2286; Five years have passed since Caesar's Legion became a terrifying threat to the New California Republic. Most of the NCR's stations and camps have been raided, and transformed into Legion slave camps and forts. Soldiers that haven't been murdered by the Legion have been enslaved and traded between many empires across the former United States of America. Raiders and small gangs across the Mojave have currently been spared by Lanius, the Legion conqueror, for now. In hopes of preserving freedom, the Brotherhood of Steel and the NCR have become temporary allies; performing most operations in a restored bunker on the outskirts of the New Vegas Strip. With the current conditions of the world, the NCR and the Brotherhood have concentrated themselves in the underground Bunker of Last Hope. Using the strong military power of the NCR, and the scientific knowledge of the B0S, it has become apparent to both sides that an action against the Legion must be done soon, or they could soon control an international empire.

General Oliver, with his head held forward, walked swiftly down the halls of the bunker. With five of his best veteran rangers following him, they eased into the sliding doors of the oval office. Holographic monitors flickered across the crowded room as concentrating Brotherhood scribes typed quickly across their keyboards. NCR soldiers routinely paced the room, leaving no space unpatrolled. As General Oliver came closer to the conference table, the rangers guarding him were dismissed and went on to the rest of the bunker. A tall robed man stood up on the opposite end of the table, but the officials on the sides stayed seated, examining the general. The tall man in the royal blue robes smirked and greeted him.

"Ah….General Oliver. We have been expecting you. Please….let's get to business."

"Of course you expected me… we're held up in here." The General uttered coldly under his breath, then taking a deep breath and seating himself on the opposite end of the man. "Well McNamara, what do you propose?"

The Elder stretched out and began to speak.

"Well….we have found something out in the far galaxy."

The officials groaned, and the General stood up in anger.

"McNamara, I believe we have more pressing issues at hand than your…..space fetish. Is this about Pandora again?! I know that this planet and its eridium you speak of may have beneficial aspects but we cannot afford to expand there!"

McNamara looked sternly at Oliver and begin to speak.

"Actually this IS about Pandora. But we have actually found hope out there for our military."

Oliver apologized and the officials looked onto the Elder in awe as he explained further.

"We have only seen a part of Pandora….the eridium mines. As we panned closer and sent down spy antennas… we found life in the far desert biome of the land. Through studies between our history and the life of these beings….we have found that they are a concentrated manifestation of the 21st century 'American Badass' stereotype. They have the ability to construct vehicles and race them, as well as wrestling for entertainment. However, some of their acts are considered extremely violent and vulgar for post apocalyptic American standards. But that is the aggression we need. We are currently tracking who we believe to be their leader, who is in an orbit around the planet in a, for lack of better description, 'Space Truck of Testosterone and Badassitude.' From our research, we found out that he may be known as Mr. Torgue Flexington. As far as he is from here, he is travelling at extreme speeds. If we can contact him, we may be able to get him here."

General Oliver took a brief moment to think and then began to speak.

"Get him in contact with me."

"THIS VIEW IS F***ING BADASS!" shouted Mister Torgue from within the cab of his space truck. He chugged down a large bottle of Pandora whiskey while looking onto his arena from deep orbit. Suddenly, his truck windows began to flicker, and a holographic image of Oliver replaced the view of Pandora.

"WHAT KIND OF CHICKEN SH*T PRANK IS THIS? WHO ARE YOU?!"

"Hello sir, my name is Gen.."

"INTRODUCE YOURSELF!"

"I…well I am contacting you be-"

"WHAT THE F*** ARE YOU DOING IN FRONT OF MY FACE?"

Torgue began to speed up his truck to an insane speed, his drunken ramble went on as the space truck sped across multiple galaxies. General Oliver sighed and turn to the rest of the officials.

"We cannot get through to him… its ov-"

Suddenly, a scribe burst into the room, and began to speak quickly and nervously.

"Sir, Torgue is accelerating at high speeds. He is coming closer to Earth and judging by his velocity and orbit, we may be able to take him out and get him in the Mojave! But we don't have time to discuss it. We have to act now."

The officials stood up and began to give their opinions at once. The scribe stood nervously at the moon base control panel.

"The Pandoran people are resisitant to damage!"

"What kind of fool would invite an alien?!"

"The raiders will salvage his truck and recruit him!"

"Sir…five seconds!"

"We have to act now or…"

Suddenly….the Elder screamed over everyone.

"Take him out now!"

The scribe smashed a button and an EMP was immediately sent to Torgue's truck.

"WHAT THE F*** IS THIS? I CAN'T CONTROL ANYMORE!"

forcefully turned his steering wheel, forcing it to pop out. His truck hurled towards Earth, melting most of the metal on his truck. General Oliver came upon the screen again, sighing as Torgue blacked out due to the the exposure of the atmosphere.

"Sorry Torgue….I will see you soon."