Crassius watched as Vulpes made his way over to one of the Think Tanks. He told him that this one was Borous, but they all looked the same to him, except for the color of their brain dome. As they approached him, the praetorian made note that the bright green one was Borous.
Vulpes stepped ahead, and Crassius knew that he would have his usual warm smile ready to speak with the Think Tank.
"Have you come for a hello?" Borous asked, "Oh, I'll give you a hello; a hello unsurpassed in all creation!"
"I'm sure you will," Vulpes replied. A quick glance over told Crassius that Vulpes was in full charming mode, and if the bot had a hand, he'd give it a shake.
"The lobotomite animals are before me!" Borous continued, "What other terrifying terrors will plague us in our quest for knowledge? Communists? Communist animals, perhaps? Be warned: attempt to propaganda me, and I will shriek as a frightened babe, calling loyal cyberdog to my aid. Do you comprehend, commie animals?"
"Did you just call us animals?" Crassius frowned. He wasn't going to have any of this.
"Yes, animal," Borous replied, "hormones, pores, glands, all wrapped up in skin. Who knows what terrifying secrets lie beneath your epidermis? Scalpels shall tell us your secrets, even if we must cut deep for such knowledge. I was head of my biology class at American High, you know."
"Head of your biology class?" Vulpes asked, "That's rather impressive. Who are you, and what do you do here? You must be incredibly brilliant to have a place here."
Crassius nearly cringed at Vulpes' words. Did he have to kiss ass this much in his work?
"Before you is the brain of Dr. Borous," the bot replied, "Head of animology, beastology, and DNA scrambling technology here at Big Mt. I lay the bones and hearts of the animals bare beneath my searing gaze. Especially the dogs. I did so love dogs once, especially Gabe, that rascal."
"Tell me more about it," Vulpes said. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the nearby console, and Crassius wondered if that movement was precisely planned, or if it came naturally.
"There are many animals to shape," Borous replied, "industrious cazadores, the happy-go-lucky nightstalkers. They are my living, breathing DNA test tubes."
"You're responsible for cazadores?" Crassius asked. If so, this thing was evil at its heart.
"Indeed," Borous confirmed, "docile, curious, safe, sterile. They are contained here at Big Mt to preserve DNA, and for observation."
"Contained?" Crassius laughed, "Those things are all over the Mojave."
He lifted the bottom of his shirt to show Borous an old scar on his stomach.
"Here's a sting from one of them," he said.
Crassius remembered that time very well; the stinger slipped across his skin, and he narrowly missed being impaled. It was still enough venom to be laid up for days, wishing for death.
"No," Borous protested, "such creatures are only found here, for research purposes. They would be no more capable of escape than breeding."
"Oh, they breed alright," Vulpes snorted.
"I cannot expect a lobotomite to understand the careful surgical castrating procedures used in their creation. Perhaps a demonstration of my castrating power would settle your doubts."
Crassius wasn't going to test it, just in case. But he looked over and saw that Borous flipped the nasty switch in Vulpes' brain; there was the smirk, the haughty wrinkle of the nose that made it seem like Vulpes smelled something bad.
"Go ahead," Vulpes drawled, "you might even impregnate me somehow."
"Impregnate you?" Borous "What, do you want to make me vomit inside my tank? The mere notion makes the edges of my biomed gel crystalize into asymmetrical patterns."
"I don't think you have a good handle on your research," Vulpes concluded, "just saying."
"Nonsense!" Borous exclaimed, "That is what you speak! Nonsense from beyond. I was at the top of my class in American High. I knew facts, figures, data! We would know if our research was flawed, which it is not! We never contradict ourselves, so do not even try!"
Vulpes was pushing it, and Crassius didn't know how to stop the conversation from spiraling further out of control. Or, was this the plan to begin with? Had he been mistaken?
"Give me a fact," Vulpes smirked, "a single, concrete fact that has no flaws."
"Why are we even debating this?" Borous insisted, "What you ask is of null importance! Mobius besieges us, and there are more important things to worry about other than data and facts!"
With a shrug, Vulpes turned away.
"I'll leave you be," he nodded, "we'll talk later about facts."
"Until next time then," Borous called, "provided there is a next time for any of us."
As soon as they were far enough away, the praetorian gave Vulpes a glare.
"Well, that went well," he frowned.
Vulpes smirked and gave him a pat on the back.
"There's more to talk to," he said, "I'll behave with the rest, trust me."
Crassius shook his head and said that he was going to go spend time with Marcus. He'd leave Vulpes alone to do as he wished, and if this was messed up somehow, then it wouldn't be his fault.
Borous had nothing that Vulpes could go off of, so he couldn't help but goad him, especially after his comment about cazadores being safe and sterile. But Crassius was right; he had to focus on trying to win the rest of the Think Tank over. Vulpes looked around the room to figure out his next target.
Dr. O seemed to resent Klein, at least, just a little. Vulpes wanted to speak with him, in order to figure out what the cause of such grievance was. Perhaps, he could empathize, and get O on his side. From there, it could be easy to manipulate Klein, if enough of the Think Tank was against him.
Thus decided, he approached Dr. O. The bot said nothing to him, and he figured he ought to initiate the conversation.
"You're Dr. O, correct?" he nodded.
"O? Oh, yes," the bot drawled, "I'm not going to bother correcting you. At least you got the doctor part right. And I still can't believe Dala gave the big one that Robco Tech for his arm. Disgusting."
There were two things from that particular bit of conversation that he found interesting; the first, that he pronounced his name wrong, and the second the fact that he didn't like Robco.
"You have a problem with Robco?" Vulpes asked.
"Let's build a robot that will last for at least a thousand years," O spat, "it'll be way better than those geniuses at the Think Tank can think of. Forget Robert House and his stupid robots!"
It was about House. Apparently, they were rivals of sorts, long ago.
"I suppose I won't tell you what he's been up to, then," Vulpes chuckled.
"I don't care!" O replied, "Why would I? Ugh, I hope he died alone in a dingy room, streaming his last remaining bodily fluids into jars. And his dirty girl bots. Don't even get me started on those filthy biological catcher's mitts."
Vulpes let out a snort of laughter. Every man had a dirty secret, but this one was too much.
"You'll be happy to know that House is dead," he offered, "my wife took over New Vegas and shot him. When I saw him, he was a shriveled husk, streaming his last remaining bodily fluids into jars, just as you hoped."
"Good," O clipped.
"I did have a few questions –"
"Fine, ask," O interrupted.
Vulpes closed his eyes and exhaled. This was a test of patience.
"Do you have any other names?" he asked. That had to be something.
"Yeah," O replied, "I wasn't always O. I had to take that one by default because sometimes it's easier to accept the mistake as long as the purpose works. I really don't want to get into it; it's a sore topic with me. Really makes my gel ripple."
"You're sure?" Vulpes asked, "I'm a good listener. What happened?"
"Great, psychology," O drawled, "clearly the worst of the sciences, right after colosto-diarrhetics."
He paused for a moment then let out a sigh. It was strange, on a robot, but it reminded Vulpes that these bots were once human.
"I wasn't O," the doctor replied, "never was. It was circular, a single character, a digit, but not an O. But even with enhanced sensors, no one here could get it right. Always kept seeing the letter, not the number."
It was the heaviest hinting Vulpes encountered in a long time. He wondered if the doctor made it purposefully easy to guess.
"So, you're Doctor Zero?" Vulpes asked.
"Yes! I am Zero!" the doctor replied, "How hard is that?"
"So, would you like me to call you Zero, then?" Vulpes questioned, "My friend can call you Zero as well."
"Zero's my name," Zero replied, "I'm proud of it. It doesn't get the recognition it deserves. Truth be told, it doesn't matter that it's forgotten, just that their sensors didn't pick it up. It's similar but not the same."
"So just put a slash through the zero," Vulpes shrugged, "that's somewhat common."
"What?"
"It's standard termlink code to put a slash to distinguish the two," he deadpanned. The difference between zero and O was something that the Frumentarii were taught in their first lesson about terminal usage.
"Did I shoot myself with a brainial beam or something?" Zero mused, "That's brilliant! I mean, I would have come to the same conclusion eventually, but –"
There was a long pause, and the doctor's monitors went limp.
"Oh, who am I deceiving?" he sighed, "I would have never figured that out. I can't figure anything out. I'm useless."
Vulpes' intent was to manipulate, but now, he had a bit of a mess to clean up. It confirmed to him that at their core, these robots were humans. They had wants and desires, and longed to belong.
"So, is that what you want to be?" he asked.
"At least the last name was indisputable," Zero replied, "O is like, 'Oh! I stepped in something'."
Vulpes weighed the options. If he got Zero to stand up and declare his real name, he would give him a spark of independence. Helping the doctor figure this out, of course, would put him on his good side.
"Zero is quite powerful," Vulpes noted, "It reduces anything multiplied against it to zero."
"Well, of course it does," the doctor replied, "that's the most lethal of mathematics. That's pretty cool, really. Destroyer of numbers! I already wreck every robot I study; why not base it on arithmetic? I like your solution! With that kind of slash in the middle, I can set myself apart, if I wanted to. The biggest zero in all of Think Tank! They won't be able to escape it, that diagonal slash right down the middle."
"Slashagonal," Vulpes remarked.
"Great Isaac Asimov!" Zero shouted, "Did you just make up a word?"
"That I did," he nodded.
"It's brilliant!" Zero laughed, "and clever! And you – you should become one of us. Talking to you really unclogged some frustration. Talking; what a primitive form of thought-kicking."
"Not a problem," he replied, "I want to make sure that we get along, since we're working together. And I really do care."
No, he didn't.
With that, Vulpes left Zero to go on to his next target. He didn't really want to talk to 8, not after the sonjaculating incident. Still, he figured he'd better get to know them all.
He walked up to 8, noting how the bot turned toward him and made a bunch of static noises. It seemed to shrink away from him in fear.
"Can you understand me?" Vulpes asked.
There was a reply in the form of static.
"So, something must have happened with your voice module," he nodded.
Still, more static, and he found himself growing somewhat impatient.
"Is that a yes, or a no?" Vulpes asked.
This reply was different, but still, it was nothing more than static.
"Well, I'm certain you can understand me, and I want some answers," he frowned.
"Who are you?" he asked.
As 8 began to reply in a long wave of static, Vulpes sighed. This was going nowhere.
"Maybe I should have asked who you used to be."
There was more static, but he began to hear something in the static. There was a pattern, somehow.
"Tell me about these technologies," he nodded.
Vulpes listened carefully to the static. There was a definite pattern, and as the doctor continued to speak, he was able to decipher it.
"Hm," Vulpes frowned, "you're emitting characters in patterns of 8, bracketed, with tonal adjustment at the end."
There was more static, and 8 backed away in shock.
"My work has trained me to recognize and decipher patterns," he nodded, "and that pattern is familiar to me. I can't remember where I've seen it, though."
The pattern became more recognizable, until Vulpes was able to pick out occasional words. 8 was in the middle of explaining his speech patterns to him.
"Nice pun on the file header ref," he chuckled.
Vulpes listened as 8 told him exactly what his language was.
"So, your broadcast pattern is RobCo termlink, but not by choice," he noted.
There was a wave of static in confirmation.
"If that's RobCo termlink protocol, doesn't that mean it can be hacked?"
8 recoiled in terror, and Vulpes smirked. He could do something evil – very, very evil – and nobody would know or be able to stop him. But what would be the point it doing it? Dr. 8 was already in a living hell; nobody could understand him, or didn't bother to try. He supposed he ought to not do it, then.
"If that's termlink code," he sighed, "then don't worry. I'm not going to take advantage of your exposed code. I've done some terrible things in my life, but violating a free man's will will not be one of them."
8 told him that it was done without his consent, and that the person who changed his voice did so out of anger and spite. He never consented to such a thing, and never would have.
"Well, I know what it's like to be experimented on," Vulpes sneered, "and it's morally wrong."
He rolled his eyes as Dr. 8 replied. No, it wasn't necessary to cut open his head.
"Now that we know each other better," Vulpes nodded, "can you tell me more about the sonic emitter?"
8 told him that it was a lethal sonic death ray. It used sound waves to vibrate at a frequency that would destroy certain targets.
"Really? Interesting."
The bot seemed to like his interest in the sonic emitter, and told him about finding more codes for it to damage more types of enemies.
"So there's another emitter code out there?"
Two bits of static.
"There's two?" Vulpes asked, "I may have picked them up. I grab anything useful looking that's not nailed down."
8 chided him for taking things that weren't his.
"It's being resourceful," he frowned, "and what are two hundred year old skeletons going to do with it anyway?"
There was no reply, and Vulpes wondered what he could say next.
"So, when I first arrived and you sonjaculated into the sonic emitter –"
8 interrupted him to say how much fun it was, and that he made sure to do if often because it was better than mentats.
"Those are natural, healthy desires," Vulpes sighed, "but it should be kept private. Don't you remember that?"
8 didn't seem to care, and Vulpes supposed it wasn't his problem, then. He said a quick goodbye and walked away, pleased that he made two acquaintances of the Think Tank. Looking around, Vulpes realized that Dr. Dala was the next logical choice.
He approached her slowly, noting how her eye monitors swiveled ever so slightly to secretly watch him draw closer. By the time he crossed the room, she was facing him full on and completely dropped whatever she was working on.
"You are an unusual specimen to so boldly walk into the mighty expanse of the Think Tank," Dala marveled, "you are fearless and proud as teddy bear."
"Will you indulge me?" she asked, "speak a few words, toward the monitors, so I can record them for future study."
He didn't have to greet her, and didn't have to try to talk her into having a conversation. Vulpes figured he could give her what she wanted and began to recite some Ovid – probably butchering it all to hell – but doing as she asked in an extravagant way nonetheless.
"Yes, that will definitely do," Dala said, "And in such an ancient, scholarly language. You surprise me, scrawny bear."
"I can't help but notice your fascination with the human body," he smirked.
"What? Nonsense."
She jerked back in surprise and looked around, as if her colleagues would catch her at any second. Vulpes narrowed his eyes, stretched his arms over his head, and gave a mock yawn. Dala couldn't take her eye monitors off of him.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Vulpes removed his leather jacket and his body reacted immediately to the cold room.
"Stop it," Dala ordered, "why are you making me partake in this filthy formography?"
Smirking, he stretched his arms over his head once again, his loose pants falling down his hips to reveal part of his stomach.
"Enough!" the doctor hissed, "I am already intrigued. You have sufficiently percolated me. I don't know what it is about the biology of the lobotomites. It – it infects my thoughts; all that skin, and muscle, and tissue."
"Why don't you just give in?" Vulpes asked, "There's nothing wrong with looking at the human body. Humanity has always been obsessed with achieving a perfect standard of form, and has always studied the best ways to achieve it."
"Perhaps there is value in what you say," She admitted, "I – I did so enjoy breathing once, long ago."
"I could come back any time and just breathe for you," he remarked, "It's really no trouble for me."
"Would you? I feel so ashamed, yet so intrigued. You'll have to give me breaks in between visits, or else my gel might run over."
"Do you want to do one now?" he asked
"If you wouldn't mind," she replied, "just hold still, and let my monitors scan you."
He stood as Dala hovered around him, making soft humming noises. His breathing – his mere existence – was an obsession for her. The humming increased, and started coming out in short bursts, almost like panting.
"You like that, don't you?" Vulpes chuckled, his voice low.
"Yess," she hissed. Dala's voice was breathy, and it hit him that she was more than just turned on from their interaction.
Someone – something? – was getting off just looking at him. The thought sent a jolt of arousal down his spine. This interaction was turning him on.
"You're doing terrible things to my ego," he purred.
"You should be proud, scrawny bear," Dala whispered, "you should be proud."
The soft 'woowooing' intensified and he couldn't help but move. Vulpes stepped forward and gently placed his hands on either side of one of her eye monitors, and exhaled in a small pant. His breath fogged up the monitor, and Dala began to sputter as her body shuddered. It was definitely an orgasm, or at least, the Think Tank equivalent of one.
Vulpes backed away as Dala collected herself. He pondered for a moment if this constituted cheating; the only thing he did was breathe at the doctor. And he definitely didn't get naked or expose himself, nor did he gain any pleasure from the act – intrigued bulge in his pants notwithstanding.
There was a moment of silence before Dala hovered closer, one of her eye monitors hovering lower on his body. Vulpes backed away in defense; he drew the line at letting her examine 'that', because it would most definitely constitute cheating.
"That is your glove?" Dala asked.
Vulpes nodded, glad that he was wrong.
"There was hair in that glove," she continued, "the hair of a twenty-three year old female, who, until approximately two years ago, had heavy mentat usage. I tested a strand of it then tucked it back into its nest. That hair does not fit your description."
Mentats? Though it was part of her past, Vulpes wasn't keen on telling Six that she used to take them. He would, however, tell her age. This would please her.
"That is my wife's hair," he smiled, "it is kept there so that I keep a part of her with me everywhere I go."
"Your wife," Dala deadpanned, "you're married?"
"Not in a traditional sense," he replied, scratching his head. There was no ceremony. There was no paperwork, no taxes, no children, and no estate.
But when had a life bond between two people become such an institution? It must have been from the Old World. He liked to think of his marriage as a marriage of the purest form; their bond was what tied them, not the law.
"But you're attached?" Dala pushed.
"At the soul."
"Oh."
There was a long pause before the doctor continued.
"I-I would like to study bonded pairs," she stammered. It sounded insincere, but he let it slide. Dala opened up to him about her fetish, and that was not a small accomplishment.
"The other two males that came with me are a bonded pair," he said.
"I do see how the spotty red bear has relocated himself to be with the incapacitated one," she noted, "they certainly are a bonded pair. You're working to reanimate the one, yes?"
"That's the plan," Vulpes sighed.
Crassius came out of the room and made his way down the stairs toward them. From the look on his face alone, Vulpes could tell that there were no changes. He turned to Dala and gave her a small smile.
"We're going to have to get started early in the morning," he said, "So we're going to go back to the Sink and get some sleep."
Crassius kept walking, and Vulpes turned to catch up to him. He threw a quick goodnight over his shoulder.
"Goodnight, scrawny bear," Dala called.
The pair walked down the ramp and into the elevator. When it closed, Vulpes sighed and leaned against the wall in frustration.
"Why am I the scrawny one?"
"Because I'm clearly not," Crassius snorted.
"But, scrawny?"
"Does your wife think so?" Crassius countered.
No, she didn't. She loved everything about him, skinny limbs and all. The elevator opened at The Sink, and he stepped out into the room. Vulpes trudged into the bedroom, flipped on the radio in the hopes of some news from Vegas, and sat down to remove his boots.
Through the static, a voice came out of the old radio. It was familiar, and Vulpes knew instantly who it was.
"The Sierra Madre is always open for you," she said, "I hope that you've found what you were looking for, and that you and the woman you love are safe and happy. I'll always remember you doing what needed to be done, without prejudice."
"I hope you show others the same kindness that you showed me," she finished.
Vulpes sighed and turned the radio off.
"I'm a work in progress, Christine."
They had one more technology to retrieve in the morning, and hopefully, they'd be going home intact.
The night was uneventful, which made him grateful. They shared packed food, and Six worried about this person. She was barely able to hide her excitement that this man might know her, but also appeared nervous at this notion. He couldn't reassure her, and truthfully, didn't know how to. Lanius didn't know any pretty words, and certainly wouldn't fill her head with trite nonsense and platitudes about the situation.
Despite her worry, she slept soundly through the night with her head on his shoulder, leaving him to stare up at the cracks in the ceiling and wonder why she decided to be so close to him. Perhaps, she found some comfort in him. After a quick breakfast, they began to gear up to face the Divide.
Lanius watched as the Courier braided her long hair, her tiny, nubby fingers working their way through each section and winding it around the others. He was surprised to see no callouses on her hands, and wondered how this was possible; a typical courier would have many rough spots on their hands from their life on the road. Then again, two years of domestication and running the Mojave were sure to soften her up.
She wound the long braid around itself then used countless bobby pins to pin it to her head. With her hair up, the Courier looked even younger, and it reminded him of their stark age difference.
It gave Lanius the urge to check her weapons before they left the building, and the woman allowed him to do so without protest. He checked the slide on her golden pistol and saw that it was well oiled, and that all the moving parts appeared to be in order. He drew the machete at her side and tested its sharpness. Finding it satisfactory, he put the blade back and gave the belt it was secured to a firm tug. Next, he focused on the state of her armor. It appeared to be in a good state of repair, and he couldn't help but notice that it left very little to the imagination.
Not that he needed much imagination; he saw her naked before, with Vulpes. And she knew that he saw her naked, and didn't seem to mind. Rather, she acted like nothing happened; it was as if a switch was flipped and she was a different woman from the one he saw that day.
Lanius finished checking the Courier's equipment and bit back a chuckle when she stepped forward to check his in turn. She dragged a chair through the dust in front of him, hopped up, and began to examine his hair and pin it out of his face. It was less humorous when her breasts were on eye level and she gently raked her nails over his scalp. Lanius swallowed thickly as tingles ran from his head downward. She shouldn't caress him, especially not with the reaction it gave him.
"I'm fine," he insisted, and the Courier mercifully hopped down.
They made their way to the door and stepped back out into the Divide. The wind was weaker that day, the sun peeking out from a small hole in the clouds. Six stopped and looked at the device on her arm, then pointed in the direction of a series of crumbled buildings and a wall of cars.
"The compass points over there," she said.
The Courier skipped over to the pile of cars and tried to jump to see over, but it was much taller – taller than him, even.
"Come on," Six pouted, "boost me."
He didn't want to, but he had no excuse to not touch her. Lanius felt an intense connection to this woman; each time they touched, it was nothing short of electric. He wondered why this was, and briefly wondered if it was because of her connection to Vulpes.
But Lanius remembered the feisty, soot-covered woman that made him stand down from taking Hoover Dam. He remembered her strength of spirit as she defied the Legion and NCR both; Vegas belonged to her – to the people – and she would be the Mojave's guardian. This same strength forced him to his knees and made him plead for her mercy and forgiveness. Lanius remembered the oath he swore; he was her tool, to use and dispose of as she saw fit.
So he did as she asked and boosted her up to peer over the wall of cars, ignoring her tiny jump as his hands made contact with her hips.
Six felt it too.
Lanius swallowed thickly as her rear ended up in his face. He'd rather get castrated than to hurt Vulpes so deeply by touching his wife; he'd done enough terrible things to that man already.
"Nothing," she whispered, mercifully drawing him back to the present.
They looked for a way around and found one by climbing up a ramp created by the wall of a fallen building. Lanius heard a strange noise, grabbed the Courier, and dove to the side, just as a rocket blew past them.
Drawing his sword, he chastised himself for allowing them to become compromised with his lack of attention. As a feral Legionary ran after them with a machete, Lanius decapitated him and pressed onward, keeping himself low inside the building. Six followed behind him, her footsteps soundless.
While Ed-E flew around and shot at the soldiers, they made their way to the front of the building in hopes of finding the person with the rocket launcher. He stood on the roof of the building opposite them, peering through his scope at Ed-E.
"I can get him," Six whispered.
Lanius glanced at her nervously. If she missed this shot, then they would both be dead. Before he could tell her this, the Courier popped up and shot at the man with the rocket launcher. The enemy tumbled off the building, and Six shot him again, to make sure he stayed down. Her marksmanship was excellent.
They waited a moment and listened carefully to their surroundings. Without a sound or movement around them, Lanius figured it to be safe and stepped out from cover first. He made a quick sweep of the area, found nothing, and then came back to the Courier's hiding spot to tell her that it was clear.
Together, they approached the building across from them. The faded brass sign on the left of the door said that it was a missile base headquarters, and on the door was a hasty painting of an old world flag.
"Is this his sign?" Six wondered.
"Could be."
Lanius stepped forward and opened the door. A feral Legionary waited inside, and he was put down quickly. This wasn't good; if there were this many feral soldiers, then their commanders would likely be in a similar state. Lanius wouldn't be able to get them to stand down or request assistance.
He watched as Six entered the room on the right. As Ed-E unlocked a terminal, Lanius kept an eye on the Courier. She traded caps for stimpacks with the terminal, and then made her way back to him.
Motioning toward the hall, Six leaned in to whisper.
"Let me go first," she said, "you won't have room to swing your sword in the hall."
Lanius shook his head in defiance and entered the hallway before the Courier could step in front of him. There was another feral in there, half-dressed in NCR and Legion armor. With a quick thrust of his sword, Lanius killed him. He heard the Courier grumble behind him and he smirked, acting like he heard nothing. He wasn't going to let her in front of him.
The hallway wound around to an office with a safe. Lanius watched as Six picked the lock and shook his head; to have skills like those, he imagined the woman had to be of the distasteful sort before she was shot. And as he picked up a bottle of whiskey on the floor, Lanius supposed he was rather distasteful as well.
The safe popped open and Six stuffed everything of value in it into her bag. At the bottom was a sheet of paper. The Courier grinned and stuffed it into her coat pocket.
"Armory codes," she explained.
They left the building, and the Courier brought her arm up to look at the machine on her wrist once again.
"Detonator is over there," Six explained.
"How do you know that this is the right way?" he asked, as he followed her toward a locked gate.
The Courier tilted her head to the side as she jiggled a bobby pin into the lock. This one seemed to be a little more difficult for her, but with a little shimmy of her hands, it popped open like all the others.
"The compass tells me," she shrugged. The gate opened with a loud squeal.
"And how does the compass know?"
Six turned around to stare at him with wide eyes.
"I don't know," she admitted, "It'll update after I talk to someone, even. It just knows."
Lanius wasn't sure if the device on her arm truly knew, but he certainly didn't trust it any more than the ball of spiny scrap that floated beside them.
They made their way through the rubble of more collapsed buildings, taking out feral soldiers on their way. As soon as the pair entered a building, the Courier paused, looked at her wrist, then jumped side to side.
"Marker's moving," she beamed, "it's right above us."
Without a second thought, Six bounded up the stairs. Lanius cursed and chased after her, hoping that there were no enemies above. Fortunately, the sight that greeted him was an excited Courier holding what looked like an energy pistol. This had to be the detonator.
Six looked down at her wrist and out toward a pile of rubble. A warhead lay in the middle of it, presumably blocking their way forward.
"I'm afraid to shoot it," she whispered, motioning toward the warhead.
"You should be," Lanius nodded. This was the weapon that destroyed the world.
As Six pulled the trigger on the detonator, a red beam shot out, heating the warhead. Lanius stepped forward to cover her ears with his hands; it would be a loud explosion, and she didn't need to lose some of her hearing from it. The warhead glowed red, and Lanius knelt down to shield at least one of his ears from the blast by pressing the side of his head into her back. He heard her heart hammering in absolute terror of what she was doing, and a small whimper as the warhead grew brighter. The hovering bot pressed itself against his other ear, just before the warhead exploded in a ball of fire.
Even with his ears covered, it was loud. The shockwave from the explosion hit them with a blast of hot, gritty air, and the Courier held still in terror, her heartbeat much faster than before. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, however.
Lanius stood and stepped around to face the Courier. With trembling hands, she lowered the pistol and looked up at him in fear.
"Why is that explosion familiar?"
Arcade groaned as a high-pitched whine drew closer to his bedroom door. He tried ignoring the sound for what seemed like hours, but it was no use; he wouldn't be able to sleep through all that noise. Grumbling, the doctor swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his glasses, and flipped on the light on the nightstand. Arcade shuffled over to the bedroom door and threw it open.
There was nobody in the living room to his and Veronica's little suite, but the noise was louder out here. With each passing second, the doctor grew more irritated, until a shadow passed in front of the door that led to the hallway.
He stomped over to the door, jerking it open to reveal Veronica and a vacuum. She wore a light blue dress and tiny, ivory heels, and over that was a little, pink apron with frills. Flashing him a brilliant smile, the Scribe did a twirl and continued to roll the vacuum over the carpet.
"What in the hell are you doing?" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the machine's whine.
"Cleaning!" Veronica chirped.
"But it's so early –"
He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost eleven.
"Carry on," he sighed.
The Scribe beamed, turned off the machine, and removed a feather duster from the pocket of her apron. She attacked a nearby wall sconce with it, sending out clumps of two-hundred year old dust to fall onto the freshly cleaned carpet.
There was a ding from the elevator, and Graham emerged from the presidential suite.
"So, you're cleaning," he remarked, "and that's what all this noise is about."
"Yes! It's too dusty back here."
Graham nodded slowly in approval at her work.
"If only the Courier would get struck with similar urges," he snorted.
Arcade laughed as Veronica gave them a horrified look.
"I know," she admitted, "it's so awful in there. I imagine that every surface in that room is sticky or crusty – or both."
The doctor nodded solemnly. He didn't want to know the amount of bacteria crawling the walls in Six's room. It was never cleaned, and being busy wasn't much of an excuse when there was a laundry chute in the hallway that led to securitron cleaning services.
"You'd think that with how finicky Vulpes is," she continued, "that he'd clean it himself eventually."
Graham shook his head and chuckled.
"A Legion officer wouldn't be caught dead doing women's work," he said, "and you probably wouldn't want him to. He wouldn't know a mop from a toilet brush."
Veronica made a disgusted face then continued cleaning as she grumbled about Vulpes being the type that would make a gal sleep in the wet spot on the bed.
The elevator dinged again, and this time, Yes Man rolled out with a small entourage of securitrons with aprons tied around their bodies.
"Hello, darling!" he greeted, "Do you require assistance?"
Veronica gasped and skipped over to the robot.
"Oh, sir!" she swooned, "Sir is most generous!"
Yes Man grabbed her wrist and cleared his throat.
"Well, you're welcome, little lady," he replied, giving her a little twirl.
"And uh," Yes Man added, "I have some others on that situation in the Courier's room. Gonna have to have a little chat with her about that one. Of course, she'll stomp her foot at me, but I do know what's best."
Arcade watched as the bot rolled over to Graham.
"Need anything?" it asked.
"I have everything I could need," he replied.
"Want anything?"
There was a small chuckle as Graham put his hands in his pockets.
"The flesh always wants things," he said.
"But you're happy," Yes Man stated.
Graham nodded in agreement, and this made Arcade feel some small relief that such a tragic person found happiness.
"That's good," the bot said, "cause if dad's not happy, nobody's happy."
To this, Graham laughed and told them that he'd be in his room if they needed anything. Arcade knew that this was code for 'I've had my fill of people for now and would prefer to be left alone', and didn't pursue him for the conversation he suddenly craved. It was then that the bot turned its nosy screen toward him.
"Followers in Freeside would probably love to hear from you," it said, "after all, it has been a while."
Arcade shrugged, suddenly not in the mood to be social.
"Julie probably misses you," the bot insisted.
The doctor stared into the unblinking monitor in front of him and gave in. Truthfully, he didn't want to get showered and walk that far. But when Yes Man insisted, there was no room for argument.
Lanius attempted to clear his head, but it was difficult. The Courier found a nuclear explosion familiar. Where was she from, that she had seen something like this before? Given the small size of Hopeville, it could have been anywhere. The US government liked to hide their secret weapons in the most unlikely places.
More confusing was the amount of pity he felt for the woman. It must have been vexing to encounter things familiar, and not have an idea where they came from.
He gently directed her down the path they were supposed to go, keeping an eye on the surrounding areas for enemies. The Courier was too distracted to watch.
Rounding a corner, they came across another warhead in their path. Soldiers camped around it, completely oblivious to the visitors.
Six readied the detonator, and Lanius crouched behind her to cover her ears once again. The warhead glowed hot, then exploded, taking out the nearby enemies. Who lounged in the shade of a nuclear warhead anyway?
"Okay, that one was better," Six said. She exhaled deeply and clipped the detonator onto her belt.
They made their way forward to the newly created path, passing by burning wreckage. Corpses were strewn about, and Lanius approached one of the bodies. It looked familiar.
Nudging it over, he saw the markings of a centurion, his crested helm an obvious giveaway. The Courier gave him a questioning look, and Lanius turned his head away.
"Centurion," he frowned, "this is going to be dangerous."
Six nodded. They continued toward a rusted, half-collapsed bridge that groaned under their weight. When they reached the other side, the Courier stopped to look at the device on her arm, then pointed in the direction it told them to go.
They stood in front of a collapsed overpass tunnel. Dozens of feet of debris lay around it, making going around impossible. The only way forward was through the tunnel.
This didn't seem to bother the Courier, who stepped inside the dark cavern. Sighing, Lanius followed after her. By the time he caught up, the tunnel had grown dark and cramped. The robot behind them began to play a log as they descended further, but Lanius paid it no mind.
There was something off with this place. He looked around for signs of danger, but it was still – too still.
"I can't believe they'd approve that," Six grumbled, "I've met enough robots to know that they're more than just machines."
It beeped in reply ad bobbed up and down.
"Well I hope they got what was coming to them," she frowned, "that's wrong."
"Let's press on and stay quiet," Lanius interrupted, "we don't know what's in here."
The tunnel narrowed up ahead; Lanius went in first. He ducked into the drainage pipe, and saw a deathclaw on the far end of the cavern. His eyes darted to make sure the Courier was safe, and he drew his sword. When Lanius looked back, the deathclaw was bleeding out through a gash in its neck. His eyes couldn't be wrong; the creature was alive but a second ago.
There was something in here, something strong enough to kill a deathclaw outright. This place was dangerous.
Six sensed this as well and stayed close as they stepped out into the large cavern. Moisture dripped from the ceiling into muddy pools, each drop glistening in the light of a small lantern in the middle of the cavern.
Bones crunched under their feet as they stepped forward, the smell of death hanging heavy in the air. They paused in their trek, listened, and heard nothing apart from dripping water. As Lanius took another step, a bone snapped under his weight, and a nearby shadow darted away.
Something appeared to catch the Courier's eye, and she bent over to take a look. It was a pair of pants – NCR trooper uniform – that she quickly looted. From the pocket she withdrew a holotape, and didn't waste any time in inserting it into her pip-boy.
"It's orders," she whispered, showing him the letters on the screen.
"Read it to me," he told her.
There was no time for Lanius to read it himself; the shadows on the walls were moving. His focus on the cavern was so intense that barely registered the Courier's words. A group of NCR rangers were sent here to clear the caves out; he saw that much from the bones and tattered remains of NCR uniforms. To the side, he saw a hat of an experienced veteran ranger, along with other veteran uniforms.
"Expected little resistance," she finished.
Whatever was here finished off a detachment of experienced NCR rangers. These weren't ordinary creatures. He contemplated leaving the cavern, but the Courier walked up ahead to make her way through a crevasse that led to another room. Lanius followed her into the next area, his eyes quickly taking in another message that said the Courier could go home.
If one man made it through here, then Lanius was sure that he could. His issue, however, was in the fact that he had to look after the Courier. He hoped that she was tougher than she seemed.
Another shadow darted from a corner, and Lanius readied his sword for attack. When he glanced back in the direction that the shadow came from, he saw it.
It was a short, nimble looking creature with black, scaly skin, and glowing, white spikes on its arms. It crouched on a rock bathed in light from a crack in the cavern's ceiling. Its eyelid slid over a glowing eye to blink slowly. The long claws on its hands let Lanius know that this was indeed the creature that the NCR report described, and that its small stature had no bearing on its strength and viciousness.
They were out in the open with it; there was no way the creature couldn't see them, unless the light somehow impaired it.
Lanius didn't want to find out and quickly darted forward to behead it quickly. With it dead, he opted to examine the creature, in order to know what they were up against.
It had the head of a gecko, with pointed fringe, while its body more resembled that of a human. The scales on its hands and feet were white, each tipped with dangerous claws. Six cringed away from it and continued into the cavern.
She didn't make it far; more creatures burst up from the ground, causing her to shriek in terror. Lanius didn't wait, and ran forward to kill them before they could get to her. When they saw that he was coming for them, they changed priorities, both heading straight toward him.
The Blade of the East arced downward, cutting one in half. Other creatures erupted from the ground, charging toward them. He cut down two more before another narrowly scratched his arm. To his left, Six shot it, unloading an entire clip into its head, even after it was dead.
When the creatures were all gone, Lanius had blood dripping down one arm, and a terrified Courier clinging to the other.
"Have you ever seen something like that?" she whimpered.
"No," he replied. In all his years of fighting and traveling across the desert, he never saw a creature quite like these. They couldn't be natural.
"I'm scared," Six cried. The Courier clung pitifully to his arm, her grip growing increasingly tighter with each second.
"I need my arms to fight, woman," he sighed.
Six reluctantly let go and reloaded her pistol. When she was ready, they continued toward the end of the tunnel. Within a few steps, more creatures erupted from holes in the ground. Lanius charged forward to kill them; daylight was within sight, at the far end of the tunnel.
The sound of gunfire echoed throughout the cave, along with the sound of the robot's laser weapons and battle song. They made quick work of the creatures, and soon, the cave was silent. Lanius caught his breath and jumped as he heard a stray shot behind him. He turned in time to see one of the creatures fall within a foot of him.
The courier killed it before it had a chance to sneak up on him. Her aim was exceptional once again, killing it in a single shot without missing and accidentally hitting him.
They headed to the end of the cavern, toward the bright sun that beamed in through the overpass exit. As they walked, he felt a tiny hand slip around his back, and he soon found the Courier clinging to him once again.
Lanius put a hesitant hand on her shoulder and looked up at the sign to High Road, hoping that it meant better things ahead.