Blood spattered across her face, the dark speckles blending in on her freckled cheeks, skin the color of clay fire. The redheaded woman with dangerous blue eyes reared back once more. Lifting the tire iron above her head, she brought it down and cracked it across the skull of the last raider in the building, the muscles in her large biceps bulging and stretching from the force.
The skull shattered and the tire iron bent.
"Fucking bitch." She cursed as she inspected her weapon. It was old, rusted, but it had served her well. Picking brain matter off of it, she frowned and ultimately dropped it. The weapon clattered to the ground of the office floor and Beatrice Luck looked up.
She had left a trail of dead bodies behind her, had spent the better portion of the day clearing the place out and didn't have much more than gashes and bruises to show for it. Adjusting the makeshift bandage on her arm, she leaned down to inspect the body. The man's face was all but unrecognizable, but it was still clear that he had been a drug addict. He looked gnarled, grizzled beyond his years. If Beatrice had to put an age to him, she'd say he was younger than her, only in his early-twenties.
A shame.
The knowledge that this very well could have been her stuck with her as she dug through his pockets. She had once been just like them, roaming the desert and killing for both profit and pleasure. It was the family business. This could have been her, bleeding chems and laughing hysterically as she took a tire iron to the skull.
Turning the body back over she made a disgusted sound and stepped over it.
That wasn't her. She had changed her life. Taking the handkerchief from the pocket of her too-large cargo pants, she wiped her hands clean of the blood as she looked around. Originally, she had come here for a very specific item, but now she just wanted to find a new weapon. Her combat knife could only get her so far. Stuffing the handkerchief back into her pocket she rounded the corner and peered into the dark room. The windows had been boarded up but the glass that was once there lay like shattered diamonds on the dark floor. It had been hundreds of years since the bombs had dropped yet everything still felt like time had stopped.
It was as if everyone just walked away from their desks and lives only never came back. Making her way in to the room that, according to the refrigerator that smelled rank even as far away as she was, once served as a place to eat, she looked around. Nothing struck her as terribly interesting, not until she spotted the toolkit in the corner. Now that had some promise.
Kneeling in front of the metal container, she undid the latches and pried the rusted top off with her grimy hands. Pocketing a handful of bottle caps, she grabbed the lead pipe that had been resting beside it and stood, the pans on her backpack clanking against each other as she did. Twisting the pipe in her hand, she tapped it against her leg to get a feel for it before nodding.
Rust chipped off, flittering down to collect on her pants and the dirty floor.
That would make a great weapon.
Taking that, she left the room, heading back to where a few desks still stood in the broken and busted cubicles. She didn't move quietly, but with heavy steps that came from far too much confidence. One by one, she checked the drawers of the old metal desks until she found what she was looking for.
She gasped in pure excitement. Suddenly, all of the fighting, the new rips in her ill-fitting tee-shirt, was worth it. In her scarred hands she held the first and third volume of La Fantoma, the comic series she had been collecting since she was a child. She couldn't quite believe she was holding them in her hands, the two volumes she could never find. A quick flip through found they weren't quite in perfect condition, but all the pages were there and that was good enough for her.
Slipping her heavy backpack from her shoulders, she opened the top flap and slid them in, making sure they fit perfectly in the mix of her rations and water bottles, she grinned to herself. Eternally pleased, she shrugged her backpack back in to place and stretched out her arms.
Her arms and shoulders ached.
Deciding there were no more threats in the building, she reached back to her pack. Her hand found the dial of her small radio and twisted it. It hissed white noise, shuttered, clicked, and –finally- the room swelled with music. Lazily resting the lead pipe over her broad shoulder, she turned and began making her way out, humming to the tune. Dean Domino.
There was something about his voice that made her heart melt and troubles disappear for just a few minutes. Of all her favorite pre-war singers, Frank Sinatra included, Dean Domino was her favorite. The sweet, mellow tone of his honeyed voice was what always drew her in. No matter how many times she heard the same song played over and over, she fell in love with it each time.
It was a shame there weren't many holo-tapes of Dean Domino left in the world. Even more so, it was a shame that the radio stations didn't seem to own but one.
When an irresistible force such as you-
She heard sand battering against the outer walls of the building, heard it seep its way in through the cracks and holes.
Meets an old immovable object like me-
Her foot caught on a body, on the Raider's spiked armor as she stepped over it. Ultimately, the expedition had been a bust, but she had enough caps for a whiskey on the rocks and a bed to sleep in. As far as her lackluster luck went, she had done pretty well.
You can bet just as sure as you live
"Somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give." This time, she sang along. Her voice wasn't that good, but the warm alto tone of it complimented Dean's just fine. She liked to think that maybe, if things had been different, she could have been a singer too.
But that was the fantasy of a child, one she had grown out of.
"When an irrepressible smile such as yours warms an old implacable heart such as mine, don't say no because I insist." She sauntered as she walked, kicking a stray arm with a little too much joy. "Somewhere, somehow, someone's gotta be kissed."
Reaching the front room of the office complex, she didn't even flinch at the smell of rotting flesh and drying blood. Flies had covered the walls that were painted with the blood of victims before her, warnings to 'kill kill kill ki- or 'fuck off' streaking the off-white wall paper. Heads had been placed on pikes, bodies hung upside down on chains from the ceiling like macabre chandeliers and she didn't even bat an eyelash. She had seen this before a hundred times and had been the cause of it even more.
Really, as far as body mutilation went, these guys just hadn't been all that creative.
Pushing against the door, the metal groaned and she stepped out in to the Mojave Wasteland.
It smelled like fire, like gunpowder and sweat. The sun glared down on her, harsh and unforgiving. Through her life, she had hated the Mojave blindly and she had loved it unconditionally. Now, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, a year she never thought she'd live to see, she simply accepted it. The Mojave was a dangerous mistress, a murderous one to those who tried to take advantage of her, but Beatrice had lived in it long enough to know how to survive. Pushing her awkward and messy bangs out of her face, she continued forward.
That was all she could do. Move forward. What she was heading towards she wasn't always sure. Maybe it was all pointless. Maybe she killed and struggled for nothing at all, but in that moment, she was two miles away from Freeside and she was going to get her whiskey even if it killed her.
She turned her radio up. She sang louder.
"Fight, fight, fight, fight it with all of your might, chances are tat some heavenly star-spangled night, we'll find out as sure as we live- somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give."
The sun was already starting to set. The heat of the Mojave was simmering down, leaving the air pleasantly cool. Hands shoved in her pocket, lead pipe hanging from her backpack, she strode through the walled off and broken streets of Freeside. Children chased one another, and in the glimmering neon lights, the night wasn't too terribly dark. But in comparison to the Strip not six blocks away, it was like comparing the moon to the sun.
The Strip, New Vegas, for a moment she stood in the middle of the street and stared down at it. It always left her in awe. Buildings towered into the night sky, glittering and gleaming with the promise of a better life. People laughed as they stumbled in, drunk on luck and bad liquor. Others walked out of the guarded gate with their shoes in their hands, wandering down to get a room they could actually afford at the Atomic Wrangler or maybe just find a safe space to sleep outside.
She let out a breath. One night she would get to go in.
She would see the Strip in all of its glory. She would dress up and brush her hair. She would go to Gomorrah or the Tops and spend money she didn't have on drinks and shows because the experience would be worth it.
All she had to do was save up a little more, then she could get her pass. She would get in one night, but that night wouldn't be this one.
Passing the King's School she gave a passing wave to the greasers who stood out front blowing plumes of smoke into the air. They waved back. Beatrice came around often enough that everyone knew who the redhead was. Where she would usually stop to chat with the members of the Kings, flirt a little and relax, she continued on. Reaching the Atomic Wrangler she pushed the door open and stepped in to the well-lit bar.
"Bea. Hey good to see you again, want the usual?" He wasn't usually so friendly, but Beatrice was a regular, a paying customer and one of the few who didn't just slap her debts on a tab. That alone made James Garret fond of her.
"You know me too well Garret." She grinned at the twin. "Been too long, ain't it doll?"
"Always too long when you're not around," he grabbed a glass from under the bar and ran a rag over it before taking out a bottle of whiskey. Business was slow that night, most patrons had already moved to the back to gamble. Chatting was something he had time for. "What've you been up to?"
She moved to one of the round tables and dropped her backpack. Rubbing her aching shoulders, she let her neck lull to the left, then the right, and she groaned. God it felt good to get that off her. "You know, a bit of this, a bit of that."
He never got a straight answer and had learned to never expect them. "Just glad to see you're still kicking." He pushed the drink across the bar and watched her leave a pile of caps as she took it.
"Yer not the only one." Chuckling to herself, she sat down in her usual chair and kicked her feet up on the table. Music filled the air, twisting with the laughter that came from the back room where the gambling was going down. She stretched out, reclining as far back as the chair would let to let the fans on the high ceiling cool her skin.
The door opened and she didn't look over. She was comfortable and felt no need to make sure whoever it was wasn't out for blood. However, when someone dropped into the chair across from her, she grinned at the familiar face.
He was handsome with vibrant eyes and a perfectly sculpted moustache, more than that, he was someone she knew all too well.
"Well shit," Beatrice offered her signature grin, "look what the radroach dragged in."
"Big Red, you wound me."
She snorted, watching Chip take his hat off and place it on his knee. He smoothed back his dark brown hair with a large hand. "Yer the only one who still calls me that. Come on Chip, get with the times, I haven't used that name since I did merc work."
"Yeah well I knew you when you had two purple Mohawks and hardly spoke anything more than Spanish." He waved at the Garret twin, motioning for his usual.
Chip was a regular face in there as well, known but for different reasons. Where Beatrice was known to be particularly volatile, Chip was always friendly. He was the one anyone could turn to for anything, the kind who would do anything he could to help.
"And you'd think after all that time and two gold teeth ya'd know to stop fuckin' with me." She snorted, eyeing him. Her eyes were alight as she spoke, cooling down into a simmering warmth as she looked him over. "Ya look good Chip, how's that head a' yours doing?"
He picked up the beer that was placed before him and rubbed the starburst scar on the side of his forehead where the bullet had pierced his skull with the other. "Could be doing worse. Still dealing with that whole platinum chip thing though, I'll tell you what, that's a mighty fine pain in my rear."
"Yeah, revenge can be like that. I keep telling you though, if you want me to kill that asshole who shot you, I'll do it for a box of snackcakes."
He shook his head, knowing what to take seriously and what to ignore. "No, that's something I gotta handle myself Red." Taking a swig of his drink, he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs under the table. "But I'm not here to talk work with you. I got a better proposition for you, actually."
"Does it involve snack cakes?"
"No."
"Then you don't got my attention."
He chuckled. "Come on. I got somethin' even more tempting."
"Oh now I like the sound of that." She wiggled her brows at him and he just about choked on his drink, snorting.
"Not what I meant." He had pressed the back of his hand against his nose and mouth, smiling wildly. "Believe it or not, I think I got somethin' even more interestin' for ya. Take a listen." He messed with a dial on his wrist and the pip-boy made a strange sound for a moment before the radio frequency came through.
"Has your life taken a turn?" The sultry, smooth voice of the radio asked. "Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind? If so, the Sierra Madre Casino, in all its glory, is inviting you to begin again. Come to a place where wealth, excitement and intrigue await around every corner. Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort, make new friends or," the voice seemed to take a breath, smiling, "rekindle old flames." There was a quiet chuckle. "Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert under clear starlit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our villa rooftops. Countless diversions await: Gamble in our casino, take in the theater, or stay in one of our exclusive executive suites that will shelter you and cater to your every whim. So if life's worries have weighted 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 Madra grand opening this October…we'll be waiting."
And with that, the radio station shut off. Chip turned his pip-boy off and looked at her.
Beatrice was staring at him, blue eyes bright and wide. He had remembered her talking about the Sierra Madre, about the treasure hidden in the old walls. She heard the rumors when she was young, the ghosts of stories that promised adventure and excitement. She had surfed her radio stations endlessly but she had never found this broadcast. She had dreamed about the Sierra Madre, but was never able to even think of going.
Not until now.
Removing her combat boots from the table she leaned forward to meet him. A hand reached out to touch his. "Chip, you know what this means, right?"
He grinned, gold teeth showing on the right side of his canines. "Ah, not exactly, but I thought you might. You talked about it before." But that's where his memory failed him. He remembered hearing her say the words, but the rest of his thoughts were scrambled by a flying piece of led.
Her expression only widened. "You don't remember the legends? Dios Mio. The Sierra Madre is said to be a dead city, mummified in the war, filled with riches and adventure. People 've gone after it before, but no one's found it, or, no one who's come back has." She was growing more excited as she spoke. "I've heard about it since I was a kid. Chip, we can go. Think of what we could do together. With your sharp shooting and my strength, nothing could stop us."
"I'm too busy for that, but you can." When he saw her frown, he lifted his hands passively. "No, no think about it, you know how to handle yourself better than anyone I know. Look at you, strong, brave, clever."
She wouldn't admit it, but his flattery worked. Seeing her small smile, he continued.
"Would you really miss the opportunity just because I can't go? Come on, listen to the ad, you can stroll along the streets, make new friends, rekindle old flames." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
She laughed, reaching over to shove his arm as she winked. "You're the only old flame I need, potro."
"Ya know, I don't know what that means, but I think I like the sound of it." He laughed along with her, the sound careless and open. "Come on, you said you've heard about it since you were a kid."
She finished off her whiskey, shutting her eyes for a moment as she let the burn settle in her throat. "Ya sure yer just not tryin' to get rid of me?"
"Never." He dramatically placed a hand on his chest.
Mulling her glass over in her hand, she kept her fingers busy. "Where do I go, though?"
"I'd track the radio frequency. Last I checked, it was comin' from some ol' Brotherhood of Steel bunker. Here, lemme see your map, I'll mark it down."
Setting the glass back on the table, she leaned over and dug through her bag. She had a pip-boy, but not like Chip's. Hers was the size of a small journal, compact and light. Turning it on, she handed it over to him. It had been luck, plucking that off a dead guy, she never would have gotten such a fancy piece of equipment. The only reason she hadn't sold it for a pile of caps was because it was useful for making sure her radiation poisoning never got too bad.
She watched his brows furrow as he worked to figure out the piece of tech. Biting his lip, he focused. A few beeping sounds were heard and he suddenly brightened once more. "Ah, got it! Alright, there you go."
"Thank you very much baby-doll." She took the pip-boy back and looked at it, scrolling over with her finger. It was a few days away, not too bad considering she spent most of her time wandering the sands anyway. She went where the wind blew her, survived on what the land gave her. Beatrice was a wastelander in the truest meaning of the word. "Guess I'll have to head that way soon then, huh?"
"The Mojave will survive without you, I'll make sure it doesn't catch fire and burn down."
"You sure? Things seem to go wrong when you're involved." She stretched her arms once more, rubbed her biceps and glanced at the bandage. The blood had seeped through the cloth, drying over. Ignoring the wound, knowing it would heal up just fine on its own, she reached into her pocket instead.
Just a few months ago, Chip would have expected her to pull out a needle and shoot up right then. But she had changed and he was proud of her. Instead, she pulled out a package of bubblegum. Dexterous fingers unwrapped the foil and he watched her fold it in half before popping it in her mouth.
A thought struck him.
"Hey, you still in the market for a pup?"
She looked at him. "Yeah, why?"
"I got a friend who's dog is about to have a litter. If you want, I bet I can snag one for you."
"Chip, baby, you're the best friend a girl could ask for."
Chip didn't hide his grin, gold teeth flashing once more. "Tell me somethin' I don't know."
She chuckled, the sound turning in to a warm hum that rubbed the back of her throat. "Well," the chair scraped as she stood. "I should grab a room before they all get taken, huh? Thanks for takin' a moment to chat with me, I know yer busy."
"Always good to see a friendly face now'a days. Ain't too many left."
"They would'a taken one more if they had gotten you, baby-doll." She tossed her pack over her shoulder once more.
"Oh now you're just being too nice to me. Careful, you might just steal my heart."
She walked backwards to the bar, to where the Garret twins handed out drinks. "Who's ta say that ain't my goal?" As she reached the bar she turned back to look at the male twin. "One room, please."
"Ten caps."
The exchange went flawlessly and she scooped up the key. Dangling it on her finger she looked back to Chip. "I'll be in room seven if you wanna join me, you know."
"Don't tempt me Bea."
"Oh I'll tempt you all night long." She laughed, wiggled her brows once more, and walked away, climbing the open staircase to the second floor where the rooms looked out over the open bar.
Chip scoffed and watched but he didn't follow. He never followed, and this was what they did. They flirted, they laughed, and they were friends. Real friends, the sort of friends that was hard to find in a place filled with murder and death. She may have knocked two of his teeth out, but she was his favorite little spitfire, someone he would always support because he knew she would support him.
She unlocked the door and shot one last wink at him before stepping inside the thread-bare room. The music and laughter could still be heard through the walls and the door. Dropping her bag without care, she kicked off her shoes and undid the button on her pants. They fell right off of her frame, pooling on the ground around her ankles. Stepping out of them, she walked right for the bed and fell face first on it. The fan overhead hummed softly as it twisted, blowing cool air on her hot skin.
Reaching back, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and wrestled it off, tossing it so it landed somewhere in the dark. Gathering her mess of wavy hair, she pulled it to the side and let the cool air wash over her scarred back.
She fell asleep in an instant, breathing deep and slow. Sleep was her escape. It was the only reason she was still able to believe in heaven.
She stared down at the manhole in the ground. This was it, or, she hoped this was it. If it wasn't, she was going to knock another tooth down Chip's throat for making her travel all this way for nothing. Reaching down, she grunted as she pried it open. The stale air wafted up and she wrinkled her nose. Bracing herself on the concrete, she swung her legs down the hole and let herself drop into the bunker. She landed with a quiet thunk and dusted her hands off on her pants. There was a flight of stairs heading down deeper in to the bunker. Ignoring the dead body in the corner, she eased her way down.
"Sierra Madre." She whispered the name that was painted on the door way and couldn't stop the jittering excitement that caught her blood alight.
One hand tightly wrapped around her lead pipe, she pushed the door open and eased her way through the thin hall. Even if she had tried to be quiet, in a hall like that it would have been all for naught.
The door at the end of the hall was open, revealing the room at the end. It was pitch black, circular with a single lit area in the center.
"Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind?" The radio asked. It was an old radio, pre-war and poised on a pedestal, glistening in the sterile light.
Beatrice's eyes narrowed as she closed the distance between her and the room. Just barely entering the threshold, she stopped.
"If so, the Sierra Madre Casino, in all its glory, is inviting you to begin again. Come to a place where wealth, excitement and intrigue await around every corner."
Nothing moved. There seemed to be no other door and, slowly, she took a step towards the radio.
"Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort, make new friends or rekindle old flames."
There was something wrong about this. Something didn't sit right with her and her mind was screaming at her to run while she still could. But she took another step forward.
"Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert under clear starlit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our villa rooftops."
Nothing happened.
More confident, she closed the distance and heard the door slam shut behind her. Red gas filled the room and she turned to leave. Her shoe, sole torn from the tip of her boot, caught on the ground and she tripped. She hit the ground hands first, barely saving her head from the fall. The radio was still playing but the sounds had become distorted, demonic.
Something moved behind her and her vision blurred. Someone was screaming and it took her a moment to realize that was her. The gas did something to her, forced her limbs to go limp. Something grabbed her ankles and yanked her viciously backwards, scraping her cheek on the icy metal ground. She watched as her lead pipe rolled away out of reach.
It went dark.
