A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout, the Fallout universe, or anything to do with Fallout. All rights belong to Bethesda and Obsidian. I am merely using their ideas as a basis for my own work. All OC's are mine.
Note: This is a satire of New Vegas; IT IS NOT MEANT TO BE A SERIOUS STORY. I have changed parts of the plot line (i.e: no Courier, Boone's wife is alive) for my own amusement. I hope you enjoy! Leave a review!
War. War never changes.
The world ended similar to how many had predicted. . Man, since its beginning, has possessed the fire for conflict. And since, war has been waged in the name of anything; from God, resources, or simple psychotic rage. This time: resources. Many fought for them, and many died. After a millennia of armed conflict, the destructive nature of man could sustain itself no longer. On October 23, 2077, for a short two hours, man purged the world, covering it with atomic fire and radiation. Spears of nuclear fire rained from the sky, like an the wrath of an angry god. Whole continents, engulfed in fire, sank into the ocean. Humanity itself almost extinguished the flame of its own existence.
Almost.
It was not - as many had predicted - the end of the world. For when atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across the horrors of the wastes and the ruins of the old world. These survivors built new societies; establish new villages; form new tribes. Stubbornly, mankind continued.
Decades passed, and parts of the American southwest united beneath the flag of the New California Republic; a nation dedicated to the old world values of democracy and the rule of law. The Republic became a beacon of hope for those in the west; a nation which revived old American ideals; those of equal opportunity and manifest destiny. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. The military sent scouts east, seeking wealth and territory in the bleak, dry, and merciless expanse of the Mojave Desert. The scouts returned with magnificent tales of a city of lights; untouched by the nuclear-tipped warheads which had scorched the rest of the world. The scouts spoke also of a gigantic wall of concrete, spanning the Colorado River. The NCR mobilized its forces, and moved east; to occupy Hoover Dam, and secure the city of New Vegas.
When they arrived, they found the city already under control by a mysterious man named Mr. House, and his army of rehabilitated tribals and police robots. President Aaron Kimball united with the Mojave Desert Rangers, and agreed to protect the Hoover Dam and the citizens of the Mojave Wasteland.
Across the Colorado, another society had arisen under a different flag. A vast army of slaves; forged in the greed of one man and his conquest of eighty-six tribes: Caesar's Legion. The Legion knows no master but Caesar - the self-proclaimed son of Mars. He rules with an iron fist, which extends no mercy. All lands east of the Colorado and nearly to Texas are Caesar's lands.
Four years have passed since the Republic held the Dam - just barely -against the Legion's onslaught. The Legion did not retreat. Instead, they gather their strength across the river. The fires of war burn, and training drums sound in the night. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam looms on the horizon.
Through it all, the New Vegas Strip has stayed open for business under the watchful eye of Mr. House, the casino families, and the police robots. Tourists, gamblers, and an assortment of people flock to the Strip in droves, despite the conflict at Hoover Dam.
But war; war never changes.
"Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter," observed Mike, walking behind Frank towards the Mojave Outpost.
Stopping in his tracks, Frank turned and looked oddly at his best friend. "What?"
"Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter," Mike repeated.
"What do you mean?" cried Frank in exasperation.
"Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter," reflected Mike as he continued walking towards the open gate. Frank watched him walk. He never noticed it, but Mike paled in comparison to most soldiers. He couldn't shoot straight, couldn't run fast, and all he did was get that weird feeling when he would announce that there was an enemy ahead. Most times, the enemy did not exist. Mike also had a tendency to say random things and never explain them. Frank watched Mike stop at the gate, and talk to a sergeant with a full beard. He could make out their conversation. "Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter, doesn't it?"
The sergeant looked at Mike. "Or the Legion. They'll overrun us any day now, you know."
Mike broke from his trance. "The Legion?"
"Yeah, Caesar's," the sergeant at the gate told him, a bit surprised because this trooper didn't know about Caesar's Legion.
"Caesar's Legion?" Mike asked, dumbfounded. "Huh. What a weird name," his voice trailed off and he walked inside to the Mojave Outpost. Frank chuckled and started forward to the gate. He waved to the sergeant. who's name on his fatigues read "Kilborn."
"Greetings soldier," Kilborn returned his wave. "Make yourself comfortable, because odds are you'll be here awhile. No one ever gets an assignment here because Jackson won't let anybody leave. But don't worry about that, because any day now the Legion is going to come down that road and overrun us. Just a matter of time now..." Kilborn nervously chuckled and resumed guarding the gate.
"Which way is the administration building?" Frank asked, slightly unnerved.
Kilborn pointed to the second building inside the gate. Two buildings made up the Mojave Outpost: an admin building, and Frank guessed the other housed the troops. Frank nodded thanks and began walking towards the admin building. Kilborn mumbled something about the Legion overrunning their position and continued watching the road which led to Nipton Highway and the valley that was the Mojave Desert.
As Frank walked around the sandbags protecting the door, he noticed Mike walk into the barracks building. Sighing, he figured he would be forced to sign for Mike as well.
When he opened the admin door, he knew that he hated the man behind the counter.
The man didn't look up, instead he readied a pen over a ledger. "Caravan, citizen, pilgrim, or...?" his voice labored with each word. Frank thought it reminded him of his teachers back in California. Monotonous and condescending.
"I'm a soldier," Frank announced to the man. He wore the markings of a major, and his name read "Knight" on the front of his fatigues. A green beret sat on his head.
Major Knight looked up, and Frank was sure that Major Knight hated Frank as much as Frank hated Major Knight. His eyes glistened with discontent and evil anger. His small features shouted curses at Frank as he stood in front of the counter. "You're not a soldier," Knight spoke monotonously. "You're just another poor fool who got shipped out here to sit around and do nothing all day," the major looked him over, from head to toe, his eyes locking in on the blue beret on Frank's head. "You Special Forces?" Knight sneered.
Frank reached up and removed his beret, revealing tousled black hair. "Yes, sir."
Knight's eyes narrowed. "What're you doing here then?"
Running a hand through his hair, Frank nervously explained. "Major, I was sent as a punishment for disobeying a direct order from my commanding officer, Colonel Hsu. I was demoted from the rank of Captain to First Lieutenant."
"That's quite a punishment, soldier. Oh well, what's your name? Need something for the logbook."
"First Lieutenant Frank S. Robertson, sir. Reporting for duty," Frank saluted.
For a second, an awkward silence lingered. Major Knight stared as Frank held his salute. Finally, he wrote something in his log. Frank thought he heard a small giggle.
"Lieutenant, the first thing you need to know is that there is no duty here. The only thing you need to report to is the bar in the barracks, like all the other soldiers."
"I don't get an assignment?" asked Frank, bewildered.
This time Knight did laugh, a deep booming one. "Soldier, no one gets an assignment here. Ranger Jackson won't let anybody leave. Says the road is too dangerous. If you have a problem, take it up with him in his office," Frank followed Knight's pointing arm down a hallway. He looked in each doorway until he saw a man wearing a brown cowboy hat, a red bandana and blue buttoned up shirt. An ammunition bandolier draped from one soldier to the other.
"Ranger Jackson, I presume?" Frank saluted. From the front, he heard Knight laugh again. This time, Frank knew that Major Knight wanted to kill him just as much as Frank wanted to kill Major Knight. And if Major Knight didn't stop laughing, he would kill him.
"Soldier can't you see I'm busy?" he motioned at his office. Looking around, Frank saw a steaming cup of coffee on a small table in front of a couch. Beside the mug of coffee was a small bottle filled with whiskey, and a copy of Patriot's Cookbook. No papers covered his desk, and his terminal was off.
Frank looked at Ranger Jackson skeptically. "Sir, it doesn't look like you're busy at all."
Ranger Jackson looked around. "Oh, it does appear that I am not busy at all. I could've sworn I was doing something. Probably plotting how to make Major Knight's life miserable..." his voice grew quiet, and Frank looked around. No one was in the doorway.
"You don't like the major?" whispered Frank.
"No, I think he's a great soldier and even better log-keeper. Actually, I'm pretty sure he lives and breaths for that logbook of his only."
"So why do you want to make Major Knight's life miserable?" asked Frank, confused.
"Did I say that?" Ranger Jackson put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "I must've meant everybody except Major Knight," Frank tried to understand, but soon put Ranger Jackson's words behind him. He couldn't get over how Ranger Jackson wore his aviator glasses inside.
"Major Knight told me that no one here gets assignments," Frank said before things got out of hand. From the lobby, Major Knight laughed again, and Frank knew he would have to die.
"That's right," Ranger Jackson asserted. "No one gets assigned anything here, because the road is too dangerous. And the road is going to keep being dangerous until I send someone to take care of it."
"Well, why don't you send someone to clean it up?" asked Frank, confused.
"Because the road is too dangerous!" Major Knight yelled from the lobby.
"Because the road is too dangerous," Ranger Jackson quipped.
Confused, Frank collapsed onto the couch. "But sir," he cried, not really wanting to argue, "isn't it ironic that we get sent out here and stationed here but don't do anything? What's the point of being out here?"
Ranger Jackson stopped in his tracks, and Frank knew he had made a point. Ranger Jackson stared intently at him. "Soldier, where's your weapon?" he finally asked. Major Knight laughed again. Frank leaned back on the couch, defeated. But, it seemed, Ranger Jackson had caught his second wind. He paced back and forth in front of his couch. "If you don't have a weapon, that means you didn't get issued one. That means we'll be under capacity on weapons!" Frank tuned him out. Ranger Jackson rambled on about stealing weapons and communism and somehow interconnected the two. Ranger Jackson summarized that, because they wouldn't have enough weapons, the government would have to control the flow between all bases. This would cause the military to become communists. Then, he moved onto bigger topics. "Major Knight won't be able to keep the logbook correctly! They'll remove us all from here, and put us somewhere like Camp Forlorn Hope! We would be on the front lines! Why don't you have a weapon, soldier?"
Frank thought of an excuse, when really, he had traded his standard-issue service rifle to a drifter outside Sloan for fifty bottlecaps and a ham sandwich. "I traded it for fifty caps and a ham sandwich," he blurted out. Ranger Jackson stopped pacing and stared at him.
"A ham sandwich?" he asked.
Nodding, Frank reached into his musette bag and pulled it out. The sandwich, wrapped in a thin paper, smelled like the sandwiches Ranger Jackson remembered back home. Without thinking, Ranger Jackson grabbed the sandwich from Frank, who's eyes flew wide open. "Just go get Knight to check the inventory. I'll take your sandwich as...payment," mumbled Ranger Jackson between bites of ham sandwich. He gulped down the last two bites in one swallow, rushed over to his office window, kicked it out, and jumped outside. The sounds of his footfalls on the dust could be heard from inside.
Frank sat on the couch and listened to Ranger Jackson scurry away. Sighing, he walked back to the front lobby. "Ranger Jackson wants you to check the inventory for any spare weapons," he told Major Knight. The man flipped a few pages in the ledger, ran his finger down, and then walked around a small partition behind the counter. Frank heard the sound of boxes being moved and one being opened. Major Knight returned with a metal pole. However, on top of this metal pole was a neon sign that read "Take a break!" The sign functioned somewhat; the "Nuka" lit up yellow, while the other words remained a faded white. The words sat on a red background next to a picture of a Nuka Cola bottle. A red light outlined the entire sign. Upon further inspection, Frank saw that a wire wrapped around the pole, and went inside it on the bottom. Wrapped around the bottom, for a makeshift grip, was a lot of duct tape.
Major Knight smiled as he handed the sign to Frank. "This is the only weapon we have on base. Other than a few carbines and switchblades, of course!"
Frank, skeptically, swung his new sign a few times. Finally, he nodded and walked out.
Once outside, he hefted his sign. Examining it, he saw the words "Nuka Breaker" etched into the back near where the wire entered the sign. He gave a slight chuckle. From his musette bag he produced a leather belt. Carefully, he tied one end to the base of the pole, and the other end to the top near where the sign attached. He slung the sign - which he then christened Nuke-Breaker - over his back.
He only took two steps before the unthinkable happened.
On his third step, he slammed his right foot into the corner of the sandbags. Three toes popped inside his boot, and Frank collapsed in pain. He hit his nose on the ground and yelped when it popped. Immediately, he began rolling on the ground, writhing in pain and screaming. Major Knight ran out of the admin building and crouched over him. He tried keeping Frank still, but Frank would have none of getting killed his first day on the job.
"Oh, God!" he screamed, convulsing in agony from his broken nose and jammed toes. "It's you! First day here and you already try to kill me! God, I'm dying! Someone help!"
"Now stop that," Major Knight told him. He tried placing his hands on Frank's shoulders, but Frank swatted them away.
"Don't you touch me! Haven't you done enough? Can't you see you've already murdered me with your logbook?"
A crowd had begun to gather. Ranger Jackson, with crumbs from a recent ham sandwich, had run around the corner of the admin building. Mike and a crowd of soldiers from the bar/barracks had run outside too. Kilborn ran over, shouting "Legion!" all the way, until he realized the screaming came from the man Major Knight was attempting to strangle.
"Medic!" cried Frank when Major Knight tried to touch him again. "Assassinated by my own army!"
"Shut up you fool, or I will kill you with my logbook!" Major Knight told him.
"Major Knight," Ranger Jackson said as he wiped bread crumbs from his face, "why are you strangling the new guy?"
"I'm not!" yelled Major Knight when he looked back at Ranger Jackson. "He tripped and broke his nose and I'm trying to get him to stop rolling around so we can check the damage. See, his nose is bleeding!" he pointed. Sure enough, a small trickle of blood ran from Frank's nose and down his face.
"Just let me bleed out! I'm already dying!"
"Let 'em off, Knight," demanded Ranger Jackson. Major Knight, deflated, sat back on his knees. Frank continued his thrashing for a few seconds until he was certain that he was not dying. When he was sure of this, he looked around at the crowd, and then at Major Knight, who had his hand outstretched. And Frank's first rule was: never let an opportunity slip by.
Leaning back, Frank propelled his body forward, and threw his right fist straight out in a jab that caught Major Knight square on the nose. The crowd went "Ooooooh" and Major Knight hit the dirt hard. Ranger Jackson started clapping. Frank stood up, dusted himself off, and looked down at his victim. Major Knight lay on the ground seeing stars. A small trickle of blood flowed from his nose. He looked up at Frank.
"Nice shot, you sure you really need that sign?" he laughed. Ranger Jackson helped him up, and the two were sent over to the barracks to be looked at. Major Knight looked over at Frank, and gave him a friendly nod. Frank glared at him.
And that was when Frank knew he was the very antithesis of Major Knight, and Major Knight knew he was the very antithesis of Frank.