Chapter 10: Sybil's Stories

Eddie counted his shells as the rest of his gang prepared themselves for the attack. Tried as he might, he found it difficult to hide his shaking hands. The Ximenez siblings had never been strangers to violence. His career started when he planted one between the eyes of an unscrupulous Brahmin baron, causing him to take his little sister east to escape prosecution in the NCR. During their first trek, Vegas was still somewhat lawless, and the journey through Arizona and New Mexico was dangerous enough with the ascending Legion. Still, no one ever said Eddie couldn't figure out which battles he could or could not win. Until now.

Eddie had fought his way through Fort Wrath, easily regarded as the most hostile territory in the Texas Wastes, to end the life of a Raider Lord who had once suggested he exchange his sister to him for a position as a lieutenant in his gang. Killing him sent shockwaves throughout the raider gangs, making a name for Eddie while putting a target on his back. Gathering like-minded individuals, he forced himself and his little sister to become warriors to be reckoned with. Between them, they had killed two other Raider Lords and forced several rival gangs to disintegrate. If he ever so desired, Eddie was well positioned to take the title of Raider Lord himself, but he cared more about roaming freely than guarding the borders of turf.

Eddie was not an amateur. Eddie knew how to win fights. Eddie had killed people who were bigger, stronger, crueler, faster, wiser, younger, hungrier, or even more desperate than he was. Padre Hex, on the other hand, didn't seem motivated by a desire to prove himself or raise his standing or even take what others had. Padre Hex killed out of some twisted sense of obligation, not even out of cruelty. Violence to Hex was more than a means to an end as it was for the rest of the wasteland. It was a process to be followed with religious fervor. Eddie knew of a few folks, friends and mentors, who had gone south for one reason or another. He never saw any of them again. Secretly, a part of Eddie wondered if someone like Hex was capable of being killed.

"Hey," Ariel spoke up as she sat down beside Eddie, disassembling a submachine gun for maintenance. Eddie looked over his sister. She was ten years his junior, though equally as lethal. Most people looked at this small and pretty young woman and saw someone in over her head. They didn't realize she was a capable survivalist in her own right and one of the fastest draws in the Ximenez gang, who themselves were nearly legendary in their ability to outgun anyone else. Often she attempted, usually unsuccessfully, to prevent her older brother from sticking his nose into others business.

"…You doing OK?" Eddie asked.

"For someone who just got kidnapped and is about to fight for her life, I'm feeling pretty fine," Ariel answered.

"…I mean," Eddie whispered, "between you and your two bodyguards, you guys have the best chance at slipping out and saving yourselves," he said, earnestly.

"Well, what about you?" Ariel asked.

"I'm going to see if I can make the good Padre bleed and become the king of Mexico," Eddie grinned. "That's how it works, right?"

Ariel rolled her eyes. "If you're going to hog all the glory and whatever bounty that guy has for yourself, forget it. We work and we split, same as always."

"Right," Eddie laughed. "…Same as always."

"…I don't think I've ever heard of Padre Hex having a bounty," Ariel admitted.

"…He doesn't have one," Eddie answered. "No one would be crazy enough to collect it, let alone post one."

"…You don't think we can win?" Ariel asked.

"…It's going to be a tough fight," Eddie admitted.

"Well, we can always take a peek into the future, if you are so willing," Sybil interjected.

"Go straight to hell," Ariel replied, not even looking up.

Eddie looked at the self-styled mystic. Sybil had gained a habit of playing up flair for the dramatic effect, but her intuition or whatever she claimed to have tended to speak for itself. She was always a monster at poker, in any event.

"What's in it for you?" Eddie asked, reluctant.

"Peace of mind. If any of you are to survive, then that only bodes well for me. The Master has already guaranteed my survival, and he has never led me astray. Still, I do so worry about the rest of you," Sybil pleaded, relatively sincerely.

"…I'm not sure I trust your visions all that much. How do I know you aren't for a little creative editing," Eddie narrowed his eyes.

"Just a little peek to see what the future holds," Sybil replied. "Cross my heart."

"You still have one of those?" Ariel muttered.

Sybil smiled. "…Tell you what. I go for a little precognitive dive. I alone will see what the future holds. If it's something positive, I'll keep it a surprise. Fair?"

Eddie crossed his arms. "Can't you already see whatever is going to happen?"

"I can discover A future, not THE future," Sybil explained. "I can look into yours or sometimes mine, but I can't exactly predict the weather unless it involves you getting soaked."

"Fine, whatever," Ariel relented as she turned to face Sybil. "…If it'll shut you up, take a look."

Sybil's fingers wrapped around Ariel's temple, gently massaging the woman until she entered a lull. As Ariel's eyes rolled up into her head, Sybil closed hers and took a dive into the currents of time. She was curious to see how Eddie's beloved little sister would die and was tempted to skip the very end to witness the occasion herself. However, something else called her attention, and as it often did, curiosity got the better of her.

Ariel could make out her faint reflection in the window. Seeing her image superimposed over a sea of light and glamor was something dangerously close to sublime. She wondered if anyone down there could see her? This was probably the strangest time to get self-conscious.

She felt a hand stroke her hair while another cupped her breast, the rhythm steadily picking up. Pressing her head against the window, Ariel's thoughts were on her men, hoping that their leisure was worth their new commitments. It was the first good deal they had had in a while. She had told them that she was meeting their employer in his home for business reasons.

Right before her bubble burst, the bond was severed. Her employer spun her around and planted his lips on hers. An unconventional climax, but Ariel wasn't one for complaining considering the alternative.

The man drew back, gasping as he held onto her. "…Breather?" he suggested. Ariel nodded, and she was escorted back to the couch where they started. She sat down, stretched herself as her employer grabbed a towel to wipe them both down. When this had first been arranged, they came up with rules to keep things from getting complicated. No kissing, no skipping protection, no staying the night, no pet names, and no saying the dreaded "L" word. Currently, only that last rule managed to survive.

As her boss finished refreshing himself and passed the towel over to her, Ariel stole a glance at her partner. He had a well-toned body, hairy in the right places. He seemed scruffy, and the collection of healed over wounds told her plenty about his past, even if she hadn't already heard the stories. He was older, but not so much as he couldn't keep up with her gang. Or her.

"See anyone you know down there?" he joked as he looked for his boxers and jeans.

"Most of the boys are at Gomorrah or the Wrangler," Ariel recounted. "The ones who aren't are well-behaved, so I wouldn't worry too much about them."

"If you say so, you'd know them and I trust you," he replied. Coming to New Vegas was the best decision she had ever made in her career. She arrived right at a time when security was of the utmost importance. What started as a few easy caravan jobs soon turned to fending off some ambitious California raiders. This earned her the attention of the man in charge.

Ariel was never shy about using her looks to get people to underestimate her, she came off as younger looking than she actually was and could feign naivety for good measure, though things would only ever go as far as she would allow it. To the man's credit, he didn't even attempt to seduce or woo her. After a few bad rounds at the roulette table, Ariel was desperate enough for money to come to him for an offer. When he paid up front and declined her end of the deal, it became a matter of pride for her. A few months later and things had now gotten to the point where she was debating with herself as to whether or not to move in with him for convenience's sake.

"So, you were telling me about this "Fort Wrath?" the man spoke up after handing her a glass of water.

"It's this huge raider city where a bunch of the biggest gangs strangle the life out of the smaller ones and anyone passing through Texas," Ariel explained as she gulped down her drink. "Place has enough guns to raise several armies. My brother started a fight there once. Once," she stressed.

The man stroked the hair on his chin. "…By guns, are we just talking small arms and portable lasers or howitzers and flak cannons?" he asked.

Ariel stared at him. "…Why'd you ask?"

"Because I think they'll be getting guests soon, and I want to guess as to how hospitable they will be," he shrugged. "If the new neighbors get blown to pieces, fantastic, but if they don't have the right hardware, I'd at least want a crew to film the aftermath."

"What, you don't have anyone in the neighborhood who could follow them?" she asked.

He sighed. "Tempting as it is to peek on those bastards, we got enough concerns here. Once we get the first class of marshals ready, maybe."

"Forget those guys," Ariel dismissed the thought, "I'm talking bounty hunters. Guys who function outside of all those obnoxious regulations you and those cub scouts are drawing up."

The man gave her a stink eye. "If I wanted to slap badges on any dickhead with a gun, this town would have me on my ass before the month was out. I need people who can think and find reasons not to shoot someone. If the NCR could've figured that out years ago, they'd be calling the shots and I'd still be delivering packages."

Ariel laughed. Lars grinned in response. Even if she thought it was funny, it was still true. Now, he had to take the long way around nation building when all it would've taken from the NCR was smarter management on their end. Still, even he was permitted to have some fun every now and then.

The elevator door opened. Councilman Gannon hurried out of the elevator, flanked by the Boones. Lars glowered at them. "What did I say about knocking?" he groused as Ariel stood up, stretched, and leisurely strolled to her clothing.

"Lars, we just got word back from a prospector camp down south. Daleton has been completely destroyed, and no one is reporting any survivors," Natalie began. Ariel froze, feeling her throat tighten.

Lars cursed as he rose to his feet. "Did they have any word as to who did it? Did anyone take responsibility? Legion? Raiders?"

Gannon looked over the reports he had received. "…The whole town was burned to the ground, and one of the prospectors who got close reported that he could hear chanting in Spanish. Something like "Santa Sangre, Santa Sangre."

"…Holy Blood," Ariel whispered. "…He finally made his way up here," emotions welling up inside her.

"…Ariel?" Lars asked, concerned.

"…Padre Hex finally got here," Ariel snarled as she balled her fists. "And I'm going to finally kill him once and for all."

Sybil snapped back to reality as Ariel woke up from her trance. "…Well?" Ariel asked, "What did you see?"

"…You will live long enough into the future to make a living off your back," Sybil taunted.

Ariel leaped to her feet, ready to throw down with the lanky bitch. Someone had already beaten her to it, however. Eddie's knuckles struck across her cheek as his backhand cracked audibly. If Sybil was surprised by this outburst, she didn't show it. She merely wiped the trickle of blood from her mouth. "Did you predict that?" Eddie snarled.

"…You hit like my father," Sybil bluntly replied.

Ariel simply grabbed her weapon from the ground and stormed away from the psyker. "Ariel, wait!" Eddie called after her. He shot Sybil one last dirty look before heading off to calm his sister down. Sybil watched on, tempted to warn Eddie about the coming night. She eventually opted against it.

"So, yeah, the Greek pirates have had a blood feud going on with the Tunisian marauders since they realized the Mediterranean still had some value in it. Everything from fishing boats and yachts to cruise liners and cargo barges has been weaponized and thrown against the other over nautical turf. I don't find seawater agreeable, so don't expect a more detailed summary."

Vana nodded, understanding. Spectacle aside, elements like the Greek pirates and Romanian cultists were bit players in the overall quagmire that was Europe. Still, one could never learn enough. And there was still at least one more chapter she needed to hear before Desmond was finished.

"So, how are my two journeymen doing this fine evening?" Sybil announced as she approached.

"We aren't "yours," woman," Desmond snarked.

"Well, you don't belong to the Ximenez gang either, despite what you are having them believe," Sybil countered.

"Well, Eddie is an excellent employer," Vana mused aloud.

"Among other things," Sybil teased.

"…Adequate employer," Vana corrected. Sybil laughed. Vana, while disliking Sybil's abilities and habits, had eventually come to accept the uselessness of trying to hide things from her. She knew the only thing keeping her secrets safe was Sybil's disinterest, and Sybil did seem the type who was rather preoccupied with the raunchy and sordid.

"So, what do you want to see from me?" Vana asked. "Do you want to know about the bordello or the apprenticeship with Talon Company?"

"As… tantalizing as your life story is, I'm actually here to have a chat with your partner."

"Me?" Desmond began. "I'm flattered."

Sybil smiled. "Now, there's no need for exposition. I'm not here for dry information or your perspective on certain matters. I want to see something interesting."

"Well, by all means, have at it," Desmond bowed theatrically. "Not like I can stop you anyway."

"No fight?" Sybil asked. "No fun, but fair enough. You of all people should know there are some battles you cannot win…"

The desert sun bore down on the two operatives as they waited at the rendezvous. Dressed in the local garb and armed with the latest in covert weaponry, the soldier of the group checked the sun as the spy checked his watch.

"Twenty-six minutes late," the soldier muttered. The spy's words died on his lips, having been beaten to that point. "Should I get on the line with Kavya and tell her we'll be late?" he asked.

Desmond shook his head. "Not yet. Until we verify where Neil is, radio silence is the rule."

Jon snorted. "She's probably still at the hotel pool. Lazy bint. No point in bringing her along."

Desmond smirked. Jon Waylon was a high school dropout who joined the Australian military and volunteered for the SASR to fight the growing threat of piracy in Southeast Asia so he could impress bargirls. Kavya Vasudevan was the daughter of Indian expats who graduated from Cambridge with honors and joined MI6 afterward. They met during a joint operation in Romania, a bait and snare operation on a man named Zoran Kovalenko. Desmond got his target, despite the petty infighting amongst his team. Despite Desmond's advice, they continued to find ways to antagonize one another. Of course, that was before Kavya's parents were introduced to him and admonished her for associating with such a crass and belligerent individual. Since then, they both described their relationship as "frenemies with benefits."

This operation had been something of a pet project of Desmond's since joining MI6. With the superpowers of America and China on the wane, some in Her Majesties government saw the opportunity to "get the band back together." Canada, Australia, and India were involved in recreating a new British Empire to stabilize civilization after the two great nuclear powers of the planet fell. The biggest obstacle (other than centuries of historical grievances) was the Soviet Union, equally as ambitious even after being humbled by China. Just as Great Britain was looking to hold its allies together, so too was Russia. And with the capture of the mercenary commander, Desmond had finally found a window into the inner workings of some of the Soviets more underhanded dealings.

"Well, if he's going to be late, we may as well go find him and have some fun," Desmond suggested.

"You'd think being a spy would be more entertaining than this waiting game shit," Jon growled. "If I wanted to stand around with my dick in my hand, I'd have stayed with the regulars back in Sydney."

"Whereas Kavya and Neil never complain," Desmond replied. "Comes with being the analysts of the group while we tend to do the wetwork."

Jon snorted. "You'd think the geeks would want more excitement after signing up for fieldwork?"

Neil Genette was the hacker and codebreaker of their little international intelligence cell. The Canadian could pry apart most security systems a half hour after being introduced to it. Kavya double majored in psychology and political science, being something of a "people person." She oversaw Zoran's interrogation, goading and taunting him to reveal information that they were currently acting on now. Seeing Kavya at work also provided Desmond with what he suspected Jon witnessed when the two of them were "off the clock."

"We all have our own ideas of fun," Desmond offered.

Three hours later, they arrived at the top of a nearby hill. They both ducked down at the sight of two Ural trucks parked outside a quaint little hovel in the valley. Desmond broke out his binoculars, looking at the newcomers as he swore under his breath. Most of the men wore prisoner garb overlaid by the barest protective armor and tactical gear. They stood at a casually attentive stance, weapons drawn before them. Curiously, all of them seemed to be wearing respirator masks in addition to gas tanks on their backs. There was no doubt about it. The team had stumbled onto elements of the Soviet 66th Penal Shock Battalion. Markovich's dogs of war.

Two Kazakh civilians, a man, and a woman were shoved out of the home by a Russian. This one not dressed like the other soldiers, wearing a keffiyeh and less dated body armor. From near the shed, a man wearing an old-style gasmask pried a small child from his hiding place, dragging him towards the couple. As the couple begged and pleaded, Mr. Gasmask knelt down beside the child, pulled out his pistol, and held it to his head.

"Twisted motherfucker," Jon growled.

The couple tried to argue with the aggressor, only for Mr. Gasmask to fire his pistol in the air once, causing the civilians to jump. After a few moments of continued interrogation, Mr. Gasmask eventually lost patience and shot the child in the foot. This broke Neil's keepers, surrendering his hiding place. Mr. Gasmask shoved the wounded child into the arms of his weeping parents as his assistant and two of the soldiers stormed into the hovel. Desmond and Jon could imagine the sounds of the struggle as the soldiers fished out the Canadian agent inside, dragging him to his knees before Mr. Gasmask.

Jon was assembling his weapon. Desmond kept watching even as he took account of the wind. Neil tried arguing with Mr. Gasmask, who took all the Canadian's insults and curses in stride. When Neil petered out, Mr. Gasmask took his weapon and emptied the clip into the family. Jon had unfolded his tripod by the time Mr. Gasmask continued his interrogation. "Forget it, Jon. We can't save Neil from here," Desmond told him.

"Neil knew what he was getting into," Jon snarled. "I'm ending that son of a bitch."

Mr. Gasmask had pulled out a gas canister. Neil struggled harder then he had since his capture. As Mr. Gasmask began to pry his concoction free, a bullet tore into his shoulder.

This caused, appropriately enough, a chain reaction. Mr. Gasmask dropped his canister as he fell to the ground in pain. His lieutenant immediately activated a device in his palm. The demeanor of the soldiers altered, going from placid to aggressive in a manner of milliseconds. After an initial period of firing wildly into the air, they recognized where the shots had originated, focusing their fire at the top of the hill with expertly drilled precision. Neil, in the meantime, had been shot in the back by the lieutenant. In a show of bravado neither Jon nor Desmond expected he had, he grabbed the canister from the ground even as it billowed that poisonous looking smoke and hurled it towards the lieutenant, striking him in the middle of the chest as they slowly succumbed to whatever was in that canister.

The firefight lasted a little over six minutes. Jon and Desmond plugged the soldiers with shots that would have absolutely put other soldiers out of commission. They wasted little time climbing down the mountain, not knowing how far out reinforcements were. As they neared the bottom, they could see the remains of Neil and the lieutenant. Their bodies had withered away, skin clinging tightly to their bones even though it seemed to have no effect on their clothing. The Ruskies had been upping their chemical weapons research, never being ones afraid to fight dirty. The civilians had mercifully perished before inhaling its toxic fumes, having dissipated after a while though Neil had been left to die in agony. As Jon went to find a bucket, Desmond approached the lone survivor of the encounter. Mr. Gasmask.

It looked like his collarbone had been broken. Poor thing. As he struggled to his feet, Desmond leveled his weapon in front of him. "Mask off," he ordered. With his working arm, the man reluctantly unsealed his mask, dropping it to the floor as Desmond let out a humorless chuckle. "We meet at last, Markovich."

Markovich glared at him as Jon emptied the Ural's fuel into the bucket. Desmond had to bend more than a few rules to make this operation happen and break the rest. As such, there could be no evidence they had ever been here, save for one lone prisoner. Jon dutifully covered the bodies in fuel, setting a lighter to it as the hovel burned to the ground.

As they loaded their incapacitated prisoner onto the remaining Ural, after doing the standard bug and bomb check, Desmond got in the back as Jon offered to drive. "Now we tell Kavya and the others to meet at the place," Desmond told his escort. "Bring insurance as needed."

Jon nodded. The safehouse in Alexandria was one of MI6's favorite haunts, political tensions or not. Plus he'd never been to Egypt, so that was something to look forward to. Meanwhile, Desmond found himself sitting across from his adversary, looking less than grateful for that impromptu splint Desmond felt generous enough to fix him up with. "…So, how have you been, Aleks?" Desmond began, sounding insincerely friendly.

"…Lockheart, is it?" Markovich began. "…The other two agents you sent to me were very forthcoming about your identity." Desmond pushed the thoughts of Gansby and Reginald out of his head. "…And Zoran told us a lot about you," Desmond countered.

Markovich laughed. "I can imagine. I take it you are outsourcing help as I didn't have any information about you working with Aussies or Canucks."

Desmond smiled in the least friendly manner he could. "Now, now, little Aleks, let's just not worry about that yet. There'll be plenty of time for that when we are ready."

As Sybil pulled away, Desmond felt the strangest pang in his chest. Looking back at it, he remembered that that incident was the last time he ever took honest pride in something he worked on. No centuries-long grudges, no real politicking, not even any further compromised moral or ethical wetwork he had just grown accustomed to. For just this one time, at tremendous cost and sacrifice, he saw the good guys beat the bad ones. After that, everything went wrong.

"And here I was not taking you as a romantic," Sybil purred.

Desmond regained his composure. "Satisfied?" he asked. Sybil shrugged but nodded. "Good," and with that, he took Vana to prepare for the coming battle. Sybil couldn't blame him, for she had to do much of the same. As Sybil strode towards her tent, she watched the sun ebb below the horizon. It was only a matter of time until destiny would arrive.

She could hear the roar of the crowd as she looked upon the arena. From her box seat, the Coliseum of Fort Wrath would witness its greatest event. In the middle of the ring stood a proud warrior, clad in gilded armor and a bull-shaped helmet. In his hand was a make-shift cleaver the size of a man. The warrior looked up to Sybil, who beamed down towards him with pride. She sat beside the warrior's father, who looked down upon his son with great expectations.

The gate rose. The crowd grew silent. The lizard sprang out, claws at the ready as it charged the warrior. The warrior drew his weapon at the ready, prepared to hack off a limb if necessary. Unlikely, seeing as it wouldn't come to that.

The lizard had been starved for days, so hunger was the only thing at the forefront of its mind. Upon reaching the warrior, its hunger had been forgotten, as a sense of peace and obedience washed over it. It knelt before the warrior, and the crowd erupted into a massive cheer.

Sybil looked over to Caesar, grinning as he huffed in annoyance. "…Your training has been successful," he admitted.

"Praise be to the Master, and to the mighty Caesar," Sybil bowed in "respect."

"I'm surprised you leave out praising your womb," Caesar added. "Such a display in humility is so unlike you, O wise and benevolent Oracle."

"I cannot take credit for this, much as I may wish," Sybil admitted. "Now, the Master's dream has finally been realized. A new race of man, superior in all aspect to all who preceded. My next task is to oversee the breeding stock."

"Should not your "superior" offspring decide on the selection himself?" Caesar asked.

Sybil smiled. "Why, my dear Lanius, surely you've heard the expression "Mother knows best?"