Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.
Ecclesiastes 9:10
It was just another day in the Mojave desert. Hot. Humid. Full of dissatisfaction, concupiscence, desire, and sin. The way everyone had come to expect it, and, in many ways, come to need it. It was dirty and it went against your morals and sometimes it even threatened to take your life, but you liked it. Hell, you came back for more. Silly, gullible you.
But the Mojave had that effect on people. On everyone who trailed over its scorching sands, everyone who lost a few hundred at the blackjack tables, every man who was seated and sweating at a table in Gomorrah and every woman who shed her skin on stage for a few more caps she'd end up losing back at the tables anyways, everyone who slept under a blue moon and dreamt of red and numbers and hearts. Even the Courier, strong as he was, hotheaded, tenacious, independent, even he answered the Mojave's call to play, to bite, to drink, to sin. If by some sick twist in fate you too ended up on the west coast of the Wasteland, then that was your destiny.
The Mojave made no apologies. The Mojave did not take "no" for an answer. It bent over for no one. It got under your skin, into your blood and your bones, and made you its bitch. It had its way with everyone who had stumbled into its hot, unforgiving embrace, ruled with an iron fist, kicked ass, took names, and always, always, came out on top. The Mojave did not change.
Well . . . until now.
For the Lone Wanderer and her group of resolute, voracious fighters had touched ground on desert sand, and the Mojave knew this. The Mojave grew red with fury, the Mojave trembled in its rawhide boots. The Lone Wanderer had been born to change and to change things. It was her destiny, her lot in life, and any and everyone who stood in her pathway would get caught up in her storm, thrown to and fro, made to give in, to acquiesce, had the morals and ethics shaken into them, and walked away with a brand new heart, a brand new hope, and a stumble in their step.
She was the Mojave's worst nightmare . . . and she was here to stay.
Manifest Destiny: the 19th century American belief that the United States was destined to expand across the North American continent, from the Atlantic seaboard to the Pacific Ocean.