Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, follows; huge thanks to eaglescorch, major inspiration for my Fallout stories. Steve, I got you man, I'm updating today. I got one weekend before I am being forced to write a story for my sister, the explanation is in my other updated stories. Please review. Also, I am accepting OCs for MWBOS, NCR, the Independent State of Mojave. You know the drill, Name, How old, background, faction, all that wonderful things. Especially need OCs for Independent State of Mojave, at least five. No OCs in Review unless guest. OCs will be submitted via PM otherwise, I am going to just ignore your OC request. So again, send in OCs, and please review. No flames, just constructive criticism.

Warning. A little steamy, sorry for this, not the best writer for that. I apologize in advance for the shittiness of this chapter, but please bare with me.

Mojave Brotherhood of Steel

Hidden Valley, Independent State of Mojave Special Forces Division Headquarters, Bunker 2C.

March 25th, 2283

1100 HRS PT

In the bunker of the former Mojave Brotherhood of Steel, a young man, no more than the age of twenty was being yelled out. His laser rifle was firing at the target over a hundred yards away, but it was hitting everything but that. The stone man was the bane of the existence of the Initiates that trained with the Brotherhood. This Initiate stood at six foot, with a tall wiry frame. His black hair was cut short, while his tanned skin was smooth like a rock. Light hazel eyes hesitated before locking with determination, and he looked down the sights of the laser rifle, before squeezing the trigger.

Three beams of light shot forward, each going at about ten times the speed of sound. And yet none of them were able to hit the stone target. The head of the training was not pleased.

Initiate Jackson regretted the day he signed up for the Mojave Special Forces. He was a part of the Independent State of Mojave Militia, being stationed in Novac, looking out for any raiders or Legion remnants. Now he was a Initiate getting his ass yelled out by a former Mojave Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, now a proud member of the ISMSFD, one of the longest acronym the post Great War world had ever made.

"Tell me Initiate, why the hell you cannot shoot straight with a fucking laser rifle!" The Paladin screamed in his face, spittle landing on his cheek. Jackson resisted the urge to roll his eyes and wipe his cheek with his gloved hand; after all he hated energy weapons.

"Sir! I was not trained with laser weaponry, I was trained to use basic firearms, Sir!" He yelled back, and the Paladin glared at him with his blue eyes.

"Well you are going to learn! Initiates! Front and center!" And the five Initiates jogged over to the Paladin. They were currently in the firing range of the Hidden Valley Bunker, or the headquarters of the Special Forces Division. There had been a universal declaration of independence by the Mojave to the NCR and the Legion. Several Rangers, distraught with how the corrupt the Republic became, defected to the new state, becoming the New Vegas Rangers. Jackson had always been in aw of the Rangers, with their black combat armor, their red lens of doom, and their trenchcoats.

"Initiates. For the last seven weeks, you have been training hard. Over eighty percent of your former comrades have dropped out. You are the pinnacle of the training program the State has developed. But sadly, I am being forced to pick one Initiates to leave the Division." The Paladin grimaced. His posture betrayed nothing, but Jackson saw a flicker of doubt and pain.

"Initiate Jackson, front and center." And Jackson immediately walked forward, the weeks of training kicking in.

"Yes sir?" He asked doubtfully, hopefully he wasn't going to be picked to get out of the Division.

"You are one of the best Initiates I ever trained. You are among the strongest, you are among the fastest. Most likely one of the best damn marksman in the entire region. But, on the request of the New Vegas Council, I am being ordered to have you pack up your things, and head to Black Mountain for transport to a disclosed location. You have until tomorrow. Good luck soldier." And he snapped a salute. Jackson immediately returned it. He was mad, no, seething with rage. He had done nothing but obey the Council, the Mojave ruling body, and yet this is how they repaid him? Though he hated the training, he had always wanted to be part of the Special Forces, ever since the emergence of the Independent State of Mojave, he was among the first to sign up.

Why me? I have done nothing but listen and obey.He hated it, but orders were orders. Heading over to his room, he went over to the foot of the bed. He was wearing just a grey t-shirt, black pants, and goggles. Muttering to himself about how unfair it was for him to be picked out, even though he was one of the best Initiates the former Brotherhood had ever received.

"So ya leaving for good, huh?" And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the smirking face of former Brotherhood of Steel Initiate and now Apprentice Watkins. She was a good friend of the young Initiate, well former Initiate. His heart always leaped out to her name, and his eyes always betrayed his true intentions. No lust intended, but sometimes the young mind and body of Jackson betrayed his emotions.

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and brag Watkins. I just want to know why the Council wants me out of the Special Forces. All I ever did was serve and protect, what my oath demanded me to. To serve the Mojave people, to protect them from all harm, no matter what." And the people of the Mojave had the right to be afraid.

On one border was the New California Republic, now under the leadership of a astute politician and war hero. He was a great leader and turned the NCR around, and was now at war with the last remnants of the BOS in California. His name was Richard Reginald, a former General that had saved the life of former President Kimball, and was the driving force behind the NCR's reforms in the military and state. Though he showed no intention to harm the people of the Mojave State, they certainly in a position to. Jackson thanks the Gods that they were to pre-occupied with the BOS to turn their full attention to the people of the Mojave.

On the other border were the remnants of the Legion. Though they were fractured and weak, they sent raiding parties against the eastern settlements almost daily, so large amounts of troops were concentrated on the western side of the Colorado and the Dam. Dozens of Securitrons were based all over the damn place, but the Legion were smart and able to adapt against the armored foes.

And now in the north were a new power. Moving armored vehicles and aircraft across the desert, these new folks were heading over to the California border. The Republic had made repeated requests for an alliance against these new warriors that were going to war with the NCR and the Council had always said a flat out, "No."

Shaking his mind, he turned his attention back to Watkins, who was looking with a concern written all over her face.

"Hey Jackson, I'm sorry you have to leave, and I know that you are going to great things. I just wanted to say bye before you left..." And the light hazel eyes of Watkins drifted away, refusing to meet the grey eyes of Jackson. Jackson felt a dagger enter his heart as her eyes flickered with pain and heartache, while his eyes flickered with hurt and betrayal.

"Melissa," and she turned to face him, not expecting him to call her by her first name," I have always wanted to tell you that I have been in love with you ever since I saw you. You are the most beautiful girl in the world, and forever I have always wanted to call you mine. Though we have just met a few short weeks ago, I feel like I have been around you my entire life." Jackson said. His heart was beating, pounding against him as his nervousness slowly melted away.

"I hope that you can forgive me for doing this, but nothing will stop me." And he walked up towards her, and seized her wrists. Clearly Watkins wasn't expecting it for surprise was written all over her face, but she soon melted. Jackson was a good five inches taller than her, standing at six foot, and he soon leaned in, closing the gap between their two faces. Flushed with love, he soon pecked her on the lips, waiting for her reaction, hoping to Baby Jesus that she would respond like she hoped she would.

She did. With unexpected eagerness she kissed back, which made Jackson let go of her wrists, and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck. Pulling her closer, he deepened the kiss, not noticing that the need of oxygen was going to be needed very soon. He soon growled, as he bucked his hips towards her.

"Ooh, someones feisty." She purred in his ears, and he growled again, before attacking her neck. Biting it with an almost animal desire, he heard her gasp with pleasure, and he continued to kiss her neck, ravaging it with love bites. The smell of cactus flower filled the aroma around them, adding to the already pleasant smell of them together.

As they continued this, she soon pulled away. Jackson raised his brow in a question, before she gestured over to the bed in the far corner of the room, looking rather lonely.

"There is a bed in the corner of the room, and I'm feeling a little adventurous...how bout you?" And the response he gave was the only answer to her question.


The next morning Jackson placed a chaste kiss on Watkins' forehead. He soon packed all of his stuff, and suited up in his grey combat armor. The Brotherhood insignia was on the left shoulder blade of the armor, and as he ascended out of the bunker. His trusty assault carbine was always on his back, where it felt comfortable and secure. The morning was still young as the doors to the bunker slid open, and he walked out, heading towards Black Mountain. Using the mountainous trail, he soon found himself in large area on top of Black Mountain. Six figures were waiting for him.

"Private Jackson, we have been waiting for you." Said the lead one. He was dressed in the grey robes of a Brotherhood elder, with black grey hair and a gruff look, Jackson knew this was Elder McNamara, one of the members of the New Vegas Council, the governing body of the entire region. Two of the figures were dressed in tan power armor, with the insignia of the old war U.S on the shoulder blades of his armor. Jackson had heard of the Enclave Guards, old men and women that had come out of retirement to protect the Courier.

Two other figures were dressed in the Elite Riot Gear of the New Vegas Rangers, while the final one wore a suit of armor that made Jackson's body run cold.

It was made up of massive steel plates, with curved shoulders. Demonic yellow eyes looked at him, trying to intimidate him. The armor itself was colored grey, with three holsters. One holster held a massive .44 Desert Eagle, most likely modified to do even more horrific damage. The other one had a M1911 pistol in it, with an extended mag and silencer. The final one had a massive serrated weapon, at least four feet long and in a scabbard on his back, and the words Banshee Killer, scrawled on the blade. Jackson knew this was because he saw the blade before it was put back in its scabbard. In the demon man's hands was the most terrifying thing Jackson ever saw.

It was a cannon of a sorts, with electricity cackling it a tube like shape. It was light grey with the green energy, and it looked like it could someone with a single hit.

"This is Sergeant Moreno, and this Major Gannon of the Enclave Guard. Those two are Veteran Ranger Wolf and the head of the New Vegas Rangers, the Courier." And Jackson jaw dropped in surprise. The Courier?

He had heard about the Courier. When he was part of the Novac militia, before the formation of the Mojave Militia, he seen the smoke rising from the burnt out settlement of Nelson. And he saw the dead Legionnaires piled by the dozens as she and a platoon of NCR troopers demolished the area.

"And that handsome fellow over there, is Head Paladin Richardson of the Mojave Brotherhood of Steel. Skipping the formalities Private, we are welcoming you in the most elite unit the former United States had ever seen." The Elder said. Jackson was surprised as can be. The Rangers were some of the most dangerous men and women the world had ever seen.

"What is it sir?" Jackson asked.

"Welcome to Team Zulu. And you want to our goal son?" The Elder asked.

"What is it sir?"

"Tell him Richardson." And without skipping a beat, Richardson spoke in a powerful filtered voice.

"The destruction of the New California Republic."

I know this chapter was shitty and I apologize, but I am in a rush. I want to update my other Fallout Fic, the Thrice Damned, and it is one of my favorite stories I have written. This one will be updated along with The Thrice Damned, but please be patient. My sister is going to be bothering me and I really don't want that. Especially when she is noted to be one of the fastest hackers in the region where I live in. Please be patient. Again like always, leave some feedback, accepting OCs, (please read the first AN) and again, have a nice day!