-In a completely non story related note, how would you suggest I go about getting more views for my stories? I apologize if this makes me sound selfish or pretentious, but I've noticed certain stories have almost hundreds of reviews, and I would love to appeal to a wider range of people. Of course, these people that have hundreds of reviews are no doubt very good, but I do consider myself a generally decent writer (all ego aside). ? I'm relatively new so I don't necessarily know all the ropes, you can probably tell since I have no idea how to do author's notes yet. Sorry if the dialogue in this is a little unrealistic or doesn't make sense, being a shy person doesn't exactly make one adept at writing character interaction. Another massive chapter, as you can see; I try to split it up as best I can, but whenever I do I find myself ending or starting at awkward places that don't really work, so the result is huge chapters. Anyway, if you have any suggestions on my story or on getting more views, please let me know. Please review, and check out my other story if you feel like it. Sorry if I'm sounding pushy, not my intention. Enjoy :)

Chapter 2

Phillip sat in silence inside of the Vikki and Vance, right by the bar, examining the mangled body of Sheriff Meyers draped over the old "Vikki and Vance" car that was meant to add a certain element to the casino's charm. Phillip could easily admit that he admired the man, and found his frontier style justice somewhat appropriate at the time; he wouldn't have made him Sheriff otherwise.

The captain stationed at the town was actually worried about the mourning President; leaving him alone inside of the slaughterhouse of a casino, even if it was per his request and he still had his Securitron escort with him, was unsafe considering what had happened, asinine even.

Phillip was capable of acknowledging his impulsiveness in simply rushing down here though, and transmitted a signal to the Lucky 38 to send ED-E to assist in further policing the town, along with bringing a few provisions. Regardless, it's the duty of any leader to be willing to place himself in the way of harm for his people, something Phillip believed in strongly.

Phillip thought much less of himself for placing the slaughter of good people and economic ramifications in the same category, but it would of course need to be taken into account, idealistic opinions on it notwithstanding.

Primm did, after all, provide a sizable amount of the region's revenue; there would always be someone too eager to gamble to wait until he got to New Vegas, and there would always be someone willing to trade just to keep from starving after the Strip dried him up. And the Mojave Treasury always got a piece of every handful of caps that went through the prosperous little town in exchange for water, electricity, and protection. Of course, that protection was obviously not enough.

Phillip wanted to just keep the casino taxed at first, but the inauguration of his army and the urban renewal projects he had planned were sucking up more caps than he had previously anticipated, thus forcing him to tax the other venues of the town. That said, he was no New California Republic politician; placing exorbitant taxes on any area or job sector would weaken the economy, something the Mojave couldn't contend with at the precarious time.

Phillip already had a backstory in his head to detail the massacre; guests of the casino were likely drinking, gambling, enjoying life, being insouciant as always. Meyers likely stopped in for a drink, as indicated by his trademark hat sitting on the bar. The Securitrons were making the rounds as usual, scanning everyone who came in for weapons or anything else dangerous. Deductive reasoning wasn't required to confirm it; Phillip programmed them to do just that, after all.

The smell of radscorpion casserole lingered in the air; Ruby Nash must have dropped by to grace the dealers and bartenders with the surprisingly savory dish. Then, it happened. It must have come at the biggest moment of levity possible for the town; Meyers and his newly hired deputies only had their six shooters on hand, and few of them were carrying spare bullets. The disgusting creatures burst out of the ground, spewing over every nook and cranny of the casino in a matter of seconds.

Primm Slim must have been patrolling in the lounge when the attack occurred since he would have likely been destroyed automatically had he been on the floor. Meyers must have ran from the bar into the lounge to shut him down once the attack started, then tried to climb up onto the car for a final stand. Of course, it was ill fated.

Phillip heard the doors to the casino open, even though he was too deep in thought to even bother looking to see who it was. There was silence for a few seconds after the doors shut, until the newcomer shuffled over to behind the bar, taking care not to disturb the mangled corpse of the bartender. Bottles clanked together, indicating that the newcomer needed a stiff one to soothe the visual pain.

The newcomer pulled out a stool next to Phillip, though he still avoided even glancing with anything but his peripherals. Not that it mattered, really; the individual's identity was revealed by the scent of a very particular brand of whiskey now pervading the air.

"Been a while, hasn't it Cass?"

At least it felt like it; as Minister of Commerce, Finance, and Trade (her experience with ruthless wasteland caravan politics an obvious merit) Cass was obviously extended free room and board at the Lucky 38, and they still saw each other at Council meetings since she was one of its most important and influential members. That said, the two had drifted apart over the past two years, considering there was a point that both were completely convinced they were in love with each other.

"Yeah, guess it has. Hell of a reunion, huh?"

A shot glass was rolled across the bar over to Phillip, indicating that Cass wanted someone to drown the sorrow with. Nodding slowly, Phillip took the bottle that Cass had already started helping herself to and poured a conservative amount of the whiskey before downing it in one shot. It was a poignant moment for Phillip; he'd never admit it openly for the sake of maintaining political austerity, but he'd always enjoyed having drinking contests with Cass.

"So, why didn't you just come and get me back at the Lucky 38? Why come down here on your own and let me find out like this?"

"I wanted to make sure that the extent of the threat wasn't exaggerated. Unfortunately, it wasn't."

Nodding and pouring a shot, Cass asked the obvious question.

"So, I feel like this is the part where I should ask what the hell these things are."

Nursing the empty glass as much as he could to retrieve the last vestiges of whiskey, Phillip placed the glass upside down on the bar, and started spinning it perfunctorily.

"The Divide, or Hopeville, they're the prewar residents. Radiation turned them into what you see here, typical science fiction story. They don't like light, so they prefer staying underground and emerging at night to…hunt. I was warned that they would become a problem at one point for the Mojave, but, this…I didn't think…"

Phillip should have planned for this the moment he took power. After all, his source was hardly one for giving exaggeratory intelligence; he should have known that these things would emerge in the Mojave far within his time as President. Phillip suddenly leaped up from the stool in a fury, and threw the glass at the nearby Tunneler corpse, barely cutting its thick hide when the glass shattered.

"It's not fair goddammit! The Mojave's had two years to recover from years of being subjugated by House, the NCR, and being attacked by the Legion! We had NOTHING before then! We had a few casinos and slums filled with starving people that House's "guests" couldn't give less of a damn about! And now this? This is what the Mojave deserves when it's only just started taking its first breaths?"

Cass was almost startled by the outburst; Phillip typically maintained a very stoic demeanor, that coupled with his intelligence and natural charisma formed him into an ideal politician. Taking one last swig of whiskey, Cass got up from her stool as well and comfortingly moved closer to her on and off lover.

"This isn't your fault, Phil. There was nothing you could have done for them. But you need to take care of the people that are still alive. You're responsible for thousands of lives Phil; buck up, and we'll take care of it as best we can, okay?"

It was a sad day indeed when the feisty ex caravaneer spoke more sense than he did. Of course, she was right; the entire Mojave, whether it knew it or not, lied on his shoulders; outbursts of irrationality could not be yielded to. Composing himself, Phillip thought up a plan.

"Redirect all traffic, caravan or not, through I-95, even those going to Vegas; I-15 is strictly off limits. Tell the Mojave Outpost soldiers organizing the caravans and tourists, but only if they ask, that unanticipated highway damage has occurred as a result of disorganized and scattered Legion raiding parties. Assure them that it's hardly anything to be worried about since we've already destroyed a large number of the stragglers, and inform them that both interstates, along with most of the settlements, are now being even more rigorously patrolled. Assure the settlements that, regardless of the excessiveness of these actions, it's the only way that we can guarantee their complete safety."

"People are going to worry if they hear the Legion is this far west and causing havoc you know. And all those towns along I-15 are going to be pretty isolated until these "stragglers" can be taken care of. Can we offer to pay extra for anyone willing to go around Vegas to resupply Goodsprings and the other communities? "

"Telling them that scattered Legion forces are this far west as opposed to feral humanoids is a better alternative for avoiding panic. If we contract caravans to resupply all the communities except Primm, it'll be obvious that something happened. They're generally self-sufficient; they can survive on their own for a while. Of course, I doubt the Council's opinion of me will skyrocket as a result, but we have no choice. Oh, and make sure you tell Arcade and Veronica about this at one point; keeping them in the dark won't exactly help matters, I suspect."

Cass looked doubtful, unsure of the plan's ability to deal with the root of the problem as opposed to its effects. She would have asked how he planned to deal with the actual threat, but his eyes almost made it palpable; he didn't know. Without another word, she nodded her head and turned to leave, prepared to return to Vegas. Unexpectedly, Phillip turned his head to address Cass once more.

"And how are you, Cass? We haven't talked much since…"

Cass cut him off, unwilling, or possibly unable, to continue the likely soon to be poignant conversation, as indicated by the mention of "since".

"We both know there's nothing to talk about, Phil. We've all made choices that we have to live with, whether we're proud of them or not. I know why you made your choices, but it doesn't mean I have to like them. I…need to get to redirecting the traffic, it's a miracle that there aren't any more caravans scheduled until tomorrow...Bye, Phil."

With that, the avoidant Cass turned and walked away from Phillip and out of the casino, the scent of déjà vu lingering in the air. Phillip wouldn't go so far as to say that her anger was unjustifiable, but her ability to hold a grudge was certainly greater than that of the average person. Phillip took the moment to reflect on his past, present, and future (assuming he had one).

Everything seemed so right after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam; he had a woman he loved with him, a nation with an auspicious future, and two societies that desired to subjugate and exploit his people in retreat. Now, Cass either no longer loved him or wanted nothing more than to avoid him, and creatures that he could do nothing to deter had just slaughtered an entire town with quasi impunity. And what would the two societies still eyeing his alleged utopia do once, if, word of the Mojave's now precarious future got out?

Painfully forcing the thoughts of nostalgia and hopelessness from his mind, Phillip pondered over ways to deal with the root of his current problems which was, of course, the Tunnelers. Aside from their origins and sole weakness, Phillip knew almost nothing about them. Their aversion to light would no doubt be useful, but one could only utilize such methods for so long before becoming impractical, or just plain ineffective.

Phillip heard the doors to the casino open once more, the sound of combat boots moving across the floor. That, coupled with the smell of chewing tobacco, indicated that the newcomer could be none other than his somewhat taciturn Minister of Defense, Justice, and the Military, likely clad in his somewhat inappropriate NCR beret and 1st Recon Armor as always. The choice in outfit sent a light implication that his loyalties still lied in the republic, but it wouldn't be absurd to imply that it was just out of pride in his time with his old unit, and in the number of raiders and Legionaries he'd killed while donning it.

"Mr. President." Boone said as he saluted.

"There's no need for formality, especially right now."

Boone slowly ended the respectful salute, almost appearing hurt by the straightforwardness of his old friend.

"Well, it seems that the Captain didn't exaggerate the threat." Boone said calmly.

Boone's superior stoicism in the face of the crisis almost made Phillip jealous, considering his outburst just a few minutes ago.

"Not in the least, unfortunately."

Phillip slowly rubbed his forehead, indicating the stress of the situation triggered one of his migraines. No one could ever say that the chronic condition impaired his ability to lead though; after all, Boone had seen the President fight through many a headache during heated Council meetings that required his full attention.

"Should have taken care of this when I had the chance; no doubt the NCR will see this as a sign of weakness if it gets out, and I don't even want to think about the vestiges of those Legion bastards. And who can I even trust? If the communities and factions feel I can no longer protect them, they'll give their support to the NCR or Legion in a heartbeat."

Boone's face swelled with a minor look of anger at the mention of the Legion, but also a more dominant look of disappointment.

"You couldn't have just led an army into the Divide to deal with these things, Phil; it was bound to happen eventually. If you really feel you can't trust anyone, maybe I should just leave."

Phillip really needed to start thinking before he spoke; in the face of economic collapse, assassination attempts, a starving population, and anything else that could go wrong he grasped all issues with lightning fast speed and resolved them even faster. Now, he was stressing (though not unduly) over just one more enemy out of the hundreds he'd already faced down in his time as President.

"No, I-…didn't mean it like that."

"I know. Listen Phil, you're a smart man. You're pragmatic, and you always seem to know what you're doing. Now, I don't believe for a second that you're just going to throw up your hands and be done with the country because one more enemy has presented itself to you."

Phillip appreciated his old friend's uncharacteristic encouragement, but still looked disturbed and somewhat unsure of how to proceed.

"Will you help me, Boone? Will you help the Mojave that you helped build one more time?"

"I'd sooner charge straight into a century of Legionaries with a dull machete before abandoning you now, Phil."

Of course, aside from the tangible tactical disadvantage of the notion, that could hardly be considered something Boone would be too afraid to do, but the comparison gave Phillip comfort as he outlined the plan in his head.

"We need to double patrols along the roads and move troops into all of the major communities. Cass is already trying to sell them and the NCR a story that Legion raiding parties are causing highway damage and general problems, and that it's the only viable option for their guaranteed safety. We're shutting down I-15 so people don't find out about this, meaning there will be double the traffic along I-95. The communities will obviously garner more than their usual income from the increased traffic, but communities along I-15 like Goodsprings will be pretty isolated until we can work this out. Unfortunately, we can't even do a damn thing about it; contracting caravans to go all the way around Vegas to resupply all of the I-15 communities except for Primm will send an obvious message that something bad happened, so they're on their own for now. This should be enough to keep the NCR at bay for a while, but if the Legion actually shows up to take advantage of the situation, I doubt I'll have a story that they'll actually want to listen to."

"We're going to be spread pretty thin if we're doubling patrols and imposing this semi marital law on the communities, and that's assuming they even agree to this."

"We don't have many other options, these things are unpredictable; all I can even try to anticipate is where they might be headed next."

"And where might that be?"

"If I had to guess, north. They won't keep going straight into the desert into the middle of nowhere, after all; they'll go wherever the largest numbers of people are."

Phillip's implication with the somewhat cryptic response was obvious; they'd keep heading north until they got to Vegas.

"I'll do whatever you need me to do, Phil."

"In that case, I need to ask you for one more favor."

Boone feared what the favor would be in regards to the situation, but nodded to indicate that he was ready and willing.

"I need you to prepare me a platoon of some of your most loyal and skilled soldiers, and then I need you to oversee Council meetings for the next week or so. In other words, control of the Mojave is resting on your shoulders right now. I…have an errand."

Boone looked almost flabbergasted at the request. Aside from the fact that Arcade Gannon (as the extremely laborious Minister of Medicine, Urban Development, Education, and Foreign and Domestic Affairs) would typically oversee Council meetings in Phillip's absence, what could be so important right now as to elicit such an absence?

"Why do you need me to take charge right now? Why not Arcade? And, more importantly, why can't this wait?"

"Arcade is a good man, but he's…naïve, too idealistic, he doesn't know how to take charge. If we're going to protect people then we need to do so with direct and decisive military action; we can't just put it to a vote. I…need to go back to the Divide to…see someone."

"Could you be any vaguer? Why are you going to see this person NOW?"

"My source that indicated that these things would be a threat, I'm...hoping he has a way to stop them, somehow. All we really know is that they don't like light; while that's useful, it won't help since it gets dark here just like everywhere else. Just…trust me Boone, the way I trust you to oversee things in my absence."

Boone considered for a second, eventually seeing the necessity of the errand but requiring a compromise for it to be reasonable.

"I don't want to sound…pessimistic, but if you're going to the Divide…do you think you should disable the fail safe?"

Of course; the fail safe. In his extreme sense of caution and preparedness in the time following the battle for Hoover Dam, Phillip had an insurance policy taken out to ensure that if he were to be assassinated by the still enraged NCR, it would prove not only useless to them, but detrimental. He had a dead man's switch installed in his heart, courtesy of the auto doc located at Big Mountain. If, for whatever reason, Phillip's heart were to stop beating for more than thirty seconds, C-4 plastic explosive charges rigged to the Hoover Dam generators would detonate, destroying one of the NCR's primary objectives in the Mojave Campaign.

The Legion was less likely to be deterred by the threat, but they were far too disorganized to even consider sending assassins at the moment anyway. Boone's implication with the request was clear; the Divide was so treacherous that even Phillip, one of the toughest people in the wasteland, might not come back as he had before. Of course, Phillip planned to eventually disable the fail safe at one point anyway; dying of old age or sickness and bringing most, if not all, of the Mojave's electricity with him would have been highly malicious.

"Fair enough."

With that, Phillip activated his Pip Boy and, with a few rhythmic button pushes, temporarily deactivated one of his favorite cards in the hand he'd been holding for two years.

"It's done; if I'm not back within let's say, two weeks, the Mojave is completely in your hands. Arcade, Veronica and Cass are good advisers; listen to them, and the nation might just survive this. And we need to seal off this casino after giving the residents proper burials. Chances are these things could tunnel back up somewhere else in the town if they really wanted to, but I have absolutely no problem with stalling them."

"I…know this may be a bit of a touchy issue Phil, but…what about the Wilsons?"

Naturally, there was one more issue to add to the plate of predicaments; the massacre had first been discovered by a family of caravaneers from the NCR heading to New Vegas to trade with Freeside and the families. On the way, they decided to stop in Primm to barter a bit and possibly spend the night. They were lucky that they had been held up at the Outpost with an abnormally large amount of paperwork; had they arrived an hour earlier, they might have been joining the residents of the town in their macabre fate.

It was fortunate that an NVDF patrol also came along just a minute or so after the Wilsons discovered the slaughter since the family may have just bolted back to the NCR to declare that the Mojave was no longer a safe place had they not been found. They were told that they were being detained at the old Primm NCR Outpost for their own safety; in reality, it was for Phillip to decide what was to be done with them in order to ensure the Mojave's security.

"They haven't been mistreated, have they?"

"Other than the fact that one could rightly say that they're being detained against their will, no."

Permanently detaining NCR citizens could be seen as an act of war, but whether or not the NCR found out about the exact danger that the Mojave faced or about the fact that NCR citizens were not accounted for and were last seen in the Mojave, war was possible either way.

After all, Phillip had no way to guarantee that the family would keep their mouths shut and say nothing to other NCR citizens or soldiers other than some cleverly concocted story about how they were subject to a poor trading trip in the Mojave and weren't able to make their planned schedule; did the threat that they posed currently overshadow their rights as NCR citizens and Mojave tourists? In Phillip's simultaneously idealistic yet pragmatic mind, in this particular situation, yes.

"Have them taken to New Vegas, but as guests of the President, not prisoners. Offer them a suite at the Lucky 38, one of the nicer suites if you don't mind. Afford them every luxury the Lucky 38 has to offer, including free room and board. But for God's sake just keep them detained there until I get back, we can't afford the risk that they pose. I'll…think of something later."

With a tall list of orders, Boone turned to exit the casino after giving a characteristic nod. There was, of course, one more issue that had yet to be addressed, one that caused Boone to make an about face to inquire about.

"Phil, what about the Tunnelers themselves? You're being smart enough in regards to dealing with the immediate effects they're having, but…what happens when they claim another community? What happens when they're on Vegas' doorstep? What do we…"

With a shrug and a shake of his head, Phillip gave an honest answer.

"There's nothing you can do except mitigate the damage that they cause. The only fortunate thing about this situation is that they tunnel slowly; it took them years just to get here, but they compensate by breeding rapidly. With the entirety of these things attacking the Mojave though, survival is…doubtful; between you and me, I've seen these things rip Deathclaws to pieces. Use the military however you see fit, and I'll try to find a way to take care of these things on my own. The Securitrons are on preset patrol schedules, so don't expect much help from them save for maintaining civil disobedience. I trust you Boone; you'll make us proud."

Ready to take the responsibility that was the Mojave onto his shoulders, Boone made one last salute to his old friend before leaving.

"Godspeed, Mr. President."

As Boone reached the door, a bumping could be heard from the outside, indicating that something wanted to get in but had no opposable thumbs to do so. It was no Tunneler, though; Phillip and Boone had seen this act far too frequently to be worried.

"I think a friend of yours is here." Boone said with an extremely mild smile before opening the door to let Phillip's favorite robot in.

As Boone made his exit, the hovering ED-E glided into the room, visibly weighed down by the supplies that Phillip requested. Taking a moment to greet his old and surprisingly personable "friend" with an awkward hug, Phillip opened his spacious storage unit to retrieve his munitions.

After removing his formal wear and placing it in ED-E's storage unit, Phillip donned the Elite Riot Gear that he had obtained from the Divide, before placing his weapons of choice "Sleepytyme" and "Vance's 9mm SMG" on his back. He'd also brought his personal Bowie knife "Blood Nap" and his abnormally powerful pistol "Li'l Devil"; there was no such thing as paranoia in the Divide, after all.

Phillip's escort platoon arrived about an hour later, along with a few Brahmin drawn caravans. The Lieutenant commanding the platoon requested as respectfully as he could (though multiple times) that the President make use of one so as not to expend himself. Of course, he refused; Phillip didn't like the idea of being slothful when there were people around him actually exerting themselves. After sending his Securitron escort back to New Vegas, Phillip, ED-E, and the platoon headed out to find one of the most formidable men the President had ever met.

The trip to the canyon wreckage covering the path to the Divide was uneventful; of course, the state of lightness wasn't likely to last. It took a few days to actually get back to the Divide; it took a few seconds to confirm that it hadn't changed much from its state of desolation. One notable absentee of the Divide, however, was the mysterious Courier whom Phillip had come to see in the first place. His escorts seemed confused, and looked to the President for guidance.

"He's probably gathering supplies, he does this sometimes; he'll be back in a few hours max."

The group took a moment to set up camp near the Missile Silo at the entrance to the Divide to wait for the old acquaintance of Phillip's. What was intended to be a few hours soon turned into four hours. Four hours turned into six hours. Six hours turned into eight hours. Before the group knew it, it had been waiting for about two days, and there was still no sight of Ulysses.

Phillip knew that he couldn't have simply been dead; aside from perhaps Joshua Graham, he was the toughest man he knew. But where was he? He would have been back by now if he was really just scouting for supplies. Phillip's heart sank; this was the only other man alive who had any semblance of firsthand knowledge regarding the Tunnelers, and he was nowhere to be found. Now, it was left only to Phillip's own ingenuity to create a panacea.

Phillip had been staring blankly at the Divide from the cliff for the past hour or so, eliciting a worried reaction from his escorts. Murmurs started to surface; "What's he doing?", "When are we leaving?", "Is he really coming?". Of course, there were no answers; only questions.

In a moment of practicality, the Lieutenant of the platoon, named Enders, walked up to Phillip and tried to help him find a grip on reality once more.

"Mr. President, I know this man may be our only hope, but it's clear that he's not coming. If I may voice my opinion as appropriately as possible; perhaps we should just return to the Mojave, and try to rectify this situation as best we can. If there's going to be a war soon, then we need all the soldiers we can get; we can't-I don't feel that we have the resources or manpower to spend on excursions like this. Sir, may I…?"

The Lieutenant spoke pragmatically, no doubt; was waiting around here for someone who was not likely to be showing up wise or called for? Still in a state of hopelessness, Phillip gave his orders.

"Prepare the men and the Brahmin; we're leaving."