A lone man, bound and trapped in a dark, damp room, slowly awoke. As his senses returned, he quickly became aware of his looked quickly around, searching for anything to help escape the rough binding eating at the flesh on his wrists. As he examined the room, the heavy metal door slid open. A balding man walked in, a red tunic covering him. He was joined by two men in similar dress, black football padding adorning their shoulders and rags covering their faces, both carrying M4A1 carbines. The balding man said, "Untie him."
One of the men quickly moved behind the chair, quickly undoing the ropes. The balding man looked around, and said, "Carson Liambas…"
"How the fuck do you know who I am?"
The man behind Carson punched him in the back of the head, and growled, "Don't interrupt."
Carson glared at the man, but held his tongue. The balding man replied, "My frumentarii tell me everything. They especially noted to me your feats in the Capital Wasteland. You were a dangerous man, it seems. A virtual one man army."
"Cut to the chase," Carson spat.
The man raised his fist for another swing, but the balding man raised his hand. "I expected that. He's not a man known to be patient. My offer is simple. A courier was recently attacked near Goodsprings, and has a case of retrograde amnesia. Normally, I wouldn't much care, however this one is special. I want you to have her support my Legion, by any means necessary. If she will not, destroy her."
"What's in it for me?"
"Always the mercenary," the man chuckled, "A place high in my order, dominion over the Strip, and anything you may desire."
"When do I start?" Carson asked without a second thought.
The man grinned, and said, "Excellent. Your things are in the trunk in the corner. Join me outside when you are ready."
The man gestured to the soldiers, and all three left. Carson quickly went to the lone trunk in the back corner, and threw it open. Inside was a suit of black combat armor, a duster, and a duffle bag. He rapidly donned the armor, securing it tightly. He looked down, and skimmed the suit to ensure it was all intact. His eyes were drawn to the left breastplate, where the faded white talon insignia had been replaced by a golden bull. Carson slid his reinforced combat duster over the armor, pockets clinking with ammunition and other items. Beneath where the duster sat in the trunk, there was a black helmet. Stuffed inside, there was Carson's trademark skull balaclava and a pair of aviator sunglasses. He donned all three items, and pulled out the duffle bag. Inside, he discovered his tools of choice. A Xuan Long assault rifle, which was slung over his shoulders, his trusty, weather beaten Colt M1911, which was holstered at his waist, and an assortment of fragmentation, incendiary, and flash bang grenades, which were hung in special loops on his duster. Liambas hung the duffle across his back, and left the room.