August 2, 2284
The beast stood triumphant over its opponent—a deathclaw having devoured a similar creature of its stature. The crowds had gone wild with delight and were ready for final show of bloodletting.
In the midst of the applause, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Red Lucy, we have a special guest."
She turned to see a man descending the catwalks. He was dressed in an astonishingly clean white suit and sported a bulb of curly hair. He greeted her with the familiar smile she had not seen in two years.
"Ah, the ruler of New Vegas! I had long thought you dead, my dear hunter."
"Alas, your assumptions have proven false. I am very much alive and well." She was well aware that he did not speak with a royalty twang very often. However, it did suit the moment of solemnity between them. Besides, he was a man of utmost power and admirable repute. He turned to the arena. "I guess I was a tad too late."
"Do not worry yourself. The Thorn still has one more fight."
"And that would be?"
"A contender from a distant land will challenge the strength of our greatest deathclaws."
Zeus raised a brow. "Oh? That would be very interesting. And who is this contender?"
She curved her lips. "He is by far a growing favourite. He has been with us for nearly a month now but has proven himself greatly. Many have fallen to his hand." She faced the arena as the gates were opened. The shouts then became chants. "I give you your mirror image."
Iron rasped against iron and a muscular form stepped into the spotlight. He scanned the crowds and gazed at the ringmaster and her companion.
Walker kept his face impassive. There was something about this spectator that put him on edge; an aura that dictated power and prestige. He shrugged it off. After all, he had to focus on tonight's match before delving into other matters.
Zeus rubbed his chin, gears already shifted. So far, this individual had a strong build, chiselled and scarred. And fighting shirtless. Reminds me of when I last fought here. The moment their eyes connected, however, was enough to print the image that he expected of him. "What is his name?"
"He is known as Walker. But aged veterans of the wasteland refer to him as the Lone Wanderer."
Is that so? The Courier muffled his awe. And so a legend comes to play. But why here? On the other side of the arena, Charon and Dogmeat eyed the visitor in the white suit.
Charon handled the transaction while Walker tended to his wounds. The previous fight had been his greatest challenge. This better be my last.
The bottle caps jingled in the aluminium container. "Well?"
"Our total earnings are now up to fifteen thousand."
I guess I should find another job. "Charon, you want to go another round in the ring?"
"I'd rather not." Charon's only shindig at the arena had gone down rather roughly but in his favour. Cazadores were creatures he still needed getting used to.
Dogmeat licked at the abrasions on his master's heel. "Fifteen thousand caps, right?"
"Yeah."
If only paper money still had its value, we would be out of this hellhole. The Thorn was only a side-job. One of the main reasons why they had trekked through the American wasteland was in search of a rare Gauss rife variant that the Mojave Brotherhood managed to identify but was unable to find. A source had hinted that there was someone who knew of the location of the weapon and that the individual made previous visits to an underground monster-fighting arena known as the Thorn.
"How much did we spend since leaving the Capital?"
"Around twenty thousand or more." Charon tucked the large can in a duffel bag, along with five other full cans.
Son of a bitch. "What do you think? Hunting or fighting?" The caps were mainly to stabilize their finances. Other high paying jobs were too fishy to delve into… yet.
"Whichever you want so long as I'm not the one in the spotlight."
Walker lay down on the cot, waiting for sleep to dull his senses. Screw it. "Wake me up when it's seven. We're leaving." He stole one final glance at the digital clock on his Pip-boy—two in the morning—and embraced sweet bliss.