Aurelius of Phoenix stretched his stiff limbs in the light of the rising sun, shutting the door behind him as he regarded the relative silence of Cottonwood Cove. There weren't many slaves; just the Weathers, and they were still being quiet. Just the way he liked it, he thought. He'd hate to have to bring out the whip this early in the morning.
He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the light, and he looked around at the cliffs and river he knew so well. Something flashed in the sun, catching his eye; the Aurelius of Phoenix frowned and looked towards the cliff. As suddenly as it'd appeared, it was gone.
I must be seeing things, he thought to himself. Had he been more awake, he might have been more concerned, but it had been a good week and he wasn't concerned. Around him, the camp was just beginning to stir.
A loud, explosive crack pierced the silence like a gunshot. The man in the plumed helmet toppled backward, a large hole in his forehead.
The camp was abruptly shaken awake as jarred Legionaries ran outside to investigate the noise. They died, too. It was painless. It was more than they deserved.
Boone slowly holstered his rifle. He checked to see if she was still with him. Of course she was. Not like she had anywhere else to go. She was watching silently, her shotgun lying dormant in her hands. She straightened up as he did, the two in perfect synchronization. Her eyes were unreadable behind the glasses.
"Let's go," she said quietly.
They made their way down the cliff, walking through the carnage of the former Cottonwood Cove. They both wore the same blank expressions on their faces. The end of the road was fast approaching for Boone, but also for her. She intended to follow him to the very bloody end. The fate of Hoover Dam was the least of her concerns. If she could destroy the Legion, that would be more than enough.
She'd go out with a bang.
She ascended the stairs of the main building and carefully lifted the helmet off the dead Aurelius, staring at his lifeless face for a long moment. Memories flooded her mind and hate filled her gut, clouding her vision momentarily with tears. She brushed them away and spat in his face.
Boone rejoined her at the docks. "I'm ready," he said quietly. "Are you?"
She nodded. "I was born ready."
He gave her a long, calculating look. "You don't have to follow me down this road," he told her. "This isn't your fight."
"It is my fight," she responded. "It always has been."
She climbed onto the raft before him. For the last time, Boone wondered what she'd kept from him all this time. He'd never known what her vendetta with the Legion was; he had only been glad that it was there. He'd been grateful that she shared his taste for vengeance. But her mystery frightened him a little. She knew his past, but he didn't know hers. In a few hours, it wouldn't matter anymore.
He climbed onto the raft after him and together, they steered the boat towards the Fort. Towards death. Towards redemption, and vengeance, and a thousand other things that they dared not say. Boone promised that if he somehow made it out of this alive…but he wouldn't. He didn't intend to. And neither did she.
The boat stopped at the base of the hill. Nobody had expected them. Nobody greeted them, but she could see the torches in the distance. She hoped that he would recognize her for who she was before she shot him in the face. She hoped that he would be afraid when he did. She had waited years for this moment, and it was finally here.
"Let's paint the town red," she said quietly. Like a funeral procession, they walked towards the gate with murder in their hearts.