Chapter 1

Bullets tore through soft padding. The Legionary took six bullets to his chest, before dropping only a few yards from the NCR trooper who fired them. The moment he hit the floor, the leading sergeant gave the all clear, once he'd given that same fallen Legionary a kick to ensure he was dead. The Legion had been eradicated from Camp Nelson. All but one, that was. The team of troopers left one particular Legionary alive. The one who had caused their own camp so much misery, the one who had strung up the remains of their friends for fun.

Decanus Dead Sea.

That name could stop any idle chatter in Forlorn Hope. It was a name nobody dared to speak, as they feared the monstrous Legionary could appear at the mere mention of his name. The troopers would make jokes about most Legion names, making a mockery of the Latin language the fascists treasured so dearly. But no man dared mock Dead Sea. It was a name that could send a shiver down any man's spine. So dark and fore boarding.

The Decanus didn't go without a fight though. Like all Legionaries, he saw the fight through to what he hoped would've been the bitter, bloody end. He took cover in the bathrooms of the barracks, the two troopers stayed behind the two grubby, bloodstained mattresses. What was expected to be a firefight, became a game of macro-polo, only with bullets. Private Green would fire at Dead Sea, Dead Sea would stay hidden behind the walls. Dead Sea returned fire, both troopers made sure to stay firmly behind their own makeshift barricades. Someone had to run out of bullets soon enough, both parties knew who would loose their firepower first.

The faint clicking of an empty cartridge that came from the bathroom was the signal that the Legionary was out of bullets and out of options. And most importantly: Nowhere to run or hide. The two troopers moved forward through the barracks. The rotten floorboards creaked under their boots, like the floor was ready to give out from under them at any given moment. The insufferable creaking ruled out a stealthy assault, but it wasn't like they needed one, their target had nowhere to run too.

"On three" One trooper mouthed to the other.

The younger trooper nodded, letting out a shaky breath. His body pumped with adrenalin, his hands shook unable to hold his service rifle steady. Reynalds held up one single finger, mouthing the number silently. Then came two fingers. Bile built up in Green's throat, the tension and anxiety becoming too much for the young trooper.

Three fingers.

"Now!" The other exclaimed, sprinting around the corner, rifle in hand. Green went in a split second after- Only to suddenly be coated in a splatter of blood. The sound of a blade slicing through flesh, then the scream of the Sargent who was without a left hand. Cut off by a Legion blade.

The one welded by Dead Sea himself, the Liberator.

The leather and bone handle was gripped tightly in the gloved hand. Green's eyes focused on the blade, dripping with the blood of his friend. His eyes then trailed from the blade, to the arm that welded it. Thick black brandings, burned deep into the man's flesh. A symbol of Caesar's ownership over this man. The men of the Legion were slaves too- But they just couldn't see the chains they wore. Finally, his eyes met those of his enemies. Though they were hidden behind dark goggles, he could see there was no humanity left in them. No compassion for others, like every other Legion scum bag.

The Decanus rose his blade, up to the chin of the younger male. The Sargent was no longer a threat to him, he lay screaming and writhing over in the corner about his now stump hand. He strode past the whimpering wreck and over to his next kill. When the tip of the blade met the troopers flesh, Dead Sea heard the faintest whimper. That made him smirk, how quickly the Republic could loose their advantage.

"You've done well. To destroy what forces I had here..." The Decanus snarled, starting to back the trooper up against the wall. "Your only error... Was challenging me." He growled deeply, the blade pressed deeper into the troopers flesh now.

"Y-you're-"
"What was that, Profligate?" The Legionary taunted, cupping his free hand over where his ear was. "I didn't quite catch that, the sound of your fear drowned it out a little..."

"You're- In deep shit." The young Private growled back. The sudden burst of confidence was enough to take Dead Sea back slightly, just enough for the blade of the machete to come half an inch from his throat, giving some breathing space. Dead Sea recovered in almost a flash, going to press the blade back in, and probably kill the man.

A shot rang out from behind the both of them, then three more. The Decanus gave a cry of pain before buckling and collapsing to the ground. Blood gushing from the back of his knee. Behind the swearing, quivering wreck of a Decanus, was Sargent Reynalds who held a pistol that emitted a string of smoke from four fresh bullets that fired out of it. Green leapt over the fallen man and straight over to his fellow trooper, holding him to his feet and supporting his weight as the two walked out of the hell hole barracks.

"What about Dead Sea?" One trooper asked to Major Polatli, who was overseeing the removal of Legion 'activity' in Nelson. Mainly removing their disgusting tributes from the camp and putting the bodies into a mass, unmarked grave.

"He'll get what's coming to him." The man mummered under a drag of a cigarette. "

"Justice will be served tonight."