Brief Author's Note (last time I'll be doing these things, don't worry): As stated in the summary, this is a rewrite of the story I wrote two years ago-Across the Red Flag-Bearing Sky (how's that for a wordy title?). The original is still avalible on my account, but I'm rewriting it because of multiple mistakes I made with the characterization as well as the poorly-planned out plot. I took all the criticism to heart and I consider the original my rough draft. The first few chapters may seem pretty similar plot point-wise, but I plan on taking the story in a different direction so it's not a complete remake.
And for those who haven't read the first version...welcome...please do yourself a favor and don't read the original.
-Celeste-
Some guy shot me in the head. It happens; that's the life of a drug dealer. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. As both a new face in the Mojave and a doctor with access to all sorts of chemicals, I might as well hold up a sign telling every junkie and raider in the area to come over and kill me. I think the drugs convinced most of them to leave me alone. I was willing to make pure and clean drugs without keeping records and for a cheap price. It was a fair trade: I provide them with the drugs, they don't hang me from the ceiling of an abandoned warehouse with a couple of rusty meat hooks. Everyone wins.
Of course there was also the New California Republic that I had to worry about. As the main force of authority in the otherwise chaotic Mojave wasteland, they took it upon themselves to crack down (no pun intended) on drug usage and distribution. Definitely made my job a lot harder, but I found many ways to get around them. Methods like not looking like a junkie or raider, not acting like a junkie or raider, and copious amounts of pornographic magazines.
These experiences may not hold much radiated water coming from someone who was shot in the head. But here's the thing; I wasn't shot by a raider, junkie, or a trigger-happy NCR trooper. Instead, I was shot in the head by some city boy in a checkered coat. I never met this man before and I didn't even know his name, which is why I will call him "Checkers" until further notice.
On that night, October 11th, I was just going about my business. With a shoe-box full of drugs under my arm and a grenade launcher in my messenger bag, I was as carefree and happy-go-lucky as a prewar schoolgirl. But I made one crucial mistake. A tip for the aspiring Mojave drug dealer: Don't make deliveries at night.
I was getting to that point in the desert where the old roads built before the war begin to be replaced with packed earth. When the roads disappeared, so did my ability to navigate. I ended up having to rely on the stars, the way our ancestors used to do during their drug deliveries I'm sure. My first instinct should have been to turn around right then and there. But for whatever reason, I felt like my best option would be to just keep going. Why? Because no feelings of inevitable doom were going to keep me from my hundred caps.
My perspective all changed when I heard rustling around me, accompanied by dry shuffling in the packed dirt. At first I thought the sounds were coming from some of the amazing wildlife the Mojave has to offer, but even that would have been bad news for me. If I had to fight even a mere radroach, the sounds of combat would attract any bigger threats that were in the area. I had no choice but to aim for stealthy, or I was dead.
The harsh sound of metal against bone hit my ears and the volume almost masked the stinging pain that erupted through my skull. I fell to the ground and I didn't have time to think about how much my tits hurt from slamming against solid earth or whether I chipped a tooth from my fall or not. Because I was already out cold.
…
My eyes opened, but they felt crusty and dry as if someone chucked a fistful of sand at my face. The first thing I noticed was my vision. Lying there on my side, I waited for my eyes to adjust to what was around me. Minutes flew by and my vision was still blurry as hell. I then realized that my glasses were gone and everything else came crashing over me after that.
From behind a duct tape gag, I made a sound that could only be described as a combination of a muffled shout and a squeak as I struggled against the rest of my bindings. The rough ground scraped against my bare arms, but I hardly paid any concern during my escape attempt. Unfortunately whoever tied the ropes around my arms and legs definitely knew what they were doing-those suckers weren't coming off.
From behind me, I could hear footsteps crunching against the desert floor and all my movements came to a stop as if out of instinct.
I could tell that all the drugs in the world weren't going to get me out of this one.
"Girly's waking up." The man behind me spoke, his voice was as coarse and rough as the ground that I was now way too acquainted with.
Two more sets of footsteps came closer and I craned my neck upwards to get a better look at them.
One of them was a member of the Great Khans, a gang that I was already familiar with due to my business (honestly I felt a little betrayed). His black leather armor shined in the limited light outside and he tapped the end of a shovel against the ground. I felt my stomach tighten; something told me he wasn't interested in going treasure hunting with me. The guy who was previously behind me also stepped forward and revealed himself to be a Khan as well. At first I was about to dismiss this as typical gang violence, but then I saw the man who seemed to be calling the shots.
He was tall, lean, and his dark hair was neat enough to indicate that he was definitely not from the Mojave wasteland. Unlike the leather armor the Khans had or wasteland fatigues, Mister"Look how sophisticated I am" decided to go for a little midnight stroll in a perfectly-tailored checkered suit. In his hands, he kept flipping a large, silver coin. I bet he manicured his fingernails too.
"Something doesn't feel right about this." He tucked the coin back into his coat pocket and stepped forwards. I would have backed off if I wasn't restrained.
He roughly grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I grunted, but I kept my eyes focused on his face. Normally I was bad at remembering visual details, so I was determined to do whatever I could to remember this dick's face. Considering I made it out alive, that is.
"How does a wastelander like you get her hands on one of the most valuable artifacts in the Mojave?"
If he wanted an answer, he would be out of luck both because of the gag and I had no idea what he was talking about. I left my shack with a box of chems, some magazines, and some miscellaneous weapons. Nothing worth ambushing and knocking someone out for.
I began to feel hopeful. Maybe they'll realize they got the wrong person and they'll let me go. Then we can all laugh about this crazy incident and we'll go our separate ways. But kneeling there, arms and legs tied together and Checker's hand on my face, it was clear that was not going to happen.
He let go of my face and I almost fell over. Looking up, I saw him turn his back to me, the Khans remained on either side of him like a pair of statues. When Checkers moved to the side, I could see something behind him: an open grave. A bead of cold sweat dripped down my forehead and I felt my body begin to shake. Yeah, they weren't letting me out of this one.
"Well I suppose that doesn't matter." Oh great, Checkers is still talking. "You have to play with the hand you were dealt."
Checkers turned to face me again and from the inside of his coat he pulled out a 9mm pistol. My struggling became more intense and I felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen due to the gag. There really was no point to the struggle, though. When you're on the ground, gagged and bound and there's a man pointing a gun at you, there's not much you can do beyond trying to find God or something.
"And from where you're kneeling, it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck."
There are three main responses to danger. Fight, flight, and the lesser known one, "fuck it". That's where I was.
The rest of Checker's features seemed to disappear into the shadows as did the Khans standing beside him.
"Truth is," His finger twitched against the trigger and I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes. "...The game was rigged from the start."
I didn't even hear the gunshot. I was gone long before he pulled that trigger.
…
As much as it would have been nice to believe that there was an archangel looking after me, my sole reason for surviving was on Checkers being a bad shot. I don't know how he accomplished that given I was kneeling directly in front of him, but the bullet just missed turning my entire brain into pulp. Later I would come to learn that if the bullet was moved by just a few centimeters, I would not have survived. Maybe I did succeed in finding God.
The man who dug the bullet out of my brain was a surgeon named Doc Mitchell. For a man who successfully performed a brain surgery with little resources, he didn't stand out much appearance-wise. He had a gray mustache, thinning hair, and instead of the crisp labcoats I remember the doctors wearing back home, he dressed more like the prospectors that roam the wastes. He kind of reminded me of my Grandpa Eugene before his steamboat accident (may he rest in peace).
The only thing I could remember about my recovery was sitting by the window in a daze, waiting for my legs to work. I was a well-respected chemist back home, I have a deep understanding of science and the natural world, and yet I was reduced to the behavior of an infant. I couldn't walk, I could barely talk, and all I did was stare out the clinic window and drool a bit on my shirt.
Even after I found the power to walk again, I would continue to sit and stare out the window. It wasn't like there was some exciting action going on in Goodsprings, Nevada. It's just so easy to get lost in the tumbleweeds drifting across the dirt roads when you're trying to find some way to distract yourself from the dull pain that's still throbbing away in your brain.
"Celeste." Doc Mitchell's voice cut in from behind me. He had to spoon-feed me for an unspecified amount of time, so we were on a first name basis. "Glad to see you're up and about."
I turned away from the window and moved my wheelchair towards the center of the room. It was frustrating knowing that I had the physical capability to walk, but my mind was too stubborn to let me do it.
"I promise I'll get out of your hair as soon as I can."
Doc Mitchell chuckled. "I ain't got much hair left anyway. You stay for as long as you need."
I smiled weakly in response; I sort of figured that he wouldn't just kick me out when I was still like this.
The doctor sat across from me on the cot, the expression on his face shifted to a more serious one. I wasn't used to seeing him like this. Did I puke in the kitchen sink again?
"I hope you don't mind, but I had to go diggin' around through your stuff to try to see if there was some identification on you."
I felt my stomach drop as every illegal object I carried with me began flashing through my mind. Even after the months or so of caring for me, I had a feeling that the doc would turn me in to the NCR the second I made a full recovery.
"I understand that things get rough out here in the Mojave." He spoke to me like a parent scolding his child. "But the weapons you have on you are disturbing to say the least. And not to mention the drugs…."
I picked at a blister on my hand while my gut churned. I figured that Doc Mitchell wouldn't be the type to just abandon me when I'm still in the recovery stage, but that didn't make this confrontation any less nerveracking.
"I just like to be prepared." I muttered, continuing to pick at my hand. "There are dangerous critters and people out here in the Mojave."
"That still doesn't explain the need for chemical weapons."
"...Maybe it's a really dangerous critter or person."
The look Doc Mitchell gave me was a good sign that I was not going to be able to argue with him. I just sat there helplessly in my chair as I watched him remove my weapons and chems from my bag. My hands clenched in my lap; there was no way I'd be able to go after Checkers now.
"I know that some folks out there feel like they need to resort to violence." Doc Mitchell sat back down across from me. "But there are plenty of other paths you can take. You can settle down here in Goodsprings if you'd like; it's unlikely you'll get shot in the head way out here."
Though I could tell he was just trying to help, I didn't allow myself to take any of his words to heart. I had to get answers from Checkers. If not, who's to say they wouldn't just track me down again? It was too early for pacifism and forgiveness and definitely too early to be in the wasteland without a damn gun.
...
I left Doc Mitchell's care a few weeks later. He let me keep some of my supplies like my canteen, food, and bottlecaps, but if anyone tried to steal them from me I was shit out of luck.
After sitting in the dark for who knows how long, the Mojave sun hit me like a second bullet to the brain. Not only that, but I still wasn't used to walking on terrain that wasn't a smooth wood floor. It didn't help that Doc Mitchell's house was on the top of a dirt hill; I looked like a newborn brahmin flailing down that road.
A few minutes outside for the first time, and I felt like maybe I needed more time to recover. My head still hurt like hell, but also I felt weak and...floppy. I was only wearing a tank top, cargo pants, and boots, but I might as well have been wearing full power armor. My hand limply felt around in my nearly empty bag and I felt like a huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders when I felt the outline of my box of cigarettes and my lighter. I guess Doc Mitchell was kind enough to not remove every addictive substance from my bag.
Smoking that time hurt, like I was thirteen and smoking my first cigarette again. I felt like I was coughing fragments of my lungs up and each cough sent a sharp pain directly to my head, but it still felt good. That first cigarette was like popping a boil; it was painful and disgusting, but the relief made it all worth it. Gross analogy? Get used to it-the Mojave can get pretty gross.
But the cigarette could only do so much. Only a few minutes later, I felt light-headed again. There had to be some place I could collapse in, like a motel or something. But after wandering aimlessly down the main dirt road of Goodsprings, the only place that fit that description was a saloon. "Prospector Saloon" was written in neon letters, the lights straining to shine through the dust that was being kicked up in the air.
It had to be a hundred degrees outside, but I still felt chills rush up my spine. I used to visit these types of places quite frequently back when I was younger. I couldn't even remember the last time I stepped into a bar. I tried to avoid them.
I stared up at the neon sign and brushed my sweaty bangs out of my face. Considering the size of the town, I didn't have much options when it came to places to rest. Plus I didn't have enough caps to waste on drinks like I used to.
A small brass bell ringed when I pushed the saloon door open, and judging by the looks of the interior, it seemed like that was the only sound to enter this room in a while. The light streaming in through the dust-coated windows gave everything in the near empty saloon an orange glow. Despite having a pool table and a jukebox, no one appeared to be in the main entrance room. To the right, an empty doorframe lead to the actual bar. Even though I would have prefered to stay where there wasn't easily accessible booze, I could still hear movement inside so I didn't have much of a choice.
I turned the corner and immediately collapsed on one of the booths by the window. My eyes wandered around the inside of the saloon while I waited for my mind to stop spinning. As far as the inside of the Prospector Saloon goes: it was the inside of a saloon. That's it. The wooden wall panels were lined with old posters of Vegas and shelves stacked with different colored liquor.
The only other person in the bar was the bartender; a woman with short brown hair wiping off the bartop with a dirty rag.
"You look like you could use a drink."
I sat up straight and rubbed my eyes from behind my glasses. "Just water will be fine."
The bartender filled a glass with some rather cloudy water and I hesitantly made my way over to the bar. As I reached into my bag to get my caps, I couldn't help but feel that she was staring at me.
"Is something wrong?" I dropped the caps on the counter and grabbed the water glass.
"You're the one Doc Mitchell was patching up, aren't you?" She slid the caps towards her without bothering to count them.
I drank the water way faster than I should have. "How did you know?"
She brushed her fingers over her left temple and I mimicked her gesture.
Of course. I'm an idiot.
A patch of hair on the left side of my head was shaven off from the surgery, exposing this ugly set of stitches that snaked its way across my scalp. Even from just tracing my fingers over the scar, I felt nauseous and anxious all over again.
"Doc Mitchell told me all about you." She leaned forward against the bar. "Shot in the head, huh? Impressive."
My body went cold and numb. I could only nod in response.
"My name's Trudy, by the way. So can I get you something else to drink?"
"I-" My voice cracked in a rather embarrassing fashion. "...my name's Celeste and no thank you."
"Okay, suit yourself."
I watched Trudy go back to tending the bar for customers who wouldn't come. The entire time I tried to find the best way to word exactly what I wanted.
"Trudy?" I kept my eyes looking down at the glass of water which was now warm from my hands. "I have a question-about my injury."
She swung the rag over her shoulder. "'fraid you'll have to go to Doc Mitchell for any medical-related questions."
I shook my head. "No, it's not that." I found myself running my fingers over the stitches again-I couldn't wait for my hair to grow back so I wouldn't be able to do that. "By any chance do you know the men who attacked me? Two Khans lead by a man in a checkered coat?"
Since I didn't expect to get anywhere, I was pleasantly surprised when Trudy nodded.
"I see you're familiar with the freeloaders too. They came in a few weeks ago, around the time the robot brought you here."
"Robot?"
"Yes, but I didn't think they were connected." Trudy continued, as if she didn't say anything strange at all. "I thought it was strange for a group like them to land in this town, but I didn't listen in on their arguments for too long. I did hear that they were headed to the Strip through Primm and Novac."
"I'm sorry, did you say something about a robot?"
"Oh, Victor?" Trudy grimaced. "It's just one of those Vegas securitrons who for some reason decided to make Goodsprings its home. Digging you out of that grave was probably the only useful thing it's done since it got here."
I picked at the brim of the glass. "You don't like him."
She signaled for me to stop messing with the glass. "It acts friendly enough, but that 'friendly cowboy' thing it's got going on is off-putting. Still, it took a liking to you but I-"
The sound of glass shattering cut through Trudy's words and I instinctively reached for my gun that wasn't there. If we were being attacked, I would have to fight them with a half-empty glass of water.
Trudy cursed and jumped out from behind the bar with a shotgun in her hands. Fortunately no one else seemed to be inside, but one of the dust-stained windows was smashed open. I followed Trudy from the bar, the shards of broken glass crunching under our shoes. Lying beneath the shattered window was a single weather-worn brick.
"They're at it again." Trudy sighed. "I'll get the broom."
I knelt down next to the brick and picked it up. Turning it over in my hands, I saw "HAND HIM OVER, BITCH" written in black marker.
"This happens often?" I set the brick down by the windowsill. It was hard to imagine that such a quiet little town would have frequent incidents like this.
Trudy came back with a broom and dustpan. "Powder Gangers, or at least a cowardly branch of them." She began to sweep up some of the glass off the floor. "They haven't been happy with us ever since we let one of their enemies take shelter here."
"So...they throw bricks through your windows?" The gangs I had experience working with would do far worse. Less broken windows and more broken bones.
"That and spray painting obscenities on our town sign." She picked the dustpan up and threw the bits of glass away. "Mostly juvenile stuff. I don't think they'd ever do anything serious."
"Still, I imagine it's a pain to deal with every day. Why don't you just hand the guy over and be done with it?"
Trudy frowned at me. "If we just handed over everyone who came here for help, your ass would have been kicked out into the desert the second we found those weapons of yours."
I bowed my head. "News sure travels fast around here."
"Besides," Trudy rested the broom against the wall. "Even if we did hand Ringo over, who's to say they'd stop at him? They'd keep pecking at this town like buzzards until there's nothing left."
"Which is why they should be dealt with. I've worked with gangs in the past-" I paused when Trudy gave me a weird look. "-if we can't give them what they want, we should find some way to get rid of them."
"And how are we supposed to do that?" Trudy crossed her arms. "The NCR hasn't stepped in because this town is of little importance and I don't think a lot of the people here would want to get involved with them."
"Well, if I could get my weapons back-"
"Absolutely not."
I slumped my shoulders. "I guess we'll just wait for them to leave."
Trudy waved aside the statement. "As I said, they probably won't do anything too drastic."
Staring down at the broken windowpane, I couldn't help but feel like I had to take some sort of responsibility. Normally I wasn't one to get involved in matters like this, but for some reason I felt like I couldn't just walk away from this situation. Messing with this situation could be like poking at a cazador nest (not a good idea, for the record), but I had to do something.
"Maybe I could talk to this Roger."
"Ringo."
"Right. Do you know where I could talk to him, get some more info?"
She looked out the window. "He should still be hiding in the gas station. Don't know how willing he'd be to fight back either, though."
"I never said anything about fighting, I-" I ran my fingers through my hair, making a point to avoid touching the scar again. "Thanks for the water."
"No problem. Try not to get shot again."
Whoever threw the brick through the window was long gone by the time I left the saloon. This time the sun seemed a lot less blinding and I was able to walk without feeling like I was about to collapse. Yep, I sure was ready to go against a gang. With my questionable health and lack of weapons, maybe I could talk the Powder Gangers to death before I pass out again.
Looking down the dirt road that cut through Goodsprings, I could see something rolling away from me-a robot. Even this was probably a bad idea given my condition, I ran after him.
"Hey!" I tried to get his attention, but I guess securitrons don't have ears. Victor turned the corner and I lost track of him. How do you lose an 8 foot tall robot in a tiny town? I don't know, but I managed to do so.
I stopped to catch my breath. I only ran for a few minutes, but already I felt like I was going to collapse. Perhaps I was getting way in over my head with this whole vengeance thing.
The saloon was way too far back for me to return to and the rest of the buildings around me were locked. All except for one. Across the road from me was an old prewar schoolhouse. The faded red wood almost blended in with the desert and it looked like no one touched it in decades, but it was probably nice and cool inside.
I stepped over the collapsed chain-link fences and forced the rusted-over hinges to open as I pushed at the door. The inside of the schoolhouse was no less hot than it was outside, but even more dank and musty. The wood floors and overturned desks were bloated from the humidity and the only light came streaming through the broken windows. It was just like the schoolhouses I used to go to back home.
I made my way through the school, stepping over toppled chairs and lockers. A few feet in and I began to notice that there were giant mantises on the ground-just the shell with all their meat scooped out. Someone was here recently.
The idea that I was not alone became more clear when I saw that on the far end of the schoolhouse by the blackboard, some of the desks were arranged like a fort. If there was anyone behind the pile, I couldn't see them. Slowly, I began to approach the desks against all better judgement.
"Hello?" I called out to no response, but I could definitely hear something rustling from behind the desks. I was beginning to bet that it was just some animal hiding there, but I still wanted to check it out. Unfortunately I was without a weapon, but I figured that I could easily smash someone's brains in with a desk and make a run for it.
My hands wrapped around the damp metal legs of one of the desks and lifted it up over my head and whatever was hiding there was completely exposed. I don't know what I expected to find, but to say I was surprised was an understatement.
Huddled behind the desk shelter was a fully-uniformed legionary.
I've encountered plenty of gangs when I was in the Mojave, but I never experienced the good fortune of meeting one of these guys. From what I heard, they were a large gang who modeled themselves off of the Roman empire-but only the slavery and running around in skirts parts. Around the time I first came to the Mojave, these guys had an all-out war with the NCR over the Hoover Dam. Pretty big deal for a gang. I heard they were crazy, brutal, barbaric, and one was sitting right there in front of me.
"Oh, shit." Was all I could manage to say. What was I supposed to do? Just leave him there? Smash the desk over his head?
Before I could respond, he knelt down in front of me, his frame shook despite the overwhelming heat inside the schoolhouse.
"Kill me. Don't turn me in to the NCR." His voice came out muffled from behind the bandanna he wore around his face, but the fear in his tone was still obvious.
I dropped the desk, just not on him. "A legionary in the Mojave? I thought they were all in Arizona or Utah."
"Well, surprise." He waved his hands in an almost playful manner. "So are you going to kill me or not?"
I knelt down in front of him so I could get a better look at what I was dealing with. I was just surprised that he didn't die of a heat stroke. His uniform appeared to be made of heavy prewar sports equipment. Football pads over his shoulders and chest, catcher's vest over his torso, plain red jersey, and a scratchy-looking brown kilt. His features were covered by a brown cap, bandana, and goggles. I can't make any of his getup sound cool, because it wasn't.
"Didn't plan on it. What are you doing here anyway?" I wrapped my hand around one of the nearby chair legs so if by any chance he tried to do something, I could smash him with it like a prewar wrestler.
He scooted back against the chalk-dusted blackboard and crossed his arms. "I'm living the dream here. Eating raw mantis meat, using the sweat from my shirt for water, rotting away alone; this is paradise."
"...really?"
"No not really!" He was now yelling right at my face. "I'm here because I'm stuck! Now just kill me!"
I unwrapped my hand from the chair. "Why would I kill you?" This was a trap, it had to be. Why would any wastelander, even a legionary, offer himself up like this?
"One: I'm a legionary and you're a profligate. Two: I would prefer to die in battle than by my own hands or by nature." Despite naming two reasons, he held up three fingers. "Choose."
"Then just leave."
The legionary held his arms up. I wondered how his own smell didn't kill him yet. "Why didn't I think of that? I just walk back to the Fort from here, I'm sure the NCR will be nice!"
I crossed my arms. "I don't like your tone."
"Then prove how much you don't like it by taking my head!"
He bowed down in front of me. Ever since the Checkers incident, I wasn't a big fan of the killing someone while they were completely helpless. There had to be another way around this.
"You're taking a long time." He kept his head down, his voice shook. "I'm at your mercy. Are you too cowardly to do it?"
I picked at my nails. "Stop with the name calling, or I may rethink my decision to save your life."
The legionary looked up at me and even though his face was covered, I could still see the look of utter disbelief on his features.
"You're not going to kill me?"
"Only if you give me a reason to."
"I just have you two."
"And they both sucked. Now get up."
The legionary stood to his full height and while he was rather lanky in build, he still towered over me. Didn't matter, I could still kick his ass if I wanted to. Or at least I hoped I could, because I reached out and grabbed one of his arms and began examining it.
"So you're one of the feared legionaries?" I flopped his arm back and forth in my hand. He was obviously uncomfortable, but he didn't do anything about it.
"Are you mocking me?"
I dropped his arm and slowly paced around him, trying to get a better look at this guy.
"Not yet." I couldn't help but smirk when I saw him shaking like a freshly shaven animal. "But the legion must be a 'strength in numbers' sort of deal because I'm not intimidated by you at all."
"I can fight for myself." He crossed his arms. "My training wasn't for nothing."
I stopped pacing directly in front of him. "Then how come you haven't tried anything yet?" I didn't want to egg him on, but I figured that if the Legion was anything like what I believed it to be. He was more than capable of killing me right then and there.
"The only thing worse than dying alone is dying next to a rotting corpse."
"I see." Reaching out, I roughly grabbed his jaw, causing him to let out a rather funny squeak, and turned his head around in my hand. "You know, I've never met a legionary before. Plenty of other gang members, but never a legionary." Well now that I was with a non-hostile legionary, this could be a good chance to clear up some rumors.
"I think that's a good thing." He tried to pull his face out of my grip. "Let go of me."
I leaned in closer to him and he began to back away.
"Is it true that you devour the newborn sons of neighboring tribes to absorb their essence?"
"...what?"
"Are all your buildings made out of the skin and bones of your enemies?" I picked a bit at his shoulder armor.
"No we use bricks or tents. What are you talking about?"
I frowned and crossed my arms. "You know, you guys aren't as crazy as I heard."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, sorry?"
Looking over the legionary again, I couldn't say this surprised me. Sure this kid was a part of a gang I heard horrible things about, but he still looked like a kid to me. But it was apparent he knew how to fight, but unlike some raiders or gang members I knew, he didn't seem to be the type to start attacking people at random. I got a horrible and incredibly stupid idea.
"So if you're not crazy, maybe you could help me out?"
We both seemed equally shocked from by what I just said. The legionary took a step back, eyeing me curiously.
"Why would I help a profligate?"
"Because this 'profligate' is going to save your life." What are you doing? "I have a pretty long trip ahead of me and I could use the help of someone who can fight and knows their way around the desert."
I could see him clearly weighing his options. I wouldn't be surprised if this was the first time he was ever asked to make a serious decision.
"What's in it for me?" His voice was hesitant and cautious, as if he was the one who was making the risky choice.
"You want to go home?"
That definitely did the trick. Even behind the mask, I could see his eyes widen.
He bowed his head and spoke quietly. "More than anything."
"Then it's settled!" I nudged his arm and he held his head up again. "After you help me, I'll help you get home! Deal?" I'll be honest, the idea of confronting Checkers with a full legionary by my side sounded incredible to me.
"Where are you going?"
I cocked an eyebrow. "Are you in any position to be picky?"
He glanced over to the side. "...no."
"Then it's settled! Vegas, here we come!"
His body jolted. "Wait, what?"
I ignored him and began digging through my bag, which was a lot easier after most of my supplies were removed. I found my canteen, still partially filled with lukewarm water.
"Here, have some water." I held the canteen out to him. "You look like you need it."
The legionary looked at me like I just handed him a million caps on a silver platter, not a plastic container of dirty water.
He pushed the bandanna off of his face. "Are you sure? How much can I have?"
I shrugged. "Take as much as you need. I can refill it later."
While he downed the water like a champ, I resumed digging through my bag in the hopes of finding some kind of food.
"I don't have much as far as things to eat goes." I returned with a few pieces of gecko jerky that I didn't even want to know how long they've been in there. "I have a few pieces of jerky, but if you want something else I-"
Before I could finish my sentence, the jerky disappeared from my hand. I guess he no longer had standards after rotting away in a schoolhouse. Or maybe legion food was just that awful.
He ate the jerky in a way that more resembled someone trying to frantically destroy their old writing than actually eating. I picked the canteen back up off the floor.
"You stay here." I twirled the canteen around by the strap. "I'll go refill this."
I was about to turn and leave this humidity nightmare, but then I remembered something incredibly important.
"Oh!" I stopped and turned around. "My name's Celeste."
The legionary wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Recruit #746."
I frowned. "Okay, I hope your parents didn't name you that."
He lowered his head. "...Livius."
I smirked. "Okay that's...better." Maybe I'll just name him myself. "Anyway, I'll be back in a bit."
The schoolhouse door nearly fell off its hinges when I opened it. I never thought I'd see the day where the outside of the Mojave desert was actually cooler than inside. I wiped the sweat off of my brow and leaned against the schoolhouse wall.
"What am I doing?"
…
Before refilling the canteen, I headed over to the general store to find some actual clothes for the guy. It has been a while since I bought clothes, but I played it safe and bought the smallest set of menswear I could find.
"Why is clothing so expensive?" I held the bundle of clothing closer to my chest. "This kid better be grateful."
Near the main road leading out of Goodsprings I could see a group of men talking in a circle. I couldn't get a good look at them, but since they were all wearing the same faded blue clothing and they were so far away from the rest of the town. I had a feeling these guys were Powder Gangers.
I crept up on them and hid behind a nearby abandoned house. Fortunately, I don't think they saw me. I steadied my breathing and tried to listen in on what they were saying.
"Piece of shit town still won't hand Ringo over." One of the shorter Powder Gangers spoke. The commanding tone he spoke in and the black chest armor he wore over his blue uniform gave me a feeling that he was the one controlling this operation. Maybe he was the one who decided which bricks were best for chucking through windows. "It's time for them to pay."
My body went numb and the clothes nearly slipped out of my grasp.
"We're ready to strike." A rather burly man in the group responded. "Just give the signal."
"Good."
From my limited knowledge of Powder Gangers, I could remember that they were mostly known for dealing with explosives. I hoped their experiences with them made them rather hard of hearing, because I didn't even bother to be stealthy or graceful when I ran back to the schoolhouse.
I gave in and kicked the door open and leapt into the schoolhouse like a majestic radroach being blown back with a shotgun.
"Livius!"
The legionary stood up, clearly startled.
"Is this how profligates act? Why didn't you just-"
I chucked the clothing at his face. When he recovered, he peeled the tanktop off and examined it.
"Quick, put that on." I was pacing around the schoolhouse at that point and looking out the window every few seconds. "Something big just came up. Can't afford to have you seen like that."
"Whatever you say, I guess." Livius shrugged and immediately began unfastening his belt.
I turned away and covered my eyes. "Couldn't you wait for me to leave?" I blindly pushed my way through what remained of the door and stepped outside.
After some time of sitting outside of the schoolhouse, something felt wrong. I felt like we didn't have much time until the Powder Gangers attacked and Livius was still getting dressed. What the hell was he doing? Did he not know how pants worked? Actually that could have been a very real possibility.
After what felt like hours, Livius exited the building and stood next to me.
"Profligate clothing is weird."
"You'll get used to it."
I looked up at him and it was amazing how different he looked without the Legion uniform, like I could almost take him seriously. He was tall, athletic in build, and his skin was covered with tan lines where his armor once rested. His dark brown and sweat-drenched hair stuck out around his head and he had some patches of unkempt facial hair, which somehow made him appear even younger. He sheathed his machete and swung his rifle over his shoulder.
"I can't believe I managed to get clothes that fit." I examined him closer, but then something caught my eye.
Branded around his upper biceps and his right forearm were black rings tattooed onto the skin.
"What are those?"
Livius followed my gaze with his eyes.
"These?" He touched one of the tattoos, almost sounding proud. "All legionaries get these if they survive training!"
"Oh, that's neat." I stared closer at the marks. "You have to cover them."
He pulled his arm away from me, his already large eyes widening even more.
"What? You can't hide my legionary status! That's who I am!"
"Yeah and that's kind of a problem!" I crossed my arms. "I have no time to argue. Just trust me."
Livius thought in silence for a moment, then with a defeated sigh he held his arms out.
I roughly grabbed his wrists and he flinched. "It's only for when we're in public."
"Just get it over with."
I searched through my bag to try to find something I could cover the tattoos with. The only thing I could find was a roll of bandages. Close enough. I began to wrap the bandages around his arms, probably a little too tight since I was used to using them for medical purposes. If we actually needed these in the future, we were going to be shit out of luck.
Finally Livius looked like the beginning stages of a mummy, but it was an improvement. He rubbed at his arms, obviously more than a little uncomfortable.
"This is weird. So why were you freaking out before?"
I packed the rest of the bandages away. "Just follow me. I'll explain on the way."
…
I tried to explain the situation with the Powder Gangers and Ringo to Livius as we ran up the road to the gas station, but Livius had to keep stopping so I could catch up with him. By the time we reached the top of the hill, I was ready to pass out while Livius barely broke a sweat.
"You're trying to save this guy?" Livius perched himself on one of the gas pumps.
I took a few minutes to catch my breath. "Not the guy. The town. A gang going to attack." I nearly doubled over from that sentence alone. Watch out, Powder Gangers. Meet your new biggest threat.
Eventually I found the strength to open the gas station door. Livius trailed behind me and peered over my shoulder.
"That's close enough."
I felt my stomach do a backflip when I took a look inside the main room. Standing right there in front of me was a man pointing a pistol at my head. My mind went blank. I felt like I was in the early stages of my recovery again; unable to speak and completely helpless.
The man kept his weapon aimed. "I'm not going down without a fight."
Livius stepped in front of me and unsheathed his machete. "I'll kill him."
For some reason that snapped me out of it. "Livius! No!"
Ringo lowered his gun. "Wait, so you're not Powder Gangers?"
Holding a conversation is difficult when you're trying to restrain a legionary.
"No. Just here to talk about your situation."
Finally Ringo put the weapon away and Livius seemed to calm down. "I see the town roped you into this as well."
I leaned against the nearby counter. "Listen, the Powder Gangers are going to attack any moment. We have to do something."
Ringo sat back down, looking rather dejected. "There's no point. We'll just be giving them two more targets."
"What do you propose we do then?"
"We could just give him to the gang." Livius chimed in.
"That wouldn't work long-term." I glanced over at Livius. "Even if we did hand him over, if this town still has resources they'll keep coming back for more."
I looked back at Ringo, who now looked rather disturbed.
"We're not going to turn you in. We're going to end this now."
Ringo glanced over to the side. "It's not going to be easy. I killed one of their men when they attacked my caravan. This isn't a petty grudge."
"Do you want our help or not?"
"I-"
Ringo was cut off by a huge, ear-drum-shattering explosion from outside. I instinctively dove behind one of the counters while Livius and Ringo just fell to the floor.
I poked my head out from behind the counter. Livius sat up and brushed some of the dust off of his shirt.
"We should do something about that."
Glad I decided to bring him along. This kid was a genius.
"Okay, here's the plan." I jumped out from behind the counter.
"No, I have a plan." Livius unsheathed his machete and began polishing the blade. "You two lie low and I'll get you a weapon."
"But we don't know how many there-"
Livius didn't bother to listen to me. Instead he stormed out of the gas station and raced down the hill in record time.
Ringo and I stood there in silence.
"So...now what?"
"Now." I rubbed my eyes. My ears were still ringing from the explosion. "Now I have to make sure this kid doesn't get himself killed."
…
Ringo and I ran down the hill towards the center of town and I'm proud to say that this time I didn't nearly pass out.
We took cover behind an overturned cart and watched the Powder Gangers run through the town. There had to be at least a dozen of them out there, but none of the other citizens appeared to be out.
Ringo moved to take cover behind some Sunset Sarsaparilla crates so he could fire at the Powder Gangers more easily. Meanwhile I was still stuck behind a cart. Unarmed and completely powerless.
Through the heavy stream of dynamite, Molotov cocktails, and bullets, I tried to keep my eyes out for Livius.
The Powder Gangers continued to power through Goodsprings. Windows were shattering, men were kicking doors in, and more explosives were going off to assure that I would be going deaf before I turn 30.
This was hopeless. There was just too many of them. Livius was probably dead or long-gone and even Ringo's shots weren't doing much. For every Powder Ganger he took down, there were at least four more still destroying the town. And even then he was far more useful than I was.
But then, one of the Powder Gangers in front of the saloon just dropped dead. I didn't hear a gunshot or anything, but then again with all the noise going on it was a wonder I could hear anything at all. Another stopped midway through lighting a fuse of dynamite to check on him, only to drop dead himself.
I squinted my eyes through the smoke and dust. I could just make out the shape of Livius darting around the center of town, slicing and shooting at Powder Gangers left and right. Maybe his training wasn't for nothing after all.
A handgun slid from the fight and near my leg and over the unrelenting noise of combat, I heard Livius yell something in my direction. I could only hope it was an apology for running off like a moron.
I tried to load the gun from behind the cover of the wagon, but the genius didn't get me any ammo. Guess I would have to chuck it at the enemy if I needed to.
The next time I looked back over the wagon, Livius somehow disappeared from the main source of the battle. While most of the Powder Gangers were either deceased or injured, my legionary appeared to be missing.
I tossed the gun to the side and jumped out from behind the cart.
Don't be dead. Don't be dead.
I had to punch my way through a few Powder Gangers to get to the saloon where I last saw Livius.
"Livius?" The noise died down, but my voice strained as if I was trying to yell over a rocket being launched.
"Celeste!" Livius's voice came from behind the saloon and I relaxed.
"I'll be right there!" I pried a meat cleaver out of the hands of a dead Powder Ganger and raced behind the saloon. This had to be an ambush. They were holding Livius hostage or something, but that didn't occur to me until the exact moment I turned the corner.
But what I saw was definitely not what I expected.
Livius stood there, almost completely unharmed and leaning against the saloon wall. Directly in front of him was the leader I saw speaking earlier, but this time he was kneeling on the ground with his wrists bound.
I dropped the cleaver. "Where did you get that rope…"
"I found the man they answer to." Livius looked like a pet presenting a dead animal to its owner. "How should we start torturing him?"
"Tort…" I shook my head. "What are you talking about?"
"He must pay for his weakness…" Despite what he was talking about, Livius looked rather sheepish.
"Death is a fine punishment!" It took me all my willpower not to smack him right there. "Keep your messed up Legion ideas out of this!"
"Legion?!" The Powder Ganger looked up at us with wide, scared eyes. Definitely not the powerful man I saw earlier that afternoon.
"Don't worry about it." I turned my attention back to Livius. "But I'm putting my foot down. No torture."
Livius narrowed his eyes. "Fine."
He spun around on his heels and shot the Powder Ganger right between the eyes, the look of fear was now permanently engraved on his face.
Livius put his rifle away and kept his gaze lowered. "This isn't how a legionary should behave…"
"Enough with the bullshit!" I snapped and grabbed Livius's collar, pushing him up against the wall. "As long as you're with me, you are not a legionary! Got it? Not Legion!"
"Legion?"
Livius and I both froze and I released him from my grasp. Standing near the outer corner of the saloon was Trudy followed by a group of Goodsprings citizens. At least the fight seemed to be over, but now I had bigger problems to deal with.
Trudy stepped forward, clearly pissed. "Just when I thought this town was out of trouble. You two are Legion spies, aren't you?"
I stepped away from Livius.
"No! Why would you think that? Me? Legion? Never!"
Not the best negotiation in history, but at least I tried. Unlike Livius who approached the group before I could stop him.
"The girl is a profligate, but I have been a legionary soldier and citizen since birth. And I will be until the day I die. I'm sorry, but it's the truth."
I stared at Livius in disbelief. Was this going to be a running thing? Was Livius just going to offer himself up to anyone who poses a mild threat?
Trudy sighed. "Well you know that means we'll have to turn you over to the NCR."
Livius slumped his shoulders. "Looks like that day is coming sooner than I thought."
Before I could react, Livius unsheathed his machete and held the dirty blade to his throat.
"Vale, everyone. Thanks for letting me use your building."
"Are you kidding me?!" I smacked the machete out of his hands. "This man saved your town and now you're just going to hand him over to the NCR?"
"If word got out that we were helping a legionary-"
"Then we'll leave." I roughly grabbed Livius's arm.
Trudy was silent, weighing her options. Eventually she sighed and gave in. "Fine, but you can't return."
"That was the deal anyway." I marched off as Livius stood there in shock. "Let's go."
…
Even after that, I felt bad about just leaving. So I spent the rest of the evening trying to clean up the town. Livius disappeared somewhere to take care of the bodies while I mostly dealt with the deep cleaning. I was just about done wiping the blood and graffiti the Powder Gangers left on the town sign when I saw someone approaching.
"Doc?" I pushed myself up over the sign. Doc Mitchell was standing in front of me with a box in his hands.
"Thanks for all you've done for Goodsprings."
I shrugged. "Well I couldn't just leave."
"Here." He handed the box over to me. "If the NCR drops by, I don't want to be seen with it."
"Thanks, doc." I took the box from him and set it down by the cleaning supplies.
Doc Mitchell fell silent and stared off into the distance. I followed his gaze and saw he was looking at Livius who was dragging a shovel behind him.
"Did you know about that boy being a legionary?"
My face became cold. "Nope."
Doc Mitchell eyed me suspiciously and I tried to play it cool.
"Be careful out there."
"I'll try."
…
That night, Livius and I set up camp a few miles from the main area of Goodsprings near some wells. Trudy never said we couldn't use their water.
I finished refilling our canteens and returned to Livius who was cooking a gecko over the fire.
"Why are you going to Vegas?" Livius poked at the gecko with a stick. "You're not taking me across the desert to do profligate things, are you?"
I knelt down across the fire from him and the pain in my skull felt like it was coming back at full force.
"A man I never met before tried to kill me and I heard he's heading toward the Strip. I don't know what his problem with me was, but I feel like I won't be able to rest easy until I get some answers."
"And vengeance?"
I cracked a small smile. "In due time."
"I can respect that." Livius removed the gecko from the fire and began serving up some slices of the meat on a stick. "I hope I cooked it alright."
I turned the stick around in my hand. "It's been so long since I had actual cooked food."
We ate in silence. I looked back over at the box Doc Mitchell gave me. With a shrug, I pulled it closer and began sorting through it.
"Hey, Livius?"
"Hm?" Livius looked up at me, his cheeks stuffed.
I continued to dig through the box. "Well since I'm going to be away from work for a while, I figured I won't be able to make this delivery anymore." I pulled out a bag of white powder and held it out to him. "You wanna hit? I don't use it myself, but I figured you could use some after all the stress you've been through."
Normally a wastelander would be grateful when offered chems for free. But Livius made a series of choking noises and scampered away like I just pulled a grenade out, which I also could have done.
"Ch-chems?!"
I tossed the bag around in my hand. "Not to toot my own horn or anything, but you won't find anything more clean or pure in the Mojave."
"There's nothing 'clean' or 'pure' about chems!"
I gave him a weird look. "So that's a no?"
"How can you be so normal about this?!" Livius's screaming felt like it was going to wake up any animal within earshot. "It's your fault the Mojave is so full of degenerates!"
"Oh you give me too much credit." But I dropped the bag back into the box anyway.
Livius crossed his arms. "It's disgusting."
"Well, Mr, Judgy, I think some of your Legion ideas are disgusting, so I think we're even."
When Livius failed to respond, I couldn't help but think I knew I messed this up.
"Livius?"
"Huh?"
I glanced over to the side. "If you don't want to travel with me anymore, I understand."
"No, it's okay. It's not like I can go anywhere else." Livius stared into the fire and brought his knees up to his chest. "Actually, being out here by the fire again, reminds me of being with my squad."
"Your squad?" My voice was hesitant. I couldn't help but feel like I was treading into some messy territory. "Where is your squad?"
He looked away. "Where do you think? They're not here now."
"Oh." Yeah, bad idea.
Livius hugged his knees and his eyes looked glazed over as the fire continued to flicker around his face. "I could have stopped this from happening. If I just cared more about their safety and the mission instead of my own survival, I could have stopped this."
I didn't know what sort of response he wanted from me, so I went with the one that came naturally: argument.
"We don't know that for certain. But you're alive, so let's focus on that."
"I knew a profligate wouldn't understand."
I stared at him in shock, "You think I don't understand loss? You think I don't know what it's like constantly wondering what would have happened if you did something different?" My hands clenched into fists, my headache was almost nauseating. "Thoughts like that are only going to torture you. In reality, you can never be certain so you can't let them take control of you."
Livius took a long time to respond again.
"You really are clueless."
"I'm speaking from experience."
"But you're not a legionary. It's different for us."
I looked at him questioningly. "How so?"
Livius closed his eyes. It looked like he was in pain. "A legionary isn't supposed to run from battle. He's supposed to slit his own throat to avoid capture."
"Morbid bunch." Although it did explain how he was so quick to do it himself before.
"My two best friends were better than me." Despite being right in front of the fire, Livius's body began to shake. "We were ambushed by the NCR when we were trying to plan an attack where they were stationed. When it was clear we couldn't win, they…"
Livius paused and rubbed his eyes, but it didn't look like he was crying. "I should have done it too, but I couldn't. I was a coward."
I stared down at the ground. "Everyone's afraid of death to a certain extent. Doesn't make you a coward, just human."
My words were landing on deaf ears. Livius rocked forward, dangerously close to the flames and held his head in his hands.
"A lifetime of training wasted. Lord Caesar is looking at me right now in shame."
I felt my eye twitch. Standing up, I made my way around the fire so I was standing right next to Livius. He didn't acknowledge me, but that was fine.
"Hey." I sat down next to him. "I know nothing I say is going to matter because apparently you legionaries are so much deeper than us 'profligates'. But I saw how you acted in combat. You're a natural fighter; there's no cowardice in you."
I had a feeling nothing I said was going to work, but Livius did lift his head.
"That was different."
"Maybe it was. But you still looked like you knew what you were doing. Don't sell yourself short."
I saw Livius's eyes get a bit watery, probably from sitting so close to the fire.
"...thank you."
I wasn't usually one for physical contact like this, but I gently touched his shoulder.
"Oh, and Livius?"
"Hmm?"
I glanced over to the side, trying to piece my words together as carefully as possible.
"If you do want to die, go ahead. I won't stop you. But make sure it's what you want. Not because of some rule you think you have to follow."
Livius smiled sadly. "That's a lot to ask of a Legion footsoldier."
I shrugged. "I'm asking because I know you're capable of making decisions for yourself."
Livius closed his eyes. "Thank you."
"No problem." I stood up while Livius remained on the ground. "Now let's get some rest. We have a big day ahead of us."
-Livius-
Profligates sure know how to sleep.
After all that. After all that talk about loss and knowing how I felt, Celeste was fast asleep. I don't think I have been able to sleep since the battle. I still had unfinished business.
I checked again to make sure she was still asleep. Then I crept out of the metal building (I don't know what it's called) we were using as a shelter. My bag was still with the rest of our supplies. I took my flashlight and the shovel I used to bury the bodies.
At least our campsite wasn't too far away. I should have brought a weapon before walking off into the desert. But when I found what I was looking for, it was too late to turn back.
The bodies of two legionaries pushed up against the cliffs right where I left them. I sighed in relief when I saw that no one else got to them first, and I began to dig.
These two footsoldiers. My best friends. They didn't have names because they weren't Legion citizens so they had to earn theirs. I felt like they deserved names more than anyone, including me. To the NCR, they were nobody. To the wasteland, they were nobody. To the Legion, they were nobody.
But the younger one, he was still a teenager but he could out-train me in almost every field. Our decanus said he could be a centurion some day.
The Legion took the older one from a fierce tribe of warriors. He had scars all over his body from where the Legion burnt his tattoos off. I thought they looked cool.
Finally I finished digging a hole they could both fit into. My arms were sore, but I found the strength to push them both in. I thought they deserved a better grave, but this was all I could do.
In the middle of the night, I buried my two best friends.
When I finished, I grabbed their machetes and stabbed them into the ground as a gravemarker and placed their helmets on top. This meant that anyone could come and steal from them, but I couldn't give them an unmarked grave.
It was done. I picked the shovel back up and made my way back to camp. Celeste was still sleeping when I returned.
I collapsed back down on my bedroll. For the first time in a while, I felt myself begin to cry like a child.
And for the first time in what felt like longer, I slept.