Chapter 3: The Fox and the Hounds

BRA-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Dozens of bullets flew from the 10mm submachine gun as Veronica tried to steady her aim. Nearly every bullet whizzed by the radscorpion that charged towards them. That particular arachnid wasn't all that big; about the size of a large dog; maybe a little bit bigger. Still, the poison or puncture wounds from the arachnid could kill a man if they were left untreated.

"I can't hit it," Veronica growled, uncharacteristically irritated, at least from what the Courier had seen of her thus far.

"Wow, you're even a worse shot with the sub," the Courier commented. His 9mm submachine was aimed at the scorpion, but he wasn't shooting. He wanted Veronica to do it herself, though he'd shoot if he had no other choice. Finally, when the bug was ten feet away, she finally hit it in the face with several bullets and it fell into a slump.

"Yes!" Veronica cheered, clenching her fist. "Got one!"

"And it only took you your entire clip," the Courier lightly teased, only to receive a dirty glare.

"Hey, that's not cool. I would have got it earlier if it was only closer to-"

"You don't want to let these things get close to you. I've been stabbed by these things a million times and it never gets any less painful." He went to the dead scorpion, knelt down next to it, and began extracting the beast's venom gland with his hunting knife. The gland only weighed about a pound or so, but it would sell for a decent price. Such things were always in demand with doctors and chemists. After the gland was removed, he started to wrap it in cloth strips to keep it secure. "How did you deal with these things before if you couldn't shoot them? You didn't try punching them, did you?"

"No, I usually just ran," she admitted, shrugging. "They're persistent chasers, though."

"They are. Maybe you should carry a super sledge or something. It gives you a bit longer range than your fist."

She shook her head. "I'm better at punching things, but I see your point. Do you know if I could buy a laser pistol in Goodsprings?"

"It's possible. You'll have to ask around." He wouldn't have known if the armory there could help her or not, given his preference for regular old bullets.

Once the task of extracting the gland was done, he stood up and they kept walking. It was a cool day, but they kept a nice, even pace to avoid overheating and attracting the attention of the wasteland beasts. For a little bit, they didn't speak at all, but Veronica would have none of this.

"So, what exactly did Goodsprings do for you that makes you have to go play hero for them?" she asked directly.

"That's a little nosy, don't you think?" he questioned, knowing that Veronica didn't care that he'd rather remain silent.

"Well, if I'm going with you to fight a bunch of sadistic pyromaniacs, I'd like to know why," she joked, making light of the obviously real threat.

"Fair enough," he replied, already constructing a vague enough story that he could tell her without giving away too much personal information. "Not long ago, I had an injury. The people of Goodsprings were there to help me recover, and they were all very selfless about it, given that I still can't afford to pay them back. Essentially, they're the kind of small-town folks that are worth protecting because they're willing to stick their necks out for somebody else, even if it's an inconvenience for them. You ever meet a town like that?"

Veronica shook her head. "Can't say I have. I haven't socialized much outside of the bunker, and we… we're not the most generous sort." The last part of that statement sounded bitter to him.

"Well, they're worth it if you ask me, and not just because I owe them," he continued. "That's the reason I-" Nevermind, let's not go there. The sentence ended there, awkwardly unfinished.

Veronica gave him the eye. She seemed to be getting fed up all of the information that he was obviously withholding. "So, will you tell me anything about yourself?" she asked, breaking the silence. "I barely know anything about you, other than the fact that you used to be a courier, you're a good shot with a gun, you're paranoid as hell, and your hand-to-hand combat abilities are shoddy at best."

"Shoddy, huh?" he chuckled. "I resent that. I've won a bar fight or so in my day."

"Okay, so you're an aggressive drunk?" She clapped her hands together and her expression lightened with a big smile. "See, I learned something new. We're making progress!"

"I'm not that aggressive. They always start it," he retaliated. That was a lie, but it wasn't worth talking about any further.

"Well, what can you tell me?" she asked, half whining now.

He sighed. "Well, what do you want to know?" There was no escaping her questions. There were a few gaps in his memory following the accident, but he still had most of his memory intact. The least he could do was tell her information that he felt comfortable sharing. Just keep it vague.

"How old are you?" She squinted as she studied his face. "You look like you could be thirty, but I can't tell."

"That's what you want to know?" He supposed it was an honest question, but to him, it felt like a random thing to ask. "Twenty-seven. You though… you look like you're seventeen." From where he was standing, she did look very young, but with that hood covering most of her head and her pale skin, untainted by the sun, he wasn't able to make a good judgment. The guess of her age was also based off of her general naiveté of the wastes, but if she had spent a lot of time indoors… I wonder how many grocery runs she has done. How experienced is she in the outdoors?

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Not even close. Twenty-six." She jumped to her next question. "Where are you from? Your accent doesn't sound like that of the typical wastelander."

He knew what she meant. People who lived on the wastes spoke slightly different than those who grew up in actual towns and cities. The country-livers' way of speaking was slightly less refined. "Montana," he answered. "It was a little farm town called the Grayfield. They grew a lot of wheat and potatoes up there, and they raised big horners. I've been on the road for about twelve years now."

"Twelve?" she questioned, surprised. "You left home at 15? What about your parents?"

"Mom is dead," he answered emotionlessly. "Never knew my father, though. Asshole ran out after he knocked mom up."

"Oh… I'm sorry," she replied genuinely in a somber tone. "My parents died a while back at Heli-" she stopped herself mid-sentence, forcing a smile back on her face. Whatever it was, she didn't want to talk about it. "They've been gone for a while."

"Ah…" But he was tired of being on the spot. "What about you?" he prodded. "Where is this 'hole in the ground' that you live in?"

"I'm not telling, that's confidential," she answered, still smiling, but slightly more serious. "I'd literally be excommunicated."

"Oh come on, really? I want to know so I can stay as far away as possible," he answered, half-joking, but still serious.

"You won't find it," she assured. "Trust me, we have a way of hiding from the outside."

"But you still can't tell me?" he asked persistently. "I told you where I'm from."

"Well, you still won't tell me your name, so I guess we're even," she fake pouted, crossing her arms.

"This again?" the Courier sighed, even deeper that time. "Why do you even need to know?"

"Because it's weird!" she exclaimed, stopping in her tracks to face him. "Seriously, I get that you're suspicious of everything that moves, but I want to be able to call you something! I don't even understand why you won't tell me what your name is."

"Because I-… Ugh forget it," he groaned. "Do you really want to know what my name is?"

"Yes, please," she said, excitement in her voice as if she was going to learn one of his strangest kept secrets. "I promise I won't tell anybody if it's THAT important to you."

"Okay, okay." His smile faded and with a deep inhale, he told her what she wanted to know. There was absolutely no way that they'd be able to move past that subject until she got some sort of answer. "My name… my name is Zack Gilmore."

For a few seconds, Veronica inquisitively looked into his eyes as if she were trying to find some sort of hidden truth. After a few seconds of squinting, a wry smile reemerged on her face and she subtly shook here head. "No, it's not."

He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"That's not your name," she said, calling his bluff.

"Yes, it is," he reaffirmed.

"No, it's not," she countered, giggling at his denial.

"Well, why the hell would it NOT be my name?" he questioned, frustrated with her but kind of humored at her disbelief. This charade actually made him chuckle. Why would anybody doubt that? "There are a lot of Zacks out there. Why wouldn't that be my name?"

"Because you don't look like a Zack," she answered in her cheery, yet dead serious voice.

"Well excuse me," he said, throwing his hands up, "but it's not like my mother knew when I was born whether or not I'd look like a Zack," he answered.

"Fine, fine, whatever you say, 'Zack,'" Veronica teased as she began to walk again. "But I'll find out the truth sooner or later about who you really are."

"Yeah, good luck with that," he murmured as he caught up with her.

They walked in silence again for another few minutes before Veronica tried to start another conversation. She began to chat about all the things that had been happening lately: the amount of Legion passing through the Mojave's crevices, the crackdown that NCR troopers had been enforcing on nearly anybody they came in contact with, and the strange rockets that had flown from the south that nearly everybody saw (that part woke the Courier up, but he gave nothing away.) He decided that it was as good a time as any to ask her about herself.

"So, you don't need to tell me where you live, but can I at least hear a little bit about you?"

"Um… I guess, but that depends," she said with a shrug and a light giggle. "Maybe I want to be mysterious too?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions, but you seem like you'd be an open book if it weren't for your… affiliation, for lack of a better word." The Brotherhood was always about secrets, after all.

"No, you're right. Codex will do that to you, I guess," Veronica answered glumly, slightly scowling. "That, and the NCR are everywhere these days. But I'll tell you anything that's not top secret to an outsider that knows who I am, I guess."

"You guess, huh…" How can I tell if she's being truthful or not? But he supposed as long as the questions were light, it wouldn't matter regardless. "Okay, here's one. You said you do the grocery shopping… what do you mean by that? You get them food or-"

"I was just stretching the truth when I said that," she interrupted with her explanation, smiling as she got to talk about her job. "I'm a procurement specialist. Replace food with scavenged parts and any technology I can find lying around. I'm pretty good at fixing stuff too, so there's that. The elder who brought us to the Mojave usually had me looking for these old memory units, but he'd never tell me what they were for. Nowadays, I'm usually sent to do business with traders at places like the 188." As she was explaining this, he noticed that her expression was falling from that smile she had been wearing to a small frown. "But sometimes, I think it's just to keep me out of everyone's hair."

Oh, that's promising. And here he was, inviting her into his "hair", so to speak. "Keep you out of their hair? Again, I'm not going to regret bringing you with me, am I?"

She laughed. "Don't tell me you're regretting me already. We just started walking."

"Well…" He had no response for that, so he just changed the subject. "You… uh, you like it well enough? The job, I mean?"

She sighed, that smiling sad look on her face emerging. It reminded the Courier of what that creepy kid at the 188 had said. "I do… sometimes though it gets boring, getting sent out all the time just to go to trading posts."

"So, is that why you're with me then, looking for that fresh perspective?" He lightly teased her on that last part, reminding the scribe of its vagueness.

"Well, yeah…" Realizing that she was getting too depressing, she tried picking up the mood again by reassuring herself. "I do agree with what we're doing. Most of it at least. There's an honor to what we do. We're protecting people. Even if it's from themselves, it's a good purpose."

"From themselves?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. By what, harassing them over plasma rifles? He knew enough about what the Brotherhood stood for. A chapter of the group lived near his old home in Montana. Just remembering them through what Veronica had just said brought a familiar taste to mind, and it wasn't sweet.

Veronica seemed to pick up the distaste from his question. "You don't buy what we're selling, do you?"

No comment. He didn't want to go down that road with her. So she continued without him.

"I can see why an outsider would be skeptical," she sympathized. "Sometimes it seems more like we're just protecting ourselves from the world and hope to outlive them and become humanity's sole heirs."

"Mmm, so that's what you're really doing?" Wouldn't be surprised if she said yes. But there was a certain amount of narcissism in the line about being humanity's sole heirs that made him cringe. Those probably weren't Veronica's words originally, but that bitter taste in his mouth returned.

"Yes, no… I don't know myself, sometimes," she admitted, looking a bit sad again. "There are chapters that went rogue, so maybe they had the same doubts. Some separated from us entirely. There's a chapter out east splintered and started helping people in the wa-"

"And what's wrong with that?" He had been trying to contain himself, but his emotion broke through right then, though only slightly. "I mean, that's what we're about to do right now, no? Going to help people."

"Yes, but that's not our purpose. It's not what we're meant to do in preventing further destruction." She was trying to explain this to him calmly without getting too flustered. "We take our separatism and isolationism very seriously because if we don't-"

"Then why did you decide to tag along with a complete stranger who's an outsider? If the isolation is so important to you and your people, isn't this search for a 'fresh perspective' against what you stand for?"

That did it. For the first time in a while, Veronica shut up. He must have struck a nerve with her, because her face went completely blank. But slowly, terror crept into her face as she stared ahead. He turned to look at what she was staring at and he saw the thing that warranted the response.

"Fuck…" the Courier hissed. About a hundred yards away, a lone deathclaw stood. It was an adult; standing at about nine feet tall or so, and the scaly, horned abomination had already spotted them. A snarl escaped its lips as it eyed them.

"Deathclaw…" Veronica gasped. Her pale face seemed to turn even paler. "It must have wandered in from the mountains. What do we… how do we…"

"Don't shoot yet, but have your gun aimed at its torso," he ordered. "You may get lucky and hit it there, and the belly isn't a bad place to aim on these things. I'll aim for the knees. A deathclaw that can't run is hardly a deathclaw." He looked at her powerfist that hung at her side. "If it gets too close, you may be able to punch it out, but that's a huge gamble." He did not like that situation at all. So many wastelanders got killed by random deathclaw encounters and he had been lucky enough to have not been offed by one by that point in his life.

"Don't shoot yet?" she whispered, panicked. "Shouldn't we shoot now while it's far away?"

"And what, call out more deathclaws?" he grunted back, annoyed with her ignorance. "They don't fear gunfire; they're attracted to it. The last thing we need is another deathclaw down here. Guns are a last resort. For now…" He adjusted his posture. "Stand up, look strong, and don't show fear. But don't look it in the eyes. They see that as a challenge."

The deathclaw snarled again, but it didn't move. The Courier prayed to whatever gods were listening that when the lizard did move, it would move on out of their way. He had killed deathclaws before, but whenever they got within arm's reach, he had always walked away with broken limbs at best. It was miraculous that he was even alive after encounters like that, but after surviving being shot in the head, perhaps that was par for the course.

Finally, the deathclaw rasped one last time before it continued walking north. Why it was leaving the mountains was beyond the Courier, but it was somebody else's problem now.

I hope those things go extinct one of these days.

"Jesus…" Veronica inhaled as she looked around wearily as if there was another mutant lizard lurking in the shadows. "Why didn't it attack us?"

"Because they're not stupid." he answered. "If you outnumber a deathclaw and you show no fear, they usually walk the other way. Now, if there were two deathclaws, they probably would have attacked without hesitation." He looked towards the mountains to see if he saw any others. Luckily, they were alone now. "We better be careful around these parts. Scorpions, cazadors, deathclaws… don't let your guard down."

"Yeah, why exactly did we take this road again?" Veronica questioned, her eyes darting about. "The I-15 is dangerous. Maybe we should have gone south and around. It would have been safer."

"No, it would take too long and I don't know the level of danger Goodsprings is in. They might need us now. Cutting directly through the mountains would probably kill us, given the number of deathclaws in this area and the sandstorms in between." He looked southward and grimaced. "Besides, we'd have to cut through Nipton… and I'm not going that way again. I've already cut through there three times since and it gets worse every time. I can't go there again."

"Nipton? Nipton…" Veronica scratched her head, almost knocking her hood off. "That's the place that the Legion decimated, right?"

"That's an understatement," he answered, not looking into her eyes as he stared into the space ahead. "It's… none of those bodies were cleaned up, you know. Each time I've passed through, the smell… it's rancid." His nose scrunched at the thought. After all the years he had been on the road and after all he had seen, the smell of a decaying body still disturbed him.

"So… we're taking the dangerous route because it smells better?" Veronica joked. She half-heartedly laughed at her comment, but she could see that her companion wasn't amused as he looked forward with a distant stare into nothingness. "It's something else, isn't it?"

"I was there… Not when it happened, but right after." He left it at that. He didn't tell her that what he had seen had struck the fear of God in him.

"Why… what did you see?"

"Let's not talk about this." He quickened his pace, but he was stopped dead in his tracks by the light hand that touched his shoulder. Why is she touching me? He turned to see Veronica, staring into his eyes with her large, brown ones.

"Zack…" she began, her voice soft and sympathetic, "I know we only just met, but you can trust me. With your real name, with this…"

The can of worms had been opened. At that rate, he might as well tell her what he saw, as he doubted she could use it against him. "I can tell you. I mean, what happened down there is public knowledge by now. Just don't expect this to mean that I'm suddenly an open book."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she kidded. But that was the last time she kidded with him for the rest of the day.

As he walked down the main road of what was once Nipton, he felt as if he was a ghost walking through some sort of surreal fantasy dreamed up by a sociopathic arsonist. Most of the buildings had been burned to the ground and the ones that had been left standing were still aflame. The combined smell of burning wood, rubber, and garbage could not compare to the foul stench of burning flesh that he smelled coming from the town hall. Alongside the streets, makeshift crosses had been erected, each bearing a man or woman of a different stripe. Some simply looked like they would have been townies, but some of the men wore NCR uniforms, Powder Ganger suits, and even Legion armor.

"Crucifixion," he whispered to himself. It was a Legion massacre. Only the Legion crucified people. But there were Legion men on the crosses as well. What did that mean? Whatever the case, he needed to find the mayor. Ghost of the NCR was counting on him to do the job and she was offering a lot of caps for him to do it. It was the promise of payment that kept him walking through the nightmare, though the closer he got to the burning flesh, the queasier he felt. But it got even worse with each step when he started to hear the "splishing" of a puddle below his shoes. That's when he noticed the flowing trickle of blood that flowed underneath him, flowing from two large piles of something in front of the town hall. That "something" was bodies, and that's when he saw the mongrels chewing on the bloody limbs. One of them turned, a severed hand in its mouth, and it growled at his presence.

"Oh God…" That almost made him puke, but he held it in. He was more concerned with the fact that those dogs were there in the first place. They looked like the breed that Legionaries trained, and if they were there, the Legion was probably still there as well.

That was when he had enough. Fuck the mayor. He didn't want to get hung up on the cross the others. He was just going to run back to the outpost as fast as he could and just say that they were all dead. The ones on the cross pretty much were. But the door of the town hall opened and a large group of men appeared. Most of the men were obviously Legion. Some of them were wearing old world sports equipment as armor, but a few of the soldiers were wearing thicker, golden-colored, metal armor, resembling that of realistic roman armor that the Courier had seen in old world books. Some of the other metal armor worn by the men was pieced together from NCR and Brotherhood armor. All of them were equally frightening. They had no fear of him, and rightfully so. He was just a lone courier with a 10mm submachine gun in his shivering hands, facing a group of a dozen soldiers, carrying machetes, spears, and guns of their own. And they weren't the only Legion there.

More men exited the town hall, escorting multiple persons wearing collars around their necks. They had been enslaved and each one looked more terrified than the next. But the soldiers seemed to ignore their new slaves as they formed a large circle around him, the Courier, though their weapons were not drawn. They were working to intimidate him, but they were unconcerned. Only a fool would try to fight that many Legion soldiers at once and they knew that he wasn't foolish enough to try.

The final man exited the hall. Compared to the other men who surrounded the Courier, the man looked a lot older. Fifties maybe? The Courier wasn't sure. The man wore dark-gold armor, dark gauntlets, a red skirt (for lack of a better word), and the red and gold banner of the Legion's bull posted on his back. On his head, he wore the skinned head of a coyote. He looked like a vexillarius with the banner and the coyote cap, but that couldn't be right. Vexullarius weren't normally the leaders of legion groups and something about that man gave away that he was leading. Maybe it was the way he walked, which was much "looser" compared to that of his comrades. Maybe it was the smoothness of the withdrawal of his ripper upon seeing the Courier. But it had to be that smile. Among the carnage, the Legion that surrounded him wore stern, unchanging expressions, but the leader had a strange smile on his face, as if he enjoyed what he saw. The smiling man walked up to him, stopping within five feet. He looked at the courier's gun and laughed a slow, cold chuckle. Suddenly, the Courier noticed the severed head that the man carried in his left hand, though he couldn't see the face.

"What shall we do with this one?" one of the legionnaires asked in a blank yet firm tone. "He is not of this town, nor was he visiting when we took over."

"Let him live," answered the man with the coyote hood in a voice that was unnaturally chilly. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the Courier. "He may be dissolute, but he is not of the Bear. This much I know." The leader began a slow walk, circling the lone, shuddering courier. "Besides, look at his torn armor and his careworn weapon. He is poor. You did not come to partake in the sins of this town, have you?"

No response. He wasn't even sure what he could say in a situation like that.

The leader extended his ripper and tapped the tip of the Courier's gun. "I suggest that you place your gun on the ground. There is no reason for you to hold it now, unless you decide to foolishly throw your life away."

That was an easy choice to make. Even with V.A.T.S., there was no way that he would be able to survive a fight with all of the legionnaires. Not that he wanted to start one anyway. The Legion was not to be trifled with. Raising both of his hands, he knelt and laid his gun on the ground before slowly standing once more. He felt naked without a weapon in hand during that confrontation, even if it couldn't save him.

"Very good. For a common vagabond, you seem to have some sense about you. Or perhaps you aren't common?" The coyote-hooded man focused his attention on the Courier's right temple. "Though they have healed nicely, I see two bullet wound scars on your head. Such an injury is rarely survived. Are you the rumored courier from Goodsprings?"

Again, no answer.

"Are you a mute?" the hooded soldier asked.

"No," he replied, looking forward. Like with deathclaws, he wouldn't look the man in the eye. He couldn't. Even without the surrounding carnage, the man scared the living shit out of him even more so.

"Then why have you said nothing of this beautiful sight?" he asked, pointing his ripper outwards at the bloody scene. "Why are you here, if not for engaging in the sins of the impure?"

"The outpost s-sent me to ask for the mayor," he answered in a stutter. "I am not of the NCR, but I-"

"Of course," the hooded man interrupted, uncaring. "Your world is harsh and unforgiving, courier. You do what you must to survive. That, I do not hold against you" His smile grew a little bit more evil, if that were possible. "You wish to see the mayor?" He held up the head, letting it spin by the hair, presenting the man himself. "I'll let you take this back to the Bear. Show them what we have done. In fact…" He looked around as if the scene provided him with some sort of sustenance. "You need not worry. As I've said, I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by."

"Useful?" the Courier asked, not understanding. "How do you mean?"

"You see what we have done here?" he asked, his voice almost awestruck. "I want you to witness the fate of Nipton, to memorize every detail. And then, when you move on, I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Caesar's Legion taught here, especially any NCR troops you run across." The man pronounced Caesar with a hard "C", like most of the Legion. The Courier wasn't sure why he had picked up on that detail, as it was the least of his worries.

"Lesson? What lesson did you- the Legion, teach here?"

The hooded man snorted with contempt, humored by the Courier's ignorance. "Where to begin? That they are weak and we are strong? This much was known already. But the depth of their moral sickness, their dissolution? Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson." When the Courier said nothing, the man continued to speak. "Nipton was a wicked place, debased and corrupt. It served all comers, so long as they paid. Profligate troops, Powder Gangers, men of the Legion such as myself…" he snorted again, this time, humorless. "The people here didn't care. It was a town of whores. For a pittance, the town agreed to lead those it had sheltered into a trap. Only when it sprang did they realize that they were caught inside it as well.

"We captured everyone and herded them to the center of town. I told them their sins, the foremost being disloyalty. I told them that when Legionnaires are disloyal, some are punished, the others made to watch. And I announced the lottery. Each clutched his ticket, hoping it would set him free. Each did nothing when 'loved ones' were dragged away to be killed." He pointed at the nearest man who was taking his last breaths on a cross. "Do you understand why we have done what this now?"

No, he didn't. Destroying a town and killing people just because they were a group of pimps and whores seemed extreme, especially to someone such as himself who had partaken in vulgar pleasures during his lifetime. "These people… you killed women, children, innocent-"

"Innocent?" the man of the Legion asked as if the courier had said something funny. " Hardly. Cowardly though. They outnumbered us, yet not once did they try to resist. They stood and watched while their fellows were butchered, crucified, and burned, one by one. They stood and hoped their turn would not come. Each cared only for himself." He turned from the courier and looked northward. "Such a principle is the driving force of House's New Vegas as well. Like the Bear, he shall fall too to the Legion."

He knew better than to continue to question this man's morality. There was no way he could change his mind and it would be foolish to try with all of the legionnaires and their trained hounds surrounding him. Still, he wanted to know who the sadistic, hooded man was, though through doing so, he would induce nightmare upon nightmare in his future.

"Who are you?"

The man snickered, removing the dark shades he was wearing and his coyote cap, giving up his anonymity for the sake of face to face intimidation. And how intimidating he was. He was definitely in his fifties; his wispy, white hair and the few wrinkles on his face acting as a giveaway. But those eyes… those piercing gray eyes… alongside that wicked smile, those features made him more fearful than looking into the eyes of a deathclaw.

"I am Vulpes Inculta of Caesar's Legion," he answered, his voice both cold and proud. "I serve my master as the greatest of his Frumentarii. We Frumentarii are soldiers of a different stripe, capable in battle but skilled as infiltrators as well."

Frumentarii: the spies of Caesar. They were everywhere across the west, posing as regular civilians and fulfilling Caesar's orders through means of trickery, rather than brute force. And unlike the other members of the Legion, the Frumentarii would deviate from the code of their faction for the sake of advancement of Caesar's orders. That was also terrifying; at least most legionnaires were predictable in their actions but not the Frumentarii. And Vulpes, the grinning fox, was their leader and he had no problem revealing who he was just to get a scare.

"I can see in your eyes, courier, that you are terrified with what you have witnessed… good. Even if you disagree with our principles, it matters little, so long as you teach the lesson of what you have witnessed to the Bear and those who follow. For we, the Legion, are civilization reborn. As you know, our culture is based on virtues such as martial excellence, loyalty, and justice. But you'll learn all there is to know in due time. Legatus Lanius, the Monster of the East, will soon arrive to command Caesar's troops in battle. The Dam will fall, and the rest of the Profligate west will soon follow."

"Legate Lanius?"

"Legatus Lanius, Monster of the-"

"I know who the Legate is." The Monster of the East's reputation was well known. The Courier had asked about it out of surprise, as Lanius coming to the Mojave was like being visited by a god, given the stories he had heard of the man brutalizing entire tribes single-handedly with nothing but a monstrous sword that could slice through solid steel as if it were butter. But he regretted interrupting the Frumentarius. Though the man was still smiling that dastardly smile, he should have known better than to interrupt a man that could have him killed at a moment's notice.

"In Lanius, Caesar has found his hammer," Vulpes continued, unconcerned. "He's never been defeated in battle. Fourteen tribes have laid down arms at his boots. Another five rendered extinct. His latest campaign in the wilds of Utah is concluding, and he is en route. When he arrives, the doom of the west arrives with him."

"And then Caesar… he'll take New Vegas in his struggle with the NCR?" He could have sworn he heard somebody's safety click off at that question.

"Bold words, Courier. His pursuits are not a struggle. It was the actions of the previous legate that led to our loss at Hoover Dam. But Caesar himself is a man of towering intellect, the founder of the Legion, and the conqueror of 86 tribes. He is the salvation of mankind and his Legion the rebirth of civilization in a benighted age. But do not worry. You'll know him well when you serve him. Or you'll be dead. Either way, his rule will be law soon enough."

He did not say anything to Vulpes that time. What could he say? He needed to get away from Nipton and from those people, both the living and the dead.

"Now, we must part. These new captures must be brought away to be conditioned for our purposes. So, Courier, I bid you 'Vale'. Until we meet again." With one swift motion of his hand, he led his legionnaires and their new slaves away.

Those poor souls… doomed to assimilate with the Legion. That wasn't right. He had seen slavers before, but none like the Legion. Most of those people would probably die at the hands of the Legion, but those who survived would lose themselves in the process. But there was nothing he could do about it… almost nothing.

"Vulpes!" he called out, trying to sound forceful, but failing as his voice cracked. The entire crowd, Legionnaires, slaves, and dogs alike turned to face him.

"Yes, Courier?" he asked, uncaring.

"Let me buy some of your new captures from you." At this very suggestion, there was chuckling among the soldiers, but Vulpes silenced them with another wave of his hand.

"We are not slavers, Courier. You cannot buy what these people will give to us. The men shall become soldiers, these women, bearers of children, and the children, our future. Why should we sell even the weakest of our captures to you? We are saving these people from corruption."

He already knew what to say. "Consider it advertising. You sell me all the slaves that I can afford and then they go on to tell the world what they know and how the Legion had taken what they could with little effort. When asked why they are free, they will answer that they were spared to send that message. Then, you can use what money I give you to further your pursuits. Does that sound alright?"

Vulpes snickered. "What do you have to offer?"

"200 caps." That was the money he had just gotten for doing NCR work. It was a nice chunk of change that he would have loved to use to buy bullets and booze, but that was more important. "It's all that I have."

"That is a minuscule amount to offer for a life," Vulpes answered coldly. But he nodded his head. "But I will accept it for the purchase of any one of our adult, female captures. That is my offer. Do you accept?"

"Yes." He walked forward and looked at the cluster of slaves. Singling out the women, he looked them over. Most of them were young; probably prostitutes in a town that had such a sleazy reputation for serving anybody who paid. But it didn't take long for him to make his decision. "Her." He pointed at a dark-skinned woman of about twenty, her hair cropped short. He had chosen her for a specific reason.

"The pregnant whore?" Vulpes asked, disgusted. "She carries a child. That is worth the price of two."

"You said any adult, female slave," the courier answered. "Or are you a liar?" One of the legionnaires pointed his hunting rifle the Courier in response to the accusation, but Vulpes motioned for him to lower his weapon.

"To many, yes. To you, I will not. The girl is yours. Free her." One of the legionnaires unlocked the woman's collar and pushed her at the Courier, who caught her in mid-push. Vulpes moved toward the courier and held out his hand. "Your payment?"

"Certainly." The courier took four wraps from his pocket, each holding fifty caps. He dropped them into the Frumentarius's hand.

"Very good," Vulpes said as he put the caps in one of his pockets. "Let us shake hands as a sign of a trade well made." He held his hand out again. The Courier felt sick to his stomach about shaking Vulpes's hand, but he knew that not doing so could be disastrous. He held out his own in return and they shook. But Vulpes would not let go.

"You are an interesting man, courier. A better man than this girl is worth, willing to give what little you have in the name of what you believe in. All of that to save such an abomination... Let us hope, however, that you know better than to trifle with us in the future. Your caps cannot buy the Legion." One last time, his piercing gray eyes stared at him before he let go of the courier's hand. "Vale."

The legionnaires took their prize and left, leaving the Courier and the pregnant woman in the middle of the bloody square.

"Thank you…" The woman tried to hug him, but the Courier pushed her away.

"We need to move," he ordered. "I'm heading back to the outpost. With luck, I should make enough change from this job to pay for somebody to escort you to somewhere that's safe." More caps down the drain. Still, after what he saw, caps were the last thing on his mind.

They camped out near a steep mountain base. The Courier had picked the location since the slope was too steep for deathclaws to walk on and the flatland around them was unobstructed. Still, they kept the fire low to prevent bringing attention to themselves.

Since telling the story, little was said between the Courier and Veronica. They were sitting by the glowing coals, eating from old cans in silence. The courier's eyes darted back and forth, keeping a lookout between bites of his Pork 'n Beans. The nights in the wasteland were dangerous, and not just because of the deathclaws. Feral ghouls that strayed out in that direction were uncommon, but still a threat. While they were out of Jackal territory and not quite in Fiend territory, raider attacks were possible as well. But even then, raiders and ghouls weren't what really scared him, though they contributed to his nerves. He absolutely hated camping outside, but he did his best to hide his anxiety. The last thing he wanted was Veronica knowing how antsy he was. He still felt unsure about his telling her of his Legion encounter, even though he left out details that would have given away who he was.

"You've been quiet," the Brotherhood scribe finally said, cutting the silence.

"So have you," he replied, scooping out another spoonful of pork.

"Well, I'm not sure what to say," she continued, setting her empty can at her side. "You saw those people dying on crosses. You saw the Legion staking their claim. I can't even imagine-"

"Then don't," he answered, washing the beans down with his canteen. That was the last of his food. "It's a nasty image."

"Yeah…" Veronica stood up and moved to his side before plopping down next to him. He felt uncomfortable from her sudden closeness, but he didn't show it, like he how he hid a lot of things. "Is this why you're so high-strung? Because of what you saw? Is that why you kept telling me about how you're trying to stay out of the Legion's way?"

At first, he said nothing. Showing weakness to somebody who didn't know him was a misguided move to make. Still, he had somebody to talk to about it, which alleviated some of the fear he felt. Was that worth it? He had been quiet about it for so long, so maybe it was. And again, could Veronica use that story against him in a meaningful way if she wanted to?

"The Legion…" he began, looking into the flames. "They terrify me. Their soldiers terrify me. Their methods terrify me. Their general anti-technology, sexist, militaristic, imperialistic, slave-driving philosophy terrifies me. And that Vulpes Inculta…" He cringed when the man's face reappeared in his mind. "I don't think I've ever met anybody that has chilled my blood like he has, every time I've seen him... Something about that man is just…" He shuddered at the thought. If he ever saw that man again, it would be too soon. "The fact that all those people were killed to make a statement…"

"Zack…" Veronica's voice had returned to softness. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to see that." Her eyes widened as she came to a new realization. "You said every time you've seen him. You've seen this Vulpes Inculta again?"

No response. That was not something he was ready to share. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to.

"I get it. You have that distant reputation to keep." She showed him a small smile before lightly patting him on the back. "But if you change your mind, I'm here to talk. Okay?"

But we just met today. Still, he couldn't help but feel warm about the fact that she seemed pretty genuine, even if he didn't completely trust her yet. "Sure," he replied. "I'm not tired. You want me to take first watch?"

"Sure." Within the minute, her bedroll was unwrapped and she was wrapped up within it. "Wake me in a few hours?"

"Sure, get some sleep," he ordered.

"Thanks… I actually feel comfortable about sleeping out here. Having you around makes me feel a lot safer."

"You're too kind," he replied, knowing that if she knew how much of a nervous wreck he was, she wouldn't feel that way at all.

He watched her for a few minutes as her eyes fell shut and her breathing evened out. He sighed. He already slightly regretted letting her come with him. While he ended up being okay with telling her about Nipton, her constant prodding into his personal life was somewhat irritating. The last guy that traveled with him respected his space far more to his liking. On top of that, she couldn't shoot straight to save her life and she had no real place to use her combat skills.

Still, with that regret came some comfort. Having conversations with her was nice, even if they made him feel on edge. Veronica herself seemed alright, but he wasn't ready to trust her much more at that point, especially with her being with the Brotherhood and all. But was she really with the Brotherhood anymore? The fact that she just ran off with the first guy that accepted her presence, neglecting her duty as a "grocery bringer" without hesitation… it seemed like she was running from something. Maybe that spooky kid from 188 was right with that fortune he told.

"Ugh, I can't think about this. My nerves are fucking me again." And it wasn't just the thoughts that drove him crazy. Every night when he was camping in the wilderness, he couldn't sleep without the proper aid. Each little sound rattled him. Even with friendly faces nearby, he couldn't get anything more than a light sleep of a few hours at best. Like he feared the Legion, he feared the things that went bump in the night.

But she's asleep now. Thank God.

He dug into his pack and pulled out a small box, containing another one of his secrets: twelve fresh Med-X syringes. He grinned like a greedy child who found a stash of sweets. If there was one thing that he'd splurge on aside from soap and drinks, it was Med-X. It was an easy drug to get, as most doctors sold it in large quantities without question. Plus, in small doses, the drug was much less dangerous and much more soothing than jet. But more importantly, it was the only way he could get any sleep outside ever since... everything.

Even though he was on watch, the high would still help him relax for the time being and sleep later on. He stuck his arm, injected the serum, and his smile grew even larger as his head began to swim.

Feels so damn good. For the next hour or so, he wouldn't be worrying so much about anything.

Just so everybody knows, I may be taking a lot more creative liberties in this story's future chapters. Thanks for reading thus far!