Author's Note: I own absolutely nothing that Bethesda owns because Bethesda owns it and I do not. I hope you enjoy my little opening and I encourage any and all comments!
He Lies in Wait
Revelation 4:7 - "The First Living Creature like a Lion"
Damn it was hot. The Mojave sun beat down mercilessly on the already parched earth as the town of Nipton was slowly reduced to ash. The young legionnaire's nostrils wrinkled in disgust as the stench of burning flesh, melting rubber, and blood diffused over to his perch at the Legion Safe House. He was dictated to observe the road as Vulpes' idea of a 'lottery' consumed the debased and corrupt town below. It was a simple job unworthy of the established warrior's skill set, but it was still his duty to the Legion. A duty he would see through until the end.
He rolled his broad shoulders to relieve the strain of many patient hours despite the futile attempts of his heavy Centurion armor restraining him. His muscles were toned from years of harsh training and he had grown accustomed to the dense garb he wore daily, many years ago. Inhaling the hot air, his intense blue eyes looked down through the scope of the anti-material rifle he cradled in his weathered hands. Normally, the Legion denied such weapons as the one the Centurion carried, but he was a special case. Always has been and always will. His aim was too impeccable to not be put to use.
The lottery was coming to a close and there were only two profligates left. Both were powder gangers. Revolting. He pulled back from the scope and looked towards the Mojave Outpost just down the road. What a joke. The warrior's eyes narrowed out of hatred as he gazed upon the ridiculous statues built up from lies and literal trash. Turning away, he shook his head, causing the crimson feathers atop his spotless helm to ripple like red water. He thought coming to the Mojave would allow him a great opportunity to serve Caesar, the man who had given him everything, but so far he had only been following around Caesar's lap dog, Vulpes Inculta. In a word, serving alongside Vulpes was awkward. The Frumentarius' style was distinctly alien to that of which the Centurion knew, but the young Legionnaire's natural curiosity was strangely satisfied by learning from the Fox. It seems that the Centurion had a knack for treachery and disguise, but then again, he had a knack for everything. No matter how his father had cursed Vulpes' name around him, the young warrior could not deny that the Fox was deadly and efficient, if not a little cold. Oddly, the Centurion found himself admiring the Head Frumentarius and hoped to learn much more from him. Enough to one day surpass his belligerent father.
He picked up his weapon again and looked through the sight towards the road when he saw a figure approaching. Probably NCR. His trigger finger itched as he followed the individual closely with the barrel of his weapon. Soon he was able to make out a few details. She was female and bore no mark of the Bear. A simple traveler. He relaxed and looked back towards Vulpes. It seems a winner was decided. Screams of the 'runner up' reached the boy's trained ears as the powder ganger had his legs crippled with hammers. A fitting punishment. The Centurion could not help but laugh as the new cripple began to crawl his way down the main street. He was pathetic. How far could he possibly get? He silently made a bet with himself that the powder ganger could not even make it to the general store on the corner.
Sighing, the Legionnaire removed his helm, freeing his golden mane. He ran his fingers through his choppy, corn silk waves, granting his head relief from the intense heat of the armor. He had specific instructions to allow the first traveler he saw through. They would be trusted to spread word of the Legion and its deeds. This girl was lucky to be granted such an honor. If only she knew.
He turned his attention back the oncoming female. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a technological band displayed on her wrist. He had only recalled seeing one other in his lifetime, but could not draw up any more information on the subject. Her hair was a chestnut color that shown in the light of the merciless sun and her lean figure was swallowed by a large duster she must have raided from a man twice her size. If the latter were the case, it would be impressive. Her slightly curly locks bounced as she walked and a few strands blew behind her in the warm breeze. But the way she carried herself was her most notable quality. Her head was high and her shoulders were back as though she thought highly of herself. So unlike that of any common wastelander, always looking so defeated. She was pretty for a profligate. At least from this distance. She could make a good officer's wife one day. Or maybe she would be better off free.
The victor of the lottery advanced towards her, cheering and shouting obnoxiously. Degenerate. The future messenger quickly drew out a pistol of some sort and exchanged a few words with him. He passed her and ran off, leaving the wasterlander confused. She kept her weapon unsheathed as she cautiously walked into the town. Eyeing the general store, she entered. The Centurion scanned the area. It seems the cripple made it to the general store after all. Damn.
It took nearly half an hour for the traveler to exit the collapsing building. How disappointing. She was a common scavenger after all. Now bored with the wastelander, his eyes began to wander to the curves of her figure until her body language changed. She stiffened. Cowered slightly too. The sight of Vulpes made her nervous. And not without reason. The Centurion would try to avoid facing the Fox in combat himself. He had been able to analyze the Head Frumentarius throughout the duration of his stay and concluded his wit would make him more than a match, not even factoring his strength. The young Legionnaire was surprisingly cautious and observant, setting him apart from other Centurions. This trait is what made him excel so young.
As soon as Vulpes finished whatever speech he had prepared, the wastelander turned around and left Nipton as quickly as she had come. How laughable. Well, his job was done here. The Legionnaire began to dissemble his prized rifle and stow it away in a custom leather rucksack. It was only a few minutes before Vulpes approached the Centurion. His voice was unmistakable, "Awe, Leonides." The golden boy looked up from what he was doing, "Awe, Vulpes Inculta."
"I have a special mission for you now. To see if you have learned anything from observing me or if it's true that you really can't teach an old dog new tricks." Leonides perked up as the Frumentarius continued, "That girl holds great potential within her. The one with the Pip-Boy. Make sure she finds herself on the right side of the war front." He turned away at this and began walking away, pausing just before he was out of view, "Everything you need is in the Safe House. Good luck, little cub."
Leonides made a face. Little cub? Only his mother was allowed to call him that. What made Vulpes think he could address him in such a familiar tone? He shook his head. Never mind. It was a petty matter. The Centurion entered the Legion Safe House, embracing the cooler air, before removing his hefty armor and gently placing it piece by piece on the display rack left in the building. It gleamed in the dim light. Since it was cleaned, the metal and leather felt foreign to him. There were no comforting scratches or dents from the battles he had won. There were no longer any rust colored stains from when he had bathed in the blood of his victims. There was no part of him in it. The armor was just armor. It didn't feel the same. None of it did since his arrival in the Mojave.
Shaking these traitorous thoughts from his head, he grabbed a nearby rag and wet it before he began washing off the perspiration that had formed over his skin in the hot Mojave day. His body shivered at the sudden application of the cool water, but the muscles rippling underneath his tan flesh relished the relief. By the end of his cleansing, he felt cold. Quickly, he changed into a simple bounty hunter duster, complete with a cowboy hat and a worn pair of sunglasses to return some warmth to his body. Leonides was uncomfortable wearing pants after years of adorning only kilts and tunics, but this was acceptable profligate wear and the goal was to blend in. Still, what was he supposed to do with his dick?