The Survivor started heading out East, over the hills. Hearing the sounds of what seemed like ghouls just to the North of the safehouse made him decide to head the other way. It took him roughly 5 minutes to come to the peak of one of the hills, where he saw smoke pillaring out from a burned out town. Here he sat for a few minutes, considering his options.

"Hmm... I think I remember that place as being called Nipton. Could be worth scavving."

With that, he sets off down the hill, clutching the machete in his hand, since danger can come from anywhere in the Mojave nowadays. The sounds of gunshots and screaming nearby cause the Survivor to duck down and scan the area carefully. He decides to at least investigate the noises, there could be a chance for him to loot some supplies from any corpses, and since he has no food it would be in his interest to at least try. He creeps along, covered by the hills, following the sounds. He gets to a hill overlooking a road near Nipton, and sees that there are a few overturned cars blocking the road that ran through a kind of valley. As he looks down he spots a few figures in the dust, on the road near the overturned cars. There appear to be three figures, one is on the ground with another hovering over them, seemingly holding them down, and another one stood a little back, watching them. The screams and pleas of mercy made it obvious what was happening down there, that some poor unfortunate had been captured by bandits and was paying for their mistakes. The Survivor looks down at his machete, and debates whether or not to intervene. The figure standing back and watching appears to be holding a rifle, but was preoccupied watching the other person working on the poor survivor. It would be easy enough to sneak up on them, but it was a matter of whether or not he wanted to risk it. After a second of thought about the possibility of the bandits having food, and the sobbing of the survivor, he decides to play the hero. He creeps down the hill, making sure to keep quiet. Hidden by the dust, he makes his way down to the roadside, near them. As he gets closer he can hear talking coming from one of the tribals.

"Oh yeah, I like it when ya squirm! Heh heh heh..."

The Survivor slowly unsheathes his machete and moves out onto the road, creeping up behind the bandit with the rifle. He gets close to the bandit, who looks like a tribal with similar armour as the one the Survivor had just killed. The Survivor gets up closer, raises the machete and with one sweep he hacks at the tribal's neck, cutting maybe halfway into it and felling the tribal instantly, making a dull thud. The tribal who was busy with his victim hears it, and looks back at the Survivor, who is standing over the dying tribal. He reaches for the kitchen knife tucked into his belt, but the Survivor manages to grab the rifle, a rusty, battered old 1887 Winchester Repeater from the dying tribal's grasp and aims at the tribal's chest, stopping the tribal in his tracks. The victim continues to cry, their eyes closed shut, not knowing what had happened. The tribal looks up at the Survivor, he has a kind of sick grin on his face. It's clear that he's batshit crazy, the blood spattered across his face a telltale sign. He looks at the Survivor with wild eyes, breathing heavily. He's wearing almost the same leather armour as the other tribal, except his pants are pulled down halfway. The Survivor just looks at him, keeping the rifle shouldered. The Tribal speaks to him, his voice sounds cracked and broken, like his vocal chords are straining.

"Well, what are you waiting for, big hero? Do it. Shoot me."

The Survivor narrows his eyes and decides to oblige the deranged tribal's request, pulling the trigger of the rifle. There's no cracking sound though, just a dull click as the rifle fails to fire. The Survivor looks down at the rifle and sees that it's jammed up from the dust, cursing himself. Before he can do anything else, the tribal charges him, knocking him onto his back and sending the rifle clattering away from them. The tribal laughs darkly, trying to hold the Survivor down as he pulls the rusty, bloody kitchen knife from his belt. The Survivor snarls, moving his arms around. The tribal brings the knife up and is about to plunge it into the Survivor's chest when he suddenly lets out a howl of pain, stopping in his tracks. The Survivor's knee connects with his exposed groin, hitting him square in the testicles. The Survivor then takes the opportunity to grab the Tribal's hand and plunge the knife into his temple, tossing him to the side and off him. The tribal doesn't even make a sound aside from the dull thud as he hits the road.

The Survivor looks at him in disgust as he gets to his feet, heading for the rifle that lay a couple metres away. He picks it up and inspects it, turning his attention to the first tribal's camping rucksack. He opens it and looks inside, finding an unopened tin of frank and beans, a torn playing card and two .357 rounds for the rifle. The victim sits up where she is, whimpering in pain.

The Survivor grabs the rucksack off the corpse, and throws it onto himself before looking up at the victim. He looks them over, seeing that it's a female, maybe mid 20s, with light blonde hair in a ponytail. She's wearing brown fatigues with a khaki coloured metal chestplate over the top bearing the two headed bear of the NCR, but it's been torn in places, mostly around the pants, obviously from the tribal. Her face is bloodied and her eyes are red from crying. She looks up at him, not saying anything. He looks around to make sure there are no reinforcements coming for the tribals. Satisfied that he's not under any imminent threat of beheading, he steps forward and talks to the woman.

"They're... uhh... dead now. You're alright. You... good on food? Supplies?"

He clearly doesn't quite know what to say to her, just saying the first things he can think of. She shakes her head, sniffling a little as she does. She speaks to him, she sounds like she's from the Boneyard area, outside of the Mojave.

"I was sent into Nipton to get food by my friends. These... assholes... held me up... took my gun and my stuff... there were more of them, but they went into Nipton. Said they... wanted to try to make a trade agreement with the others there..."

He nods, looking up and thinking about it. He then looks down at her, looking at the NCR symbol on the chestplate of her armour.

"You're NCR?"

With this he sounds a little suspicious of her, the remnants of the NCR in the Mojave had taken a 'shoot on sight' policy on practically everybody who isn't one of their own, and he'd had previous run-ins with them where he barely made it out alive. She looks down at the armour and shakes her head.

"No no, I umm... used to be. But I kind of deserted them a while back when they told my squad to shoot a bunch of innocent survivors..."

She seems genuine, either she's telling the truth or she's a damn good liar. The Survivor nods, standing up, seemingly a little at ease.

"Well no chance that you're going to shoot me in the head because I'm a wastelander then, I guess."

He chuckles a little, looking around with the rifle slung over his back on a leather strap fashioned out of one of the tribal's belts. She nods, standing up. She winces, just this simple act seemingly causing her pain. He looks over at her, resting his hands in his duster pockets. Despite what had just happened, she seems strong, standing up straight and wiping the blood off her lip.

"Hey... thanks for that. Not many waster- sorry, I mean survivors, would go out of their way like that for another person nowadays."

He nods, motioning to his new rucksack and rifle.

"Yeah, but potentially getting these out of it helped a lot."

She gives him a brief, wry smile before fixing her hair.

"Well... I don't know your name... mine's Cassandra. Cassandra Moore. Like my mother."

He nods.

"Cassandra. Hmm. I... don't remember my name. I went by a few names before but I can't remember them for the life of me. Besides, I don't intend on sticking around long enough for my name to be relevant."

She frowns a little at that, looking him over. She notes that he seems to be a little impassive and distant, like he doesn't like being around other people. She sighs and steps backward, to him she looks like she's about to pass out from blood loss. Where she lay, there is a small pool of blood.

"Well, thanks for your help... survivor. I'm going to go get my gear back from these animals."

She turns and starts walking away towards Nipton. He stands there for a few seconds and sighs deeply. He thinks about how she is completely unarmed and is likely walking into a death sentence, and starts up after her. With a few strides he catches up to her, and she seems a little surprised that he followed her.

"What happened to 'I don't want to stick around'?"

He doesn't look at her, pulling the rifle off his back and fiddling with the lever. He manages to unjam it after a few cocks, and looks up, walking with her.

"I just thought I'd come with you and see what these guys have on them. Could use some more ammo for this thing."

She looks at him skeptically and nods slowly, limping forward through the dust, just happy to be around someone else who isn't trying to kill her. Even if he seems a little strange.