War had come, ripping New Vegas Security thin. Enemy's of the Independent State came ,closing borders in.
There stood the ranger... All alone. He stood alone. Sole remnant of the Nevada Highway Rangers.
The ranger stood with his service rifle slung over his shoulder and combat knife on his belt. He of course had smaller arms, but the 9mm pistol was safely hidden away in his boot. The armor he wore under his duster was cobbled together with bits of leather on one part and metal on the other. The pauldrons didn't match one of desert ranger armor, the other from a set of T-45b. It bore the insignia of pre-war American military. A circled star.
He wore no helmet unlike the desert ranger. Instead relying on his trusty Stetson and a set of aviators.
No matter where him and his rifle went, trouble seemed to ensue. His rifle had been many places with him, but no matter where it was, filled with sand, mud or snow. It always hit its target when instructed.
War... War never changes. And their will always be men who turn the tides in a war.
The ranger entered the now New Vegas controlled outpost Mojave from the north side of the I-15. making his way to the administration office.
"You must be awfully brave to walk from New Vegas alone.
Got any paperwork?" said the New Vegas Security officer gesturing writing on a pen and pad.
"I do. But I doubt it'll be of any use but here you go" the ranger replied as he retrieved a small leather book from his pocket, the front bearing the logo of the Nevada highway rangers and presented it the officer.
"huh. Didn't think their were any more Nevada highway rangers." the officer remarked.
"Aside from me their isn't" the ranger replied coldly. The ranger took his leather book and left the administration building heading for the bar.
Things looked up for Cass. With the courier's newly founded Independent State of New Vegas Cass had been able to establish a new caravan company called the New Vegas Trekking Trading Company. Business was good since the Van Graffs and the crimson caravan had pulled out of Vegas when the courier took control. Thanks to the Van Graffs pulling out of Vegas their was a lot less energy weapons kicking around the wasteland. Beside the brotherhood of steel and the Liberators to the north, nobody used energy weapons.
The ranger came into the bar and sat down with a heavy thud on one of the stools. The bartender asked the ranger what he drank, to which the ranger replied sternly scotch. The ranger was unshaven, appearing to have quite the 'shadow' covering his face.
Cass decided since the bar was pretty much empty and that she was in a reasonably good mood she would go make conversation with the stranger.
"So what brings you to the most boring outpost in all the Mojave?" Cass asked in the drunk sarcastic tone known only to friends of the infamous whiskey rose . The ranger downed the shot of scotch that had been sitting in front of him for a while now and answered
"Heard their were some raiders making trouble on the highways west. Thought I'd show em' what real trouble looked like. Maybe make a quick buck too."
"huh. What are ya? Nevada highway patrol" Cass joked.
"Was..." the ranger replied coldly.
"Well shit... Here I go making a joke about the Nevada highway patrol to find out the stranger sittin' next to me is the real fucking deal.