The Janus Faced Man - Prolouge
Vegas had expanded rapidly after the years following the second battle for Hoover dam. Under the rule of the man once known as the Courier it had flourished. He had annexed Freeside, Westside and all the surrounding areas to restore New Vegas to being even bigger than its' pre war state including areas that it ruled through Hegemony to the point where even the mighty Arroyo paled in comparison to Vegas' neon soaked splendor.
For many years The Courier had been the reincarnation of Mr House -just far more brutal- in secret he killed all compeditors, he destroyed lives and ruined futues. As a result He could not walk the strip, face bare, without having almost everyone avert his gaze or treat him with the respect that he deserved, something that he especially hated . He was not a kind man, in any sense of the word. He had ruled as a military dictatorship that was disguised as a party town; every three days he had thrown lavish parties in the Lucky 38 that shocked the populus of the Wasteland had never seen before and brought the reputation of New vegas to new levels. Everyone in the city was invited, no matter their colour or creed, race or mutation, anyone and everyone could come. These parties were where people indulged their innermost desires and marveled at the granduer on display, fireworks, bright lights, tamed deathclaws doing tricks drinking, drugs, fighting and every kind of debauched sex imaginable. A saying grew that 'Every lust and indulgence you could want exists behind the doors of the Lucky 38, you just have to find the right door'. All this opulent luxary had distracted the humble people of the Wasteland from the reality of the way that Vegas was run and the ones who would notice what was really going on just didn't care enough to try and change it.
However one day he changed. The ones who noticed the change had no idea why or what brought it around. Some said that he grew a conscience, some thought that he grew tired of power and others that he had some hidden agenda. What ever his reasoning, he abandoned running a dictatorship and set up a quasi-semi republic that was really a meritocratic - plutocracy where the rich were in power and yet anyone could become rich if they figured out how to properly go about it. This could only be acheived in this post war world where values and lives were different. It was a beautiful system, everyone got richer and everyones lives improved even if they had little power, they still had power over someone else. No one could truly be the lowest of the low unless they wanted to be as they could easily make more money to get more power.
So, how did people go about making these large amounts of money? Well there is a multitude of ways, but the main ones went about it through legitimate businesses, others through very hard work and effort and the others went about it through crime. This new system largely purpetuated gangster culture, where they bootlegged alcohol, ran casinos, sold drugs, assassinated targets, racketeered legitimate businesses, ran strip clubs and did hundreds of shady practises that improved some lives and wrecked others. Through this five organised crime families rose to prominence that kingpinned all the crime in the city; The Sterlings, The Calloways, The Fortunas, The Omerta -the reformation of the Omertas- and The Patriarcha. What had ensued shortly after the rise of these five crime families was a bloody war for total control of the strip. People were executed in the streets, opposing members tortured, families dragged from burning homes and children killed.
That had lasted for 6 months before anyone had tried to stop it. Surprisingly it was the Courier that tried to bring it all to an end; despite having withdrawn altogether from public life following his step down of power he had not wanted to see the utopia he had spent so much time and love building tear itself to pieces. He called a meeting with the heads of the five families to bring some kind of stability to this out of control situation.
2295, 13 years after the fall of Mr House, 5 years since the step down of the Courier from power, 2 years since the rise of the Five Families, 6 months since the start of the Great Gangster War and 1 hour 25 minuetes into the meeting of the five families
Sat at the boardroom table of the Lucky 38 Casino were seven men, total in the room was 20 as each man was allowed two bodyguards to accompany them. The boardroom itself was lavishely furnished in a bourgeois fashion with luxary red velvet decorating the chairs and ornaments surrounding the table. Bizzare surrealist paintings littering the walls of the room and a large sculpture of the Lucky 38 set in polished obsidian that touched the roof of the room acted as a center piece to the table. The atmosphere was tense, body odour hung in the air as the men all sweated like pigs with little beads running down their cheeks into their expensive shirts. Each man was silent having just assembled from a break in the debating and were waiting for the Courier to resume conversation.
The Courier himself was sat at the head of the table and it was obvious that he had grown elderly, his hair had turned a salt and pepper colour and was brushed into a smooth wave on his head. His skin was hanging slightly from his face in age and his cheeks had turned particularly jowly. His aged square set face had obviously once been handsome, the only feature that had retained any of its' youth were his eyes; they were a piercing icy blue that saw straight through a person and added to his natural coercion and his ability to extract information from people peacfully. His voice was haggered and experienced that was slightly unplesent to listen to as he drew in rasping breaths every few seconds. He spoke and moved slowly, the Courier didn't have to move for anybody. They moved for him. The only people he would move fast for was his companions who were either scattered to the winds, dead or had rejected him during his Militaristic dictatorship. Anger was obviously visible behind his eyes as he stewed from what had transpired in the meeting so far. Which was precisely nothing. They had done nothing but declare the others to be at fault for the war and demand compensation for their suffering. Well each family except for the patriarchas and the Bishops. Mainly because the Mr Bishop was visiting from New Reno to secure that the terms of the peace wouldn't affect trade with New Reno, and the Patriarchas because they were a very patient family who spilled the least blood during the war. Which reflected their entire strategy of them making money, mainly commiting white collar or victimless crimes such as gambling, fraud, and running Casinos. The Don of the family; Don Patriarcha, was absent due to an unspecified illness so his consilgere sat in his place.
The Courier liked the Patriarchas, they were a respectable family who would sooner think before acting. After the death of the King the Kings had been stunned without a leader and had aimlessly continued with their usual gang activites but had lost that spark which had made them so exhilarating to be around and unique. As such they had been approached by the Chairmen to be absorbed into the Chairmen. Initally they had refused, stating that they were 'some weird cats' who would obliterate their cultural identity. Yet as their numbers had started to lessen and their ability to protect Freeside dwindled they returned to the Chairmen with a new deal; For the two groups to merge and form a new one which would be a combination of the two. Combining Style and fighting styles (Which were similar anyway). Surprisingly the Chairman had agreed and formed the Patriarchas
The ones who had been primarily arguing was The Omerta and The Calloways. They had spilled the most blood in the war serverly cutting the huge manpower possessed by each family. Bodies from the open executions of the two families members were still scattered around the city and bodies from silent hits were being found in concealed areas such as dumpsters and in bushes all the time. Hundereds of people were still missing from unknown circumstances.
So far they had each declared the other to be responsible for sparking the war, who killed whos son first and which one should be wiped out entierly. The main ones who had been doing the blaming were the Calloways and the Omerta.
The Calloways were a viscous family, who in reality were nothing more than a weakly organised group of bandits. They had only managed to be successful so far due to their strong -socio/psychopathic- leaders who forced the family members to whorship them as superme beings. This was most likely due to them mainly being made up of ex-Viper members who needed some kind of deity to praise to keep some small semblence of sanity.
At the meeting was Don Calloway; a man whos body was ripped with muscle, yet was on the small side resulting in a Naapolean complex against anyone who he viewed to be bigger than him, in the sense of power and size.
For the Omerta there was Cachino. Cachino was a balding man with a morose attitude and a sour face. He wore the typical beige pinstriped suite that the Omerta often wore. Cachino was a member of the original Omertas who had run the Gomorrah on the strip proper until the Courier had taken a dislike to their scheming and kicked them out of the strip proper. Now they lurked around the outskirts and suburbs of New Vegas conducting business with a thorough contempt for the Courier and agressive Jealousy for the other families; all of who were currently more powerful. They still retained the ethos of the Omertas; which was their name entierly. Omerta, in Gangster culture is the code of silence which each member undertakes to not tell any authority police service the affairs of the family.
The Fortunas and Sterlings so far had relented on saying much, only adding the occasional word or complaint as the war had been most profitable for them. They'd still lost lots of men and property, yet they, for the most part, had come out unscathed gaining larger amounts of territory than they had lost and had killed many members of the Omerta and Calloways.
The Fortunas were aptly named due to the fact tht they were the luckiest bastards on the strip right now. Despite -pre Gangster War- being the smallest families they had now become one of the largest with the smallest amount of men. They'd acheived this through excellent strategy and would only fight in situations where it would strategically be heavily in their favor and would rather give up small areas now to gain larger ones later on. Despite the Courier seeing them as having a low sense of recitiude and being strong opportunist, he admired their strategic value and intellectual power.
The Sterlings had done their utmost to look like pre war gangsters with a uniform of black suits, white shirts, red ties and black fedoras. The only thing that they carried which would signal that they weren't pre war gangsters was that they were their Laser RCW's, which they'd picked because it resembled the pre war tommy guns. Their need to look and act pre war bordered on mentally obsesive, where members were excomunicated from the family if they were heard or seen doing something that used terribly advanced technology such as wearing power armor or using robots.
Altogether these fine representatives of humanity made up the La Cosa Nostra of Wasteland America. Each one showing the unique qualities and specifics of their families. And each was as despicable as the next in their own way.
The Courier drummed his fingers. The repedative motion soothing the anger that he was feeling towards these morons. His lips were very thin and his jaw was clenched together to keep himself calm. Due to his reputation and because of where they were they would wait for him to speak before initiating conversation again out of respect.
In the extreme heat of the day they figited uncomfortably in their expensive suits that weren't made for the harsh heat and he was happy to let them broil. They sat like impetulent children who knew they would be told off.
The Courier had been making them sit uncomfortably for five minuetes so far and had gotten to the point where he had grow annoyed with tormenting them and decided to euthenise their agony despite the Vexation that he still felt towards them.
After pausing for a few moments to collect his thoughts he stood from his chair and felt all the eyes that had been avoiding his gaze slowly turn to him to hear what he was going to say.
"My associates, the simple and god honest truth" he pointed to the ceiling as he said this and gave a rasping cough before continuing. "The god honest truth, is that we have to end this war". He paused letting that sink in for a moment, looking into each set of eyes sat at the table "Or it will end us. Each person sat at this table could easily fight eachother to the edges of the earth and bring the rest of civilization teatering to the brink with us. But I will not let that happen in my city.".
He left his position at the head of the table to pace the table, resting his hand on the shoulders of each person in turn.
"This is the moment to live or the moment to die, we are the liars and the pariahs, we are the victors and to some the messiahs of this world yet we bicker like children. I had hoped that we could come here and reason together yet instead we sit here chorusing 'Vendetta, Vendetta' like it is a right!". By now the Courier had lost his decorum and slammed his fist into the table near to Cachio -who flinched slightly in response- and Mr Bishop who merely smiled. He drew his hand back in and smoothed his suit, thinking calming thoughts.
"How did things ever get so far? So unfortunate and so unessessary. But things cannot go on as they did before, We are reasonable men and we can come to a reasonable agreement."
By now he had returned to his position at the head of the table. He drew his hands behind his back to stop showing them shaking from raw anger.
"We will draw up offical territory boundaries for New Vegas for who gets what territory evryone possess and you will stick to those boundaries and not expand beyond them" . Upon saying this he could see the discomfort on their faces and heard the hurried whispers that occured between the Dons and their Body guards -who were mostly their Capos or Consilgeres- .
"This is Bullshit!" The Courier turned his head towards the source of the outburst. It was Cachino.
"Do you not get the ways in that Mafias work? People fight and people die. We will take what territory we want and you -a man who for some reason is treated like he has power yet in reality only owns one Casino and not much moeny- cannot stop us doing what we want." Cachino was obviously steaming his cheeks having grown red and eyes stormy.
"Is this about the Gomorrah, Cachino?" Said the Courier, a smile flickering at the edges of his mouth as he said this. Cachinos' face seemed to spasm at that and it too him a couple of seconds to regain control of his muscles before he could continue, even with a vain throbing in his forehead.
"Yeah, maybe it is. You shouldn't have been able to do as you did. Who the fuck are you really? Hmm. A washed up old cobblepot that abuses the power that you don't deserve." By the end of this Cachino was pointing his finger in an effort to channel his agression through his extremity.
The Courier walked around the table and straight up to Cachino. Cachinos bodyguards made to stand up as he approached but Cachino waved them to where they were. Until they were nose to nose looking into each others eyes glaring at each other.
Through gritted teeth the Courier said "Maybe, Cachino you should use that peanut sized brain of yours and think. I'm going to make you an offer that you cannot refuse. This is going to be the only chance when you can keep or expand your borders and if you leave now everyone here will be allowed to come down on you like holy hellfire until nothing but a whisper on the wind remains of your pathetic family" His voice was a little above a threatening whisper "So maybe, Cachino you should sit down and SHUT UP" Contrasting to his previously soft tone he shouted the last words causing spittle to flying into Cachinos face. Not wiping it off Cachino sat, heavily, in his chair making a loud thud.
For the next hour of the meeting they drew up what territory each family would gain and what they would lose. Aside from a few grumbles they all said what a man with two penises says to their tailor when he asks whether he dresses to the right or the left. 'Yes'.
They sealed it with an embrace of each boss with the Courier and a wax stamp from each Dons ring. When it came to Cachino the small man wouldn't meet his eye, despite this he treated him with the same respect as every other boss.
When he embraced him he felt a bizzare pressure in his gut and heard.
"Do not fuck with the Omerta". With that there was five muffled cracks that reverberated around the room confusing the origin of the shot. Upon falling to his knees and feeling the pooling blood in his waistband he realised that he was the one who had been shot.
He was dying. He knew it. His life was slowly weeping out through the mangled hole that was his lower abdomen. Cachino was already running from the room with his body guards following him and the other Bosses having initially been shocked into paralysis giving pursuit. He fell onto his back and looked at the ceiling and wondered why he had insited on doing such a stupid traditon of embracing each member before signing the treaty. His Bodyguards were at his sides mopping up the blood that he had coughed done his face. When had he done that? He didn't know, but was dully aware of them dragging him into his saferoom for medical attention, yet his vision was already going fuzzy and turning black.
Despite his bodyguards best efforts to revive him they were ultimately futile.
The Courier never left that room.