The woman's head whipped around sharply at the sound of tires squealing. A pickup truck barreled toward her and her son through the narrow alleyway. The driver and passenger wore hockey masks over their faces, like something out of a cheap horror flick. The woman and the son rushed to get out of the way, but the truck's brakes squealed, lurching to a stop before putting them in danger of a collision. Before they could react, the hockey-masked goons were out of the truck. Two more materialized from the bed of the vehicle. The hair on the woman's arms stood up, and ice filled her veins.
"We're not here to hurt you, but we need some assistance," the driver of the truck said, his voice muffled from behind the mask. Dressed in a sharp checkered suit, he looked absurd in the deserted alleyway.
"I – I – I think you might have the wrong person," the woman stammered, pushing her son behind her.
The man reached into his waistband, revealing an ornately-designed, nickel-plated pistol. "No, we don't," he said. She could hear the grin in his voice without seeing it.
For a short while, everything sat in the precarious purple that demarcated the barrier between day and night. As the last sunlight was swept away by the velvety blue-black of darkness, the alleyway fell into true dusk. The neon lights of the Strip were too far away to reach this backwash of New Vegas. But this was no mere absence of light – an overwhelming silence penetrated the air. Most of the tourists had made their way into the city center by now, and those remaining wouldn't dare head down an abandoned alleyway to get there at this hour. And with the massive barrier between the city and the Mojave, not even wind gusts could sweep through and upset the stillness.
It was in this inky darkness and oppressive silence that the boy and the securitron arrived. The boy's small frame seemed impossibly small, juxtaposed by the hulking steel frame of the machine. A light on the securitron created an eerie cone of yellow in the dusk. The boy's quiet sniveling echoed loudly in the narrow alleyway.
"Please calm down sir, I am here to help," the securitron blared in a gruff monotone, causing the boy to cry even louder, "Where is your mother?"
The boy silently pointed to a dumpster. The securitron fixated its light on the dumpster and rolled over to it on its single treaded tire. It raised one of its noodle-like arms, clicking its three claws together. It clamped them around the handle on the dumpster and raised the lid. A loud crackle cut through the sound of the boy's sniffling, followed by a whoosh. Bolts of electricity radiated outward in a purple haze, completely encompassing the bulky securitron. The cartoonish police officer on the securitron's screen went fuzzy, then blank. Finally, the robot fell forward, awkwardly propped up by the dumpster.
The boy quickly ran over to the dumpster and peered inside. His face turned pale. He screamed as he heard the familiar screech of tires from the end of the alleyway. The pickup truck zoomed toward him in reverse, screeching to a stop just before reaching the dumpster. The two goons in the back jumped out and began shoving the machine onto the bed of the truck.
"Hurry it up, we don't have long," a voice yelled from the driver's seat.
"Boss, it's too heavy! We need some help," one of the goons grunted.
"Fuck, do I gotta' do everything myself?"
The man in the checkered suit emerged from the cabin of the truck and began shoving the securitron with the other two goons. With a loud groan and the earsplitting sound of metal screeching against metal, the trio managed to slide the machine onto the truck. The man in the checkered suit brushed himself off, smoothing his suit. The other two men scrambled onto the truck, unfolding a tarp. The man turned to the boy.
"Sorry kid," he said coldly, lighting a cigarette, "It's just business."
"Wait, you already have it?" Emily said giddily from the other side of the conference room.
"Oh yeah, baby," Benny replied, popping the cork from a bottle of champagne.
"But – but how?" she asked.
Benny laughed. "Like you said, you focus on the technical stuff. Me and the boys with guns will handle the violent side. Let's keep it that way for now."
"Fair enough," she replied, beaming, "Well, I cannot wait. Take me to it, and I can start hacking House's systems immediately."
"Woah, woah, woah," Benny said, raising his hands, "It has been way way too long since I've had anything happen worth celebrating, so let's celebrate tonight. You can have your way with the machine tomorrow."
"Benny, I realize that I live in the Strip, but I am here for business. Celebrating is not really my –"
"Nonsense," he interrupted, handing her a glass of champagne, "Think of it as a business meeting. If we're going to work together on our little project, we need to get to know each other."
Emily sheepishly accepted the glass. "Well, one night off can't hurt I guess."
Benny downed his glass in response. "Look, we're not gonna' celebrate in a conference room. You wanna' head down to the gaming floor?"
"Sure," Emily mumbled, sipping her glass, as Swank opened the door, "By the way, what did you do before this?"
"What do you mean?" Benny asked, as they made their way toward the elevator.
"Before this," she said, throwing her arms up, "Running the Tops."
"Well, you already know what," Benny replied, "I was in a nomadic tribe. Where did that come from?"
"You said that you wanted to get to know each other better, so I am doing that," Emily reasoned, "But, I know you were in a tribe. What was it like?"
Bodies of Boot Riders and bighorners were strewn across the ground where Maria's grenade launcher had torn limbs from torsos. Bingo's foot dug into his stomach, forcing bile from his mouth. Cloud's skull crunched. He turned Bingo's body over. The smile on his face. The same smile he felt creeping onto his own face from time to time. "That hunger for power – it's gonna kill you some day soon."
"Nothing too crazy. It was nice sleeping under the stars every night I guess. But gecko skin armor sure gets hot in the fuckin' desert," Benny laughed, quickly deflecting, "But you already know a lot about me 'cuz everyone knows about the Three Families. What about you?"
The elevators door slid closed behind Benny and Emily with a ding. "What would you like to know?" she asked.
"Well, first of all, how did you end up with an outfit like the Followers? No offense, but they have a little bit of a hippie vibe," he said.
She laughed. "Hippie vibe?"
The elevator dinged again, and the doors slid open to the Tops' hall of debauchery. They were buffeted with the sounds of whirring slots, screaming winners, and petulant losers. The pair walked to the bannister where Benny and Swank had their blowout only a few days earlier. "Eh, you know what I mean. Taking care of the poor is good and all, but they wanna' have resources split 'fairly' between everyone," he said, making air quotes with his fingers at the word fairly, "I mean they don't sound too different than the commies that started this whole goddamn mess."
"What's so wrong with wanting things to be fair?" she said defensively, "And what mess are you talking about?"
"The mess we're living in. The Great War. You guys sound like the Reds before they nuked the whole world. And look, I'm all for being fair, but the Followers of the Apocalypse want something unnatural. If you don't let people work their asses off for what they want, they'll start using guns instead of caps."
Emily ran her hand through her hair and sipped her champagne. "I didn't realize you wanted to have an ideological debate tonight," she chuckled, thinly veiling her irritation.
"We need more alcohol," he replied simply, walking down the stairs of the balcony.
"Where are you going?" she called out after him.
"VIP lounge," he answered, "You coming?"
Sitting in a dark corner of the casino behind pylons and velvet ropes, the pair browsed a drink menu. There was no music blaring through speakers in this room. A singer on the stage crooned about the Chairmen of yesterday.
Making camp for the night.
Must rest for the fight.
Of tomorrow.
Stars above our head.
Sand below us red.
The Mojave.
Wake in the morn'.
Allegiance we have sworn.
Boot Riders.
Boot Riders.
Boot Riders.
"So you seriously think that's what the war was about?" Emily asked, considerably more intoxicated than when the argument began.
"Yeah, of course I do!" Benny replied, holding a whiskey sans rocks, "The Americans wanted everyone to work hard and make their own way. The Reds thought that a stand-up guy who goes out, works himself to the bone, and creates an empire should make just as many caps as smalltime paper pusher!"
Emily laughed. "It was a war for power, Benny. Sure, they hid behind their ideologies, but nobody ends the world over an ideology. They end the world to get power. Some people are just monsters like that. And that's what the Followers are about – we don't want those people to ruin the world again. Yes, we believe that everyone should have food, water, and medicine, but our goal is to advance humanity, not an economic theory."
"Monsters lusting for power, huh?" Benny asked, "So why work with me then?"
"We have a deal is why," she replied, "But I don't take you for a monster, Benny, even if you're ambitious. But, while we're on the topic, why do you want to control New Vegas?"
Benny thought for a moment, "I want to unite the Mojave."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, right now, you've obviously got the NCR and Caesar trying to run things. But outside of them, there are tons of other little outfits: the Khans, the Powder Gangers, the Fiends, even the Brotherhood and the shut-ins at the airfield," he said.
"What's your point?" Emily asked.
"Well," Benny said, "I think if you get all those little outfits unified under one banner, then the Mojave would be able to hold its own. We could keep the NCR and the Legion out of here."
"How would you be able to get them all to unite?"
"The same way House got the Three Families to join up. Use the securitrons to parlay with the lesser factions. Bully them into joining up and Vegas becomes more powerful. Then, when we're even more powerful, parlay with bigger factions. You keep doing this until you leapfrog your way into a real fighting force."
"Do you really think you could keep a coalition together with the threat of force like that?" Emily asked skeptically.
"I honestly don't know," Benny shrugged, "But that's my working plan. Although, once I have an army of killer robots behind me, I might see the world differently."
"Fair enough," she replied, "Where did you learn about the old war and about capitalism and communism? As students of history, this is common knowledge among the Followers of the Apocalypse, but most other wastelanders are ignorant to the past."
Benny chuckled. "We have access to a lot of holotapes here. I know I'm just a tribal-turned-gangster to you, but if you want to stay ahead of your opponents, it helps to know a little bit about the world. How other people have fucked up or won big and all."
"Hmm, maybe you are more than a monster lusting for power," Emily laughed.
"I don't know about the monster part, but I won't argue with the lust," Benny winked, turning Emily's face bright red. "Waiter," Benny called out, flagging over a man with an apron, "Could we get two atomic cocktails?"
"Of course, Benny," he replied, jogging over to the bar.
"What's that?" Emily asked, quickly changing the subject.
"Oh, you've never had an atomic cocktail. Well, this will be a real treat. People on the Strip used to drink these while they watched atomic bomb tests out in the desert. There aren't many around these days," he explained. "Here they come," he said, handing her a drink from the waiter's tray.
The cocktail was housed in a cannister in remarkably good condition given its age. It was shaped like a missile and held a bright green liquid inside a glass cylinder. Etched on the cylinder was a logo shaped like a scientist's rendering of an atom with the words "atomic cocktail" scrawled in a neat font.
"To a new New Vegas," he said, raising his glass. Emily smiled brightly and returned the gesture, clinking her missile-shaped glass against Benny's. They both took long swigs.
"So, you want to talk about this more in my suite?" Benny asked.
"I think I'd like that," Emily replied.