Recoil pulsed throughout him at a steady pace as he methodically placed a railway spike through the skulls of a group of raiders. It was laughable at this point to dispatch raiders; he didn't even bother synchronizing with his Pipboy anymore. Of all the things in the Wasteland at large, raiders were the same everywhere. Mutated animals and settlements may vary from region to region, but the raiders remained the same. It occurred to him that they were the point of commonality in the Wasteland.

Given that fact, he supposed he was glad that dispatching them was so easy now – not that there were many things that didn't fall under that category anymore. It was a cruel twist of fate that he had started his life learning to heal and mend the human body but instead had become a force that dismantled it. In a way, Linus felt like his father would've been disappointed in him – in the end, he wasn't a healer or a scientist, putting his mind to use to further humanity. Instead, what he had become famous for was stumbling around the Capital Wasteland in search of his father, being in the right place at the wrong time, and somehow making it through relatively unscathed. And in the end, he'd still been too late to save his father, though it was some small consolation that he was able to carry out his grand plan – the Purification Project.

On the other hand, it wasn't like his father never used a gun – he was the one who first taught him how to use one, after all.

But the time for reminiscing was drawing to a close – his journey across the Wasteland was complete. Some time ago, the Capital Wasteland heard rumors of the rumblings of change in the Mojave. The reports, such as they were, were mixed. Some said the New California Republic in all its grandeur had finally pushed into a new region; others said that a slaver mob called the Legion had taken over the area. Then there were the rumors that said both of the groups had been beaten back and a new regime had been erected, as was beginning to be the case with the Capital Wasteland under the Brotherhood.

However, one point all agreed upon was that the central figure amongst it all was an individual known as the Courier. As someone who had also been bestowed a moniker, John knew that whoever this was was just a person like any other. Though to be fair, couriers in general were a hard bunch of people – to be known as the Courier among couriers, was an impressive feat.

Stopping to loot the bodies of the raiders, John scavenged, hoping to find some food or water on them. His pack was already full of things to trade or sell, and he preferred his Railway Rifle to any weapons the raiders had on them. It packed a punch most weapons didn't, and the parts and ammunition were generally easy to scavenge for, given that they weren't in high demand. Not that he didn't keep a sawed-off strapped to him and a combat knife should he ever need them.

His search didn't yield much, but it was better than nothing. So, pack heavier with two more bottles of irradiated water and a bag of stale chips, he prepared to carry on. Movement caught his eye, and he froze.

Peeking out from behind a stack of rubble was a straw cowboy hat, reminding John of Simms back home in Megaton and how the man had complained of a bad feeling about him leaving for the Mojave. Shaking off the thought, he raised his rifle up and took aim.

"Come out! I don't want to hurt you if you're not a raider, but I will have to if I can't confirm."

Two hands slowly rose from behind the rubble, and a slender figure rose up. Turning around revealed blue eyes in a sea of freckles, with wisps of red hair coming out from under the hat.

"Easy, I've got no problem with the Brotherhood," came a drawl.

Not for the first time his armor had gotten mistaken for the Brotherhood. At some point in his travels, he'd stopped bothering to explain. But, as he had just entered into the outskirts of Mojave territory, it was probably time to set the story straight.

"I'm not Brotherhood. Not exactly, anyway," he admitted. The truth was a bit more complicated. While it was true that he wasn't technically a member, he may as well have been an honorary one with how closely he worked with them. But that was better kept quiet, and he may even need to ditch the armor later on – he couldn't afford to upset any power balances in a place that was hostile to the Brotherhood. For now though, he'd keep it on – parting with his precious medic power armor would be painful, no matter how temporary. The loudmouth onboard computer had been his only source of companionship other than Dogmeat for the duration of his trek.

"Well, that's good, I guess. Might want to ditch that armor though. Brotherhood got into a spat with the Courier a few weeks back. Didn't go so well for them," she said, bending down as John lowered his weapon so she could grab her own shotgun off of the ground.

'Well, damn. That doesn't bode well.'

"What's this Courier have against the Brotherhood?"

"Hell if I know. Same problem she had with the NCR and the Legion, I guess. Damned psychopath."

"Two armies and the Brotherhood?" asked the Lone Wanderer. Maybe this Courier was more serious than he thought. "So the Mojave runs under her rule now?"

The redhead let out a grim chuckle. "Not hardly. That was House's game. Nothing rules the Mojave anymore. Anything that tries goes up against Crazy herself."

John scowled inside the helmet. "Sounds like a glorified raider."

Calamity Jane made a thoughtful 'hmm.' "No, she's not quite like a Fiend. She leaves people alone for the most part. Until the try to run the place."

"Anarchist," he said plainly.

"Yep. So what's your story. Not many people run around with that armor on."

He eyed her for a few seconds before speaking. She didn't seem like she had any particular agenda – she may make a useful ally. Or a decent guide at the least. "I'm here from the Capital. Word that power had changed hands made it across the Wasteland. I came to make sure there wasn't going to be a push east."

Cowgirl cocked an eyebrow and gave him a skeptical smirk. "Uh huh. It's awfully far away to be worried about that. Surely you're not here to pick up the pieces for the Brotherhood."

He shrugged. "The Capital's not organized enough to mobilize for an invasion. I came so we'd have time to set up a defense if the army in power wasn't satisfied with just taking the Mojave."

She seemed satisfied with his explanation. "Well, like I told you, she's not interested in lording over anyone. And I don't think she plans on leaving the Mojave."

"And the NCR and this Legion are just going to roll over now?"

A hard look came over the woman's face. "I don't know how much is left of the Legion and the NCR after the nukes."

That got his attention. "Nukes?"

"You haven't heard? The Courier disappeared about three or four months back. Not long after, two mushroom clouds appeared over NCR and Legion territory. Words is both capitols were hit. I don't even know if there is an NCR or Legion anymore."

"Why? How?" he sputtered, mind screaming about the loss of life. "Does she not realize that that is exactly how the Wasteland was born?"

The look on the woman's face was one of bemusement. "She doesn't exactly seem like a long-term thinker. What's it matter to you? Don't fuck with her and she won't blow you up."

"The people. And the fallout. It's undoing all of that progress, all of that civilization."

"I don't think I'd call the Legion had 'civilization,'" she drawled. But she conceded his point with a nod when he began to clarify. "So. What's the plan now that you've know no one's planning a conquest of your corner of the Wasteland? Headin' back home?"

"On the word of one waster?" he shot back. "No, if the Courier really launched the nukes, I need to make sure there aren't more waiting to be lobbed at whomever she decides she doesn't like. If she's as mad as you say, she can't hold onto that kind of power. No one should anymore."

"An idealist, huh? So you're just going, what, disarm the things if there are any?"

He grinned under his helmet, remembering earlier times. "It's a hobby."

"Uh huh," she noted, eyebrows knitting. "And if she doesn't want to give up the location of her missiles? And if she does and you still don't trust her?"

"I don't want to kill anyone I don't have to. But I can't just let a psychopath have free reign to hurl nuclear missiles at anything she perceives as a threat."

The woman looked at him for a long time. "So, do you need a guide?"

/

She giggled, giddy in her moment as the figure in front her burst into flame as she hit him with a left cross. Shifting her weight to the opposite side, her right fist was a rocket and as it connected with its target. A warning beep sounded as her opponent exploded backward.

The other three figures that had converged on her also flew away. She grinned, peering down at the two who still seemed to have some life in them from above her lucky shades.

"Come on, boys," she teased in a sing-song voice. Her encouragement obviously hadn't motivated them enough, though, so she growled, "This is getting boring."

Her second bit of motivation seemed to evoke a more appropriate response. Or responses, rather. The Legionnaire on the right seemed renewed, vitalized in his crusade to kill her. His buddy on the left, unfortunately, turned out to be a disappointment, given that he had elected to flee the battle.

'Fight and Flight,' she thought, giggling to herself. She chose to meet Fight head on, as he was obviously more fun than his counterpart. Flight could wait until they were finished.

He proved to be capable for a Praetorian, which was to say, of little skill compared to herself, but she took what she got these days. So after ducking his first right hook, jumping back to avoid his follow up, and weaving left to dodge his lunge, she twisted and slammed Two-Step into the side of his head and thus was Goodbye for Fight.

Flight hadn't actually gotten too far, and she was confused as to why he tried at all, given that his right leg was obviously injured. It was when he fell to the ground and brought up the fallen Vexillarius's sniper rifle that she understood.

'How…boring,' she thought, humming to herself. 'Oh, well.'

The shot rang out as she began to run toward the prone figure, and her torso jerked back, though not enough to slow her down by much. To her surprise, the assassin retained the frame of mind to get off another shot before she reached him. A quick hauling up, and a blow from the SS, and Flight was no more.

Glancing around to make sure no one had gotten back up, she huffed a sigh. The remnants of the Legion hadn't slowed in the months since she sent the missiles into Arizona. If nothing else, they seemed to have renewed their efforts to kill her, throwing themselves at her in a mad attempt to take her out with them. If the Courier didn't know how stupid their bravado made them, she'd almost have been insulted – if Caesar's army couldn't beat her, did they really think their singular assassin squads would do the job?

Toward the realm of the NCR, all was quiet. Yes Man had helped her to set up a reliable spy network that said that while the Bear was not obliterated, it was face down in the dirt, barely hanging on after the demise of its capitol. Since the explosion, even their spy networks and scouting efforts had been either dismantled or fallen apart due to lack of leadership. So long as they understood that her Mojave was Not Theirs, the Courier didn't really care whether the NCR struggled on or not.

Glancing down, she noticed that the two holes in her chest were healing up quite nicely so she took a brief survey of her surroundings and plotted out where the Strip would be – she had an appointment to keep. Schedules were miserable little things, but Yes Man got passive aggressive when she dodged his attention for more than a couple of months at a time. Besides, she had some people whose lives she wanted to liven up back in the Heart of the Mojave; her occasional companions were just too prone to the morose when left to themselves.

She'd imagined Veronica had heard about what she'd done to the Brotherhood. Sometimes her friends just didn't understand – some people had to go. It wasn't like the people she made go didn't give her reason – it was just no one was entitled to lord themselves over the Mojave. Her Mojave. Her home. She tried to give the Brotherhood a chance. They generally kept to themselves, and they were like family to Veronica. And that meant they were kind of like family to her, albeit distant relatives whose names you couldn't even remember. But even family didn't have the right to lord over highways and constrict travelers-by in order to seize anything more complex than a toaster. It wasn't free. And her Mojave had to be free if that beautiful chaos she loved so much were to pervade its very atmosphere and flourish like it should. Like the Strip was – where fortunes could be up or down and everything was left to the whims of fate – just you against the odds. It was just that if the odds were ever stacked too highly one way or the other, that loose chaos was snuffed out.

So, once the Brotherhood thought that it could stack the deck against the Mojave unchecked, she threw herself against them. For Veronica, she'd offered them the chance to evict themselves, but their leader would have none of it. Thus, the Brotherhood Chapter of the Mojave was no more and one more poisonous faction was erased from her portion of the Wasteland. Score another point in favor of Entropy.

After an obscenely long amount of time walking, home was finally before her. Close anyway, the Courier had decided to stop by Freeside first, if only to put off her meeting with Yes Man. Not that her talks it the Mormon Fort would go over all that well. They, including Arcade, were still very prickly over the whole launching of nuclear missiles thing. She'd won them over. Mostly. But "intellectuals" tended to be a passive aggressive bunch. And then there was the "talk" she knew she'd have with Veronica. She'd understand. Eventually.

From the look of the hurricane of a woman coming her way, eventually may be a while yet. She decided to open up with a grin.

"Veronica!" she yelled, throwing her arms open wide. "It's been too long!

"Alexis," hissed the brunette, obviously trying not to make a scene. She was just wearing her robes, so she had probably just been tinkering with equipment in the Fort. "Out. Now."

The Courier turned as Veronica strode past her in order to leave the Fort. "Alexis? What happened to Allie? Hey – wait, I wanted to talk to Arcade too!"

The former Brotherhood member ignored her objections, obviously in no mood to entertain her comrade. The Courier glanced around and spied Arcade. Knowing the man had no love for the Brotherhood, despite his scruples with ethics, he just shrugged at her and headed toward a patient tent.

Sighing, she turned around and followed after Veronica. The woman led her to an alleyway and whirled on the Courier, one hand pinning her against the wall and the other slamming against the wall.

"You know, you really shouldn't do that without Pushy on. You don't heal up like I do. And you probably shouldn't stand this close to me either – the rads'll –"

"You killed them. They were my family," Veronica grated out through clenched teeth. "How could you? How could you even think to do that without telling me?"

All humor faded from the Courier. "Did you really want to know, Veronica? You didn't want to be there."

"They might have listened to me! Move somewhere or stopped their attacks," said Veronica, so close the Courier could almost feel the fury and anguish the other woman was feeling.

"Listen to you like that bunch did that tried to kill you? You know the Brotherhood wasn't going to change, Veronica. They don't fight for freedom. They restrict it. The Mojave won't submit to anyone like that – not anymore."

"Not to anyone but you," she spat. "You talk about freedom and your chaos, but you destroy everything in your path. I should kill you. You just."

"Won't die?" offered the Courier.

Veronica's face twisted up in disgust. "We're through. No more 'adventures.' No more dragging me around by the arm for anything. Arcade and Raul and lot of other people may put up with your bullshit, but I'm done."

Veronica practically threw herself off of the wall with her hand and stalked off down the alleyway. The Courier briefly considered letting her leave on that sentiment. Veronica would come around. She'd see, even if she didn't understand. But she and Arcade had oft complained about that particular approach she took – said it was self-centered. She personally just thought that that was how the world worked. But, if it would make them happy, she supposed she could oblige from time to time.

"Veronica," she said, racking her brain and watching her companion slow to a stop. She didn't turn around, but the fact that Veronica stopped at all let her know she still had an in. "The Bunker is still intact. How does the Brotherhood… Lay their dead to rest?"

"I can handle it," came the cold response.

"Veronica –"

"I've fought with you plenty enough to know what to expect."

"I can –"

"Goodbye, Alexis."

The Courier watched on as Santangelo left the alleyway. She doubted that Veronica would handle the Bunker very well. She'd make sure to have Arcade go with her. Veronica wouldn't like the company, but she'd have to get over it.

She sighed, knowing it'd all turn out eventually and mentally prepared herself to deal with Yes Man.