The Sierra Madre.
It was letting go...
The Burned Man.
O' Daughter of Babylon...
The Big Empty.
Creating Old World Blues...
Old rifle, held in a grip affirmed by the deeds of an honest heart, the armour of a former Legate, given as a gift for saving his soul in his darkest of hours, and a simple red beret, given by the most trustworthy of companions, was all she took with her. It was habit; perhaps both a blessing and a curse, travelling light offered the best movement, yet made her trials more difficult. But, trials by fire were what had shaped her. She had been shuffled a hand that most men or women couldn't play out, yet she had done the impossible, by beating the house and choosing the fates of many.
Simple sigh passed her lips, she had never chosen to do what she had done, but was driven to see it to the end. It was odd, how the start and the end differed so wildly. From being dragged out of the grave by a robot controlled by the most influential man of New Vegas, the last thing she did before coming here was deliver a sliver of justice straight into the brain of a tyrant. And after that she had planned to help the N.C.R. at Hoover dam, hand them a victory.
Or so was the plan, but her life rarely went as planned. Between a botched delivery resulting in two rather painful scars, being kidnapped, twice no less, having various important organs removed and replaced, a failed expedition and more caps lost than she would like to admit, quite simply, the universe really liked to toy with her. Having seen both ends of the spectrum of luck, she was quite sure no matter what happened things would turn out in her favour somehow. And now here she was, on a barren stretch of nothing.
Silence was getting to her, having gotten used to the playful banter of her companions. They had been left at her suite in the Lucky 38, ED-E, Cass, Raul, the lot of them. Well, except for Arcade, having returned to the Followers at the Old Mormon Fort. All of them had become the closest thing to friends and family she would ever find, or would ever remember.
It was sad, really, how she had forgotten what ever life she lived before, how her mind was wiped back to a blank slate. Perhaps that was why she held such fury against Benny, not just for killing her, but killing everyone and everything she held dear, every memory gone with the white hot flash of a muzzle. While she was yes, technically a killer and a murderer, she never killed unless out of self-defence or spilled the blood of an innocent, and she never took pleasure in it. Except for Benny. That smug, conniving bastard of a snake was the only time she enjoyed a death, without a hint of remorse, without any doubts.
She started to wish her feet would echo out against the burning pavement, for something to make noise. But all there was the wind, barely audible though. The road offered no solace on her journey, and with no companions at her back, her mind drifted as it seemed to always do in the silence.
Somehow it never dwelled on things, or sights, it always dwelled on people, and less so on places. The hell of red mist, what was once the Sierra Madre, and the Ghost People, seemed to seep through into her nightmares the most, but the people, the misguided souls she met were what her mind fell to now. Elijah, who she thought of as someone whose goals, whose passions absorbed and controlled him, turning him into a hideous monster of a man. For all the atrocities he has done, she had still hoped that he found whatever he sought in the vault, even if he could never fulfil his dreams, trapped there until his death. There was Dean, a voice of velvet even if his skin was more like abused leather, was also a monster of sorts, but in a way redeemable. Another hope, was that he found what had happened all those years ago, and changed him, even if just in the smallest of ways. The dual entities of Dog and God, personalities split, body together, had been a brutal horror to see. But she had saved them, yet killed them in a way, for neither existed anymore than the other now; she finally made them see each other before joining as one. Rage was stilled and hunger was sated, at the cost of memories of both herself and their past. But it was for the best, she thought. Last and not least, was Christine, and there was a place in her heart for her. The once mute woman, now voiced by a soul long since passed, whose love was lost because of Elijah. And while she never said who, in her heart she knew somehow. But she never had the chance to ask her, nor tell her, of Veronica, who still held a small piece of her heart for Christine. In fact, she never had a chance to say goodbye, to any of them, and that pained her heart.
In Zion, she saved the valley, and the tribes that called it home. While she mourned the loss of the caravan she was with, she pressed on. That fabled Burned Man, baptised in both water and flame, welcomed her to the paradise, expressing his own sorrow for the caravan, for they had always been friends to him and the New Canaanites. After learning of the fates of the tribals in the area, she offered her help without pause. And so she did. Helping the Sorrows and the Dead Horses wipe the White Legs from the valley, she stayed Joshua Graham's hand, and in turn his wrath was quenched, humbled. At the passage that led from Zion back to the Mojave, he bid her farewell personally, leaving both his vest and a scripture as a gift, a token of gratitude. And so with a final thanks, she departed, and he returned to Dead Horse Point with his tribe. She had studied the scripture thoroughly when she returned.
And so, finally her mind drifted to the events at the Big Empty, with the fanatical Think Tank, and all the joys of science it brought. Even in her own mind, and with her own eyes, she still couldn't believe half of what she had seen and done. How some of the biggest threats of the Mojave were created there, how both friends and enemies had been there before her. But, after all she had done there, saving the facility for future generations, ensuring the safety and prosperity of the future, somehow that mattered little. What her mind thought of there, and what intrigued her so, was simple recordings, not anything revealing, or final, but raised questions in her mind.
"America sleeps. And until it's dead, I carry it, like I carried you, more than hope. Belief."
Once again she cursed Benny, for as much as that voice rung in her head, for every time it almost chimed with familiarity, she drew blanks. This man was part of her past somehow and she had done something to him, what she had no clue. Those not quite there thoughts, lost ones, made the small area around her right eye burn, as if blocked by the pain and scars. And unusually, her hand ached, only happening a time or two in her short remembered life. The grip she had on the rifle faltered, shaking and loose.
Joshua Graham had mentioned a courier, rumoured to be a Frumentarii , and her hand began to ache.
Doctor Klein talked of a man who came... and went, her hand ached then.
"If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its skill."
With that, and the final slinking through a crevice, her foot sunk itself deep into the ash of an old world, into a land ravaged by time and nature. A place where she would get her answers. The lonesome road was treacherous and long, and as such few have survived long enough to get there. And none have returned. Here at The Divide, she would be answered, and here she would find him.
Home, in the back her mind the word echoed. Maybe she was coming home. Or she was walking straight into her grave.
Perhaps it was both.