not.

"Ghost armor…" Christine repeated, more than a little interested. "It looks pretty advanced."

"Yeah…" Boone motioned towards a brown leather rucksack cast aside at the base of a wrecked M-325 transport. "Thought they might qualify as 'invaluable old world artifacts'," he told her, a weary smile across his lips. "Saved one for you."

Christine felt a wide smile spread across her face – something like this would surely pave her way back into the Brotherhood's good graces. "Thanks…"

Boone waved his hand dismissively.

"So…how is everyone?"

"Don't know. Haven't been to Vegas in a while."

"I know…any particular reason?"

His lips curling into a frown, Boone shook his head. "Busy. No time."

"What about…"

"_Don't say her name…" _He pleaded…swallowing, he let his gaze wander back to the Misfits. Past them. Losing himself in the sandy winds that swept across the El Dorado. "She's good…she's…" he laughed, but Christine could feel the heartbreak in it. "They said her _frontotemporal_ and _motor_ cortex were pretty severely damaged…" He said the words, but he didn't know what it meant…the woman he loved reduced to a diagnosis didn't sit well with him. "Most days I don't even know if she knows I'm there. On good days, she recognizes me. She smiles with everything she has…always so happy. She tries to talk to me…but I can't understand her. I don't know what to say to her, so I don't say anything."

"And on bad days?"

Another swallow – his boot kicking up dirt, he began to pace. He let the question sink in – biding his time as his mind pieced together the words he wanted to say. He was never much one for words, anyway. There's nothing worth saying in a world full of dead men.

_She _was the first person to ever make him _want_ to talk…and that made him feel even guiltier.

_I'm so sorry, Carla._

But it was the truth. Even Carla struggled with that impossible undertaking…

Truth be told, he didn't know how he felt. If it was love…or even what love was. Sometimes he believed in love about as much as one could believe in some benevolent creator in this wasteland…yet, still…there were those that did.

But as someone who had accepted life and death as they were…as inevitable…he found himself feeling hollow.

Christine's question hung in the air like the clouds of dust unsettled by his pacing. His hand clenched and unclenched, his eyes closed…and visions of a past long gone and a future never to be danced in his mind. Inside his chest he could feel his heart racing – his stomach twisted into knots and the bile within swirled and churned with a ferocity that left his throat on fire.

Christine felt a pang of sympathy consume her. She pulled herself up onto the truck bed to have a seat.

"It's my fault, you know?" He told her. "I should have been watching her. Every step of the way."

"It's not your fault…"

"_It is_!" He spat, raising his wrist to point in her direction – a little more harshly than he intended. "It is." The world grew still and a moment passed between them. After a beat, the Misfits resumed their training. The heat grew more stifling, more oppressive. Then his hand dropped to the ground and he followed it.

He kneeled there, knees in the dust – baking in the desert sun. His heart was heavy – bearing a weight that Christine could only begin to imagine. She waited in silence, letting her hand rest on his shoulder.

"You did everything you could…" She said finally, breaking the silence.

"Shit lot of good it did me…" he stood, slowly – reluctantly – resuming his pacing. "Shouldn't have been there to begin with. My fault. There's no reason she should have been there at all…"

"She was there for you…"

"And look what it got her…" he stopped, casting his eyes at Christine. She could feel the sorrow in his stare even through his shades. "I was supposed to protect her. Now I…when I go to see her, and she's there beside me…looking into my eyes, I feel like a part of me is missing." He started pacing again. "I just don't know how much more of myself I can lose before everything falls apart."

"She meant a lot to you…"

"She shouldn't have meant anything. I should have known better. If she hadn't gotten close…" He straightened out – stretching his back. It cracked and popped. Paced some more…until his boot hit something solid in the dust. He reached down, scooping it up. A small object – not unlike the casino chips on the Strip. He wiped the dirt away – a corroded piece of metal. A coin. Small letters stretched across its face. _In God We Trust_…meaningless words in a meaningless time. "I sit with her throughout the night…every night. I change her bandages and clean the wound. Fuck me…I even talk to her. Her? It? …whatever she is now. Most nights she looks into my eyes and there's no recognition. She sits for hours on end and never says a word. She pisses herself…shits herself…doesn't even realize what she's done."

Christine felt her stomach sinking…she didn't know what to say. Even if she knew…she wouldn't know how to say it.

"The worst of it? If she were anything else…a pack brahmin, a hound….we'd cast her away…" He tossed the coin away, acting out his misery. It sailed through the air, into the dry lake and out of sight. "Put her out of her misery and never so much give it a second thought. Yet here I am…biting your head off for even talking about her…"

"Why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Why don't you kill her?"

"What did you say?" He wheeled around, his hand resting on the grip of his pistol. Even in these harsh times, the weathered grooves of its handle brought him comfort. "What. The. Fuck. Did you just say to me?" He was seething…his saliva punctuating the end of every word.

"I mean…" Christine, realizing how she must have sounded, struggled with her thoughts. "What keeps you from killing her? From ending her misery?"

_Oh_. _Not a suggestion…a question. _

One that she, understandably, didn't have an answer for.

And neither did he. He had always been a man of reason…maybe not good reason, but reason. And here he was…stumped. Unable to answer a simple question. Why did he keep her alive? Why did he try to nurse her back to health when she could never lead the life she had before?

And it was simple. There on the edge of his tongue. He spoke without knowing it. "Because I can't let her go."

A sour taste filled his mouth. Grimacing…he pulled a familiar flask from his duster. Embroidered with the number thirteen. He twisted the cap, knocked it back and the sweet smell of whiskey filled the air.

"I want to be able to…" His words trailed off…his hand fumbling in the air before him. "To…to take it back. I keep thinking there's got to be a way…something that I can do. I see what she's become. I see how she's changed. It's not her anymore. She's gone. I see that…fucking crater those bastards left in her skull. And I can't take it back."

Crater…a harsh way to describe the woman he loved. And he _did_ love her…of that Christine was certain.

Crater…

_Crater. _Of course…_of course!_

And that's when it hit her…dropping on her like a Repconn rocket.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Saturday, March 11<strong>**th****, 2282**

**Six**

"Courier Six…this is a…surprise."

"Courier?" Six laughed. He hadn't been called that in a while.

McNamara sat forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his desk. "How might I be of assistance?"

"Veronica tells me that you're not exactly keen on offering your assistance for the upcoming battle."

"Why would I be? Whichever side wins will take heavy casualties. We bide our time…and we take back not only the solar array station, but the Dam as well."

"You really think that's going to happen?" Six laughed. "Let's say the Legion wins. You know what the Legion does to those it conquers? It doesn't eradicate them…it absorbs them. So every soldier from here to the Pacific…they're going to turn. Eventually. They'll have to. To stay alive. And from there, it'll only be a matter of time before they find you here. Pissing your life away in this little hideaway. I've read House's reports…if the NCR can take six of your bunkers, you think that the Legion can't take this one? They outnumber the NCR a twenty to one. It'll be even worse after they've taken California. This facility. It'll be your tomb."

McNamara frowned – "We'll survive. The Brotherhood have been around for a long time. We'll be around for a lot longer. We'll head east if we have to. Elder Lyons and his group are faring quite well in Washington, last we had reports."

"East…" Six laughed. "So you'll march through Legion territory and hope for the best?"

"No, we'll march south. Cross the border…come up through Texas."

"Through the cyclones?"

"The cyclones are hearsay…"

Six's eyes widened. "Not sure that's a risk I'd take…" He chewed his lower lip. "Veronica tells me you're interested in Helios One?"

His interest peaked, McNamara sat up.

"You help me take the Dam…and it's yours."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Sunday, March 12<strong>**th****, 2282**

**Cass**

"He's giving them Helios One."

Cass raised a brow. "That old power plant? The NCR already occupies it."

Veronica shrugged. "Apparently not for long. It's the only way he could get McNamara to agree to help. The NCR aren't what concerns me though. It's Elijah."

"The guy from the Casino? What's he got to do with anything?"

"Oh…" Veronica scratched her scalp. "That's right…_you weren't there_. Hm. Elijah was the elder of the Mojave chapter…before McNamara. He thought there was some type of weapon at Helios One."

"What kind of weapon?"

"Something big. Big enough that it could turn the tides of the NCR-Brotherhood war. Problem was…he couldn't figure out how to access it."

"Did you tell Six?"

"Only a gajillion times."

"What'd he say?"

"He said," Veronica conjured up the most masculine voice she could. "'That's what you're there for, Vee.' …then went on to say that he had contingencies in place…"

"And if they find it?"

"I saw the tests Elijah ran…if they figure it out…" She shook her head. "I'll do what I need to. Power like that…it'll be the Great War all over again."

Cass ran her fingers through her crimson hair. It was time for a haircut…"What sort of contingencies?"

"No clue."

**Six**

"Hello child," the weary old woman smiled at Six as he approached her.

He returned her smile, extending his hand. "Pearl…I see the Lady's coming along very nicely. When can you have her airborne?"

"The week's end, Loyall says – Raul seems to think it could take longer."

Six grimaced. "The Legion is breathing down our neck…I don't know how long this stalemate's going to last. I need that thing in the air, Pearl. _We_ need it in the air."

She took a breath, watching Loyall's protégé, Jack, keeping himself busy with adjustments to the plane's engine. The petite redhead from the Crimson Caravan at his side…the kid was so happy now.

Part of her wished she hadn't opened the gates of Nellis. But after the good that Raul and Arcade had done – after negotiations with Six – she felt it was time. And Jack had been watching this girl for so long.

With infinite wisdom – she watched them. Aware of the truth of Six's statement. She had read the history books. She knew what war was like. And now, more than ever, it was on the horizon.

If the Legion took the Mojave, Nellis would eventually fall. They would fight until their last…but their supplies were limited.

So – at Six's behest – they were going to take to the horizon. They had to.

Jack looked up a moment – as the redhead reached him a rather large wrench. He looked at her lovingly, then – as he turned back to the engine – his eyes met Pearl's. She smiled widely at him, her wrinkled face becoming even more so.

Then she looked over her shoulder at the man who would lead them. A man uniting the forces of the Mojave.

"We'll be ready. We'll bomb along the eastern bank."

"No," Six shook his head. "Not the bank…" he pulled up his pip-boy. "Here."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Tuesday, March 14<strong>**th****, 2282**

**Six**

The streets were empty – the sun was beginning to rise. Six paced through the streets of Northern Vegas, Cass at his side.

"What are we looking for?" She asked him.

"A kid…"

"Why?"

Six laughed. "What, you don't want kids?"

"What?" Her face contorted, slightly confused.

"I'm joking…" He bumped his shoulder into hers. "I did a little bit of research…well, House did anyway. I think there might be something here that we need…"

He pointed to a building some distance away – a dilapidated sign hang out front: H&H Tools Factory.

"House and his brother – back in their day – had a bit of a falling out," Six explained. "But not before they worked in conjunction with one another on a few projects. One was the securitrons…and the other. Well, it was under contract with the military. Some type of…device. The last reported location of that device was here…"

He pushed the door open – as he did, a group of children shot by, giggling and playing. Six's hand caught the youngest child, straggling behind the group. He held a small device in his hands.

"Well, hey there sport. What's your name?"

The kid eyed Six a moment – eventually deciding he was no threat. "Max," he answered.

"Max? That's a good name. A strong name…Max that's an interesting toy you have there."

**Christine**

Christine dusted off the lab coat Six had given her, straightening it up as she did so. She approached the plant – two hired gunmen in tote. Escorts, hired by Six. Not that she needed escorts. But Six was adamant that she bring them.

One was a dark haired man – name of Orris. Christine wasn't sure about him. He acted tough, but when they had stumbled into a group of Jackals south of the 188, his gun had in_conveniently_ jammed – and she had been forced to take the bastards out herself. Not that it was much of an issue.

The two men walked on either side of her as she approached the station. A petite woman with a broad chin stepped forward. She wore a green beret – the color matched her eyes. She was actually pretty cute…

"This is a restricted area," she said, her hand resting on the butt of her rifle. "State your business."

Christine smiled – "I'm Christine Royce, with the Followers. I've been sent…"

"The Followers? Please tell me you're here to replace that idiot in sunglasses."

Christine laughed. "That's exactly why I'm here."

"Fantastic…ugh," She cringed. "He's ruined that word for me…_excellent_," she corrected herself, "he's been trying to get this place running for months and has made zero progress."

"I am to fix that, doll."

The trooper raised her brow.

Christine smiled in response – "And what's your name?"

"Can't read?" She motioned to her name tag.

"Read? Well…letters? No. Numbers are another matter. I have a…a condition."

The woman shrugged. "You can't be any worse off than Fantastic…name's Haggerty. April…"

Christine nodded. "Beautiful name…so, about getting in…"

"Uh…right then. You'll find him downstairs," she stepped to the side, "One of yours is already down there. Rivas, I think his name was."

"Oh…of course."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Wednesday, March 15<strong>**th****, 2282**

**Arcade**

The inside of the bunker was cold.

Arcade sat quietly, his elbows resting on the blue luminescent screen of the bunker's central intelligence unit. His eyes silently scanning the map displayed – tiny marks littering its display.

Behind him, the hydraulic door gave way with a mechanical whine – an elderly woman clad in an old straw hat entered. Though her body was aged and her eyes weary and full of wisdom – her smile had a youthful life about it.

"How are things looking?"

Arcade looked up from the table momentarily, then returned his gaze. "Satellite has to make its next round. Troops are en masse east of the dam. NCR has fortification hill locked down tight – but they don't dare push into uncharted territory. Looks like both sides are just sitting there…"

"Happens all too often, Dear" the old woman said, grunting as she sat beside Arcade. "When the NCR moved on the Novarro, it happened almost overnight. We knew they were out there…biding their time. Then they were on us."

"The NCR took Navarro," Arcade said glumly.

"They did."

"I don't like this analogy."

"You have to prepare yourself for the reality of war…no matter which side wins, both sides will lose. They'll have a lot of casualties. A lot of good people will die…"

"I'm not convinced there are any good people in the Legion."

The old woman laughed. "I bet the NCR would have said the same thing about the Enclave not too terribly long ago. Your father…he was a good man."

With a sigh, Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose – somehow staring harder at the central intelligence unit. A bright white line flickered to life on one edge and began a slow traversal across the display.

"Satellite's making another pass," he said, quietly.

They watched the line as it gradually covered the entirety of the terminal. The markings had changed – they were merging.

"Looks like we need to roll out," the old woman said, a smile on her face.

Arcade stood – lifting a helmet from his side. Sleek, well polished steel. He slid it over his head – twisting it gently to lock it into place. Then, he turned to the woman.

"I suppose you should take the helm, Miss Daisy."

**Boone**

Boone settled in – he didn't like this place, but it was familiar. He knew it.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a steady rumbling.

He felt the kick of his rifle; through his scope, some two hundred yards away, he watched the legionnaire fall. Mechanically, he scanned for his next target – then he squeezed the trigger.

The familiar whistle of artillery fire filled his ears – his left hand grasped his beret and he shielded himself behind the nearest boulder. When the shell hit, the booming sound alone was enough to throw him to the ground; dirt and rock fragment rained down upon him. Making his way to his feet, he looked out over the Dam.

_Those goddamn ants_.

A second resounding boom and he was on his feet – sprinting from cover to cover. Periodically stopping long enough to eliminate his next target.

The Misfits were scattered along the ridge – each doing their damndest to keep up.

The rumbling was growing louder – _what the fuck is that?_

Another artillery shell crashed into the ridge – this one far closer than the last.

_Mother fuckers_.

He rolled to the left and took aim – he could just make out the silhouette of the Legion's howitzer. He wasn't going to get a clear shot from here.

His eyes automatically scanned the battlefield…_where…bingo_. The Dam's towers offered a clear line of sight…if he could just.

On the dam he could see the Legion engaging the NCR – and the NCR was falling back.

Oliver doesn't have the guile that Hanlon had – and even if he did, where would he have them fall back to? No. If the NCR was withdrawing, it was because they were losing this fight.

"Concentrate fire on the Dam!" He shouted back to the Misfits. "If it's wearing red, you give it a one way trip to Hell!"

The rumbling was practically upon him – from the south, an army approached.

A sea of metallic blue and silver, rising in the distance.

Securitrons and battle ready Brotherhood Paladins.

And at their front – like some goddamn mythic knight – Six.

Whistling again – shit…

Something hit him. Hard, throwing him off the ridge. He felt himself tumbling down the mountain: crashing over stone and pavement. He struggled to push himself to his feet.

_Damn howitzer_. That thing needed to go. _Now_.

The securitrons were flooding the Dam now. Legion small arms fire and hand to hand combat were suddenly useless…but even still, their numbers were not to be trifled with. The higher ranking legionnaires were especially resourceful – many equipped with gas chambered, semi-automatic M1 Garands. While the lower ranking Legionnaires served as cannon fodder – the higher-ups targeted the Securitrons' vulnerable regions; wheels, cameras, monitors, hydraulic pumps at the base of the shoulder, even the antenna…if they were lucky enough to pull of _that_ shot, the securitron in question would go berserk. Mowing down anything in its path – friend or foe alike.

Boone rushed from one sandbag battlement to the next – relying mostly on his pistol. Ahead of him, he could see Six; wildly swinging his machete, emptying his revolver. He kept Cass close to his side. He wasn't the same man that ran scared the night they had attacked Nipton: this man had a purpose. One that he was fulfilling well.

He was halfway up the tower when the steady thump of vertibird blades filled the air. No way the Legion could get their hands on a vertibird…is there?

Above him, the vertibird zipped through the air. It doubled back, repositioning itself – then its rotors transitioned themselves above the vehicle. It hovered momentarily – and he could see someone clad in old Enclave armor with blue and yellow resistors, sitting behind a massive Gatling weapon. And from the look of it – lasers, no less. The enclave soldier tipped his head, giving a two finger salute – then turned his attention to the Dam. The whir of the chambered weapon filled the air as it began to spin – a fine red mist peppered the Legion forces.

Boone was atop the tower now – his mind set to taking out the son of a bitch firing the howitzer. He laid his rifle across the tower railing and peered through the scope…just in time to see the howitzer rock as it fired off its next round. He pulled away to look at the shell's trajectory – it was headed straight for the the vertibird. And – by proxy – straight at him.

Could he make it out of the tower in time?

His thoughts were cut short by the vertibird – a barrage of missiles paraded from its wings. Interceptors. The howitzer shell never stood a chance…and neither did the howitzer. Boone watched the VTOL reposition itself – facing the howitzer. Two cannons emerged from the undercarriage – bright blue light emitting from their barrels. With lightning speed the projectiles escaped – covering the extreme distance in mere seconds – and the howitzer was no more.

With the threat eliminated, he turned his attention back to the Dam. Below him, he could see Six, Cass, and a Brotherhood Paladin.

Veronica.

He recognized that power armor anywhere.

Six grasped Cass's jacket and pulled her to him – devouring her lips. She was crying.

Boone couldn't make out what they were saying – but from the looks of it, it didn't seem like Cass was pleased with him. He nodded to Veronica, and Cass slammed her fist into his chest. Then Veronica had Cass draped over her shoulder – kicking and screaming – as she made her way into the tower below him.

Boone hit the ladder quickly – then the stairs. He met them at the tower's base.

"What the hell is he up to?" Boone asked her, bluntly. He didn't have time to play.

"He's going after Lanius," she said, her gaze groundward.

"By himself?"

"Says it's easier to go alone…"

Boone hissed. If it were anyone else – he would have agreed. If Six was going after anyone else – he would have agreed.

But this was Six – his best friend.

And this was the monster of the east.

And he wouldn't let him go at it alone.

**Six**

"If I don't make it back…"

"Don't say that…"

"But if I don't…"

Six looked at the fiery red head in front of him. Her eyes bloodshot, filled with tears. As red as her hair ever thought to be. Her breathing was jaded – her chest struggling to keep up with the deep inhalations and intermittent exhalations of her lungs.

"Why are you doing this?" she managed to choke out.

"The Boomers are going to separate the Legion forces from their commanding officer…I have to make sure that this is his last stand. Lanius must fall…or he'll fall back and rebuild his forces. And they'll keep beating on our door until it caves in…"

"Let them do it…Let the NCR…I don't want you to leave," she pressed her hand against his chest.

"Didn't I tell you before? I'll still be here tomorrow…"

"And the day after?"

He reached out, grasping the soft fabric of her jacket – he pulled her close and he locked his lips around hers.

For a moment, he wasn't in the middle of an all out war. There weren't people dying around him. The gunshots and the sounds of the dead or dying fell away. There was only her. The way she tasted. The way she felt.

Everything about it was right.

He could feel her tears dripping across his skin – mixing with the blood drizzling from an open wound somewhere across his scalp.

He pushed her away – then looked at the power armor-clad woman behind her. "Get her out of here…"

With a sob, Cass slammed her fist into his riot armor.

Six felt his heart sink – but he couldn't risk anything happening to her.

He just…couldn't.

Veronica's hands wrapped around her tiny waist. Cass fought back – kicking and screaming. She screamed out for him – he could hear the pain in her voice…he had to turn away.

He began fighting his way across the dam – the entire time, her voice rang in his ears. She was calling out his name. Even when he was across the Dam… on the other side, he could hear her; though now, he was sure it was all in his head.

Behind him, the Dam had nearly been won. The Enclave vertibird – true to Arcade's words – struck fear into the heart of the Legion. The gatling lasers ripping them down where they stood…while others were fortunate enough to withdraw.

Around him, the Legion were beginning to fall back. He couldn't blame them - the combined forces of the Mojave were searing through their numbers. Legion machetes were bouncing off of Brotherhood armor - and Brotherhood Gauss rifles were tearing holes through them. The securitrons sprayed scores of bullets across the battlefield with near perfect accuracy; all the while raining missiles down from the heavens. Arcade and his Enclave entourage were every bit as dangerous as the Brotherhood - even more so with the vertibird circling the dam like a goddamn fairytale dragon.

Even with the odds stacked against them as they were, Six knew Lanius would have the heads of any deserters on a pike.

But only if he lived long enough to see them retreat.

Ahead of him, in the distance, the clouds parted. True to their word – the Boomers had arrived. Somewhere up in that massive steel bird in the sky, he could almost see Raul smiling.

_Told you'd I'd get it flying, boss._

A hand grasped his shoulder – he spun, swinging his machete.

His target ducked.

"Easy!"

"Boone?! Where the fuck have you been?"

"Busy…what's the plan?"

Six took a breath. "Follow the damn plane…They're headed for the Legate's camp."

Boone took point – his feet kicking up dust as he chased after the airborne machine. They watched as it spiraled groundward – leveling out at the last moment. From the bottom, a barrage of cylinders dropped.

The duo hit the ground – it shook with fury.

"What the fuck…what…what?"

The Legion camp was engulfed in flames.

"Incendiary," Boone told him. "Our job here is done."

"Not until I know…" Six took off ahead. "I've seen the Legate…"

Boone scowled, but didn't object.

Minutes later, they were outside the base. Flames lit up the sky.

In the flames – Six could see the man, standing erect. His golden armor glistening by flame.

He stood motionlessly – staring into the flames.

Past the flames.

At the Duo.

His grip tightened around his blade – death personified.

And he charged.

Boone dropped to one knee – taking aim with his rifle.

He fired once. Twice. Three shots.

A clip.

With each roar of the rifle, the man would recoil – but he kept coming.

Six raised his own rifle…though if Boone's armor piercing .308 rounds weren't slowing him down, he was sure that his own 5.56mm rounds wouldn't amount to much.

The beast of a man enclosed the distance incredibly fast.

"Shoot him in the head! Shoot him in the head!"

"I'm trying!" Boone growled.

Then he was on them – his boot firmly planted into Boone's chest, sending him toppling backwards.

Then he turned his attention to Six – he swung with the flat of his blade. It connected firmly into Six's sternum, cracking his riot armor. He found himself flying – high above the Mojave sand. He felt his back and neck jolt as he slammed into stone.

The Legate turned back to Boone. One massive hand enclosed around his throat and he lifted him high.

"Do you think this is over?" His grip tightened. "When this is over, the blood of your NCR will fill the Colorado. Your men will be crucified. Your women will beg for mercy. Your children will burn!"

With all the strength he could muster, Six raised his revolver. His breathing was shallow – his vision pulsed.

He fired…

The Legate's helmet spun on high – crashing to the ground. The man turned to look at Six – his hair dark, a handlebar mustache decorating his face.

"I'll be with you soon enough," he barked. Then he turned back to Boone – who's legs dangled lifelessly. "You will not die this day…I'll hang your body…"

"Don't lay a hand on my babies!"

Six instantly recognized the roar – a faint smile spread across his face.

An angel…in the form of a demon.

Lily raced across the battlefield, a blade far more fierce than the Legate could have ever dreamed in tote.

The Legate dropped Boone and braced for impact. Lily's swung her blade wide and it found its mark. The Legate spiraled through the air, crashing to the earth below.

But he didn't stay down. He was on his feet in an instant – and Lily charged again. This time the Legate doubled back when she swung – his hands reached out and grasped the blade. The sound of scraping steel filled the air. Blood trickled from the Legate's gauntlets – but he held firm.

"All that exists beneath the flag of the Great Bear exist only to prove the strength of the Legion…" his grip on the blade tightened. "I am the heir to the Legion throne…and this gate to the west shall be ours on this day."

He spun violently, ripping the blade from Lily's hands – sweeping back with the blade's hilt, knocking her legs out from under her. Then he arched the blade high and brought it down…severing the mutant's head from her body.

A look of horror forever frozen on her face…and her straw hat stained red with blood.

The Legate stepped back, appreciating his own work.

Six had never seen a man take down a mutant with his bare hands…how could he hope to kill this man? This…monster of the east?

**Graham**

The Legion had fallen on the dam.

Graham watched, discontented…his heart heavy with regret.

Atop the ridge, he could see Boone and his soldiers picking off the men he once called family.

In the distance – he could see a river of steel fast approaching the dam.

The Legion would not prevail this day – of that he was certain.

He started towards the ridge – his hand gripping his pistol tightly, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

Before long, he was on the ridge. Around him, the earth shattered and shook with howitzer fire.

But his eyes were only on one man.

Craig Boone.

He just needed to get close enough…

He watched Boone stand, narrowly avoiding death by howitzer. Boone was looking out over the battlefield – then he looked towards Six.

Whistling filled the air…

Graham rushed. He threw the weight of his body into Boone, sending him toppling over the cliff and onto the Dam below. Into the heat of battle.

_Go protect him, my friend_.

Graham felt the impact of the howitzer as it crashed into the ground nearby. The force of the blast threw him from the cliff.

Darkness. The very same that consumed him that fateful day so many years ago.

Someone calling his name…a voice. Familiar.

"C'mon! Don't you die on me!"

Pressure on his chest. Air filling his lungs.

"C'mon! Breathe! Graham!"

He opened his eyes – the woman. Cass.

"Graham!" She gripped his shoulders. "You're alive?!"

He swallowed, sitting up. He pulled the gauze of his bandage back over his face. "So I am…"

He looked out over the Dam – it was littered with the bodies of man and machine alike. Men in power armor…some familiar, some alien…walked amongst them. Armed with weapons that cut through swathes of Legionnaires with little effort.

The Legion was in full retreat.

"Where is Six?"

"He went after the Legate."

Graham's eyes locked on Cass. "No…" He made his way to his feet. "I've seen this man…I've been scouting the Legate's camp, searching for a way in. This man is no ordinary Legionnaire…Six _will_ fall."

"Then we have to save him…"

Before she finished the sentence, Graham was on his feet. In the distance, he could see a behemoth of a creature – swatting Legionnaires like flies.

"Lily," Cass explained. "I've already sent her to help."

"She won't be enough…"

Cass struggled to keep up with Graham – even now, despite his injures…old and new…he seemed inhumanely fast. They zipped across the dam – but even they couldn't keep up with the nightkin as it raced to Six's aid.

By the time they had caught up – the nightkin lay slain at the feet of the Legate. Who now, turned his attention to Six.

Graham swung his rifle around – taking aim. He let out a burst of gunfire. The low caliber rounds pelted against the Legate's armor…but it was enough to get his attention. He glanced over his shoulder…his eyes locking on Graham.

"Lanius!" Graham dropped his rifle and entered a dead sprint. The Legate followed suit.

Graham drew his pistol – firing as he ran, counting each bullet.

_One_ – the bullet struck the Legate in the chest, bouncing off his armor.

_Two –_ missed.

_Three –_ another miss.

The Legate scooped up his blade and raised it high – part of Graham wondered how he could move with such agility with that large blade above his head.

_Four_ – hit the Legate's left arm, leaving a trail of crimson. It didn't affect the beast.

_Five – _connected with the steel of his blade.

The distance between them was closing rapidly.

Graham counted back from each shot he fired…and at the last second, he ducked back – sliding between the Legate's legs – aiming skyward.

Lanius swung the blade down vertically, narrowly missing Graham. The blade dug deep into the Mojave sand.

_Six_ – the bullet pierced the underside of the Legate's skull.

Lanius slumped forward – his massive body resting on the hilt of his blade, his feet still firmly planted, he stood erect.

The Legate was no more.

Graham pushed himself up from the ground. He looked towards Six – who sat slumped against rocks, a silly grin across his face. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the monster of the east.

"Sic simper tyrannis."

* * *

><p><em>Welp. That's the battle...I hope everyone enjoyed it, and I hope I did it justice.<br>_

_For those of you who follow my rants - I finished my first year of grad school with straight A's...so that's pretty rad. Outside of that, not much has gone down. I'm also pretty far in my outline for the Fallout 3 story. As much as I didn't want to go with a name - I've decided to use the "canon" name for the Lone Wanderer (i.e. the one on the the Fallout Wiki - "Albert"). _

_I have some pretty cool ideas for the Fallout 3 story - so when it comes time, I think you'll all enjoy it._

_I won't rant much tonight - I have work early in the morning. So, I suppose I'll hop off here. Ciao._


	38. Chapter 37: Rigged From The Start

_So, I've taken a bit of a hiatus on my writing - I'm working on a number of other projects that I've been devoting time to. I'd like to have one of those projects finished within the next year or so to be published. All the writing that I had been doing on it lately took its toll on me, and I more or less killed myself out on writing at all. Especially considering that I'm simultaneously having to write research papers and the like for school._

_This chapter is going to bounce around a bit - there was a few things I meant to cover last chapter that I didn't necessarily get around to and I wanted to amend that. I had considered rewriting the last chapter, as a number of people expressed disappointment in the battle and, in particular, the fight with Lanius. But, after rereading the chapter, I have decided against it. Lanius was a beast of a man - who, by himself, took on a nightkin in hand to hand combat. Given how I've approached the story thus far - and just how brutal I've made the nightkin, and supermutants in general, in previous chapters...I think that speaks volumes for just how tough Lanius was. His downfall was, ultimately, underestimating Graham. Graham attacked Lanius at his Achilles heel, so to speak. Further - in regards to the battle itself - a lot happened...and it happened quickly. I wrote it with that intention. In a battle, especially one of that magnitude, things are going to be fast paced. And, if you read carefully, I do talk a bit about the Legion being in retreat and about the war going on around them. It's hard to balance what's going on without making it too monotonous, capturing key points without all the trivial stuff in between...If I talked about every single Legionnaire that Six killed on his way to Lanius, it would very quickly turn into Genesis...except, instead of whom begat whom, we'd have whom slayed whom._

_Of course, I want my readers to know that I do take their preferences, desires, and ideas into consideration...hence, this chapter. Originally, it picked up immediately following the battle. Instead, I've gone back to cover some things that the battle alluded to, but never directly addressed._

_Anyway...the 18 Karat Run project is still very much alive. I will post chapters as I finish them, but I'm taking a bit of time to let my batteries recharge, so to speak. Rest assured, I will finish this series._

_Now...what you all have been patiently waiting for...the next Chapter in Six's Saga._

_Rigged from the Start._

_Enjoy._

* * *

><p><em>House isn't here, is he?<em>

Six breathed in deeply – holding his breath. He counted the dull thuds that resonated within his mind.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He breathed out.

_No._ _House isn't here…but…_

In front of him, the massive terminal flickered – coming to life. A green haze swept over the room – dimly rivaled by the light of his pipboy - the stupefied grin of Yes Man filling the screen.

Six shielded his eyes from the light.

"Good morning, chief! I hope you slept well!"

"Keep it down, Cass is still sleeping," Six commanded, cringing at the sudden boom of Yes Man's cheerful voice.

"Sorry!" Yes Man sang, albeit with decreased volume. "What can I do for you today?"

"Update me on House's bunker."

"Upgrades are complete! The securitrons are ready to march on your mark!"

"No. No, leave them where they are."

"You got it! Any particular reason?"

"Don't want to reveal my hand too early," Six mulled aloud, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "You still have access to House's database?"

"Of course!"

Six smiled. "…Think you can remotely access my pipboy?"

"Absolutely!"

"Just how many securitrons are we talking here?"

"They're logged at about forty-five…not sure how many of those are going to be functional, but I'd wager at least thirty-five."

"Thirty-five? I saw hundreds in the bunker…"

"Haha! You're funny! That was only the first level. The facility spans four levels – three of which are for storage of produced units. The lowest level houses the assembly line. If my calculations are correct, thirty-five hundred units should be ready to march in a moment's notice!"

And now it all made sense. "I want you to give me remote access to the bunker."

"I should be able to set that up! Any particular reason?"

"Yeah…one. One and thirty-five hundred."

"One other thing!" Yes Man chimed. "It seems our recently departed esteemed overlord was had invested a large amount of wealth into procuring an item!"

"Yeah, the chip."

"No…that was only one of House's many endeavors…" the screen flickered – folders and files filled it. Documents scrolled by in a blink, hundreds – thousands. Six couldn't keep track. Then, finally, it stopped. "Bingo!"

A woman flashed on screen – a reporter. Behind her, Six could see a stream of vapor and smoke trailing behind what seemed to be a strange mechanical object. "Multibillionaire and business tycoon, Robert House – founder and CEO of RobCo Industries – is working in conjunction with megacorporation Poseidon Energy to launch a surveillance satellite into orbit. The satellite, they claim, will help to detect foreign invaders and potential nuclear threats…"

"What am I watching?"

"Glad you asked! The _surveillance_ satellite was a ruse – a cover story! The satellite's true purpose is far more grim…_and useful!_"

Again the screen flickered. Within moments, text files filled it in its entirety.

"Archimedes II"

"TOP SECRET"

"Weaponized Energy"

"The Euclid Project"

Then a photo…what looked like a child's toy. Some type of ray gun.

"And here's a screenshot of a group of children playing in Freeside! I pulled the feed straight from one of our securitron patrols early this morning!"

Six could see a group of children chasing a rat…then, further in the background, a young boy chasing a girl.

"Is that what I think it is? That kid's toting around a weapon that could devastate the entire Strip?"

"Or…anyone that opposes the Strip!"

Six felt a smirk spreading across his face. "Why hasn't it gone off yet?"

"My guess would be the system hasn't been activated!"

"How would we activate it?"

"I can't make any guarantees! But my bet would be Helios One!"

* * *

><p>Six grasped the bandaged hand extended in his direction – with a grunt, he hauled himself to his feet.<p>

"I'm sorry," he said, immediately.

"For?"

"Ever doubting you."

Graham shook his head. "You've nothing to apologize for…" he glanced over his shoulder again, at the Legate. His body slouched against the hilt of his blade – knees locked in place. "I suppose, with the roles reversed…given the circumstances…I'd have had trouble trusting you as well."

"Son of a bitch is still standing…" Boone was laying on his side. He took a breath and sat up. His shoulders slumped lightly and he twisted his neck – a fierce popping noise filled the air. "Thanks for the assist."

Graham once more extended his hand – Boone looked up at him, then reached across the ground and picked up his shades. He placed them on his face, then he – to Six's surprise – he grasped Graham's hand and pulled himself to his feet.

Securitrons, Brotherhood, and NCR soldiers pressed forward – staining the Mojave red in their wake. _Bodies strewn like droppings in the sand_…

They laid waste to their enemy as the Legion attempted to flee – fighting back in vain.

The Psyker kid was right.

_Again_.

And...speaking of securitrons. Six twisted a dial on his pip-boy, "Send 'em in."

"Yes, sir!"

"Send who in?" Cass asked him quizzically.

"Just a little precaution."

"Damn fine job, soldier."

Six turned towards the voice – a man clad in fine leather boots and a tan uniform with a matching forest green tie and cap was approaching him. He was dressed – almost to the tee – the same as the day Six met him in Crocker's office…

His escorts, five well-armed Rangers, were dressed noticeably distinct from their commanding officer. They had clearly seen battle.

Whereas this man…General Lee Oliver…had nary a hair out of place.

"Damn fine job…I haven't seen anything like this in a long, long time."

With a sneer, Six raised his brow.

"Caesar's in the ground…Legion are pouring through the gates of Hell. Their screams as they kicked the dirt, scurrying east…like a choir of angels in my ears. And it's all thanks to you and yours."

"Something tells me that the official report isn't going to say that…" Six mused.

Oliver laughed. "I'll pay respect where it's due, of course…you're a hero. Could use a hundred of you, to be honest. Just scatter you over the east like Jacks…give those plumed fucks the what for. But, the truth is, you're not worried about people back in California, are you? Because I am. They need a hero…so I'm going to give them one."

"I bet you are."

General Oliver laughed. "No need to make mountains of mole hills, son…"

Six laughed. He pushed past the General and walked a ways away from the Legate's body, carefully counting his footsteps. His group falling into step behind him…while Oliver walked at his side. "Who's making mountains?" He asked. "The dam is back where it belongs…"

"And the NCR thanks you for that, son. You've secured the NCR's future – and, for what it's worth, the administration sends their thanks."

Six let out a long chuckle. "I think you misunderstood me…I meant, it's back in the hands of the Mojave."

He could see the confusion in Oliver's eyes .

"New Vegas isn't joining the NCR. The Mojave isn't going to be part of your cardboard nation. Mr. House had a vision…of an independent new Vegas…"

"And Mr. House gave us his word that Hoover Dam would belong to the NCR…"

"That was then…this is now," Six reached into his duster, withdrawing a sealed envelope. "For _the administration…"_

Oliver took the envelope cautiously, his eyes locked on Six. He held it with one hand and slipped his thumb into it, tearing it open with a swift rip. He walked along slowly, mouthing the words as he read it. Then he froze…_The Free Economic Zone of New Vegas…demands NCR's immediate withdrawal… _"What the hell is this shit?" Oliver's voice was snide. "Look, son…I'm going to break this down real easy like. We both know that House is dead. You're just his goddamn errand boy – no more fit to run a country than to wipe the brahmin shit from my boot. And this paper?" He crumpled it and tossed it to the ground. "Not fit to wipe my ass with. The NCR just held the dam…and we didn't do it to give it up."

Nodding his head and clicking his tongue, Six stopped and turned to look at the Legate – some hundred yards away. "Well, see…that's where you're wrong…"

"The hell I am…you think that after what we've been through, I'm going to grab my ankles and take it like the Legion? If you want to start a war with the NCR – you're…"

"I don't want to start a war. Citizens of the NCR are free to come and go as they please. All NCR soldiers have safe passage through the Mojave for further expansion east, or to pursue the Legion as they see fit. But the Mojave…the Mojave is, as of right now, free from the Legion, from House, and from the NCR. You see those?" He pointed off into the distance. A cloud of dust on the horizon – hundreds of securitrons were en route to their position.

"You think a few tin cans on wheels are going to stop the NCR? When reinforcements arrive and the counteroffensive begins…"

"What about the bomber that passed over the Legion camp? Or the vertibird that mowed down their front lines?"

Oliver's eyes darted between the securitrons and Six a few times…then to Graham, who stood idly, observing the Legion Camp. "He's a goddamn war criminal! And now so are you! Both of you are going to be tried…"

"He's a war criminal_ to the NCR_. He was instrumental to the success of New Vegas – which, by the way, as Head of this glorious state…I pardon him of those crimes…Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that if something were to happen to me right now…New Vegas would be ripe for the picking. But the beauty of it all is that it's completely autonomous. You could put a bullet in my head right now…and it wouldn't change a thing. Well, that's not entirely true…now is it? I'd be dead…you might get some sort of satisfaction from that. But let me make something clear…this can play out one of two ways. You can accept the hand that you've been dealt…or you can take that gamble. If you accept your losses, then you walk away from here. Sure, the NCR loses out on some territory…that's just the way it played out though. But…" Six let his eyes fall to the rangers – all with their fingers resting on the triggers of their high end weaponry. "If you decide to take that gamble…well, let's drop the metaphor and be frank with one another. If you do what it is you're thinking at this very moment…the last thing you'll ever feel is the hard slap of cold water as one of my very well outfitted tin cans chucks your ass into Lake Mead…and at this height, well…" he shrugged. "Even if it doesn't kill you…at the very least, it'd break some bones. I'm sure you can out swim the mirelurks, though right?"

A bead of sweat trickled down Oliver's face. Six watched it roll across his forehead and down his nose, where it – very briefly – clung to its tip.

His breathing was fast and shallow. His legs trembling.

Six could practically all but taste his fear.

Still, he stood his ground.

A long sigh escaped Six's lungs. "I can see you're a hard man to bargain with…" He looked over Oliver's shoulder – past the Dam and at the ridge. Then he pointed towards the stationary, still erect, body of Legate Lanius some hundred yards away. He cocked one finger…and fired an imaginary shot.

Within moments a quad of red beams of light shot down from the heavens. They traced the area round the Legate, spinning in an almost geometric fashion. Then, they centered on him.

The sky lit up as the clouds parted…a bright white light consumed the world.

Oliver saw the impact before he heard the noise – a fierce sound like thunder. The explosion was intense – and, even from the distance they were at, he could feel the intense heat of the blast.

"You were saying?"

Oliver swallowed. "These men have placed their lives in my hands…I won' throw them away for a lost cause…but don't get too comfortable. 'Cause the NCR will be back. I know you're riding high right now…but you ain't pissing on me. You're pissing on the Bear…you've been far enough out west, I'm guessing, to know how far that claw stretches. Fuck with the Bear and…"

"Claws…horns…it's all the same to me."

"Excuse me?"

"The bull made the same empty threat…maybe not in so many words."

"It's not an empty threat, kid…you don't know what you're doing. You're making a nation…and trying to do it like you're chowing down on a pile of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes. You think you've got what it takes to carve out a frontier? Build towns? Protect the roads? Run supplies and train troops? I know what those robots of yours can do on a bad day…and I'm not eager to toss lives at them to make a point. But that's not my call." He sighed. "When I give my superiors the news…they're not going to be happy. So when the NCR comes at you…and it will…pray you're ready. Cause we will be."

Six frowned…nodding with a heavy heart. "I hope it doesn't come to that. I hope we can make strong allies of each other…but believe me, General. Carve these words into stone tablets…take them back to your people. New Vegas is free."

* * *

><p>"So I told them I had a theoretical degree in physics! And they said welcome aboard!"<p>

Christine felt her brow furrow. "…So you're an idiot that has absolutely no idea what you're doing."

"No, sweetheart! That's where you're wrong! I know _exactly_ what I'm doing…I just don't know what effect it's going to have." The young man, who'd introduced himself as Fantastic, lead Christine across the room. "This here is the control panel…it controls the power throughout the building. This computer has readouts on the computer network…"

Christine curled her lips…_maybe he knew a little something after all_.

"And this here!" He tapped a black knob. "It makes all kinds of crazy ass noises. And this! Sparks come out of here if you put anything into it!"

_Maybe not_.

"See, the mirrors outside aren't aimed right – so right now, we're running at about ten percent efficiency. Some assholes don't think that's enough though…"

"Well…yeah. A plant like this should be generating enough…"

"So, tell me babe…" Fantastic interrupted, "how'd you get those scars?"

"Fantastic…" a mellow voice called out from the other room. "I don't think that's a very appropriate question."

"Fuck you, Rivas, man – I'm in charge here. No Fantastic, no power. The whole goddamn NCR is suckling at my teats and it feels _oh, so good._ You'd do good to do the same, 'fore I have them throw your ass out of here."

Rivas – a dark haired man with a pointed face – laughed, poking his head from the adjoined room. "Christine, you say your name was?"

"Yes."

He extended his hand. "Rivas…Ignacio Rivas. Please…just use my last name. No one ever pronounces my name correctly. You're a follower?"

"I am…"

"Hm…" Rivas scratched his pointed nose. "I can't say I recognize you."

"You know all of the Followers in the Mojave?"

He smiled. "No…no I don't. Just those worth knowing. Please…" He turned back into the other room – Christine followed. "I must say, it's unusual to see a new face here. What can I help you with?"

"If you'd just catch me up on what you've learned about the facility…"

Rivas grinned. "Of course…so long as we're honest with each other...that's an interesting tattoo…"

Christine raised a brow.

"The one on your neck…I can see part of it, at least. Peeking out from under your lap coat. Brotherhood, if I'm not mistaken."

Cover blown…Christine felt her hand slowly sliding into her lab coat.

"Normally, the Brotherhood and the Followers find themselves at ends…but given the circumstances. I've seen some Brotherhood's equipment…the technology they have sometimes reminds me of Enclave equipment, though not quite as advanced. Some of the equipment here shows similar potential. Please…have a seat."

Her arm relaxed, and she sat beside him.

"This facility carries with it dangers that no one has yet realized…well, with the exception of the at least one Brotherhood elder. The monitors here have some very interesting readouts from time to time. There's a large source of power being diverted from the facility to an offsite project…it seems that elder was able to break through the encryption and unlock some of the files, though he was only able to get about as far as I have. What the project is or how it works, I'm not entirely sure. I do know that the project was a joint project between Poseidon Energy and RobCo. Given House's reputation, I believe it's safe to assume that the project has to do with national security. Something that uses this much power though? A weapon like that would be devastating no matter who wielded it…it seems a shame to let all that energy go to waste. If it were to be distributed across the grid…"

_So that's why Six sent me…_

"So the brotherhood knew about this project?"

"I would think that you would know better than I would…but perhaps they keep secrets even from members of their own order. When the bombs fell, we lost a lot of information and advancement…in agriculture, medical technology…and less beneficial fields of research. Some things are better left buried with the Old World."

Christine pulled the keyboard across the table. "Do you mind?"

"By all means…"

Instantly the screen was filled with bright green text, numbers, and symbols. Christine swiftly scrolled through her options and typed furiously at the keyboard. Rivas watched her intently.

"I have to say, for once I'm glad to see someone from the Brotherhood…perhaps we can work together for a change of pace…"

Rivas driveled on and on. He talked about the Followers – about their mission. About how they differed from the Brotherhood. About the NCR…about how the Followers were busy trying to clean that mess: as the NCR carelessly expanded, they left the people they _appropriated_ in their expansion to fend for themselves. The Followers attempt to create stability where the NCR left only chaos.

Rivas was so deep in his own thoughts, twiddling his thumbs, that he didn't notice when Christine broke through the encryption.

He didn't notice her dive into the files – struggling as her eyes frantically scanned each document for any information on any top secret project she could find.

He didn't notice her increase the facility's proficiency by nearly fifty percent. Or that she rerouted the power output away from the NCR and to New Vegas and the Mojave.

And that final forty percent? She routed that into a defense program titled ARCHIMEDES.

Hours later, she trekked across the ridge above Hoover Dam. She scaled down it, looking at the bodies strewn hitherto. In the distance, she could see Brotherhood, securitron, NCR soldier, and Legion dogs battling it out. She stopped quietly, and let her gaze fall on one of the towers. She opened a door and began the long climb to the top. At its highest point, she found a heavy aluminum…she pressed it firmly and was greeted by the midday sun and stifling hot air. From the top of the tower, she could just make out a gathering in the distance. She pulled out her rifle and scanned the horizon.

She could see Six talking with General Oliver – she placed the crosshairs firmly on Oliver…if he made a move for his weapon…

They began to walk. A slow, steady pace. Oliver read from a document as they walked. Then he stopped. He looked up at Six sharply.

They conversed more…then Oliver pointed towards Graham.

Christine could tell by the look on Six's face that he had long lost enthusiasm for the conversation. He pointed to the body of the Legate. Then he _fired_.

_That's my cue…_

Christine rummaged through a black bag nestled around her shoulder. She withdrew a gun…what looked to be a toy. Or something out of an Old World science fiction flick. Some sort of pistol of extraterrestrial origin. A heavy one at that…

In her mind, numbers flew…she looked through her scope and calculated the distance. She set the dials on the gun…the angles, the distance.

When she was satisfied with her calculations, she aimed and pulled the trigger.

And in that instant, she understood why Rivas feared the weapon that she had activated…

In her hands, she held the power of Gods.

* * *

><p>Six twisted the cap off his beer. He took a long drink and sunk into a black recliner situated in front of the massive terminal…around him, his friends…<p>

His family.

Nestled safely back on the Strip, high above the streets in the penthouse suite.

"So he points to Lanius…and this fucking laser blasts from fucking heaven…" Cass laughed. "Jesus, I swear you should have seen it."

Benny laughed. "I'd like to have seen the look on Ollie's face when that happened…what the hell was it?"

"What was what?" Six asked, timidly.

"The goddamn laser, what do you think?"

Six's smile was furtive. "Trade secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Another wild laugh…whether or not Benny was truly amused or if the mask was meant to hide his trepidation wasn't certain. "That's aces, for sure…so how does it feel, then, daddy-o?"

Six looked at him curiously.

"The Strip is yours. Hell, the entire goddamn Mojave is yours. What House did for the Families? You did for everyone in this shit desert."

Six smiled again – more genuinely this time.

"I have to know, slick! How does that feel?"

Another swig and a long breath. Six looked out the window of the Lucky 38 and across the Mojave. Then, he turned his sights to the people around him.

Cass nuzzled at his side. The woman he loved…the woman who had gone through hell with him. Gone through hell for him. Who had seen him at his best and held him up at his worst.

She made him happy…happier than he had ever been…even if he couldn't remember all of his past, of that much he was certain.

Arcade, still in his battle armor, sipping from a martini glass in the corner.

Arcade was staring out over the Mojave as well. He seemed to be lost in thought – and Six could probably guess what those thoughts were.

He was concerned about the Mojave. About its people. About NCR retaliation…

Truthfully, Six was worried about NCR retaliation.

But mostly, he was worried about Six…about the power that he had massed. About how he would use it.

Veronica…gleefully stretched out on a neighboring sofa, atomic cocktail in hand.

The first woman he ever felt like he could truly rely on…in a way that he couldn't even rely on Cass. A woman who he knew would always be alright.

So strong and independent. A friend that would lay her life on the line for him…and he'd do the same for her.

And yes, even Benny. The snake of the Mojave…the man who had left him for dead. But the man that had the plan that pulled everything together…a plan that was _almost_ perfect.

Then he felt his mind drift to the people that weren't here with him…

Boone had not taken kindly to what he felt was a betrayal.

He had expected that Six would want to be independent from the NCR…and he had, surprisingly, been okay with that.

"The NCR has stretched their lines too thin…they're overreaching." Boone had growled at him on their way back to New Vegas. "You're going to start a war."

"I did what I thought was necessary…" Six had told him calmly.

"And that meant keeping secrets from me…taking the word of a fucking Legionnaire. Following his advice? Christine knew? Veronica? Fucking Graham? I don't understand why you felt like you had to hide it from me."

"I didn't want you to have to choose where your loyalty lied."

"What the hell is that even supposed to mean" Boone scoffed…"I don't know if I've ever made it clear to you. But I trusted you. If I didn't, Graham wouldn't be standing here today. Or I wouldn't one…" his voice was cold. "I guess I put my trust in the wrong person."

"Boone, listen…"

"No. I'm done listening to you. I think we're done here."

He separated from the group, walking off on his own.

"Boone!" Cass called out. "Come on! Come back!"

"I don't think that's a good idea," he called back to her.

"Well, will we at least see you at the celebration tonight?"

"What's there to celebrate?" He snarled. "The next time I see your boyfriend, it'll be through the scope of my rifle."

And Six could tell he meant it. He felt his heart sink. A pain shot through every fiber of his being…betrayal. Loss.

A little voice somewhere in the back of his mind told him that it was probably the way Boone felt when Six had explained what Oliver was talking about when he mentioned House's death.

"He'll come around…" Cass promised, taking Six's hand into her own.

Part of him wanted to believe her…but part of him knew just how strong grudges could be.

Still, he had overcome his…so maybe…

"Hello again!"

Yes Man's cheerful chime pulled Six back to the present – the console was lit up with his creepy ass smiling face.

"I just wanted to let you know that Raul and Christine are just about finished with my updates!"

"Updates?" Benny sounded intrigued.

Six sat his empty beer bottle on the floor. "Yes Man was perfect for establishing control of the Strip. But you know how easy it would be to usurp that control?" He twisted his lips and snapped his fingers. "That's all it would take. So I'm having Christine and Raul run some maintenance on him. Make him a little more assertive…and give him a little less control."

"Less control?"

"I've heard enough Old World sci-fi audiologs to know that rogue A.I.'s are a bad idea…giving a machine the power that a person should have is a disaster waiting to happen. So I'm having them limit his control of the securitrons."

"How so? What control is he going to have?"

"Outside of access to securitron maintenance, production, and basic defense? Nada."

Benny laughed. "You're paranoid, my friend."

"Better safe than sorry…"

"Truer words have never been spoken." Graham's calm, collected voice flowed across the room.

"I didn't even hear you come in…" Six stood to greet him. Then, more solemnly, "Any news?"

"We've searched the camp…if she's alive, she hasn't surfaced yet. The followers have been bringing in slaves, wounded, and refugees from the Colorado since the Legion retreated…"

"Jesus…we'll find her, Graham. I promise you. I'll spend every last cap I have…"

Graham let out a small sigh. "You have many people to take into consideration now…you can't let the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many."

A frown spread across Six's face…_of course, Graham was right_.

"Where's Boone?"

Six shrugged. "Novac? California? Hell…" he sighed. "I don't know."

"Ah…" Graham could tell by Six's demeanor that this was a subject best left alone. At least, for the time being.

Six slumped back into the recliner and Cass resituated herself beside him.

Graham leaned against the terminal and opened a beer of his own.

"I distinctly remember you saying that chems have no affect on you…" Six trailed off.

He chuckled at the remark. "Sometimes, a drink with friends is more than enough to ease the suffering of a long day."

* * *

><p>"Bring her forward."<p>

A man clad in Legion armor entered – a rope in tow. At the end of that rope, a woman. Bruised and bloody – a soul tormented in every sense of the word.

"Where am I?" She asked.

The man in Legion armor didn't respond to her. He yanked the rope wrapped around her wrists. She felt a surge of pain shoot up her arms.

Julie Farkas was tired, sore…hungry. She felt like she hadn't eaten or slept in days. Hell, maybe she hadn't.

She was cold. The Legion had pulled her through the waters of the Colorado in a makeshift canoe…they had smuggled her along the border of NCR territory and hadn't alerted a single soul. Which was impressive, given she had tried to on several occasions.

And she was afraid…a trepidation had crept over her since their departure. Fear matched only by the time she had spent with the Legate.

…because that time felt like an eternity. More than that it felt…it felt like there was _no time_ inside the Legate's tent. Only darkness. A darkness that devoured her soul and penetrated her to her very core.

That was only the beginning of her torment…that perpetual darkness. He had purified her…bathed her in the blood of fallen soldiers.

Then he had taken her…taken her in ways that…

She pulled herself from such thoughts.

When the Legion had decided to move against the NCR, the Legate had sent her away from the camp.

"I'm going to keep you for a long, long time…"

His voice…his words. They would resonate within her mind forever…the sheer hatred and voracity with which he had spoken them with.

All of this to get to a man that he knew nothing about.

"Where am I?" She asked again.

Still no answer. The Legionnaire that had summoned her – a Centurion that seemed to be in charge – directed his attention to a group of Frumentarii at his side – speaking in hushed tones.

"I said," her voice was sharp, " _where am I?_"

A deep breath…the Centurion chewed his lip. "Far away from the NCR. Away from the Followers. Lanius requested I keep you safe for him."

"If it's safety you want to give me – _then set me free_."

"You know I can't do that."

"So then answer my question."

"The Legate's camp has fallen…the fort has fallen. You are in Dry Wells, the last bastion of hope for the Legion…"

"…Caesar is dead…in all likelihood, Lanius is too. The Legion will fall with them…can't you see that?"

"You're wrong. The Legion will survive…it will persevere…and, with time, it will thrive."

"You honestly believe that?"

"I _know_ it."

Her captor yanked the rope again…with enough force to send her falling forward. The rocks and sand cut her hands and face.

For a moment, she felt like she might never get up…but the she knew better. The Legionnaire pulled her to her knees.

"Whore – you're lucky that Lanius wants you there alive."

She laughed. A laugh that was weak and broken. "Lanius is dead…who is this savior of the Legion you speak of? You?"

"You will speak in no such manor!" The Legion man raised his hand to strike her – but he would never follow through. The Centurion was on his feet in a moment – his hand shot out, catching the Legionnaire's arm. Before the Legionnaire could turn to face his assailant, the Centurion swung his machete. Once…twice…three solid strikes. The Legionnaire was no more – his lower body slumped to the floor…while his upper torso dangled from the iron grip of the Centurion.

The Centurion - clad in golden and silver armor – let the body loose. With a dull thud, it crashed to the ground – its lifeless eyes stared at her silently. As did the Centurion; he looked down at his prisoner and sneered. "If you must know…yes."

The sheer determination with which he spoke sent chills down her spine…this man honestly believed he would save the Legion.

"Who…_are you_?"

The man removed his plumed helmet. His eyes and skin were dark. His head balding and his face… decorated with scars and thick, black curls. He knelt beside her– the black fabric of his pteruges falling into the blood of the recently departed.

"My name is Gaius Magnus."

* * *

><p><em>That's it for this chapter. Before you go, I wanted to give some updates regarding my Fallout 3 series, Anywhere I Wander.<em>

_I've totally revamped the story - and I've decided that, though I'm going to go with the name Albert for the Lone Wanderer - I am also going to be using the nickname "Thirteen". But not without reason._

_Further, I'm making some pretty significant deviations from the Fallout 3 story. This includes fleshing out some of the characters that are blank slates (the companions, for instance), and even making major players out of some NPC's that served little to no purpose (such as Sam Warrick, who's actually going to be one of the lead characters in the series). James (the Lone Wanderer's father) is also going to be heavily edited from his in game appearance. I'm sure by now you've all noticed that I like to dive into the psychology of the characters that I use. James makes a particularly interesting character because his child cost him the life of his wife. Further, the in game model of the Lone Wanderer's mother is significantly older than James. I'm going to be playing with that as well._

_My Fallout 3 story isn't going to be pretty...where the 18 Karat Run series focuses primarily on the ethics of politics, war, and religion...Anywhere I Wander is going to focus on much darker subjects. Racism (or speciesism), murder, pedophilia, psychosis, abandonment, loss, and the lines where survival and cruelty blur. Many of my characters aren't going to be "good" guys...in fact, many of them are going to be just the opposite. It's going to emphasize the many shades of grey that exist in the Fallout world. How what's right for one may not be right for another. And a major component of that story will be Thirteen's struggle with how the ethics he has been taught all his life don't apply on the outside._

_Thirteen is a character that - from the very beginning - will be out of place. Plagued by visions he doesn't understand and a desire to do good in a world where doing good doesn't seem to be welcome. He is unaware if his hallucinations are due to some supernatural prowess or simple psychosis. His father blames him for his mother's death and raises him more out of obligation than desire. It's not going to be a story for the faint of heart._

_I'm not sure if I'm going to take a hiatus on the 18 Karat Run series to focus on Anywhere I Wander, or if I'll finish the 18 Karat Run series first. I may even end up working on them in unison, posting a chapter for one and then the other at various intervals. Time will tell._

_You can expect the Prologue to be published soon - likely before the end of the month._

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and I hope everyone is sufficiently excited for Anywhere I Wander._

_Let me know if you stumble across any spelling or grammatical errors - any typos or, heaven forbid, any continuity errors. It's been a while since I dived back into the 18 Karat Run world. As always, thanks for reading._


End file.

Fallout, Adventure, Drama