Marcus peered through his binoculars, lying perfectly still amongst the scrub the commonwealth offered. A small settlement was only a few terrain features away, a bustling little farm community. Armed guards stood at the gates, with a flag he didn't recognize flying high and proud in the sunshine. Blue with a rifle and lightning bolt, flanked by what he assumed were stars. Although, he couldn't quite tell at this distance.

He glanced at the sky, and then momentarily rested his head upon his hat. The binoculars now sat in the dirt, his hand drifting. As he closed his eyes, his fingers simultaneously scraped the dirt, pulling a small pile into his hands. He held it for a moment, then turned his hand to the side and watched it slowly fall back to its home.

With that, he sighed and scooted back down the small berm he had taken cover behind, ignoring his dizziness from lack of nourishment. Securing his pack, hat, and touching his pistol he set towards the settlement.

The guards showed no aggression as he approached.

'Maybe it's more peaceful here than I thought.'

Marcus expected them to give him a halt order, or at least a wary acknowledgment, however neither came. Only, "Good afternoon.", from the one on the right. Presumably the more senior man, if stripes were any indicator.

'Sunshine Tidings Co-Op' the sign plainly stated, nailed to an elevated guard tower, just behind the fortified wooden wall surrounding the town. Quite a town it was. A general store, clothing, arms, food and everything a real community, an economic power, should have. He must have stuck out amongst the citizens, dirty, ragged and unkempt. A true wastelander.

He thought back to his last mission briefing. The words were true now, as ever. "Don't wear your ranger armor. You'll stick out like a sore thumb amongst those savages.", he had been told, "You want to earn their trust, not scare them." He was glad he didn't bring it, for wearing it now would have put a big look-at-me signal on him. The boots, khakis, button-up, and full brimmed hat seemed ridiculous enough to these people, comparatively speaking. Not everyone looked exemplary, but generally they were clean. Some of them were even healthy, with full faces.

He approached the general stores counter first, laying out a multitude of ammunition types, a few odds and ends from his travels, and articles of clothing that were not completely ruined when he found them.

"Howdy, how much will this get me?" Marcus inquired.

The store clerk sorted through the ammunition momentarily, then shifted through the clothing, and finally the trinkets were examined.

"I think a fair price would be..85 caps." He looked at Marcus in the eyes through his glasses. Marcus only smiled in amusement.

"110 and we'll call'er good."

Now it was the clerks amusement that gave way.

"I'll go as high as 90, and that's that."

Marcus looked about the stores shelves and finely constructed glass showcase. Cigars neatly set next to a dusty carton of cigarettes caught his eye. They looked, surprisingly, as if they weren't stale.

"Those cigars fresh?" He asked.

The owner turned, and nodded.

"Ah, yes sir they are. Tobaccos from Greentop Nursery, rolled in Tenpines Bluff."

"Is that local?" He inquired.

"You're not from around here are you?"

"No sir, been traveling quite some time."

"Yes it's local, couple hours travel on foot if you know where you're going."

"Tell you what," Marcus licked his dry lips, "you give me 75 caps, three of those cigars, a bottle of purified water, and some information and we'll settle this deal."

The clerk froze where he stood as the word 'information' left the strangers lips.

"You've got a dangerous look about you..hope you ain't here for me?"

"Oh no, nothing like that." Marcus responded hastily. "I just had some general questions, friendly conversation more like."

A sigh of relief came from the clerk, adjusting his glasses. "Well of..of course in that case I have the time. Not to many people beating down the door, so to speak."

The proprietor exchanged the goods, and while Marcus was admiring the cigars and packing them away safely in his shirt pocket the man asked, "So, what kind of information are you looking for?"

"Who's flag is that outside?"

"You really aren't from around here are you?"

"Who's getting information here, you or me?" Marcus smiled, even though his voice was level and cold.

"Right, well..it's the flag of the Minutemen."

"Minutemen?"

"Yes, protectorate of the commonwealth. The people fighting for the people. They've come a long way ever since General Garvey and Colonel Thiel came into the picture..seems they've all but reclaimed the Commonwealth. A few pockets of super mutants here, couple raiders there, gunners remain the biggest issue..but there is still the case of the airship that arrived early this morning. Brotherhood of Steel, I've heard tales of them down in the capital wasteland. Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood?"

A short memory of Marcus kicking a young scribe in the chest, pulling his redwood revolver and painting the wall with his brains entered his mind, clear as day.

"No."

"Ah, in any case I'm not sure how they'll get along with the Minutemen. Only time will tell, but I'm confident Colonel Thiel can handle any problems that come our way. Even the Institute, if you believe in them."

"Institute?"

"Boogey man of the commonwealth, there's some old newspapers over there if you'd like to read about them."

Marcus gave a glance in the direction the man motioned towards, and looked immediately back.

"Those guard outside then, Minutemen?"

"Yes sir."

"Hmm..one more question." Marcus stroked his beard. "What's best to eat around here?"

The clerk laughed.

XXXXXXXX

After getting some proper food, a haircut, and a much needed bath, Marcus found reasonably priced lodging. The bed was comfortable, and clean(ish). Things were much better in the commonwealth than the Mojave in his opinion. Perhaps it was the change of scenery, or maybe he just hadn't been there in so long it seemed worse than it was.

Vegas, being the crown achievement in the Mojave, thriving after the second battle of Hoover Dam still had its major downfalls. The NCR was now in possession of everything west of Vegas, and a little farther east. Stabilization and strength, not only as a military power, but the economy and peace had never been better.

The beds on the strip were clean, but the outlying cities and towns were still not this decent. As great as things had been since the downfall of the Legion, there were still major discrepancies. Still riddled with junkies, whores, and cheats, that all stank of unwashed fester. The stench of civil unrest still filled the air in certain parts of the Mojave. The 'peace' was poorly stitched together, at best. Held together only by money, and a lot of the NCR's young men and women in uniform.

Here though, things seemed genuine. Peace seemed palpable, if a small settlement with all of this only required a small garrison of maybe fifteen men? It also held a key ingredient that nowhere else held. Happiness. The only time he remembered it in earnest was with his wife and young daughter, on their homestead back west. That, however, was years ago and now only a memory.

He scribbled his thoughts down in a small leather bound notebook he kept in his bag, buried deep. He then abandoned his philosophies as quick as they began. In the morning, it was time to make a move.

After a good nights rest, one well deserved, he walked briskly to one of the Minutemen on post.

"Good afternoon sir, may I help you?" The young soldier asked.

"I want to enlist." Marcus said flatly.

"Very well sir, nearest recruiting officer is Oberland Station."

"And where's that?"

"Do you have a map, sir?"

"I do not."

The soldier nodded, and proceeded to give brief directions. His clean shaven face gave the impression of a disciplined soldier. Marcus took notice of his fine firearm. M4 service rifle, and a 9mm sidearm, both clean and well lubricated. His camouflage utilities were not patched and sowed together. They were issued, they were uniform and neat. Marcus was again, impressed upon further examination of the Minutemen. Another viable reason he could add as to why he wanted to enlist.

"Did you get that sir?"

"Yeah, I got it. Thank you son." Marcus realized not everyone liked to be called 'son', but he had made it to the age he didn't care. It was the way he spoke and if anyone cared that much, they didn't have to speak to him the way he figured it.

"Anytime sir, thank you. It shouldn't take you to long to get there. The officer on duty should be Lieutenant Brander. He'll sort you out."

"Thanks again." Marcus nodded, and with that, he set out for Oberland Station.