The Legion and the NCR were two huge factions. They were both situated on the Western half of the United States, formed long after the Great War(Nuclear war between the US and China). It was of course to no ones appall that humans would once more band together to form societies. The NCR or, "The New California Republic", tried to replicate the old World(as the people now called it)'s form of government, the old America's government. A democracy of sorts, a republic. The Legion tried to band together to copy and paste the ancient Empire of Rome's way of living. Through brutality, slavery, assimilation, and despotism. The Legion was the Bull. The NCR was the Bear. Then there was the Rangers.

The former Desert Rangers now called NCR Rangers. Or rather, "Elite NCR Rangers". They wore black trench-coats and helmets, their helmets having what appeared to be gas masks on the front, and when nighttime struck, the eyes lit up in blood red. Then they had jeans for pants, usually torn and sewed pieces on, and then they had standard work boots, or whatever other boot they wanted to wear. This wasn't mentioning any backpack, weapon, or belt they might have had. Out of these rangers though, the NCR divided them up for four different regions. The Baja Rangers, the California Rangers, the Nevada Rangers, and the Arizona Rangers. The Rangers hunted down criminals, assassinated leaders, infiltrated enemy lines, and a whole manner of other things that the NCR wouldn't want let out to any form of public or press.

The year is two thousand three hundred, anno domini. One of the Rangers was about to be sent out. An Arizona Ranger by the name of Bradley Morgan. He was being sent to Arizona, to a rural region, hunting down both an outlaw in that area, as well as a Legion captain. What seemed so odd about the Legion these days, was that they had allowed women into their ranks if they could match up better than the men. The issue with the Legion captain he was searching for, was it was one of these women. By instinct most soldiers would refrain from firing and women and children, but this time he was ordered to kill or capture.

After receiving his orders, the dark clothed trooper set out to Arizona from southern Nevada. He packed several bottles of water in his backpack and decided that he'd only take a couple MREs with him, he could hunt along the way. He took plenty of ammunition for his .30 caliber rifle with an optional scope attachment as well optional silencer attachment. He took both the rifle as well as a .45 caliber handgun, a 'Peacemaker' as they were called in the old world, though he never knew why. What would surprise anyone was that he was only nineteen and out hunting criminals for a government that in its own self was corrupt. He could recall the old training regimes. Crawling in the hot sand under barbed wire, climbing over tall wooden walls, swinging on ropes, all in a rapid paced manner. It would exhaust anyone, but it was well worth it. It could save any of their lives.

It was 6:00 AM in the morning when he awoke in his home. He was meant to head out about an hour ago, but he had decided he could waste an hour by sleeping. Hell, the sun had only just came up anyways. After filling a glass of water from a nearby well and drinking it down, Morgan got dressed into that old armor that had been in existence for over two hundred years. Once dressed and packed up, he headed out.

For about a week he'd been slouching his way to the Arizona State line until he come up to the sign that read 'Welcome to Arizona The Grand Canyon State'. How funny. The Ranger couldn't hold back a grunt of amusement as he trekked on past the sign. By noon he could see in the far far distance, several crucifixions planted in the ground. They didn't have people on them, but that didn't mean they wouldn't soon enough. He decided he'd need to take a different route to where he was going. Luckily there was an abandoned town not too far from where he was thus he ended up heading in that direction.

Once in the town, he spent a few more hours just fiddling around until deciding to truly investigate the buildings. With the gun strap around his shoulder and the .30 rifle in his hand he opened a door to one of the buildings, a large house it seemed. When he discovered it was locked and then realized he had no way of breaking into it quietly, he decided to ram the door in. He backed up from the door a good pace, and then when a good distance away ran at it in a fast pace, and then but all of his force into the door, which evidently did push it in, but didn't break it down or anything. It was hanging on one hinge by the time he had hit the floor from the slickness in the textiles. After banging his head on the floor and lying there for a few minutes groaning in pain, his gloved hands pushed himself up as he stood up again.

After regaining his posture, the Ranger started looking about at the inside of the structure. It was dusty. There was blue and white rotting wall paper that was shredded and revealed a dry-rotted wood behind it. The place looked like it could collapse at any moment. He studied it for a bit longer until delving deeper into the house. The first room was the kitchen where he began searching for food or water. In all honesty he needed both or he wouldn't be getting too far. His idea of hunting was a disaster. He was running on his last MREs and his water was about to run out as well, despite the fact he kept the empty bottles, hoping to refill them later. After finding nothing in the house he moved on to the living room. There was an old television, some lamps, a couch that was likely infested with bugs, and a table. He wandered over to the table and discovered it had a drawer. After opening it he found nothing in its contents except for a bunch of papers, until uncovering a book of some sort. It had what appeared to be a crucifix on it. Was it a book the Legion left? The word 'Bible' was visible on the front of it. He took the book along and tossed it in his backpack, at least he'd have something to do in his spare time now, even if the pages were a bit degraded, it was still readable.

Once finished with the living room he entered the bedroom. Right as he entered the room he heard something. Something like heavy breathing that became silent as soon as he made a sound going in. He wasn't alone. He put the rifle back behind him and instead chose the .45 handgun to use. He checked under the bed, nothing. The bathroom, same result. Finally he went to the closet. He slowly aimed his gun at the closet doors, and grabbed the handle on it. After quickly jerking it open and seeing what was in front of him, thank heaven he had this mask on. It was a family of four. ". . ." The Ranger became silent as he looked at a grown middle aged man, woman, a teenage girl and boy. The man spoke up as he held the rest of the family behind him inside the closet, "Por favor, Dios nos guarde. Por favor tenga misericordia y no matar a nosotros!" Bradly lowered the handgun, "Ingles." He said, which was responded with the shaking of heads. ". . ." He pushed the closet door back closed and walked out of the room, and out of the house. Stepping back out into the sandy environment with its heat. He'd nearly killed a family, but he was a bit unfazed. As if it was a game of cat and mouse and his mouse had left a decoy for him. But you couldn't really say that, the family was there by chance. Wasn't it?

In two weeks, four bottles of water were gone, and eight MREs were gone. That along with the fact that he was coming down with some sort of illness, it didn't make Morgan feel confident with his mission. That is, until a man had come by and offered him information, for caps that is. He now knew where his outlaw was. What was better was that he had him in his sights right now. Morgan was on a hill, about fifty yards from his target. The outlaw was on the ground in a fenced in area with some other raider looking fellows. "Alright you son of a bitch." The helmet-less Ranger muttered under his breath, his finger lacing around the trigger ready to shoot. "Be ready to meet'ch yer maker." He said as a shot rang out across the land. There was four men altogether in this fiasco. Now there was three. The outlaw's leather had a rip. Blood was there, his friends were gone, the fire was going out. Morgan let out a sigh. It was around night time and the Ranger was tired. He was about to raise up to return to his makeshift campsite, but before he was up, he felt something hit the back of his head and blacked out.