On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with a red right hand
- Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, "Red Right Hand"

Jordan waved goodbye to Ranger Station Charlie and headed up the hill to the south, following an old nameless highway. It was early morning and she was hoping to make it to Nipton by midday, leaving her with plenty of time to rest up and prepare. Her Pip-Boy had picked up a peculiar broadcast after returning from Vault 22 and it had piqued her interest. Leaving everyone in New Vegas, she had made it to Charlie the night before, bypassing Novac in hopes of avoiding Boone if he was still there. Having built a rapport with the Rangers stationed there over the last few months, they allowed her to stay the night at their outpost.

When she had heard the broadcast inviting listeners to a "midnight science fiction feature," Jordan had quickly decided on investigating. There would be no film, she knew, because the drive-in outside of Nipton was defunct and probably had been since the war. Veronica had asked her where she was going when she noticed the rucksack on her friend's back, but she had simply said "out" and disappeared into the elevator. As she much as she enjoyed spending time with her companions, she relished being alone as well. She couldn't be asked personal questions when it was just her and her shadow.

A sinking suspicion that her trip would not be going as planned began to take root when Jordan came down from the hills to find black smoke billowing up from Nipton. Slowing her pace, she pulled her sniper rifle to her front and paused a moment to survey the town from her scope. Looming in the distance she could make out what appeared to be a trash pile on fire in the middle of the road. Shifting winds brought faint traces of what she thought was roasting Brahmin. Community picnic, maybe? No, she knew Nipton better than that. The town's cohesiveness was built on a love of money, sex, and chems. They didn't do picnics and sock-hops.

Drawing nearer to the burning pile, she recognized the flag planted at its edge, a red field with golden fringe and matching bull. Legion. Jordan felt the familiar twinge of unease settle into her stomach, causing her to waver in place. As she shifted her weight onto her right leg and readjusted her rifle, bile began to clamber into her throat.

Turning south and bypassing the main drag completely was an option. She might be able to make camp in the ruins of the concession stand at the drive-in. No, if she remembered correctly, what was left of it would be useless. No shelter, no space, no concealment.

Jordan strained her ears for a moment, listening for anything that could sway her. Save for the crackling fire in front of her, there was only the wind rustling through bushes and crows gliding overhead. Perhaps the Legion had already left and she could still bunk down in the town for the night.

Deciding her best option was to get a better assessment of the situation, she checked her rounds and skirted the flames. Jordan did not necessarily consider herself to live in fear of the Legion, but rather in disgust. She had spent the majority of the last ten years staying ahead of them, taking the courier job as a means to do so. During the First Battle of Hoover Dam, she had been making a delivery in New Reno, returning to the Mojave only after news reached of the NCR's victory. She hated the Legion and everything it stood for. They were the reason she didn't like personal questions.

Rounding the corner heading towards Nipton Hall, Jordan abruptly found herself face-to-face with a frenzied Oliver Swanick.

/

Vulpes stood atop the town hall steps, wiping blood from his hand and watching with curiosity as the degenerate screamed into a newcomer's face. The woman stood her ground, tripping Swanick and forcing him onto his back before pulling a pistol on him. She was unyielding still when he shrieked once more before fleeing into the wastes.

Interesting.

The woman turned and made her way towards Vulpes and his men, slowing to a stop when she reached the third set of crucifixions. He decided it was best to approach her, knowing that the Swanick fool was too unreliable to spread the message he had been charged with. It was a shame, really. All that trouble of holding a lottery and the last man standing had been a raving lunatic. That was what happened when things were left to chance, though.

As he grew nearer, her scrutiny washed over him, as unrelenting as his own. "Don't worry, I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by," he announced in a silken tone. "I want you to witness the fate of the town 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 to any NCR troops you run across."

Vulpes studied the woman's features, waiting for a reaction to his words – fear, revulsion, anything. To his dismay her face was as set as stone. Deathclaws were more expressive than she currently was. Instead, her eyes, barely visible behind her sunglasses, scanned the scene behind him, taking in the piked skulls, burning bodies, and restless recruits.

"All right," she replied at last. The manner in which her tongue brushed against her lower lip as she thought gave the Frumentarius a hazy feeling of familiarity, one he had not felt in years. Surprising him further, the woman took several steps back before turning on her heel and proceeding to the now empty house at the end of the road, never the once looking back.

Watching her leave, Vulpes allowed his eyes to drift across her body. Her hourglass figure was complemented by pale skin and coppery hair that was luminescent in the midday sun, even pulled up into a messy bun and largely covered by a bandana as it was. Long legs had brought her near to his own height, coming up only a few inches short. He imagined that a slave collar would look quite pleasing on her slender neck, but the familiarity she had stirred in him left him at a loss. Who was this woman? And who was foolhardy enough to turn their back on the Legion?

"Crispus," he beckoned to one of his Legionaries. The man was young, but eager to distinguish himself.

"Yes, sir?"

A faint smile ghosted Vulpes's lips. "Stay behind and watch her. Report back to me by the end of the week."

/

"Oh, c'mon man. Fucking up my leg wasn't good enough for you? Now you gotta come back and harass me?" Boxcars whined. Crispus had forgotten that several of the others had dumped the Powder Ganger in the Trading Post after the conclusion of the lottery.

"Be quiet, profligate. I have no business with you." The Legionary was in need of binoculars. He had waited for the rest of his unit to leave before finding the store's rear entrance and had begun to rifle through its wares.

"Fuck you."

Rolling his eyes, Crispus left Boxcars to himself and climbed the stairs to the empty apartment above. Moving through the room, he found that most of what the former inhabitants had left was nothing more than trash. Empty milk containers, tin cans, and broken glass littered the kitchen while various papers were scattered about the rest of the living area.

"Faex," he muttered, slamming shut the last of the desk drawers. He had turned to lean against the desk, running a hand through his flaxen curls, when he saw it. A small tin box was hidden in the shadows of the apartment's lone bed. Crouching down, he pulled the container into the light and set it atop the mattress. It opened with a creak, revealing items that both pleased and horrified the Legionary.

Inside the box were the binoculars he had sought, as well as what appeared to be a metal sex toy. These profligates are too fucking weird sometimes, he thought. He would have to take care not to bring the binoculars too close to his eyes. There was, however, an amusing idea beginning to take shape for the other object.

Leaving the tin and dildo on the bed, he climbed to the rooftop via the access panel in the bathroom and made himself comfortable near the edge. It wouldn't be long until nightfall and Crispus hoped the woman across the street would do something interesting.

/

Just as the last of the sun had slumped into the horizon, the door to the small home opened, the woman emerging at a quick pace. Crispus watched with alarm as she crossed the street and disappeared into the building he was currently hiding atop. Would the Powder Ganger give him away? He should have killed the degenerate and been done with it. He would remember that next time. If there was one.

Several minutes passed before the woman returned to her shelter. Perhaps the convict had kept his mouth shut. Maybe that angry and bitter personality wasn't just saved for Legionaries. As time inched closer to midnight, Crispus had begun to think the woman would be staying overnight when she appeared once more, her rucksack on her back and rifle at her side.

The Legionary observed her for a moment, keeping the binoculars as far from his face as he could. She headed west until she reached the edge of town, then turned south down the broken remnants of a road he had not noticed before. Deciding there would be enough distance for him to safely follow, Crispus scrambled down to the second floor apartment. He had nearly made it to the stairs when he remembered the tin box and turned back to grab the dildo.

"You take a fucking nap up there, man?" Boxcars called to him as he ran through the storefront.

Without breaking his stride, Crispus flung the sex toy at the Powder Ganger, noting with delight that it had connected with his nose. "Vale, profligate!" he barked with a laugh before disappearing out the door. That should freak him out for a while.

Walking at a brisk pace, it did not take long for the woman to come into view once more. Tucking himself behind a dried up shrub, he peered through the binoculars and began to wonder if his commander's orders were to satisfy more than intelligence gathering. Not only was she headstrong, as she had demonstrated earlier in the day, but she was beautiful, a fact that could be easily noted even in the pale moonlight. A body like hers wasn't seen often in the wasteland, and that face, with its strong jaw and high cheek bones, was a perfect complement. Was Inculta looking to make her his slave? He was approaching 30 and had not married or taken a concubine. Surely Caesar would want his top Frumentarius to produce heirs?

An ache began to settle across Crispus's brow as he watched her. He was thinking and not truly paying attention what was happening in front of him. Giving himself a mental shake, he refocused on the task at hand. Thinking about Inculta's sex life would not gain the man's favor. Was that not the opportunity he had been given? To prove himself?

As the woman passed through the long forgotten outer limits of the drive-in, she took interest in what appeared to be a crashed satellite at its centers. She crouched to inspect it further, wiggling the solar arrays and brushing dirt away. After several moments, she stood and backed away, taking in the satellite in its entirety once more. Crispus wondered to himself if she would dismantle it for scrap. Some of its parts would doubtless fetch quite a few caps.

Both he and the woman were startled when a projection of an eye began moving erratically on the ancient movie screen. Regaining her composure, the woman turned back to the spacecraft, realizing that the projection was emanating from it. Moving closer to examine it, Crispus could see the fear take hold of her as an inexplicable blue orb enveloped her and the downed technology.

Springing to his feet, he made a mad dash towards her, his feet pounding along the fractured pavement. His need to maintain concealment forgotten in favor of her safety, he cleared the shell of a rusted car and drew his machete. There was no way of knowing if his weapon would do any good against the blue wall, but he had to try something. It was at that moment the woman turned and saw him, her eyes wide with panic, fists slamming against the whirring force field. Jaw clenching, Crispus propelled himself forward, increasing his speed.

As he came within an arm's length of the sphere, he drew his machete down with a tenacity normally reserved for super mutants. The blade glanced off the field, the force of his ineffectual attack causing him to stumble. Fighting to regain his balance, he found himself burying his face in the crook of his arm, shielding his eyes from the blinding light suddenly being emitted from within the orb.

As quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished. No longer sensing its glare, Crispus lowered his arm. The blue wall was gone and the electric thrumming had ceased. The woman was nowhere to be found. It was as though she had never been there at all.

Quickly sheathing his machete, the Legionary spun on his heel, looking frantically for where the woman might have gone. Finding nothing, he lashed out at the satellite, striking at panels that seemed to mock him with their incessant fluttering.

"Deodamnatus!" he bellowed. He had failed Inculta and he had failed the Legion. Though "keep her alive," had not been explicitly stated, for Crispus to report that the woman had disappeared right in front of him would not bode well for his life expectancy. That she might be dead on his watch would only drive more nails into the metaphorical coffin. He was so far beyond fucked he could only see a cross in his future.

Taking a breath to clear his mind, he allowed his eyes to drift to the stars. Perhaps a small sacrifice and strong prayer to Mars would provide him with a less painful fate. He could also wait for a day or two, surveil the area, and see if she came back. That was likely the smartest course of action.

Resigning himself to standby, he headed back to the house she had vacated, binoculars long forgotten in the desert soil. Perhaps she had left items behind that would shed light on who she was.

/

Caesar surveyed the group of Legionaries gathered at his table. He had brought them together to celebrate Inculta's successes in Searchlight and Nipton and was sparing no expense. The most beautiful slaves in camp were dressed in sparse clothing, serving roasted Brahmin and rich wine, a rare treat saved only for his highest officers on the greatest of occasions. He hoped the head Frumentarius would take one of the women and produce a son. A mind as brilliant as his needed to be passed on.

Rising to his feet, Caesar launched into his toast. "Gentlemen, it is no surprise that I have gathered you all here to celebrate our recent victories. Not only have we gained footing across the Colorado, but we have struck fear into the hearts of profligates throughout the Mojave. None of this could have happened without the brilliance of Vulpes Inculta."

Caesar gave pause, allowing the men to clap and vocalize their agreement. It did not escape his notice, however, that Lanius did not join in the moment, choosing instead to silently stare at the evening's star. He loved the Legate, gave him everything he asked for, and looked the other way when confronted with how quickly the man went through slaves. It didn't mean he wasn't a raging asshole at times. "Regardless of your roles within my Legion, we can all agree that these accomplishments bring us glory and bring the NCR closer to its demise. Tonight I want to present Inculta with new armor as a token of my appreciation."

With the sweep of his hand, slaves brought forth new caligae, greaves, pteruges, cuirass, and cloak. Much of it had been fashioned in styles Caesar had once seen in old holotape movies depicting ancient warriors and he was particularly fond of the cuirass. It had been cast in bronze and designed to convey a muscled torso. Slave women would certainly oblige the Frumentarius when he wore the armor and other Legionaries would aspire to his greatness.

Down the table, Lanius scowled under his mask. No one had ever been given a full set of armor by Caesar, not even himself. The Son of Mars knew how great an affront it would be to his second-in-command, even if he had assembled his own imposing armor and had been gifted with a menacing helmet in the past. This was a calculated move on Caesar's part.

Vulpes Inculta had gained his commander's favor in the last few years, showing his aptitude for strategy and espionage. Caesar saw unlimited potential in the young man, but wanted to make certain that his skills were never turned against the Legion. A mind as ingenious as Inculta's might find other challenges to champion and he needed to stay in the imperator's pocket. Bestowing gifts and fatherly attention to the Frumentarius would go a long way in ensuring he would not stray.

The Son of Mars watched with delight as Inculta graciously accepted the gift, a beaming grin upon his face. It appeared as though the move had been a success, flattering the young man and raising his sense of importance to his master. He took the Frumentarius's thanks with ease, assuring him it was the least he could do.

"After all," he said, addressing the table, "armor like that will leave profligate women wet and NCR men pissing their pants!" When the table quieted from its raucous laughter, he continued, "Tonight, I want you all the enjoy yourselves. Our Fox has more plans for the Mojave in the coming weeks and I want all of you well rested and ready for it. So eat, drink, fuck, and be merry!"

The evening continued with the men, save for Lanius, imbibing more wine and growing increasingly hands-on with the slave women. As the night grew late, Vulpes quietly excused himself from the revelry.

Seeing him leave, Caesar summoned one of his slaves. "Felina, go to Inculta's tent and see to it that he fully enjoys the rest of his evening. Do whatever he asks of you, and do not leave him wanting. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," she said in a bow. She was Caesar's most pleasing slave, her lithe curves and full lips servicing him regularly. He had no qualms, though, in sharing her with the Frumentarius if it kept the younger man content.

/

Vulpes pulled out of Felina and left his seed on her bottom before collapsing onto his bed.

"Would my Lord like anything else?" she asked, breathless and hoping.

"No."

"I am willing if you wish it."

"Leave."

She huffed. Inculta always proved to be a more robust lover than Caesar and she had hoped to stay the night. Morning sex with the head Frumentarius would have been worth waking up for. Throwing her clothes back on, she left for her master's quarters. Hopefully he would not ask for a round of his own.

Lying on his back, Vules thought over the evening. He had thoroughly enjoyed the dinner, gifts, and wine, and looked forward to wearing the armor. He had been weighing the merits of keeping it strictly for ceremonial purposes versus actually donning it for battle when Felina had entered his tent.

She certainly knew how to press a man's buttons, something all the more impressive given that she was barely seventeen years old. He appreciated Caesar's thoughtfulness, but despite his body's own jubilant reaction, he only wanted Felina when he wanted her. Their frequent trysts in the shadows merely served as one of the last few exercises of free will the Frumentarius had. He only wanted her body on his terms, not on his commander's orders. In the end, though, he had taken her, knowing that an orgasm then was better than Caesar's wrath tomorrow.

Rolling onto his side, he made himself as comfortable as the thin twin mattress would allow. As he drifted off to sleep, he could almost hear a faint and sunny giggle from his past come out to haunt him.


A/N: A few things - 1) Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, followed, and any combination thereof! I haven't written creatively in 10 or so years and it means a lot to me that anyone would even consider reading this. 2) I have already written this story in its entirety, so feel free to get invested :) I'll be updating every weekend. 3) I don't actually speak Latin, so anything I use in this story comes from research. Faex (shit) and deodamnatus (God damnit) were dug up from a variety of sources, so I apologize if they are incorrect.