All of Mister Burke's movements were smooth and methodical. He glided Arcade over to a plump chair in front of a table, murmuring, "You look tremendously fatigued… just sit down right here, make yourself quite comfortable, put your feet up, I don't mind hardly the least. And you, my dear," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite, dipping his head respectively. "You should sit as well; you both must be quite shaken up."

I was trembling when I took the offered seat; I could feel the uncontrollable tremor in my legs when I bent to sit. "We were supposed to meet someone somewhere around here," I said, and grimaced when my voice emerged soft and wavering.

"Yes, the Courier, I presume," Mister Burke mused. "He has been taking his time with making himself look presentable for your meeting. You must be dearly exhausted, truly. Allow me to fetch you both a drink." He turned, beginning to stride over to a rather roomy kitchen area, complete with a refrigerator and several cherry colored cabinets.

"The Courier is here, then," Arcade whispered, his voice also failing. Just the word 'Courier' seemed to turn his skin a new shade of pale.

"Why, yes, my boy," Mister Burke returned shortly with familiar yellow bottles—Sunset Sarsaparilla. "And he has been very eager to meet the both of you."

Arcade took his bottle but refused to drink it, simply holding it tightly. I fumbled with the cap—it was a star cap, but I didn't really care—for a while before Mister Burke popped it off himself, handing it to me. "Our companion died on the way here," I oddly felt the need to say.

He offered a coy smile, and sat in the chair next to me, sighing in relief as he relaxed against the back. "It must have been tragic. I apologize profusely for the Behemoth—it was not supposed to be out running amok."

"It was your Behemoth…?"

He idly patted the armrest. "My dear, it was our Behemoth. The combined genius of the Courier and I spawned the being meant to be this cesspool's salvation."

I took a small sip of the Sarsaparilla, finding immediate relief from the cold liquid sliding down my throat. "I'm not sure I… understand, Mister Burke…"

He leaned closer to me, and for the first time I noticed he had a certain sweet smell clinging to him, like cologne. "Not to worry, my dear. Anything you don't understand can be explained by the Courier himself."

"Lydia…" Arcade whispered, his face suddenly looking alarmed.

I set my drink on the table, moving to him. "Arcade, are you alright? You look terrible… here…" I managed to wrestle his cap off without help. "You should drink this or something…"

He didn't acknowledge the open bottle. "God, Lydia… I don't think I can do this…"

I sat on his armrest, patting his tense shoulder. "It's all right," I said awkwardly. "We're going to get through this together, and then head back and yell at Benny to make us feel better, okay?"

He shook his head. "I can't do this."

"Minus solum, quam cum solus esset," I reminded him. "And this time, you're not alone."

The doctor finally met my eyes then, the emerald finally gaining a little strength back. I tried to give him a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Even so, his shoulders relaxed just an inch.

A door opened in front of us, revealing to us a new figure. He was less fashionably dressed than Mister Burke—a blue vault jumpsuit, carefully ironed to remove the wrinkles—but he held himself with a confident air that not even Mister Burke had seemed to carry. "Oh, dear," he said, stepping further into the light, slowly approaching our little party before resting his arm on Mister Burke's chair. "Mister Burke, I was not aware we had visitors."

"They were terrorized by our Behemoth," Mister Burke answered mildly. "I thought it wise to allow them inside, let them gather their wits again."

"Good call, Mister Burke," the newcomer said, straightening to plop himself down in the chair I was in moments before. "Hello, Arcade. This must be your new friend." He reached his hand across the table, giving me a cheeky grin. "Everyone calls me the Courier; I don't suppose I've had the pleasure."

I forced down a swallow, gingerly accepting his hand. Beside me, Arcade was still as stone.

"Good handshake, nice and firm. You know, handshakes can tell you a lot about a person," the Courier said mildly. "Thank you for coming here for our meeting, I suppose. Mister Burke, how did that Behemoth get out?"

"I believe a scavenger found himself a little too curious," the man answered without hesitation. "Though, it seems he acquired what he deserved… by natural causes. Or, perhaps unnatural. It all depends on the eyes of the beholder."

The Courier nodded in acknowledgement, surveying Arcade with a thoughtful hand on his chin, fingering the carefully trimmed black strip of facial hair. "Arcade," he chastised. "You're a shade lighter than a bleached brahmin skull."

Arcade stood sharply, nearly throwing me off the armrest. The forgotten bottle fell to the table, where it broke in two with a sharp crack, sending dark liquid running across the floor. The Courier stood in response, and the two of them stared at each other.

"He killed Daisy," Arcade said, and his voice suddenly had strength.

The Courier continued to stare calmly into Arcade's eyes. After a few seconds, I realized that Arcade had demanded the Courier explain the first thing on the agenda, and we were waiting for said explanation. The man drew a breath, and began slowly, "If I had been there, Arcade, he wouldn't have gotten—"

"THEN WHERE WERE YOU?" Arcade's face twisted in pain, his eyes wide and his arms gesturing desperately. "Where were you? I was left there, every day, painfully bearing the weight of your abandonment. I was left there, as a slave! The very fabrications of the world I dreamed of creating was crumbling around me, and I could do nothing to put it back together because I was a slave! I was trapped! The Legion flooded through everything—they put Boone on a cross! They trapped Raul, too! Every day the very meaning of my existence became technological debates with a power-hungry tyrant. The very meaning of my existence was getting up each morning, scraping off the bruises from the day before, fearing the worst for the day to come, just wanting to end it all…" He drew quick, shuddering breaths, and his shoulders began to tremble, but his hand movements became smaller, closer to his body. "I trusted you with my life," he whimpered. "No, with more than my life. I trusted you with everything I had. And you… you left! You tore me to pieces and left! Abiit nemine salutato…"

The Courier's eyes were clouded with an emotion that could have been sympathy, or pity. "Arcade, the Latin," he reminded gently.

Arcade took a deep, gasping breath, beginning to bend in over onto himself like he had been kicked in the stomach, barely giving the Courier any acknowledgement. "You say you can explain everything that has happened… you can explain why I had to spend every night itching to lay my hand on a scalpel, not to continue medicinal practice, but to drive into my own self, to rip apart the very core of my soul? Fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur—"

I stood too, instinctively grabbing onto him, holding him close. He collapsed into me, his tall figure throwing me off balance and almost sending both of us tumbling to the floor, where the broken glass waited patiently. I managed to regain my balance, though, and Arcade began to gasp into my shoulder. His eyes were still wide open, like the Courier's face was even engraved into the armor he saw there. The Courier approached also, side-stepping the table and offering his open arms to Arcade.

"Don't touch me," Arcade whispered. "Please don't touch me."

The Courier's arms curled back to his sides. "I've never seen you like this, Arcade."

"I was kind of hoping you never had to." He reached his veiny hands up and grasped tightly onto my shoulders, holding me motionless. "You say you can explain. Then, by all means, explain."

My back was already beginning to ache from holding the doctor's weight. The Courier sighed. "I was wrong, Arcade. I was wrong."

"You were a little more than wrong," I muttered bitterly.

"Arcade, sit. Seriously, you're going to fall onto all of this broken glass and get yourself hurt." The Courier reached out to help him back into the chair, resting his hand on the doctor's back. Immediately, as if burned, Arcade shrunk away, dragging me with him. The Courier sighed again. "I wanted to create a Utopia for you, Arcade. A beautiful world, derived from the ruins of the empires before, where there was no sorrow, or suffering, or prejudice, or wrath."

"That possibility is impossible," he mumbled.

"Please sit," the Courier urged.

"Arcade," I coaxed as well. "You really should sit."

He hesitated, still trembling against my shoulder, and then he allowed me to help him back down to his seat. The glass crunched beneath both of our boots, breaking into smaller pieces.

"I loved you, Arcade," the Courier continued.

"Please don't say that."

"I still love you." Arcade grimaced at his words, looking down into his hands. The Courier paused before continuing. "The plan was all laid out. I had been conversing with a modified securitron named Yes Man. We had plans to overthrow all the powers, all the factions of New Vegas, and rule ourselves, the way we saw fit."

"So, a dictator. A tyrant in your own way."

"Please let me continue, Arcade. No, not a dictator, not a tyrant. A peacemaker. I would have thrown out the major powers on the strip—the gangster Omertas, the cannibalistic White Glove Society—and began anew. I would have upgraded the Followers of the Apocalypse, given them their own settlement inside Vegas walls, the power to control their own rations and supplies. I would have cleaned up Freeside. Offered sanctuary to the beings of Outer Vegas. My Vegas would have been an oasis, a beautiful city of life and wellbeing."

When the Courier didn't continue, Arcade encouraged, "So, what went wrong with that plan? When did a beautiful oasis turn into selling me into slavery and helping the Legion across the dam?"

"I had to have some force to tear it all down," he answered simply. "What falls in fire will bring rise through the ashes."

"Alright," the doctor sighed angrily, clenching his fists and looking up. "Let's say that I find all of this a good idea. Suppose that it suddenly all makes sense why you tore everything I had to pieces. When was any of this supposed to happen?"

The Courier stared calmly back at him again for a few moments before continuing. "That was where I went horribly wrong, I suppose. I sat back to watch the world turn to ash, and in it all I forgot the one thing that was important to me."

"It's all a deeply romantic story, I must agree," Mister Burke spoke, standing and looking at the Courier. "Would you like me to clean the glass from the floor?"

"Please." The Courier paused a moment while Mister Burke shuffled around to me, offering me another broad, coy smile and an "Excuse me, my dear," before dropping to sweep the glass gently into his hands.

"So, what is your plan now? Take that one important thing back and make everything right?" I asked.

The Courier sighed, hanging his head dramatically. "I've waited too long. The Legion has gone through, destroyed all of Mr. House's securitrons. Yes Man is virtually useless now. Instead, I thought I could start again here." He looked up at us, gesturing his arms wide. "If you look around you, none of this place is of any significance. People who need help are not offered; there are people who offer help to those that don't need it. My Utopia starts here, in this petty, insignificant part of the wasteland that no one truly cares for. Then," he said quietly, watching Arcade, "I will take the important thing back and make everything right."

The doctor met his eyes, holding the gaze for long minutes that felt like hours. Finally, he muttered bluntly, "You're lying. This Utopia, you'd never do something like this."

A sigh escaped the Courier's lips once more, but this one was of disappointment. "You should believe the lie, Arcade."

"I don't want lies," he snapped, his voice becoming weak again. "I want the truth this time."

"The truth will hurt you more than I want you to be hurt, Arcade." When the doctor didn't answer, he shook his head. "I sold you into slavery. That's the truth. I left you, that's the truth. I didn't look back on anything that I've done as a mistake, that's the truth. I helped the Legion across Hoover Dam, that's the truth." His voice was rising in volume, but his face remained cold and impassive. "I led the forces of the first wave into Vegas to tear it down, that's the truth. I lied to Boone about who truly killed his wife, that's the truth. I purposefully kept Boone's psychological scars open so he would find his end at the Fort, that's the truth. I gave Caesar Raul's location so he could become useful to the Legion, that's the truth. I told Caesar where to find Daisy, how to punish her, torture her, get anything he wanted out of her, that's the truth! I kissed the ground beneath Caesar's feet, that's the truth! I'm building my army here, to claim this land in none other than Caesar's name, that's the truth!" He dropped back down suddenly to a quiet whisper. "And I do still love you. That's the truth."