UNSC Transcendent
March 10, 2282
"So tell me again, doc. How does this work?"
Philon could have sworn he heard the soft chuckle from the man standing next to his bed, as he glanced down at the metallic frame of his artificial hand. He had chosen to do away with the exterior plating that would have made his new hand look more like a…hand, instead sticking to the skeletal design that the doctor, who was named Luis Amundsen, had chosen for him.
"Well," the man replied, "you already know we installed a neural interface at the base of your neck."
A friendly tap to his nape sent an uncomfortable numbness shooting down his spine, quickly receding soon after.
"Yeah, but how does this work?" He asked again, gesturing to the artificial arm.
Amundsen tapped his head, explaining: "When I turn your neural interface on, it'll seem like you really have a real arm. Move your fingers, put it in your ear, clench your fist; every thought you have regarding your arm sends impulses to the interface. It translates it, modifies the impulses into code, thus moving your hand and arm."
The Courier nodded in understanding, the time he spent with Arcade paying dividends in his ability to comprehend the intricacies of science, biology and mechanics.
"Forgive me, but you don't seem all that bothered that you've lost an arm." Amundsen said, moving towards one of the cabinets in the Med Bay. "Losing a limb couldn't have been easy, I imagine."
"Well…" Philon began, his eyes misting over as he thought about his scientist friend. "Let's just say I found this place." He said with a knowing smirk. Indeed, he wasn't bothered at all about his lost limb, knowing that Arcade would have thought something up, especially with all there was in Big Mountain.
Hell, if Arcade couldn't help, the brains in the Big MT complex would. He figured they'd have something for cut off limbs, considering they took his brain and heart amongst other things out of his body.
"Right." The doctor said skeptically, stopping his attempt at reorganizing the different medicines he had in the cabinet as he paused to look at Philon with an expression of intrigue painted on his face.
"Now, Captain Garland's already told me things he spoke to you about. Things you know." The doctor began, turning his attention back to the cabinet. "You're going to have a few weeks' worth of soreness and pain shooting up your arm. Entirely normal I assure you. The best part is, after everything's been said and done, your new arm will feel like a real one, touch and all." He said, tapping his thigh as he did so.
The doctor looked at Philon, who remained silent as he took a seat in front of him.
"I've spent nearly ten years patching up soldiers, and I know an inquisitive face when I see one." He began. "Ask away."
Philon hesitated for a second, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he tried to verbalize the questions forming in his mind. Finally, he spoke: "What was it like?"
The doctor closed his eyes, his brown hair covering his eyes as the man lowered his head, taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes to look at him, Philon saw eyes that he normally would only see in the faces of men who have lost much in their lives; tired, but still willfully pushing on with their lives.
"I was with several of my friends when the Covenant came – I'm sure the Captains have discussed this with you. I was just finishing my dissertation to become a fully-fledged Doctor." Amundsen said with a smile. "A plasma grenade took my right leg off. Thankfully, all I need are my hands to be successful!"
Momentarily, the doctor adopted a look on grief as he silently lowered his head, removing the spectacles he had on.
"Imagine hearing casualty reports every day for as long as you've remembered." He said, wiping his glasses clean. "Casualties numbering in the millions each day. No matter what we've achieved as a species by then, things like that are always staggering to hear."
Amundsen raised his head, his eyes fixated deeply into Philon's own. "Mr. Hawke," he began, "I understand you're a leader. The Captain ensured I provide you with top of the line services after all."
Philon shook his head at the doctor's attempt at humor, before he nodded in affirmative to the man.
The doctor leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he spoke in a hushed voice.
"Then, don't squander this opportunity that we're giving you by teaching your followers false morals and ideologies. The only ideology you should allow and teach is the ideology of a united humanity." He said a begging edge in his voice.
"You have an opportunity to fix whatever's happened on this Earth. If you have to fight, fight under the pretense of uniting humanity to propel it forwards. Don't ever fight for petty disillusioned beliefs like race, religion…there are bigger opponents that humans have."
Amundsen stood up abruptly, walking away from Philon with a limp that he only noticed then.
The Courier nodded behind the man's back, agreeing with his words as he felt his artificial arm come to life.
He pondered the doctor's words as he clenched his new fist.
New Vegas, Camp Golf
March 16, 2282
In the days following the bombing of Camp McCarran and the New Vegas Jail (which was the old NCR Correctional Facility), the UNSC had transferred the displaced army from Camp McCarran onto Camp Golf which, although not a perfectly good place for a military base, was the most ideal location to place the otherwise homeless army of New Vegas. Built more as a resort than an actual Military Camp from before the bombs fell, Philon's first time exploring the area had him laughing at the small number of NCR troops on site. Considering that it was supposed to be a 'frontline' of the NCR's war against Cesar's Legion, the amount of soldiers in the area were far too small to form a credible force against the bigger number of troops Caesar had.
Which was why Camp Golf as it was now was shocking beyond belief to Philon as he stepped off the Pelican that had brought him down from the Strip. It had been days since he had penned the agreement between the UNSC and the ISNV, and so far, the UNSC were keeping their promises. He had been able to talk to General Powers (a grizzled old NCR Army defector), who he had personally assigned to command New Vegas' one and only brigade, and from his reports, the UNSC had really established Camp Golf into a respectable fortress.
He had no idea how respectable Powers was saying the Camp would be.
The UNSC had gone all out in fortifying the place, turning it into a real military Camp. In light of their agreement, he noticed obstacle courses spread around in what used to be 'tent alley,' as he had called it. Pits of mud with barbed wire spread out on top of it decorated one area, while monkey bars, ropes arranged in different ways, and thin planks decorated another; in short, it was a training ground that promised pain to whoever was daring enough to test it.
A fence had been set up, surrounding an acre of land all around the Camp with one entrance at the road leading up to Camp Golf, and another just behind the main building.
New Vegas soldiers were posted at these entrances, sporting assault rifles and the army's standard issue pistols. Foxholes had been dug into the ground, where several of the New Vegas Army turrets were set up in. Sniper nests had been put up on the main building's roof, and several towers made out of what appeared to be wood cut from fallen tree trunks adorned the site, providing shelter for anyone unlucky enough to find themselves in guard duty.
Only a few UNSC personnel were on site, with most of them gathered around the three Pelicans parked just outside the main building. A large metallic container had been placed not far from the Pelicans, in what Philon could only assume as the UNSC's current base, with the officer's Captain Garland had promised to train his men were located in. What seemed like small satellite dishes and antennas adorned the top of it, with the tips of some blinking in a red light.
He walked towards it, giving the crew of the Pelican a quick thanks as the new Pipboy attached to his artificial arm for everyone to see (and so was his new arm) glinted in the sun. Several soldiers of New Vegas saluted him as he walked by, salutes he returned in earnest to the men and women greeting him.
The small metal building had an automated door, opening up as soon as Philon had walked up close to it.
A large conference table sat in the middle of the room, stacks of paper on top of it. UNSC Officers, dressed in their usual black fatigues, could be seen in every corner of the room, with some manning computer terminals and other manning what seemed to be communication hubs. General Powers sat at the far end of the table, opposite a UNSC Officer and beside the man Philon was there for.
Wells.
His face still held onto the mask of seriousness he had always utilized to great effect. The old man's gruff beard was as thick as he last remembered it to be.
The UNSC Officer opposite General Powers was the first to take notice of him, screaming out a quick 'Attention!' prompting personnel from both the UNSC and ISNV Army to stand from their seats in attention.
"At ease." Philon simply replied with a shy smile, shaking hands with the officer who had screamed for attention.
"Sir, I'm Colonel Addar, 21st UNSC Marine Regiment."
"Mr. Hawke." General Powers greeted him.
He nodded to them both, shaking their hands as he nudged his head towards the table. "What have you got for me gentlemen?"
"Well, we were actually just finishing up with a workable timetable to train the troops." Powers said, moving behind Philon as he moved closer to the table. "We've discussed the possibility of opening a proper Military Academy, get proper officers not chosen from the pool of NCOs that we currently have."
"And?" Philon asked, egging the General to go on.
"Well," Powers began, "the army's too small number wise. It'd be useless to have a surplus of officers without a fighting force. Good news is, considering how rich New Vegas is in willing people; we shouldn't have a problem with a concerted recruitment drive."
"Not until we have enough money." Philon said in a low voice.
Addar had heard him, coughing slightly as he smiled cheekily. "Well, it's a good thing that in a few months you'll be an economic powerhouse."
Philon smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "We'll see."
He pursed his lips for a moment, observing how the men and women around him worked quietly. Finally, he turned to Addar, nodding his head to Wells. "Might I borrow him for a moment?" he asked.
Addar nodded, prompting Philon and the old man, who was quick to notice his new arm, walk out of the building, walking quite a distance away as a light breeze swept across the land.
The man simply raised a curious brow at the Courier, who had turned around to face him.
"What?" Wells asked.
Philon smiled at him, pulling out an envelope from his trench coat.
"I've officially traced out the ISNV's borders." He handed the envelope to the Rogue, putting his hands in his pockets as he stared out at the landscape. "Won't really be accepted until we have a civil government. I finalized the borders so that we could start a census office already; get civilians to register, get ready for an election."
"Are you serious?" Wells asked, surprise creeping up in his voice.
Philon mockingly looked hurt, placing a hand to his chest.
"You really didn't think I wanted to be in power forever did you? Has Cassidy ever told you about that time I-"
"Killed a 200 year old mummy, yes the girl told me." Wells firmly said, envelope still clutched in his hand. He spat on the ground, adjusting the worn cowboy hat he had on. "But, are you sure about this? Elections are a big thing."
Philon nodded, patting the man in the back for assurance. "I am. I figured it was time. What with the UNSC and all."
Wells pursed his lips, taking off his hat as he closed his arms around Philon. "Look, now I don't yer crazy at all. But are you sure we can rust these fellers? Half of them look scared staring at old Brahmin pairs fucking like it was a full moon. The other half I have no doubt can kill me and every critter out there."
"Trust issues?" Philon asked, a smile on his face.
"I don't trust any feller who could shoot you right between the eyes."
"So you don't trust me?"
"Only as far as I can spit, and I only really do because of Cassidy."
Wells looked down at the envelope in his hands, the New Vegas seal, (a double headed eagle with four spears spread out on either side of it, with the words 'Ubi Concordia, Ibi Victoria' written at the bottom of it) plastered on the top.
"Looks fancy." He commented.
"Had some help from Arcade." Philon answered.
"That old cranky feller? Surprised the bug hasn't died yet." Wells dryly commented. "You nearly set Cassidy loose on me when you just disappeared with them UNSC folks. Glad they're friendly." He said, before nodding his head to Philon's new arm. "They gave you a shiny new toy too. What? NCR carve out your ass?"
Philon laughed, flexing the new hand. "I kind of like it. I can punch you a new asshole if you like."
Wells laughed, grabbing Philon's new hand into a tight handshake. "I'm just glad you're okay boy." He said. "Now, when are you visiting Cassidy? And, what do you need me to do about this election?"
Philon looked seriously at him, biting his lip as the man held an internal debate about the next few words to leave his mouth.
Finally, he answered.
"I need you to organize the Rogues into a counter-espionage outfit."
"What?" Wells said in a mixture of shock and confusion.
Philon laughed lightly, patting him on the back.
He kicked a small rock away, watching as a cloud of dust mushroomed into the air.
"I'm…making this new group. People to work in the shadows. To protect us from threats we don't know about." He said, looking down at the envelope in Wells' hands. "Read that, then burn it. Give me your answer when boot camp starts."
"But…but why?" Powers asked.
"They bombed us, Wells." Philon began, staring into the man's eyes. "They bombed us, hit us where it hurt and we didn't even see it coming. They used drugs as an excuse to drag me out. New Vegas needs a shield. People to do the dirty work under the scenes; work to keep it safe."
The Courier glanced down, a sigh escaping from his lips. "I can't do this alone. I might have during Hoover Dam but…our enemies didn't play dirty then, they won't now. The Rogues, good as they are, they can't do it acting alone. And I want you to lead them."
Wells nodded, unsure of what else to say.
"Glad you agree." Philon simply said, smiling.
Wells watched as he walked away with a smile. "Give my regards to Colonel Addar...and Major Boone! Change is coming, friend!"
Wells looked down at the envelope, tearing it open as Philon boarded a Pelican. The paper was unlike anything he had ever touched in his life; it was very different from the yellowed paper that the NCR used, or the paper from old pre-war books that barely anybody ever made.
He opened it, glancing down at the official and typewritten text.
NEVICENT
New Vegas Intelligence Center
April 4, 2282
Early mornings in the Strip and Freeside (which had finally seen better days with the amount of cleanup crews the Courier had sent out) usually just involved a hearty breakfast for those who could afford it and the beginning of yet another painful day for others who couldn't. Routines in the Strip hadn't much changed; getting out of hotel beds to have an early morning go at the casinos still brought in heaps of cash into the Hotel owners (and to the ISNV).
But today's morning was different. There was a different vibe; a different energy in the air that made even the toughest of the Kings pause in their step as they looked around them, unsure of what was occurring. It wasn't the presence of actual, working military vehicles scattered around the strip, with black armored troops guarding them. It wasn't the Vertibird like planes parked on the roofs of abandoned buildings, or the missing barrier that divided the Strip and Freeside. No, all of those had become the norm for many of New Vegas.
Everyone had heard about the UNSC by now, and everyone had heard about the ISNV closing down its borders from those wishing to leave and enter New Vegas (one had to get papers from a 'Department of Border Security and Control'). News of factories being restarted out in the wastes, while shocking, had quickly become an accepted fact of life for many, as the factories literally employed several hundred thousand of previously unemployed individuals.
People enjoyed freedom and safety now; gangs like the Vipers, the Great Khans, or Raider groups had all been publicly wiped out by the Courier and the UNSC. Eyewitnesses, unreliable already due to their habits of stretching stories, had become mumbling messes as they tried to convey what they had seen. Recurring themes of battles being one-sided and of gangs being slaughtered in droves scared most people aspiring of joining such groups into silence.
The lack of gangs to join pushed people into working at the new factories, and those who came home from a day's worth of work almost always came back with smiles on their faces, with some commenting on seeing a 'brighter future' for New Vegas.
No, it wasn't those changes to New Vegas that people found to be what was new to their Early Mornings. It was not until men wearing blue uniforms started walking the streets did the people realize what was new this time in their country.
Flags.
The main road leading up to the Strip had been remade, ('sometime last night' as some citizens would say), with a center island sitting in the middle of the street. Flags had been planted on it, with a sea of green grass and other flowers covering its base. Many looked in wonder at the magnificent view of greens and yellows at the base of the flag poles, having never seen something like it in their lives.
Some merely pointed at it, while others attempted to pick from the bundle of sunflowers plants, only stopped by the intervention of the men in blue. Some of them they had recognized as being their neighbors, employed by the Courier himself. They smiled at them, the same symbol on the flags stitched proudly on the breast of their uniforms; two horizontal black lines against a backdrop of grey, with the center having a symbol that most felt proud to look at, feeling that it was to be the symbol of the people of New Vegas. It resembled a bird, colored red with its wings spread proudly, pointing into the sky with the bottom part of it rounded to perfection.
Most in the future would call it a symbol of hope; most would just refer to it as the Starbird.
And as most of them would encounter that day, flags on most of the 'Government' owned buildings were proudly displayed, the winds giving a graceful look to the symbol as many looked on in wonder. Many had stopped momentarily to look at the flags, before smiling and walking away. Even people from UNSC had started treating them differently. Whereas before, the most anyone ever got from them was cold professionalism; as if their presence in New Vegas was simply a job.
Today though, the UNSC (boy scouts as most had started calling them) had treated them with empathy. Guards, doctors and other staff from clinics all around the wasteland had started smiling at them more warmly, with the many security personnel posted in the many different towns (even those posted just outside Jacobstown) had become friendlier to those they guarded. Although Martial Law was still in effect due to the bombings (with the NCR's involvement being kept secret to avoid public outcry), the people of New Vegas began feeling even safer with their friendlier watchers.
As the people of New Vegas would continue to celebrate their newfound glory and peace, guided under the watchful and empathetic eyes of the UNSC as well as the steady hand the Courier, a storm gathered to their east. In the months that would pass by, as New Vegas steadily increased its industry, building vehicles, housing, new factories, construction equipment and the new Deuterium Fusion Core that would power the entire country for decades to come, a Brotherhood watched.
A/N:
I might not be updating on an every day kind of frequency, as I'm replaying FO:NV, FO3 and FO4 to look into some of the choices the main character in each game might make that ties in best with the plot I've written up. Just to let you guys know.
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Jocson
