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Assozat: Good lord, man. You just see right through me... anyways, this also ran through my mind when I chose the name. "Rex." 'Shepard." (Repeat ad infinitum).
Houkou: Well, as I said in the ending notes of Entry 009, the Ranger was originally supposed to show up and effectively kick Rain's ass. It just sort of evolved from there, and I like how it turned out too. Thanks to that setup, I can also potentially bring the Nuka Break characters back into the story at some point later down the line for more fun. Not for a while, though, because they have to actually go through the events of the two seasons. I'm tempted to write a non-canon side story where Rain goes and gets involved in all of that...
WARNING: Rain shows a bit of that good old wasteland madness by the end of this chapter. There will be a secondary warning above the section where it begins.
011
"Hey everybody, Malcolm Holmes here again with Sunset Star Radio. You might want to sit down for this one, folks. Nipton has been wiped out. Early this morning, a trader who'd gone to inspect the town found it completely empty of life. He did, however find the bodies of a few Legionaires, along with a pair of torn up Bull flags and a fresh graveyard. The Legion aren't known to give a damn about burying the bodies of the people they kill, which means this may be the work of the 'Blue Lion' I've heard some NCR troops talking about. More on this story when we get a more official report from the NCR. For now, let's get you something to listen to. This one's for all those NCR boys out on the front lines, and the ones who had to come back home. Natasha Farrow's Calling to the Night."
The road east from Nipton was, without a doubt, one of the most annoying trap zones I'd seen. It was great for the enemy to set up ambushes, and I couldn't see some them without glaring into the sun. Add on top of that a makeshift mine field, and you had the hell Shepard and I went through to round the bend to Highway 95. Shepard proved adept at handling the terrain, managing to scale one of the cliffs and take down two raiders there while I dropped the last with a magazine's worth of 5.56 from my Varmint Rifle.
At the intersection of the Nipton Road and Highway 95 was an abandoned ranch, but whoever owned it had set up several defensive positions around the place. I'd already had my fill of land mines for the morning, so we moved on. A mile or two up the road from the 'Wolfhorn Ranch' as my Pip-Boy labeled it, Shepard started barking and growling, staring off to the east. I wasn't sure what scent he'd picked up, but I signalled him to stay quiet and lead the way. Thankfully, Shepard was trained well enough to fulfill both of those objectives, leading me up a hill before pressing himself into the dirt and baring his teeth at something below.
That 'something' was a Legion camp, flying the Bull flag high and proud. It was a recent construction, I'd say, just old enough to get the pikes set up. I wanted to go in loud, but stopped when I spotted the prisoners bound and gagged around the main fire. From the uniforms, they were Powder Gangers, which meant they had intel that might be useful. I'd get my info on Vulpes another day.
In twenty seconds, the four Legionaires in the camp were dead, and the Powder Gangers were looking around with wide eyes. I swept the rest of the camp, checking for stragglers, and Shepard kept the Powder Gangers paralyzed with fear with a few growls. I tore off the duct tape on one Powder Ganger's mouth and impatiently waited for his torrent of pained cursing to end.
"Hello there!" I said with fake cheer, "Now that you've stopped making long-dead sailors blush, I have two simple questions for you. Answer it truthfully, and I'll let you go free. Lie to me, and Shepard will make your death slow and painful."
As if rehearsed, my furry buddy let out a menacing growl, the wind picking up just in time to make his scarf wave like a pair of bloody tentacles.
"Oh-Okay, I'll talk. Just don't kill me!" The Powder Ganger babbled, the fear of me clear in his eyes... and the growing wet spot on his pants.
"Who is the Powder Gangers' leader, and where is he hiding?" I asked, glaring with enough intensity that dared the bastard to lie to me.
"S-Samuel Cooke. He's in Vault 19!"
"Thank you for your assistance," I smiled again, and in a flash I'd fired a bullet into the head of each Powder Ganger. Shepard thankfully took it in stride, but began sniffing the ground a moment later before looking east and barking. I waved him on, and the wolf-dog took off like a rocket, leading me to a screen door blocking off a cave entrance that was surrounded by Broc Flowers. A giant rat suddenly pressed its head up against the door, staring at me curiously, then flinched when it saw Shepard and retreated back into the cave.
"So you brought me here to get a snack?" I chuckled, giving my friend a scratch behind the ears, "Alright, go nuts, but keep away from any radioactive barrels you may find. Not that it wouldn't be awesome to have you mutate into a Dire Wolf, but let's just stick with the Rodents of Unusual Size for now."
I opened the door, and Shepard was on the prowl. It didn't take long for him to pin down a rat and tear the critter to shreds. That wasn't enough for Shepard, though. It quickly turned into a game for him, chasing down and killing the rats one by one. The behavior made me wonder if the wolf wasn't just a cat in disguise.
While he was off playing, I decided to scour the cave for anything useful on the upper path. I had to squeeze around a few toxic waste barrels and dance around some radioactive sludge, but I soon came out on a ledge that overlooked the largest section of the cave. Down below, Shepard was having a field day, the rodent bodies just piling up one after another. The glint of metal caught my eye further in, and I turned to investigate. It was the remains of a research lab, with a few first aid kits torn apart and a broken terminal tipped over on the floor. But those weren't what caught my eye. No, that honor rested with a very, very special piece of hardware.
"Madre di Dio," I breathed, carefully lifting the rifle from its resting place. It was a Varmint Rifle, but one unlike any other I'd ever seen. Instead of the wooden body, the unique rifle I held in my hands was crafted from lightweight matte black synthetic materials and stainless steel. It bore very little signs of stress or wear, save for the image of a Mole Rat's skull and sixty-nine tally marks scratched into the stock. It had already been fitted with a suppressor and night scope, leaving just one point to determine whether I'd be trading out my current Varmint Rifle. Holding my breath, I pulled on the bolt, watching as a live 5.56 round was ejected into the air. I released the bolt, and felt a surge of happiness rush through me when the bolt stayed where I'd left it. The rifle was perfect. A magnificent and rare find, no doubt about it. Just like Lucky back at Primm, but this rifle was one I wouldn't feel bad about putting to work.
Needs a name. Considering where it was, and what it was likely used for... I smirked as I saw Shepard pounce on another rat and nibble contentedly on its corpse. Ratslayer. Ratslayer will do nicely.
Once I'd finished adjusting the configuration of my 'active' gear, I whistled for Shepard and met him halfway to the door. We both may have picked up some rads in the 'Broc Flower Cave', but I felt it was well worth the price. Judging by the content look on Shepard's face, he felt the same way. Aside from a little stomach discomfort, I was otherwise okay. But then again, that may just have been the two century old food I'd eaten.
Wandering up the highway proved just as boring as walking the I-15, but the radio and Shepard's playful puppy-like antics made the trip more bearable. I didn't blame Shepard for his behavior. Much like me, he hadn't had much of a chance to run around and play when he was little, so now that he was free of the Legion, the wolf was making up for it and then some. We passed an NCR Outpost, Ranger Station Charlie, pausing only to give a friendly wave to the sentry on duty atop a stack of rusting trailers. The woman nodded warily in return, bringing my good mood down a notch in the process. That's the problem with the wasteland. No trust anywhere, no hope, and no happiness.
Part of the problem was just a lack of motivation all around. Sure, some groups like the NCR were trying to fix the Mojave as best they could, but they'd generally shown themselves to be incompetent. The lack of success meant a drop in morale, and a slow decline back into the Wasteland's previous state. Without some serious help, the NCR wouldn't be able to hold the Mojave for long even after they defeated the Legion. Even after that, introducing law to a culture that had thrived on chaos wouldn't go over well. Well, so long as they don't ask me to suppress any 'uprisings', I don't see a problem with helping the NCR out for now. They're certainly better than the alternatives.
Shepard gave me a soft whine, probably picking up on my emotions, and I paused to give him a reassuring scratch behind the ears.
"It's alright, boy. Just lost in thought."
As we walked on, a tall shape slowly came into sight. I couldn't help but laugh when I realized it was a giant T-Rex statue, covered in time-worn green paint. The open mouth of the statue caught my attention, and I slowly crouched down, taking a peek through Ratslayer's scope. Sure enough, there was a sniper in a red beret on duty there, thankfully looking in another direction. It would have ended awkwardly if he'd seen me taking aim, even with my finger off the trigger.
More details came into view the closer we came to the town. There was a two-story motel behind the dinosaur statue, enclosed in a chain-link fence topped by barbed wire. A little further to the west, I could make out several other houses and tents set up, with some caravan activity passing through. I saw the glint of a scope on the upper edge of my vision and rolled my eyes. Took him long enough to see me.
When we finally arrived, the first thing I noticed was the neon sign with over half of its letters dead. The end result was the name 'Novac', which my Pip-Boy decided was the name of the town when it tagged the area. The people of Novac seemed friendly enough, but there was one old man in particular, dressed in rags, who started speaking gibberish and passed out when he saw me. Judging by the lack of response from any of the town's residents, that type of thing was pretty common with him. Shepard was on high alert, practically glued to my side, and I didn't blame him. We were surrounded by unfamiliar people, and any one of them could be a possible threat. Don't get me wrong, I heavily doubted that anyone would be stupid enough to try and pull the trigger on me with how many weapons I was packing in open view, but it was better to air on the side of safety.
There was no indication of a 'no pets allowed' sign at the motel's front desk, so I didn't worry about leaving Shepard outside. The building inside was well-lit, but a bit plain and unwelcoming. I chuckled as I saw a trio of bright green plastic dinosaur toys lined up on the desk. The town had likely been a small tourist trap before the war, and its location made it a nice trade hub for anyone headed south towards Nipton or up to New Vegas. I had to resist another laugh as the radio on a nearby table ended its song and Malcolm came on with a short news update about Nipton. Apparently someone had found my work there and sent a message to Malcolm about it.
At last, the older woman behind the desk took notice of me and smiled.
"Well. Welcome to you! You look tired from the road. Why don't you relax a spell, let this fine town take care of you?"
"That was the plan," I laughed and started sorting through my makeshift pack, which was really just a burlap sack with some rope tied to it. When at last I found the caps I'd taken from my kills on the road, I looked back up and asked, "How much for a room?"
"Well... I'll give you a nice, flat rate. A hundred caps and you can stay as long as you like, at least until the busy season. Sound good?"
"Before I agree, what's your policy on pets?" I asked, "I didn't see a sign or anything, but I figured it's better to find out now."
"Well you can't have a Brahmin living with you," The woman chuckled, "But anything smaller's fine so long as they're trained."
After a minute of counting, I had the caps lined up and passed them over to the owner, who in turn gave me a key.
"You're up the stairs and first room on the left," She said, then paused and shook her head. "Oh, what am I doing? I got to thinking about making a good impression and plain forgot to tell you my name. I'm Jeannie May. I take care of folks here at the motel. Long as they aren't trouble makers."
"I'm Rain Nero," I replied, and watched as the woman's dull eyes lit up with shock and recognition.
"From the radio? You aren't pulling my leg, are ya?"
"Not at all. I'm surprised you even recognize the name. Malcolm's only mentioned me in passing, at least from when I was listening in on the road," I replied.
"Are you kidding? When the traders started talking about the station here in Novac, I was one of the first people listening. Radio New Vegas is fine and all, but they never play anything new. Oh, I can't believe I have a celebrity here at the Dino Dee-lite!"
Jeannie began giggling like a schoolgirl, making me wonder if I'd end up needing an adult during my stay in Novac. I decided rather quickly to change the subject, and noticed that Shepard was trying to stay out of sight of the woman, his teeth bared in a silent snarl. It was a quick and easy indicator that there was something shady going on with Jeannie May, which I'd have to deal with at some point soon.
"So, what is there of interest around here?" I quickly changed the topic, giving a subtle signal to Shepard so he would at least act naturally and avoid suspicion. Jeannie paused to think for a moment before speaking up.
"Well, there's Dinky, the town mascot. He's a sight. You probably already saw him when you came in, but you can go up inside, too. Up the road a ways to the west, there's REPCONN. That's the old rocket factory. There's been some sinister characters out there lately, so you may want to stay clear. Other than that, nothing to do but take it easy and enjoy good company. If you're looking for supplies, go see Cliff Briscoe at the Dino Bite Gift Shop, and tell him I sent you. I think he gets lonely standing around in that dino belly all day. He'll be glad for the company."
"What's going on at REPCONN?" I asked, a bit worried about people playing around with old tech that they probably shouldn't.
"I just know what I've heard. There's supposed to be some ghouls that went in a while back. Every so often there'll be a commotion from that direction - explosions and such."
Oh yeah, definitely a case of people playing with things they shouldn't.
"After I get settled in I'll go scout out REPCONN," I told Jeannie, "But is there anything else of interest in the area? Landmarks and so on?"
"Well, up north a ways you'll see a big tower. That's HELIOS One. Used to be a power plant in its day. And there's a town just east of here called Nelson. Used to be such a quaint little place until those slavers took it over. But we got our wonderful snipers keeping an eye in that direction, and so far the slavers have left us alone."
"Slavers... you mean the Legion?" I asked, frowning. If that town had been turned into a Legion stronghold, there was a very real chance that Vulpes had stopped in there after Nipton.
"Now as I said, don't worry about them. Manny and Boone'll be keeping an eye out." Jeannie seemed a bit uncomfortable talking about the Legion, so I dropped that line of discussion but marked it as another suspicious point about her. I didn't have anything more to discuss with Jeannie May, so I left the front desk after a polite farewell and headed up the stairs to check out my new temporary residence.
It certainly wasn't anything to write home about, but the queen-size bed was clean and the red carpet was only a little stained and worn. The room needed a good dusting and maybe a little polish to the wood, but it was serviceable and I didn't plan on spending too much time in there. Shepard immediately bounced up onto the couch next to the door and settled down for a quick nap, while I took a seat at the metal table on the other side of the room and started sorting out the gear I'd picked up on the road. I'd need to sell some of it to the caravans while they were around, since I wasn't sure how much I could trust Jeannie May not to try and steal from me while I was away from the town.
What started as sorting ended as a four hour cleaning session, but damn if I didn't make those guns shine. The main group of raiders along Highway 95, known as the Vipers, were a little better organized than the Jackals over on the I-15. As a result, they had slightly better gear, in slightly better condition. Now that more effective weapons were starting to fall into my lap, I figured it was time to change my 'loadout' as well. Joe Cobb's .357 revolver was one of the first things I removed since it always seemed a bit 'dark' to me. Maybe not having it around would help me avoid some of the less moral actions I'd performed with the weapon. As much as I loved it, my Ruger Mk III was also on the chopping block. The .22lr cartridge just didn't have the kind of power I needed, but I'd keep it if I didn't find any other suppressed handguns on the market in Novac. Maybe if I find a threaded Hi-Power in good condition I can swap out the barrels... I thought as I looked at the stainless steel pistol I'd retrieved from the Bison Steve Hotel safe. I knew for a fact that there were suppressors available for the N99 pistol, but I really didn't want to use it because of how bulky the gun was. That bulk would make it too awkward to use CQC with.
"What I wouldn't give for an M1911," I sighed, "You'd think they'd be common considering how popular they were pre-war, but no."
A lot of my main choices for firearms had gone missing somewhere during the last two centuries. There were some exceptions, such as the Single-Action Army revolver, but I hadn't seen hide nor hair of a Smith and Wesson Schofield (or as it was also known, the S&W Model 3). Hell, the only S&W gun I'd managed to find so far was a battered Model 29 .44 Magnum revolver on one of the Vipers. Sadly, that revolver was just slightly too heavy for me to aim with consistent accuracy, but I didn't have any such problems with my 1887 shotgun, which would fill the same combat role. While I couldn't use traditional CQC with it, I could very easily strap my old kitchen knife to it as a bayonet. Hell, with a longer strip of metal, I could probably turn the shotgun into an effective (if unbalanced) gun-sword hybrid!
One step at a time, Rain. I forced myself to calm down from the fantasy of slashing and shooting enemies in a squall of violence. There'd be plenty of time for crazy gun mods after ED-E had taken care of the key projects I'd set for him.
"Right, I'm just about done here," I commented to Shepard, who'd been watching me as I scratched the kanji for my name into the last of the guns. "Let's go find the caravans and see what they have."
Shepard was quick to follow as I left the room, locking it behind me. The sun was already starting to set, and I could see pack Brahmin resting on the ground at the abandoned gas station across the street from the motel. As I approached with my sack of guns, I heard the pair of merchants talking amongst themselves. One was an African-American man with a neat beard and a banana-yellow jumpsuit, while the other was Hispanic with a suit of high-quality ceramic combat armor. The only similarity between the two was their choice of hat, in this case a tan baseball cap with a pair of orange-tinted goggles resting above the brim.
"Still a shame about Wolfgang and the Good Doctor," The man in the jumpsuit sighed, "The road just feels empty without the chance of running into them."
"Lucky, my friend, I know all too well how you feel. Still, the Capital Wasteland has more need of their services these days than ours. And on that note," The Hispanic man turned to me with a charming smile and added a more theatrical flare to his voice. "Welcome, welcome! My name is Crow, and I travel the land, offering vestments of protection. And you are fortunate I found you in time! You bear the look of one who is haunted, but I am proud to say that my wares can protect you from even the cruel claws of death itself."
The African-American man rolled his eyes and turned to me, bringing his own sales pitch to the table.
"Excuse Crow here, he's still having some trouble reading people after all these years in the business. Obviously you're here for weaponry, both wicked and awesome. I'm Lucky Harrith, and I have the type of toys that dispense hot lead and death in a variety of flavors."
Crow opened his mouth to retort, but I cut it short by setting my bag of loot down in front of the merchants, making a loud thud against the folding table they'd set up. They shared a look, but I ignored the pair and began setting out my wares. Once the last gun touched the table, I stepped back and watched as Harrith picked up one of the Winchester rifles and looked over it with a practiced eye. His lips twitched upwards into a bigger smile when he spotted the kanji I'd carved into the stock.
"I've been seeing a lot of these 'marked' guns lately," Lucky admitted, "All of them are fine pieces or work, much better than the junk people usually try to pass off to me."
"I do my best with what I have to work with," I shrugged. "I'm looking for a replacement for that .22. I need something suppressed, but not a 10mm since they're too bulky."
"Oh? Why not put one on that HP? It's got enough length to it," Harrith turned and pulled a cylinder of black metal from his Brahmin, casually tossing it up in the air and catching it. The size of the suppressor seemed right, but there was still the problem that the barrel wasn't threaded for it. I unholstered my Hi-Power and Lucky smirked again, as if he was in on some big secret.
"Don't worry about the barrel. Just watch my hands," He said. I was a little twitchy about letting anyone else handle my gun, but if he had a way to fix the only problem I had with my Hi-Power, I was all for it. With a sigh, I dropped the magazine and ejected the round left in the chamber, then set my shining pistol on the table. Lucky picked it up and casually spun it on his finger, then tapped the end of the suppressor to the tip of the pistol's barrel, his hand passing in front of the gap so I couldn't actually see what he did. When Lucky set the gun back down, I immediately picked it back up and examined my modified weapon, checking for the slightest sign of foul play. I gently tugged on the suppressor to see if it was just a "socket" trick, but the cylinder was stuck tight. Confused, I unscrewed the suppressor and found that somehow this man had managed to thread the barrel in under a second without making any noise. It was a proper threading job too, no signs of misalignment or unnecessary scratches on the metal.
"How in the hell?" I wondered aloud, but Lucky's smile just made me file it away in Things Man Was Not Meant To Know.
"Now I can't reveal all of my tricks. But let's just say there's a lot of luck involved and leave it at that," Harrith answered, and looked back down at the weapons I'd offered. We haggled the payment for a few moments, before I relinquished a Winchester rifles and a few 10mm SMGs. Crow stepped forward with a smile, holding a leather chestplate that looked suspiciously similar to those worn by NCR troops, sans the two-headed bear symbol, red star, and text.
"I understand that you are one who prefers to blend into the background, striking from the shadows. While this normally keeps you out of the enemy's vision, it never hurts to have a little protection in case the spirits decide to play tricks on you," Crow said, tapping on the sandy tan leather and giving me a knowing look. Honestly, both merchants were starting to creep me out, but I couldn't deny that they had some things I could use. I silenced a growing sigh and prepared to haggle.
I parted ways with Crow and Lucky Harrith on friendly terms after a few more deals, managing to secure some additional 20 Gauge shells for my new shotgun and getting some spare leather to modify my gun belt. Night was beginning to fall when I finally finished of the trades I needed to make with some of the more normal caravan owners. Shepard was clearly beginning to tire out, judging by how many yawns he'd let loose in the last few minutes. Unfortunately, I couldn't go to bed yet. I still needed to check Cliff Briscoe's stock and finish ridding myself of the guns that the other traders hadn't wanted. As I walked into the Dino Dee-lite motel's yard, I caught sight of a man walking towards Dinky with a red beret atop his head and a scoped Winchester Model 70 hunting rifle on his back. He was a stern man, Caucasian, with a squareish jaw and a cold look in his brown eyes. If anything, he reminded me a lot of the actor Jason Statham, down to the short stubble adorning his face.
He took one look at me, another at Shepard, then frowned and kept moving without a word. I waited until after he'd entered the small door built into the side of Dinky's belly before following, hoping that was enough time for the sniper to get in position without risking another encounter. As I walked up to the door, it opened and the other sniper walked out. This one was a Hispanic man with a short mustache and thin chin strip, and unlike the other guy, he actually looked dressed for battle with his thick leather vest and bandoleer full of magazines.
"Hey, I saw you coming up the road. Dressed like that, you're NCR, right?" The man spoke, already proving himself more friendly than his counterpart.
"I do some work for them, but I'm not enlisted, no," I replied, taking a step back to avoid the smoke as the sniper lit up a cigarrette.
"Ah, yeah. I've heard about you from Andy. Name's Manny Vargas. I'm former 1st Recon myself, if you couldn't tell from the beret."
"I'm originally east coast," I admitted with a short laugh, "Still learning some of the finer details of the Mojave, so excuse me if I seem a little ignorant of the obvious."
"No shit," Manny nodded, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Well, the NCR's the closest thing you're going to find to a proper government around here. House likes to pretend New Vegas is civilized, but there's a lot of corruption up there. I would know, I grew up in North Vegas."
Shepard let out a grumpy bark, bringing Manny's attention to him.
"Wait, is that one of the Legion's dogs? Yeah... I'd recognize the breed anywhere. Just how in the hell did you keep it from biting your hand off?"
"Not sure if you've heard about Nipton or not... but I found him abandoned there along with his brothers. I just played to that abandonment a bit and the rest is history. Now Shepard has a bit of a grudge against the Legion and can sniff them out over a mile away," I explained, reaching down and giving my faithful companion a scratch behind the ears to sooth him.
"Damn. Must be useful to have around. Anyways, nice talking to you, but I've got to go get some sleep."
With that, Manny walked off and vanished into one of the motel rooms, leaving me in an empty yard. With a small shrug, I walked up the stairs and entered Cliff's shop, which looked to have originally been a gift shop at some point. Cliff, a balding African-American man, sat behind the counter, casually flipping through a copy of the 'Salesman Today' magazine. He looked up, saw me, and grinned before speaking in a deep voice,
"Welcome to the Dino Bite Gift Shop. My name's Cliff. If you're here for the t-rex figurines, you're just in time. There's still a few left."
There was the slightest tone of desperation in his voice, meaning that the toys likely weren't best-sellers. No surprise there, since they were useless besides bringing a bit of color to a room.
"Sure, I'll take three," I shrugged, and choked back a laugh when Cliff got out of his seat and fist-pumped triumphantly. The plastic toys and a few caps quickly changed hands, and I decided that I rather liked Cliff. He seemed like a genuinely good person, which was a rare find. Even Jeannie May, who seemed like a nice lady, had connections to the Legion, but Shepard had no problems with Cliff. In fact, he even pulled the playful puppy routine for an extra belly rub while Cliff and I talked.
"So you're tracking some of those Legion fella's, huh? Nasty business, but I guess somebody has to do it," Cliff nodded in understanding, "Afraid I haven't seen any of them pass through lately, or Manny and Boone would've raised a ruckus. They've got a big camp over in Nelson, but I wouldn't recommend going there."
"Hm. What can you tell me about REPCONN?" I asked, looking through the ammunition boxes Cliff had brought out for me to browse.
"Oh, that? It's just a bit west of Novac, up in the mountains. Lots of broken equipment and such. Place is deserted. Or used to be, I guess. Lately there's been talk of ghouls up that way, but I can't rightly say whether it's so or not. If you want to know more, ask old No-bark."
I laughed and shook my head as I set out a few extra shells of 20-gauge buckshot.
"Problem is he keeps passing out every time he sees me. No clue why. Probably either insane or an untrained psychic..." After a moment, I felt the need to ammend that statement. "Or both."
"So you believe in all of that stuff, then? Psychic powers and ghosts and so on?" Cliff wondered, sounding curious rather than disbelieving.
"It's not a matter of belief. I've actually lived it," I chuckled. "It's like I told a friend of mine over in Goodsprings. All of this stuff was around before the bombs fell. The explosions just made it harder to hide."
"Hm. Makes sense. Stay right there, I've got a gun for you that I think you're going to like," Cliff rose from his seat and pulled out an old key, quickly using it to unlock the door that would have led into Dinky's tail. Instead, it just turned out to be a store-room, filled with toy rockets that all glowed with radiation, making me wonder just what the hell Cliff was doing with them. He pulled out a box, thankfully lead-lined, and set it on the counter in front of me.
"Got this from an old man who said he was from some place called 'Arroyo'. Can't say I've heard of it, but they apparently raised some polite folks out there. It's originally made to fire .223, but it'll handle 5.56 without a problem," Cliff said, unlocking the box and opening the lid. I instantly fell in love with the gun. It was a new model of revolver, with smooth curves and an ergonomic synthetic grip. A few portions of the gun were electronically assisted, with the power supply located in a more boxy device with red LEDs under the barrel, where the ejector rod would be on a more conventional revolver. It had a yellow LED just above a lever to open the cylinders. Judging by the shrouded hammer, the revolver was a double-action. Not usually my style, but I'd make an exception for that gun.
Actually holding it was a different matter. The gun had a bit of weight to it, but not enough to severely throw off my aim. The sights could have been better, since the 5.56 revolver only had a small squared front sight for aiming and nothing in the back. I had to laugh when I found that somebody had done a little engraving work to it, adding a few words to the side of the barrel. 'That Gun .223R/5.56mm' The name seemed exploitable in conversation, and I fully intended to trip someone up with it if the opportunity arose. It cost me the rest of my spare weapons and the chems I'd picked up to pay for, but Cliff was kind enough to include a few speedloaders and a pouch for them. I hadn't originally wanted to replace Joe Cobb's revolver, but That Gun came at a good time since I no longer had a backup 'loud' handgun now that my Ruger Mk III was in Lucky's hands.
Cliff and I talked a bit more after that, but he had to close up the shop soon after, which meant it was time to ask the Sniper on duty about Vulpes. From what I'd heard from Jeannie May earlier, his name was Boone, but I had nothing beyond that. When I opened the door, the man calmly turned to me with a frown still on his face.
"You dress like NCR but go around with a Legion dog. I don't know who you are, but you'd better give me a reason to think you aren't the enemy. And fast." His voice was smooth and cold, reminding me oddly of Vulpes in our last encounter. I glanced behind me to make sure the door was properly closed and nobody was moving around in the gift shop before answering.
"I'm Blue Lion, an agent recent hired by the NCR. I'm tracking a group of Legion, responsible for razing Nipton and slaughtering fifty-three civilians and four NCR Soldiers."
Boone's expression shifted away from the glare to a more neutral stare, and he gave me a nod.
"Right. I haven't seen them, or I would have taken the shot," The sniper said, shaking his head. "I did pick up some odd movement through my scope two nights ago, but it was too far out of range to see clearly."
"That matches up roughly with the time they would have arrived in the area," I muttered, then shook my head. "They're probably at Nelson, then. Thanks for the help."
I turned to leave, but Boone spoke up again.
"Wait. You just got into town. Maybe you shouldn't go. Not just yet."
Shepard's ears perked up, and I turned to face the sniper again.
"What do you need me to do?"
Boone's expression turned sour as he spoke, showing a bit more emotion than I expected.
"I want you to find something out for me. I don't know if there's anything to find, but I need someone to try. My wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch. They knew when to come and what route to take, and they only took Carla. Someone set it up. I don't know who."
"I'm pretty sure I have an idea of who it is. Give me an hour to double-check for evidence," I replied, sharing in the man's anger now that the full story of Jeannie May's sins were beginning to come to light.
"Bring him out in front of the nest here while I'm on duty. I'll give you my NCR beret to put on. It'll be our signal, so I know you're standing with him." Boone let out a breath to calm himself before speaking again. "And I'll take care of the rest. I need to do this myself."
He took off his 1st Recon Beret and offered it to me. I understood his desire for revenge all too well. Something about the look in Boone's eyes... he needed this, a closing point to a painful chapter in his life. There was more to the story, something he wasn't telling me, but it was something personal, and not my place to pry. I pulled Ratslayer off of my back and offered it in turn.
"It's suppressed and uses more common ammo. Less chance of anyone linking this back to you," I explained. Boone silently agreed and slung his own rifle across his back, taking Ratslayer in his grip and sighting down the scope.
"One more thing," He said, "We shouldn't talk again until this is over. Too much chance the rat'll tip off the Legion and we'll have them breathing down our necks."
WARNING: This is where the dark bit begins. I'm going to try to keep it rated T... but no promises. It is optional, though, so feel free to skip to the next line break if you want.
It was relatively simple to break into the Dino Dee-Lite motel's front desk, since it actually opened the correct way for me to use my knife trick. I found Jeannie May's safe set into the floor behind the desk itself, and thankfully it wasn't an airtight electrically-locked one like I'd dealt with back in the Bison Steve Hotel. This one had a standard pin-and-tumbler lock, as well as a combination lock. Fortunately for me, I'd come prepared with a screwdriver and bobby pins. I'd also packed a Locksmith's Reader magazine along in case I ran into any snags.
Using the screwdriver as a tension wrench, I slowly felt for the first pin inside the look with a bent bobby pin. Once I had found the pin, I pushed it up above the lock's shear line. The pin hit the small ledge created by slightly turning the lock on its way back down, but stayed in place. I repeated the process for the next four pins, and finally turned the lock fully. I was quite glad that the lock had been easy to manage. I'd need to get more experience with my tools before I tried picking anything important again.
I pulled open the safe and found that Jeannie May had kept a fair bit of the rent money there, along with a neat stash of chems and alchohol. My looter's instinct demanded that I take EVERYTHING, but I choked it down and pulled out a small stack of papers Jeannie May'd kept at the bottom. What I found... disturbed me, to say the least. I found the bill of sale for one Carla Boone, which had gained Jeannie a thousand caps, with a bonus of five hundred on the way if Carla's unborn baby survived. It apparently wasn't the first time Jeannie had sold somebody either. The stack of damning papers showed that she'd sold at least three others to the Legion, including her own husband, Kevin Crawford. Over three years, she'd arranged for the sale of over twenty people to a group called 'New Paradise', a different slaver group that operated somewhere east of the Colorado River.
It was sickening to read, and made me want to take the bitch down myself.
Instead, I forced myself to calm down and scanned all of the documents into my Pip-Boy, in case I needed to justify my actions to the NCR. My face settled into an emotionless mask once I'd returned the stack of papers to their original resting place. There was one last thing I needed to do. I left the front desk and re-locked the door behind me, then started down the road towards Jeannie May's house, thankful that the caravans had moved on for the night. Fewer possible witnesses made the whole process much easier.
Jeannie May lived in a house right behind the motel, one of the better looking ones in Novac, but apparently wasn't smart enough to lock her doors at night after what she'd done. Apparently her success at selling twenty-five people made her complacent. Once again, that was one less complication for me. I silently opened the door and walked in, waiting for my night vision to adjust for the darker interior before I took one step more. For all I knew Jeannie May had set up traps, and I wasn't about to walk into an obvious one.
The layout of her home was fairly standard, with a bathroom directly in front of the door, with a kitchen to its left, and the entry to her bedroom on the right wall. I stepped through the house silently, Shepard following with a silent snarl. He was just as eager to see her dead as I was. I pulled out my Hi-Power and knife, crouched at the edge of the bedroom door. I could hear soft snores, so it was safe to assume Jeannie May was asleep. Peeking around the corner, I found my target curled up on a bed crammed between three walls it shouldn't have been able to fit into. It was in much better condition than most of the other beds I'd seen in the Wasteland, implying that was what she'd spent her slave-money on. It was just sickening, a true waste of existence that I would have killed even back in my old life.
I opened Jeannie's dresser and found a suitably-long stocking to gag her with, made of black silk no less. The woman began to stir behind me, and a grim smile came to my lips. Showtime.
"Mmmm... what's going on?" Jeannie asked, her voice slurred by tiredness, "Rain? Did you come to keep my bed warm?"
"Now now, Miss Crawford, I think we both know why I'm here," I cackled evilly, holstering my gun so I'd have a hand free. Not like I could shoot her anyways, that was Boone's right.
Her eyes opened wide in shock, and the middle-aged woman tried to scramble out of bed. I took advantage of her frenzied attempt at escape to grab the woman's arm and launch her head-first into the wall, forcing myself to hold back enough that she wouldn't be knocked unconscious by the blow. Without wasting any time, I forced open the woman's jaw and wrapped the sock tightly around her head, managing two full wraps before knotting the end at the base of her skull. Jeannie began to struggle underneath me, but I twisted the woman's arm behind her back and hauled her to her feet. She tried to escape, but I put a quick stop to that by resting my knife against her throat.
"We're going to go for a little walk. If you try to escape... well, let's just say it won't be pleasant for you, but I'll have a lot of fun," I hissed in the woman's ear, barely resisting another villainous laugh. I guided her out of the door and down the street, shaking my head at how docile she was after one of the least threats I could make.
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Even if the nation has been bombed to hell and back, you are still living in America, Miss Crawford, and you've taken those basic rights from twenty-five people. Back in the old world that carried a sentence of five years in prison, up to eight if they're a minor. Sadly, I don't think that's going to work for you, so I'm just going to turn you over to the husband of one of your victims and let him deal with you," I said. Jeannie struggled and screamed against her gag, but I kept a firm hand on the slaver and kept her walking.
"Oh, so you do have some idea who I'm talking about. Good. Then you know what's about to happen. If you're religious, I suggest you start praying for some divine intervention. That is, of course, assuming that your god isn't as disgusted by your actions as I am."
At last, Jeannie and I reached the stretch of empty land on the other side of the highway from Dinky. I saw Boone up in the crow's nest, no doubt with a frown on his face. I forced Jeannie down on her knees and stepped back, instantly pulling out my Hi-Power when she tried to stand.
"Don't give me a reason. Face your death with some dignity, Miss Crawford. You had to know this was coming," I stated, casually pulling out Boone's 1st Recon Beret with my knife hand. "For your crimes against citizens of the New California Republic, I sentence you to death."
I took another step away from Jeannie May Crawford and calmly fitted the red beret atop my head. With a hiss of displaced air, Jeannie's head suddenly made a suitable substitute for an exploded watermelon.
"Requiescat in Inferno, puttana," I said to the oozing corpse, then walked away to finish the business with Boone.
"That's it, then. How did you know?" Boone turned and gave me a short nod in greeting as I entered the sniper nest.
"Found the bill of sale for your wife... and twenty-four other people Miss Crawford sold," I replied, bringing up the document on my Pip-Boy to show him.
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It'd be like them to keep paperwork," Boone let out a sigh of relief, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He reached into his pocket for some caps, but I just shook my head.
"No need for a reward, Boone. You needed the closure, and it was a pleasure to rid the world of a monster like her," I said, shaking my head at the cooling corpse still visible in the moonlight. I took off Boone's beret, but he just shook his head.
"Keep it. The least I can do," He said as he returned Ratslayer to me. I noticed that he'd decided to keep the empty casing from the round he'd shot, but didn't mention it. The poor man had seen too much in his life already. I could see things worse than my trauma at Nipton hiding behind his eyes.
"So, what are your plans now?" I asked, slinging my rifle onto my back.
"I don't know. I won't be staying, I know that. Don't see much point in anything right now, except hunting legionaries. Maybe I'll wander, like you. See what good I can still do for the NCR," Boone replied, seeming a bit surprised that I'd asked.
"Well, after I take care of this business with the REPCONN facility, I plan on liberating Nelson. You're welcome to join me if you want, I could use a good sniper on overwatch. Less chance of them getting away."
Boone had skills that I could put to use... and if travelling with me kept him off a self-destructive path, then I was more than happy to bring him along.
"Yeah. That might be true. And that's reason enough for me to take you up on it, I suppose. But this isn't gonna end well."
"Oh, I know that all too well," I chuckled dryly, "Last time I ran into the leader of the party I'm hunting... their leader kicked my ass, but made the mistake of leaving me alive and without broken bones. Bastard has some fascination with making me his apprentice or some idiotic BS like that. Anyways, finish up your shift, grab a few hours of sleep, and I'll catch you some time tomorrow afternoon, aye?"
Boone took my instructions in stride, but seemed a little uneasy about taking orders from a man younger than him. In time, he'd start trusting my command, provided I could prove that I was capable of leading. As I walked back to my hotel room, I realized that I was actually worried about leading anyone else into battle. Robots and animals were one thing. They were fairly predictable, and followed orders without question. Humans, however, were sapient beings with a whole lot more complications associated with them. I wasn't going to back out, though. I needed Boone, and even if he didn't know it, Boone needed me, or at the very least, what I represented.
I settled down in my room for the night after a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, which I could only describe as the Wasteland equivalent of a fair majority of Hostess products back before the war. It was a good thing that the cakes were vacuum sealed, or they probably would have gone bad long ago. Thankfully, I didn't have nightmares that night, just a bloody image of my current number, seventy-nine. I felt like arguing with whatever was keeping track, since Crawford had to be worth at least a few knocked off that number.
When I woke up the next morning, I spent a bit of time fixing up That Gun and Ratslayer, the former requiring more time than the latter due to its electrical components. Fortunately, those bits were just for ease of use, and the revolver was fully functional without them in case I got hit with an EMP or the like. Once that was out of the way, I spent another hour or so adjusting the arrangement of my gun belt, making room for That Gun's speedloader pouch where Joe Cobb's revolver used to rest, and shifting the holster for That Gun onto my right hip. From the leather I'd purchased, I stitched together a holster for the 1887 shotgun, which rested at the back of my waist, below where my medical bag usually sat. A bit of careful modification enlarged the loops for .357 rounds to fit 20 gauge shells, and I still had enough space left over to add an extra full-size pouch to the belt. I debated trying to make a bandoleer, but ultimately decided that I had too little leather left to waste it on the attempt.
After resharpening my knives, I left my hotel room to find an older African-American man in dark brown ceramic combat armor and a ranger hat limping towards one of the bungalows across the yard from the motel rooms. Upon seeing me, his expression changed to one of confusion, then recognition. Knowing that he was about to give away my connection to the NCR, I casually signaled towards his home. The man gave a slight nod and walked in, closing the door behind him. I waited a few minutes before following the man into his home. It was rather small, one room if you didn't count the tiny bathroom walled off in the northeast corner. On a small table to the left of the door was a HAM radio, still picking up radio chatter from a few NCR outposts.
"Name's Andy. There's been a lot of radio chatter about you lately, especially from out west," He paused to ease himself into a chair. Shepard stepped forward and whined softly, sensing the full depth of the man's injuries better than I could. After a moment, Andy fixed me with a sharp look and asked,
"Don't suppose you have any idea who killed Jeannie May last night, huh?"
"Depends on what you plan to do with that knowledge," I replied, crossing my arms.
"Well I suppose that depends on why she was killed, now doesn't it?" The ranger fixed me with a stern look that reminded me all too much of my ex-marine stepfather.
"Thanks to a tip from one of the residents of this town, I searched Miss Crawford's property and found enough evidence for any court to convict her with a life sentence in prison. Instead, I turned her over to the family of one of her victims, and that was their chosen form of justice."
"Hm. Good an excuse as any. Mind if I take a look at the evidence?"
A few minutes later, Andy shook his head sadly and let out a long sigh.
"She seemed nice at first, and I probably wouldn't have paid that tip much attention if Shepard here hadn't smelled Legion on her," I said, feeling sympathy for the man.
"I'm ashamed of myself. I should have caught on sooner," Andy shook his head. "Must've taken too many hits to the head during training drills."
"Don't beat yourself up over it," I stated, "Lord knows I've had trouble getting past peoples' masks before. Jeannie was just better at keeping hers up, was probably lying about herself for years before this."
"You're right... damn it, you're right. Doesn't change the fact that I let her get away with selling those people under my watch. Some of those were old friends of mine, too..."
Sensing the need for a topic change, I figured I'd ask him about some of his history with the NCR.
"So... you're a Ranger, right?" I asked, "I've met a few of you guys, but I never really got a job description."
This actually brought a smile to Andy's face, and he launched into a short speech that seemed like a recruitment drive.
"They're the NCR's finest. A one-man platoon, each of 'em. You got a job where even thinking about it would scare a man senseless, that's when you bring in the Rangers. And if you see a squad of the veterans - guys who earned their black armor... well... you won't find a more beautiful sight. I... well, I used to be a ranger, back when my leg worked better."
I was starting to get a clearer picture of Andy's history and current situation. He was injured in combat, honorably discharged, and now had no idea what to do with himself.
"I actually did meet a man in the Black Armor. Didn't get his name, but he was out looking for a ghoul named Ben Eldridge."
"Know the one you're talking about. He's not actually a ranger, at least not officially, but he's helped out the NCR here and there, so we let him do his thing. A bit like you, actually," Andy chuckled. "So, what's your actual name? I keep hearing 'Blue Lion' this and 'Blue Lion' that, but you never introduced yourself."
"Rain Nero," I said, offering a hand. Andy gave it a firm shake, then winced slightly and pulled back, rubbing his shoulder. I made a mental note to add advanced prosthetic exoskeletons to the list of ED-E's projects. I was getting sympathy pains just watching Andy.
"What... happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
"A few years back, we get a tip that some Legion slavers were holed up in this burnt out house a few klicks from where we were stationed. We get there and it's deserted. No sign anyone's been there. I mean nothing. As we're leaving, I hear something behind me. I turn around and there's this kid, just skin and bone, and he's looking up at us and he's scared half to death. Been hiding in a closet. I go to grab him out of there and I notice he's holding something in his hand. Something metal. He shuts himself back inside the closet and that's when I see the grenade he's left by my feet. They do it a lot, the Legion. Using kids. They know we'll hesitate... Anyway, that was the first time. Second time I fell down those stairs in front of the motel. Just in case I got to thinking I'd put it all behind me," Andy shook his head, and Shepard let out another soft whine, nuzzling Andy's knee.
"You... you deserve better than this, Andy. You may not be a Ranger anymore, but it's just your body that's the problem, not your mind. You've got years of experience behind you, and that usually leads to some good advice," I said, feeling a burst of determination rise through me. The words flowed with ease, and I was already dialing Hayes' frequency. "If you're up for it, I'd like to add you to my support team. Right now it's just Hayes, and he's good, but he doesn't have the kind of background you do. On top of that... I'm going to have my R&D Lab start looking into building a compact exoskeleton to cover for your injuries. I've heard of too many stories like yours to just sit around when I have the means to help get you back on your feet."
"Heh. People don't exactly line up to find out what's in my head. Can't remember the last time someone suggested I knew something worth knowing," Andy was smiling, and I could see the tears in his eyes, even if he was too manly to let them go openly. "You know, maybe there's something I can do for you. Since you've gone to all the trouble of flattering a crippled old soldier."
"Hayes here," The Lieutenant finally answered, and I could still hear the happy barking of the other dogs in the background. "What do you need, Rain? I've kind of got my hands full with all of these dogs."
"Just calling to tell you that you're not alone on my support team anymore. Ranger Andy here in Novac has years of experience under his belt, and once you two start coordinating properly, it'll take a good bit off of your workload," I said. Andy looked like he wanted to protest, but I just gave the old man a smile. He rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut.
"I don't have any objections," Hayes said. "Having a Ranger on the team will be a great help. He'll probably be able to give you a better idea of the tactics and weapons of the enemies you run up against."
"Also, pass on to Command that I want him officially reinstated. He was honorably discharged for a combat-related injury, but so long as he's working with the support team, I want the man getting rightfully paid for his work."
"Right. God knows working with you is worth that kind of paycheck," Hayes grumbled. Andy chuckled from his seat, and I gave him the radio frequencies he needed to get set up. After a moment, I frowned and considered.
"The same goes for Boone, a former 1st Recon Sniper. He's less 'support team' and more 'assault team', but the same idea applies."
"So you're taking Boone from us, eh?" Andy asked, then nodded, "Good. Ever since Carla disappeared, he's been on a downward spiral. Maybe you'll do some good for him. Of course, Manny's going to have to work a longer shift until we can get a replacement night-shift sniper, but I think he'll agree with me."
"On that note, I've got to meet up with Boone so we can figure out what's going on at REPCONN. I'll talk to you later, alright Andy?"
The Ranger and I said our farewells not long after that, and I headed down the road to the west, not at all surprised to find Boone there, though his lack of armor or camouflage was a bit odd. A shared nod was all we needed before walking on to solve the mysteries of the REPCONN facility.
Author Notes: Holy crap that was a chapter. Excluding Entry 001, this is the longest chapter to date, even if you don't count the padding from the Author Notes and Review Replies. Now, I know I have a bit to explain with this one, so I'll get right to it.
To me, Jeannie May always seemed a little suspicious. The fact that she doesn't give out her last name raised a few alarm bells for me, along with her comments about 'trouble makers' and refusing to call the Legion by name. Things with her just sort of evolved from there.
Also have a few Fallout 3 characters returning in this chapter, and mentions of a miniature faction from the Capital Wasteland starting back up in the Mojave. For those wondering why Lucky and Crow are in the Mojave, it's quite simple. They're arms merchants, and a more peaceful place like the Capital Wasteland (after the events of Fallout 3) isn't going to bring them much money. Sure, they could have switched to selling water, but that just didn't seem like their style. So, they go where the next big conflict is. In this case, the Mojave and the war between the NCR and Legion.
Another point I'd like to bring up... That Gun. Due to how rare the 5.56 revolver is in New Vegas, I figured the only way one would show up would be if someone from the Core Region -where they were still somewhat popular during the events of Fallout and Fallout 2- brought one with them. That turned into an opportunity to tease the status of one of the past protagonists of the Fallout series. I figured he was roughly 20-25 when he started out, so having him still be alive at 60 wouldn't be too far a stretch for him. I may end up actually bringing him in the story for a bigger role...
Anyways, that's about all I can think of right now. I'll probably edit this if your reviews end up bringing up any point I missed.
Edit: Yes, Rain speaks a bit of Italian. Mostly insults though. He/I do have a background with Latin, however. Three years of it in High School. That'll probably come up more when the Legion starts using it around him. (Provided Rain doesn't just shoot them first).
Until Next Time, Everyone!
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