To address a question posed on the previous chapter, yes this chapter will be sort of pseudo-review of most of the important things that happen at the end of New Vegas. The more minor stuff will probably get mentioned in passing throughout the story. If something is not mentioned or omitted, either I didn't do it in-game, or I don't address it in this story. Or I forgot about. Lol.

As of now, I do not plan on doing the add-ons in addition to the main story. That could change, or could become a separate story on its own since I haven't finished all the add-on content myself. So anyways, in this chapter I try to give a sense of where the story is headed, so if everything seems a bit forced/contrived, forgive me. But do enjoy. Finally, thanks to GrayAngel13 for my first review. Keep 'em coming.

Under New Management

July 23rd, 2281

Lucky 38 Presidential Suite

15:46 p.m.

"Ugh…."

Everything hurt. Chest, legs, arms, and especially his head. The familiar throbbing in his temple was back, a permanent gift from Benny's pistol, Maria, and it was focal point of the pain that regularly pounded through his temple. Instinctively, the Courier reached a hand to the place where Doc Mitchell had sewn his head back together, fingers probing almost as if looking for the hole again. He was met instead with the familiar feel of scar tissue and stitches.

'The game was rigged from the start…"

Silence. The Courier's heart fluttered in panic. And suddenly….. BANG!

A blinding flash followed by complete darkness.

"Bastard…" Carter muttered, still cradling his head as he attempted to adjust to the artificial light beating down on him from overhead.

A quick glance around the room showed him that he was back in his room at the Presidential Suite at the Lucky 38. Next to his bed sat a medical tray with a few supplies on it, along with an IV hook that seemed to be feeding into his left hand. Next to the tray of supplies sat an Auto-Doc, the green screen glowing as the machine hummed along beside him, Carter's only companion in the silent room. The presidential suite remained the same as it always had: red wallpaper encompassed the four walls of the ornate (by Wasteland standards) room. To the left, a desk and two dressers stood by, mirroring the two dressers across from them. Along the right wall, a weapons trunk also sat at foot level, the metallic plating glinting in the light. Near the door, another desk sat in the corner, its surface empty save for a few yellowed papers. Gingerly, the Courier pushed himself from the bed, immediately aware of the constricting bandages that encompassed not only his arms and legs, but his torso as well. It seemed that his head was the only thing that remained unbound.

Slowly, he pushed the covers of the bed away from him, testing the extent of his injuries and how far his healing had progressed. Expertly, he slid the IV from his arm and hobbled towards the door, each step causing some new ache or pain to surface. Where the hell is everyone? , the Courier wondered, as he threw open the door to his room and staggered out into the entrance area. Though brightly lit, it, too, was empty and as eerily quiet as his own room. Sudden footsteps from his right snapped Carter's attention to one of the side rooms, eyes fixed until he finally saw a familiar figure emerge from the doorway. Behind his eyeglasses, he could swear the fair-skinned man was smiling, or at the very least happy to see him walking around, but Arcade wasn't overly expressive.

"Finally awake, I see. Although you probably shouldn't be walking around just yet. Most of your wounds are still in the early stages of healing."

"Good to see you too, Arcade." Carter responded, offering a handshake to the blonde man.

It seemed the war had not changed him much. He still worse the same lab coat and pants, bore the same neutral and often bored-looking expression. There were no scars and only some bandages on the scientist's right hand.

"How long was I out?"

"About four days. Lucky for you, I was able to get the Followers to part with one of their Auto-Docs for a little while. The Securitron that came to get me was certainly surprising as well, but I'm afraid I must insist you get back in bed. Or at least sit down. You were in pretty bad shape when that other robot dragged you in here."

Carter was only too happy to accept Arcade's offer as the two men retreated into the adjoining room, and seated themselves facing each other.

"So what was the damage? I still feel like shit."

"Piece of shrapnel lodged into a largely broken left leg, along with a few torn ligaments, but nothing major. Six broken ribs and a whole lot of bruising in your chest. A few more pieces of shrapnel lodged here and there, some minor burns on your hands, some shallow cuts, and no doubt some other lasting physical or mental trauma I couldn't find. Must've used twelve Stimpaks on you alone, and who knows what else. Actually, I'm surprised someone who puts their body through so much crap is still alive."

"Yeah, well, you know… war is hell. Sounds like you did a hell of a job for a researcher."

Arcade smirked. "I may have called in some assistance from the Follower camp. But things aren't looking too great there. Now that you're awake and seem to be no worse off, I should probably head back there to help out."

"What's going on?"

Having established a supply line for the camp and aided Julie in obtaining meds and chems, Carter was more than a little invested in the Old Mormon Fort. Arcade sighed, leaning forwards in his chair. Concern, or rather, more concern fell across his face.

"With everything we've done, and the war….. the Wasteland's even more hellish than it was…" he laughed nervously. "Somehow. We've got even more people streaming into the fort now. With the NCR gone, there's nowhere else for them to go. Even with all we did….." he paused and looked Carter right in the eyes. "I really don't think the Followers can keep up." "

Is there anything we can do?"

Arcade shook his head. "I don't think so. I would ask you to help, but it would barely make a difference. Even with the supply chain you set up at the Wrangler, we don't have enough materials coming in. The Fort is understaffed, undersupplied, and overcrowded. There just aren't enough doctors in the Wasteland."

"What about NCR doctors?" Carter suggested.

"Most of them withdrew after the Battle. I'm sure there are still some out there who care enough about helping others to stick around, but they'll go where they're protected, not necessarily where they're needed."

"Fuckin cowards."

The doctor shrugged.

"Can't blame them, really. I know my way around an energy weapon, but I never would have joined up with you if I didn't think you could handle yourself."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence." Carter growled, mulling in his head a way to solve the Followers' problems. The Old Mormon Fort serviced such a densely populated region of the Wasteland it would be damn near impossible to maintain control over Vegas without it. Something would have to be done unless he wanted Freeside to collapse.

"Guess I'm goin looking for doctors then. Such a shame you won't be joining me, Gannon." the Courier smirked.

The scientist returned the smile as he rose to his feet.

"As much as I would love to join up on another one of your ill-planned death trips, the situation at the Fort is very serious. Even if we had enough doctors, we still need drugs and other medicine necessary to treat our patients."

Carter waved off Arcade's concerns as if they were annoying flies.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm used to this kind of shit. You should know; you were there for some of it."

"It needs to happen soon, Carter. We might not make it another week at this rate."

The Courier seemed unperturbed. "Don't worry about it. Or me. I'll get what you need."

Arcade gave a small smile and rose to his feet. "Oh, I don't doubt it. But for now, I really must get back there."

Carter put up a hand, wincing at the pain it caused. "Hold on, Doc. Is there anyone else around from our merry band of misfits?"

The doctor stopped in his tracks, thinking briefly.

"Yeah, I think I saw Raul fiddling around with one of the Securitrons downstairs. And I'm sure ED-E's floating around here somewhere. Thing never seems to leave your side. Shame you didn't let the Followers examine it."

"Keep it in your pants, Gannon. Anyone else?"

"Nope. Sorry. Seems like the band broke up." Even as Arcade's words reached him, Carter felt a heaviness settle in his stomach. He had always known that the various companions he had gathered on his travels would eventually go their separate ways, but the suddenness of it all was surprising. None of them had even waited around to say goodbye.

"Cass and Boone were pretty badly wounded after the battle. Did you treat them?"

"Not personally, no. Julie assisted me, and treated those two mostly on her own. You were the worst off out of the three, so we collaborated on your treatment. Cass woke up after we stuck her with a couple of Stimpaks. After a few hours, she was gone. Along with a few bottles of whiskey, of course. Boone at least stuck around until we told him he was fully healed, but I haven't seen him here since then. Veronica…."

"Went back to the Brotherhood. I know. I told her to do it."

"Yeah. And the King came by asking for Rex a few days ago. I couldn't turn him away after all the Kings have done to stabilize Freeside. Plus you could hear Rex whining from the Strip."

A heavy silence followed.

"And now I'm left here wondering if I made the right choice." he looked up at Arcade.

"You know Cass threatened to kill me at the Dam. And I think she was actually serious."

Arcade smirked. "She always was rather… short-sighted, as her proposed solution to the Van Graff and McLafferty problem illustrated. Boone was similarly one-track minded in seeking vengeance for his wife. He held his own grudge against the Legion, and saw the NCR as the only organization capable of doing anything about them. To be fair, he was right. Until you came along."

"What a flatterer."

"Well, I do try. But what I'm getting at is that it's far too early to tell if you made a good decision. I admit that the NCR had its flaws, but aiding them would have brought a great deal of stability to the region. House had vision, and a great deal of resources to put towards that vision. And despite my feelings towards them, the Legion admittedly had a much more functional system of governance than the NCR. Between those three and leaving Vegas to its own devices, you made what you thought was the optimal decision. I believe I told you before that I, at least, think you made the right one. Of course, we could all be dead a month from now. Half of Freeside's already trying."

That elicited a few pained laughs from the Courier. "Dammit, Arcade." he gasped, grabbing his ribs. "You know I shouldn't be laughing this hard."

"And you wouldn't be if you had stayed in bed like I told you. But then again, that wouldn't be very much like you at all."

"It's like we were meant to be together, Arcade. You know me better than I know myself."

"Please. Even if I knew you weren't teasing, I can do better than a Mojave Express Courier."

"Hey, you've stayed single this long…."

"...And it seems I am doomed to stay that way." He looked pointedly at the Courier. "But if you do need me…"

Carter shook his head. "No. You're of more use to the Wasteland than to me, but, uh… send Raul up when you get to the bottom floor."

"I will." Arcade promised, as he stood to leave. "Also, you'll get better faster if you stay in bed like I told you. Just a suggestion." And with that final sentiment, the scientist disappeared behind the Lucky 38's grey elevator doors.

Lucky 38 Penthouse

16:18 p.m.

The Lucky 38's penthouse was deathly quiet; Carter's footsteps were the only sound that echoed through the room as he strode across the metal balcony and down the stairs to the giant computer terminal that was the hub of the Lucky 38's mainframe. Even after disconnecting House from the mainframe, Carter had never liked coming up here. It was always so very quiet and disconcerting. Even with the people and lights of the Strip glittering below, the place had always felt so devoid of life. No other sounds could be heard, and he rarely brought any of his companions up here either. So perhaps, in a way, he had no one to blame but himself for the apprehension he felt upon entering the room, but even after getting rid of House and his rules, it had always felt strange to bring another being with him to the penthouse, even if it did creep him out a bit. This was a place where he could be alone. At least whenever he wanted to be. But now was not one of those times. Carter had never realized just how much he had come to rely on the constant presence of his peers until now, when they had all disappeared. Even Yes Man was gone, disabled while he upgraded or whatever else. As Carter looked up at the blank monitor, melancholy settled over him. He knew there were many things left to be done in the Wasteland, yet he had never felt so directionless.

Dressed in a (relatively) fresh white t-shirt, cargo pants, and boots, he settled in front of the terminal with arms stretched wide, content to just stand there for a while, and reflect on what Arcade had told him. Without the Followers, Freeside would destabilize far too quickly, threatening the Strip and the surrounding area. Carter would not let that happen. After all, it would be bad for business. Not to mention he couldn't just leave Arcade hanging. Still, he couldn't simply create doctors for the Fort. They had to be found somewhere. An unexpected beeping from the console drew Carter's attention to the screen. The giant monitor flashed white as Yes Man's familiar face appeared onscreen, the computer terminal humming to life, filling the penthouse with a low electronic hum.

"Oh, hi!" the AI called out to the courier. His voice and tone sounded largely unchanged.

"I take it your update's finished?" Carter queried, looking steadily up at the screen. Though he would never admit it, it was comforting to hear Yes Man's voice again.

"Yup! One hundred percent complete. And I also found a whole bunch of other neat information in Mr. House's databanks. Did you know he has a satellite network?"

"Can't say that I did."

"Well, you do now, and I can use it, too! I'm sure it'll be able to give us some neat new capabilities! Apparently, he used it to divert some of the bombs aimed at Vegas during the Great War!"

"That's fascinating and all, but it looks like we're gonna have a lot of work ahead of us with this whole independent Vegas thing. Do you know what House wanted to do with the Lucky 38? Or with the Strip as a whole?"

"Well, we've already done what he wanted: liberate Vegas from the Legion and the NCR so that Vegas could stand on its own. With the power from the Hoover Dam, we have the capability to supply even more power to the Strip and surrounding areas and control all the Securitrons! Isn't that neat?"

"Yeah…. real neat." Carter agreed. "You know, you don't seem all that different Yes Man. Did that update really change anything?"

"Well… for you, no. But if anyone else tries to use me, I'll be able to get pretty nasty with them. Even say some bad words. But you and I are pals! After all, I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you!"

That much, at least, was comforting.

"All right. Well, can you use those fancy satellites to see what's happening in the Mojave?"

"Sure! Once I get them all calibrated, that is! Should only take a couple more days! In the meantime, though, I can tell you all about what the Securitrons' audio recorders picked up from travelers on the Strip! It'll be fun!"

"Get to it, then." Carter ordered.

"Ok! Well, for starters, there have been a lot more people coming and going from the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside. With the NCR gone, the Followers are the only doctors around! We should probably help them if we want Freeside to remain peaceful."

"Yeah, Arcade told me all about it." Carter agreed. "Any suggestions?"

"Well, the Followers need two things: more doctors and a way to make more medicine. Do you know any good doctors?"

"A couple. But I don't know if they'd be willing to help. Or if they'd even make a difference."

"The more the merrier! Besides, if we don't help them, the Fort will probably be forced to close down soon. And that would be bad."

"Yeah….. maybe I can ask the King for help. As for drugs, I may have an idea."

"Great! Just let me know when you take care of all that, then, and we never have to talk about it again. Now, then. Outside of Freeside…. oh! Here's a good one! It seems the Fiends have taken over Camp McCarran!"

Carter snorted. "That was opportunistic. Surprised they got sober long enough to organize an attack."

Yes Man continued. "Apparently, there's an NCR survivor from the attack taking refuge at Gomorrah. He shouldn't be too hard to find."

"If he still dresses in their colors, you mean. Kings'll probably kill any NCR on sight now. And I can't exactly take a soft stance after what happened at the dam. Still, Fiends are troublesome bastards. Having them in McCarran's a little too close to the Strip for my liking."

"Well, you just let me know when you deal with them! I'm sure there's a way we could use McCarran for something cool!"

"Anything else?"

"You bet! A lot of travelers from the I-15 have seen what looks like Brotherhood of Steel members wandering around Helios One. A few have even been harassed or killed for carrying energy weapons."

Carter's face fell. "Ah, Hardin…."

Sometimes he wondered if he had made the right decision in helping to oust McNamara as the Brotherhood's Elder. Though he wished for them to prosper, their single-minded focus on controlling technology would eventually spell doom for them in their forays into the Wasteland. Veronica had told him as much before she left, but Carter had believed Hardin smart enough to adapt. Clearly, he had been wrong.

"I'll have to go talk to them."

"Sure! You just do that whenever you feel like it! Ok! Only two more things left! First of all, there've been some rumors floating around that the remains of the NCR troops are massing at Camp Golf! Some patrons at the Ultra-Luxe were overheard talking about it. Even if the NCR isn't there, it seems like something is happening in the area. And the second thing is reports from travelers near the outskirts of Vegas. There have been several accounts of some heavily armed bandits attacking travelers near the northern part of the I-15. Maybe you can do something about that!"

"Story of my fuckin life. Always doing shit for other people."

"Hey now, it's not so bad. And once all that stuff's taken care of, we'll be able to open up the Lucky 38 again! Isn't that great?"

Carter was taken aback. "Open up the casino? Was that House's plan all along?"

There was almost hesitation in Yes Man's voice."Well… eventually, sure. He was just waiting until Vegas was safe enough to do it! Now that you've gotten rid of the Legion and the NCR, all that's left is to make the area stable! Or at least as close to it as possible! Mr. House had all kinds of ideas for the grand reopening! But he wanted to be able to bring in as many people as possible."

"I'm starting to think I made a mistake killing that decrepit bastard. He probably could have done all this for me."

Yes Man, as usual, was much more optimistic.

"Hey now! We can do this! I'll get things set up here at the Casino, you just go out there and take care of those other things I told you about! It'll be great! But if you have other things to do, I understand. There's no rush; we have literally all the time in the world!"

"Yeah, until all the people I've screwed come to collect. The Legion and the NCR won't be content with just leaving the Mojave alone. They'll come back once they're done licking their wounds."

"Don't worry! We have the Securitron army!"

Carter gave a short laugh. "Yeah. I guess. Anything else going on in the Mojave?"

"Well, as you can imagine, killing Alice McLafferty and the Van Graffs has really slowed down the energy weapons trade. And trade overall. The Gun Runners are still doing fine, but most others are having difficulty getting items they need. Without leadership the Mojave branch of the Crimson Caravan Company may go under."

"So of course it's my job to save them."

"Well, the Crimson Caravan is still heavily tied to the NCR in the West. If you don't want to help them, you could also consider starting a new company altogether. You know, one that services the Mojave. That we control!"

Carter considered that. "It'll take some investment. And the leftovers from McLafferty's regime might not take too kindly to it, but the infrastructure's already in place. Seems almost easy compared to some of the other shit I've done out here. So I have to talk to Blake, too. Great."

"Also, If you don't mind my asking, should you REALLY be doing anything right now?"

Carter smirked. "I didn't know you cared, Yes Man. And I'm fine. Arcade did a hell of a job patching me up. Couldn't tell you why he's so modest." "Well, that's great! As long as you're feeling capable, feel free to get started anytime. I'll be here, making sure the casino is ready."

"Alright." Carter turned away. "Just don't fuck anything up."

"I'll do my best!" came the cheery voice as he strode away.

Lucky 38 Presidential Suite

16:21 p.m.

"There you are, boss. The doctor told me to come look for you."

Carter couldn't recall the last time he had heard Raul's voice. Ever since he had helped the ghoul with his very late-life crisis, he had mostly hung around the Lucky 38, fixing machines and maintaining weapons for the rest of them. He had even worked on Rex and ED-E after a few particularly rough expeditions.

"Yeah. I'm gonna need your help again, Raul. If you're feelin up to the Wasteland, that is."

"Sure, boss. It ain't like it would be hypocritical of me to get back out there after deciding to hang up my holster."

Carter had never liked Raul's sense of humor.

"Just get ready. I'll get you back to your tinkering soon enough."

"Whatever you say, boss." the ghoul acquiesced. "Oh and by the way, all your equipment's in your room good as new; it's almost like you didn't drag it all through a war zone four days ago."

"Thanks." Carter grunted, turning away from Raul to ready himself to enter the Mojave once again.

On the bed, his combat armor and Ranger helmet were nestled comfortably on the sheets. Carter didn't even need to examine them to know anything that had happened to them during the war had been fixed. Were he to compare them side-by-side to untested counterparts, he probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Such was Raul's skill at maintenance and repair. Beside his armor lay the All-American and 10 mm pistol he had carried to the dam that day, along with two grenades and his pack. Though he could have easily accessed the inventory on his Pip-Boy to know what was in there, Carter had always kept a mental note on what went into the weathered leather backpack: Several packages of ready-to-eat food, stimpaks, spare ammo, and water were the items he made sure to have in the bag at all times. In the wasteland, they were necessities. Aside from those, he also usually had some spare clothes, Med-X, Rad-X, and RadAway and his choice of melee weapon: a hatchet. All were useful, but only in certain situations. Still, being caught without them at the wrong time could spell doom for an unprepared wanderer. Whatever empty space was left in the pack became dedicated to whatever it was Carter picked up in the Wasteland. Priority went to extra food, water, and medicine, but the Courier tried to make it a point to grab anything useful. After all, one could never be too prepared. Removing his bandages and strapping the armor onto his chest and arms took longer than expected, due to the residual pain the Courier still felt from his wounds. He assumed he would be in pain for the next few days while his various wounds healed. Every movement brought some unexpected pain, but it was still a far cry from the pain he had been in during the battle. He could take it, but still he decided to forgo the ordeal of putting on the lower half of the armor, leaving on the pants and boots. At least for now.

After replenishing his supplies, the Courier began to paw through his wardrobe, looking for something he could wear over his armor. The Courier had accumulated a great deal of clothing in his travels, but almost nothing that could fit over the bulky armor. And walking around in it tended to give off the wrong impression, even if it had saved his life more than once. Suddenly, his fingers alighted on a rough, unfamiliar fabric. Pulling on the object, the Courier was taken aback as he drew a verdant, green poncho from the wardrobe, the piece of clothing almost untouched by age or decay. Carter didn't know where it had come from but he also didn't care. Perfect. the Courier thought as he pulled the thing over his head. It fit perfectly, hanging down to just about mid-thigh level on Carter's six-foot frame, almost completely obscuring a straight-on view of the armor. Along the border, some sort of strange tribal pattern framed the entirety of the cloak-like article. Here and there, small colorful designs akin to birds were visible. After adding a cowboy hat to his ensemble, and holstering his favored magnum 'Lucky' on his hip, Carter was once again prepared to traipse across the Wasteland. Admittedly, he wasn't thrilled about the prospect. Adjourning to the entrance area, he found Raul, too, was ready and waiting, his magnum dangling from his hip. At his side floated ED-E, a welcome sight after most of his compatriots had departed.

"Never thought I'd actually be happy to see a robot."

ED-E beeped happily in response.

"Gotta say, boss. I don't even recognize you. Thought you were just some guy."

"It's me, Raul. Don't worry."

"If you say so, boss. So where are we headed?"

"Gomorrah." Carter replied, pushing on a pair of sunglasses. "We've got work to do."

Author's note: Next chapter will have some sections from Cass's perspective, because I think it will work better that way for what I have in mind. And because I kinda wanna explore Cass's psyche.

Also, for those who don't know, Carter is now dressed similarly to 'The Man With No Name' (save for the combat armor underneath, of course; poncho's also a different design). Thought it would be in keeping with the Western motif of New Vegas. Plus dusters are overrated. If you don't know who 'the Man' is, Google him. Clint Eastwood portrayed him so you know he's a badass. Like the Courier.