Chapter 36: Nightmares

It was a familiar place, one he had been to many, many times before. Vault 21. It was the only place he could afford after blowing all his money at the Tops, and he was none too happy to spend the night in something this… sterile. At least, that was what he had thought until he had met the head curator, a Ms. Sarah Weintraub. Perky, blonde, and bubbly to a fault, not to mention possessing an awesome body, Lars eventually began spending a little more and more time in the Vault as the two of them started bonding. One successful dare later, and their friendship became just a little more… beneficial.

Lars was looking into her eyes as he finished inside the quivering vault dweller, rolling off of her until he lay next to her on the bed. He listened as Sarah's erratic breathing began to steady, until finally she began dozing off to sleep. That annoying little habit always found a way to interrupt a good night from becoming a great one, Lars thought to himself.

Growing restless, Lars rose from the bed and strolled through the doorway, figuring a little "fresh" air would clear his mind a bit… and give him a little time to recharge for another round. The vault had become silent, and he could hardly tell that there was another soul spending any time here. As he strolled through the main game hall, he saw that the corridor lights were unusually dim. Strange, it almost seemed like the place had been completely abandoned.

A wolf whistle interrupted his appreciation for the lonely serenity encompassing him. Looking around, he saw a cowboy-hat wearing woman sitting in a booth, a half-empty whiskey bottle sitting in front of her. She smiled with a blush, amused with having caught her friend off guard. "All hail the emperor with his finest robes!" she joked, raising his glass towards him.

Lars looked down at his current state of undress. "Oh, ha-ha. Cute, Cass."

Cass giggled as she took another swig. "Say, if you aren't even wearing any underwear, where do I tip you?"

"You know, there are other ways to pay someone. Favors, bets, dares," Lars said as he looked around for any other sign of life. Cass must've noticed.

"You see, this is your problem, Perez. You get off on getting people to owe you. You collect debts. Because you drove out Oliver, Caesar and House, you expect these people to put you on a pedestal and treat you like you're a king," Cass stated as she pushed her whiskey away from her.

"Hey, I'm the best thing to ever happen to this city, and don't you forget it! At least, that's what Yes-man always tell me," Lars replied. After a quick silence, both of them started giggling.

"Seriously though, I can't stand control freaks. I couldn't stand watching three dudes salivating over these people like a bunch of hounds over a piece of meat," Lars finished, seriously.

"I believe you. You'd much rather salivate on a much more personal basis. I could hear the two of you from here," Cass said with a smile.

Lars shrugged, stretching his body in the process. "Only decent exercise I can get on the Strip. Thanks to the Securitrons, I lack decent target practice these days," he griped.

"So, you're telling me that all you're doing these days is drinking and screwing?" Cass asked.

"Got a problem, Cass?" Lars asked.

"…You know what? I don't think I do," Cass said as she stood from the booth, allowing her jacket to slide from her shoulders. Lars watched in amazement as Cass simultaneously threw off her hat while kicking off her boots. "…Well? You thinking of heading to my place or yours?" Lars asked as she unbuckled her belt.

"Right here. Right now," Cass stated as she wiggled out of her jeans. After stepping out of the small pool of clothing, she began unbuttoning her shirt, but Lars had lost any sense of patience and restraint. He grabbed her, pulled her in close, and gave her the deepest kiss he could ever remember giving her.

Cass was tall, lean, skinny as a twig, and possessed modest features. Her blue eyes were her most striking assets, and what gorgeous baby blues they were. As he embraced her, the incredible heat from her body warmed him to such an extent that it reminded him of that summer he spent in Death Valley, only in a more nurturing, less fatal sort of way. As he broke off the kiss, he looked on as Cass undid her hair bun, allowing her red locks to cascade down to her shoulders.

"…Three…two…" Cass whispered, and she immediately latched onto Lars, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso. Lars, caught off balance, backed into the vault wall, using it to brace himself as he and his lover continued their intimate mingle. As their tongues danced in one another's mouths, Lars thought back to how badly he had missed those days. About how badly he had missed this woman. Fully content, he closed his eyes and waited for this night to finish with a bang.

When jaws began latching around his tongue, Lars's eyes shot open from the shock and the pain. Before he could even cry out, his tongue was torn from his mouth with a quick jerk. Cass was gone. Wrapped in a vice-like embrace around his body was a nude, blood-covered Madame Zhang. With a blood-smeared grin, Zhang dug her claws into his shoulders, tearing through the skin and muscle until she started to chip away at the bone. Screaming out in surprise and pain, Lars fell to the ground, Zhang still on top of him. Trying to crawl away, Zhang suddenly pressed her forehead against his own. "Your days have always been numbered, courier! In the end, it will always come down to the two of us, and I will end you once and for all!" she crowed as she brought her claws down on his face, shredding it beyond recognition.

Lucky 38

Lars awoke with a jolt, sweating profusely. He gripped his shoulders, then his face, and then tongued his mouth out of curiosity. Everything where it should be. He sat up in bed, looking out of the penthouse windows. Mid-afternoon. Another agonizing day of stress and misery lay ahead of him. Joy.

Grabbing his clothing that had been flung on a nearby nightstand, Lars yawned as he headed to the elevator. As it climbed down to the presidential suite, Lars went over his itinerary for the day. Another Three Family meeting, this one I can't afford to sit out and let the King take care of. Next, I'm going to have to talk to Westside. Hopefully, between the Co-op and the sharecroppers, we'll hopefully have enough food for… whatever the fuck is going to happen. Medical supplies too… shit. Really hope you didn't do anything too dramatic, Ulysses. Lars pressed his head against the elevator frame. Overly theatrical punk-ass.

He left the elevator and peeked quietly into the suite. Sarah, still sleeping soundly, was bundled up under the covers. Lars, torn between fucking her senseless and swearing off all female contact forever, chose to leave her be as he snuck to the bathroom. Once inside, he began running some cold water. Splashing his face, hoping to shock himself into full clear-headedness, Lars went over again and again his dream. I sure hope you're all right, Cass.

Giving his face one final splash, Lars looked at himself in the mirror, before noticing an unusually faint green glow behind him. Wheeling towards the image, Lars saw… absolutely nothing. Chose the perfect time to go crazy, I guess, Lars thought angrily to himself. Could've sworn I saw a face in that…

The biting cold stung at the two climbers as they held onto the side of the mountain with all their strength. Dragging his body upwards, Jiasheng looked down towards his partner, watching in horror as he unfastened his safety line.

"Rumali, now is not the time! We are so close!" Jiasheng screamed at the older man. Rumali smiled that infuriating smile of his, shaking his head. "No, my friend. Now is the only time! Behold, it approaches!" Jiasheng looked down the mountain, and sure enough, he saw the great mass closing on them, a bone-chilling roar echoing throughout the mountains. There was no way either man could outrun it, but if either of them had the capabilities to ward off that monstrosity; it was Rumali the Mad Yogi. Without his help, Jiasheng would have died long before reaching the Himalayas, let alone come so close to completing his mission.

"Fight well, Rumali," Jiasheng called out as he continued his ascent. The guru, paying no mind, merely unwound his turban as he turned towards the impending mass.

Jiasheng climbed with all the vigor and strength he had. He climbed for what could have been miles. Finally, he reached the top. Tearing away his goggles, he steeled his gaze towards what the clearing had in store for him, and the answer… was the Grand Assembly.

Suddenly, he had somehow been transported back to the Stronghold, where all the councilors, bureaucrats, courtesans, and various assemblymen awaited his for his formal induction into the imperial aristocracy.

Jiasheng remembered this day. It was one of the proudest moments of his life. All his years of training, all his blood, sweat, and tears. It all culminated with the Blessing of the Emperor. Finally, he would become one of the Imperial's chosen few, becoming the eyes, sword, and will of the Stronghold. It was a coveted position, one that commanded the respect and adulation of the Imperial nation. As Jiasheng passed through, waving at the adoring public, something made him stop. Out in the crowd, right before ascending the stairway to the Emperor himself, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen glared at him, her face twisted in anger and disgust. As Jiasheng looked back at her, the world around him seemed to fade away.

"Xixi," he called out. The woman, peeling away from the shadows surrounding her, stormed up to Jiasheng, before spitting right in his face. "Coward," she hissed.

As Jiasheng tried to understand his beloved's message, she pointed behind him. As Jiasheng followed her finger, he saw a young woman, back bent from the heavy load she carried, trying to trudge her way down a path. She wore rags that barely covered her body, and a red 'X' was seen on the front. Around her neck, a crude metal collar was fixed uncomfortably above her shoulders. Then the girl turned towards her parents. Her eyes were sunken, bleak, and showed no recognition to the two before her. Weight straining on her already weakened body; Ziyi tried her best to continue down the path, knees buckling under the load.

"Our daughter, Jiasheng. You allowed this to happen to our daughter. After costing me so much to bring her into this world, this is what you condemn her to!" Xixi growled as she turned her back to her old husband. "I… I should have died with the rest of my clan, Jiasheng. And to think I actually thought you were doing me a favor," she sadly finished before her body was consumed by flames…

Glorious Cause Vanguard

"Lieutenant General, are you well? Do I need to call for a medic?" Major Gao hesitantly asked as Jiasheng shook himself awake. Both men were riding in the back of an armored troop carrier, this one mothballed from within the Stronghold itself. As Jiasheng adjusted to his surroundings, he realized that he had dozed off shortly after the vanguard had taken off from the main host.

"How… how long has it been since I've been out?" Jiasheng mumbled. "Four hours. We are making great strides towards Vegas, General. We should reach their borders within the week," Gao relayed. After buying the land out from under the NCR, Zhang had hired mercenaries to clear out any raiders and wildlife that might impede her advance. That, combined with the nine thousand soldiers heading towards Vegas, Jiasheng felt as if everything was going to go according to plan.

"Good… good. You are… you are doing good work, Major. Good job," Jiasheng muttered as he debated with himself whether or not to forget the dream.

"…Lieutenant General. I recently received word from the recon teams stationed ahead of us. Apparently, their recent reports mentioned a strange "blip" that appeared on radar not too long ago."

"Blip?" Jiasheng asked.

"Forward scouts marked it off as a malfunction. We only picked up a single reading before it vanished," Gao continued.

Jiasheng sat up at full attention. "Order all field officers on high alert. Send a message back to Zhang and requisition some of her personal guard to meet with us. Tell the War Engines to load up flak shells," he ordered.

"Sir, do you believe that-"

"And bring in Rumali and his "friend" as soon as possible."

It had all fallen apart. Every excursion west of the Colorado, expulsed. Every ally, dead or fleeing like cowards. Every gambit of Vulpes and his wretched kin, foiled. Even from here, he could see the smoke from the Fort. But, above all else, Caesar was dead.

No matter. Today, he would slay the Bear. Today, the Legion would avenge its humiliations. Today, all who stood before them would be ground into dust beneath their boots.

First, however, the infiltration needed to be dealt with. With the bulk of the Legion's forces focused on the Dam, some Rangers had evidently spotted what they had believed was a weakness in the defenses of his camp. A platoon of Rangers had been dispatched to overwhelm and decimate the Legate's personal force. The weakness, however, was an illusion. They were immediately beset by the finest soldiers the Legion had to offer, and through the bloody melee, the Rangers had found themselves cut apart before any of their number could locate the Legate. Only two managed to survive long enough to confront him. Neither came close to killing him. Still, out of respect, he took the liberty of obtaining their dogtags. Worthwhile trophies were hard to come by this far west.

As he glanced over the names (Banks, Evan; Hale, Tobey) his attention was soon diverted to a skirmish occurring outside his gates. The explosion rocked the entire compound, and the walls came tumbling down. Armored soldiers strolled through the camp, gunning down legionaries with reckless abandon. He watched as a sniper suddenly gunned down a Praetorian, and another legionary was reduced to ashes by some cursed bulbous contraption. Then, he finally saw the two. Charging in side by side, two warriors dressed like caravaneers blazed through the middle of the camp, firing shotgun round after shotgun round. A man and a woman.

Despite himself, he watched in amazement as they weaved through his men, blowing them apart when able and leaving them to their allies when not. The female looked as if she was having the time of her life, losing her hat in the rush and having her red hair blow through the wind. The other, however, seemed determined. When he found the hill leading to the Legate's tent, he ordered his companion to stop. The woman merely shrugged, then pulled a bottle with a piece of cloth hanging from the opening from her pocket, lighting the strand and tossing it into a tent that stored weapons.

The man approached him up the hill, gingerly stepping around the bodies of fallen legionaries and rangers. The man looked unremarkable, except for his eyes. They blazed with an intensity that he had only ever seen once before. Already, he was on edge.

"So, the Bear sends an emissary to make my acquaintance?" he began.

"You wish. The NCR has its hands full flushing your loser flunkies from out of the Dam. Nice to see you again, Lanius," the courier began.

Gripping the hilt of the Blade of the East, Lanius continued, "Caesar was wrong to put his faith in one such as you, courier. Had I arrived earlier, I would have put a stop to that ridiculous farce you blinded the others with. Tell me, where is your absurd caricature of the Burned Man, so that I might cut him in half before dealing with you?"

"Ah, he wanted to sit this one out. Said he killed enough of your guys to last him a lifetime. Believe me, for a ghoul to say that," the courier whistled.

"Amusing. Perhaps I'll find similar enjoyment after I nail you and all of your allies to the Dam. Although I will first force your female companion to know her place before I let her join you," the Legate taunted.

"Best of luck with that, Lanius. I should warn you, she bites," the courier responded, seemingly unrattled by the threat. "But, as much as this may surprise you, I'm not here to fight."

Despite himself, Lanius barked out a laugh. "Hah! After coming so far and so close to achieving total victory, now you wish to pretend to be a diplomat? You, of all people, should know that the most powerful statements are actions, not words."

"Oh, I intend to make a very profound statement very, very soon. You, however, I'm going to offer something a little different. I'm going to offer you a way out."

Lanius felt his temper rise. "You think I will abandon my destiny so easily with such an idle threat? You seek to intimidate me, but you only manage to insult me."

Lars looked at the giant, tilting his head coyly. "…Can I see it?"

Lanius made no attempt to reply. "…Your face. Can I see it?"

Lanius continued to glare at the courier as the man pulled out a machete and tested its balance. "I'm just curious to see if that cock-and-bull story Caesar told me has any truth, is all. I heard you were the champion of your tribe, until they were conquered and you got your face torn off in a rage when you killed the rest of your tribe's warriors. Seems a little more plausible then being a twelve year old prodigy or some gift from Mars or whatever."

Lanius eyed the smaller man with suspicion. "And what might motivate this particular curiosity you have?"

"I just have a theory, is all. I think Caesar was blowing smoke out of his ass when he told me where you came from. I think, whatever your true history is, Caesar had absolutely no use for it. If Graham and Vulpes's best lackey have no idea where you came from, then why should I assume that the old geezer was telling the truth?" the courier mocked as he sheathed his machete, pulling a grenade launcher from his back.

"Know what I think? You're a nobody. An overgrown thug with no purpose, destiny, or history. Caesar finds you, takes pity on you because you can swing a chunk of metal better then most, then gives you something that almost resembles an identity. You're nothing other then what Caesar wanted others to believe you are, aren't you?" the courier mocked as he pointed his weapon at the Legate's feet.

"…You speak with conviction, Lars. From where does this confidence find its foundation? Conceit? Arrogance? Or simply basic stupidity?" Lanius roared.

"…Struck a nerve, didn't I? I'm just calling it as I see it. But since I've already started talking… want to know what I think you think you see when you see me?" Lars asked, either sincerely or rhetorically, Lanius couldn't tell. "I think you see the man you always thought you were, and always wanted to be…"

Legate's Camp

Lanius woke on his throne, evidently having dozed off before he even realized he was tired. That man, and the words he had spoken, haunted him ever since. That one man had done more to undermine the Legion then he had ever thought an individual was capable of doing. When Lanius had first heard of a mercenary working for Caesar, he figured a few bags of silver and gold would keep him satiated and reasonably loyal. But then came the stunt.

The courier had approached Caesar about his health issues, and had made a deal with him to trade him a Follower doctor for a personal piece of the city strip after they had conquered Vegas. Caesar had accepted, but right before the operation could fully commence, scouts had returned with word that the former Legate had been spotted near Cottonwood Cove. A dazed Caesar immediately ordered his personal force to eradicate him. Had Lanius arrived earlier, he would have dealt with the matter himself.

Alas, it was only after Caesar had sent his men away did the courier's true intentions become known. As Caesar's troops walked into an ambush, the courier and his allies within Caesar's tent launched a coup. When Lanius arrived at the camp, he only caught a glimpse of that fleeing traitor swimming across the river with his friends, with Caesar, Lucius, and all his Praetorians dead in the tent.

Lanius gripped his seat as anger swelled up within him. When the final battle had commenced, Lanius's bloodthirst had swelled to unprecedented heights. Not since Denver had he looked forward to killing such a worthy adversary. Yet when the moment finally came, and he looked into his eyes…

Lanius had listened to his proposition with rapt attention. An invasion of California would be folly. Even Vulpes agreed when he consulted with him after the retreat. With two major defeats within the span of five years, Lanius accepted the futility of even Caesar's dream. It pained him to walk away from the courier, but Caesar, in naming him second only to him, had entrusted him with the future of the Legion.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sounds of laughter coming from outside his tent.

Lanius sniffed in contempt. The 80's were warriors, proud and gifted, but they were still amongst the dissolute. They drank freely, and mocked Caesar in their cups. At least they did until Sybil told them that Caesar had, in fact, only been a worldly vessel for the god of Mars. She explained that, for the Legion to retain its greatness, another would be born, and this time the being would personally lead the Legion to its destiny.

The only reason Lanius tolerated Sybil's improvised theology was because it proved surprisingly valuable towards keeping order back in Flagstaff. It had proven captivating towards the wretched slaves in their bondage, giving them hope and meaning through their daily toils. Even some of the younger legionaries began taking her sermons to heart, putting faith into whatever future that charlatan promised him.

Lanius was no fool. Caesar was no god, just a man. Most of the hierarchy understood that, their loyalty the result of Caesar's elevating them from above their previous barbaric states. In time, the 80's would come to understand that.

"Sybil, attend to me," he ordered. "…It would be unwise to make me repeat myself," he followed with.

Curious, Lanius looked around the tent, seeing no other soul. Curious, his thoughts were interrupted by another barking laugh erupting from the outside. Already ill tempered, Lanius stood up from his seat, ready to put an abrupt end to whatever festivities Tanner and his kin were celebrating. He strode to the entrance, brushing the curtains aside, but what he saw before him ground him to a halt.

"More drink, woman!" Tanner laughed, holding out a cup. Sybil, resting on his lap, poured a flask into his cup while stroking his face. The other 80's joined in the laughter, slapping each other on the back with glee.

Lanius looked around the camp to the other Legion warriors. All standing guard did nothing to hinder the revelry. It was almost as if they were afraid to stand up to Tanner. The cowardice of the men and the brazenness of the recruits began blinding Lanius into a fury.

When he turned back to the party, however, he noticed Sybil looking at him, smiling. Suddenly, his mind experienced a sudden moment of clarity. His men weren't afraid to intervene because of the 80's. They were afraid of crossing Sybil. Sybil, the impudent bitch who seeked to humiliate and undermine him with impunity. Before he realized what he was doing, he lost himself in rage…

"And lo, behold before us, the emissary of the Great Hubbell, risen from the fires of Azatho, by order of the great Lo-Cha-Ching, our salvation!" the lead priest announced as the hooded figures surrounded the baby deathclaw in the cage. The baby was scared, starving, and snapped at the figures as it cried for its mother. The lead priest approached it, holding a massive syringe filled with some kind of glowing concoction. "And with the formula, the emissary will gain the ability to defeat our treacherous enemies!" With a quick jab, the priest jammed the needle into the baby deathclaw's neck.

The baby deathclaw lost itself in a severe haze, unable to even tell which direction was up. The world spun around and around. When he finally, found his footing again, however, he realized that he had grown a few inches. That he was still growing. Eventually, his entire body took up the cage.

"The metabolic accelerator has been a success! Soon, the Shi will feel our wrath… and our vengeance!" the head priest cried, unaware that the baby deathclaw kept growing, until it burst through the cage…

Years later, all the humans in the world gathered to the sacred site to pledge loyalty to their god and master. A bespeckled tall (for a human) blonde male, dubbed with the honorific title of "Not Food #1", gathered the humans around to take their donations. "OK, that would be three hundred heads of Brahmin, two hundred heads of Bighorners, three dozen geckos, and dessert are all being readied. Worthless humans one and all, bow with all your meaningless might to the one, the only, KING JOHNNY GUITAR!" he announced to all in attendance. The ground shook and opened, and rising from the pit came the hugest, fattest Deathclaw the world had ever seen. Sitting at well over sixty feet tall, and weighing about as much as a skyscraper, Johnny let out a huge burp, one that reverberated for miles and miles.

Not Food #1 immediately bowed before his superior. "Oh, merciful and infinite one! Please, accept these humble offerings from ones who are as worthless as us! Bless us with your bountiful wisdom!"

Johnny looked down at him with his piggish eyes, trying to bullshit up a convincing enough koan satisfy his audience. "…A well-fed deathclaw is a happy deathclaw."

"ALL HAIL!" the crowd cried out in unison. Not Food #1 then ordered the procession of meat to be paraded past King Johnny. With meaty claws, he picked up the live food, often several creatures with each fistful, and shoved the meat down his throat. He turned to look at a cage hanging next to him, with a woman sitting chained up in the middle. "Song human! Sing my song!" he ordered.

"Play it again, play it again, My Johnny/ maybe you're cold, but you're so warm inside…" she sang. Shortly before anointing himself King, he attacked the human singing station; killing and devouring all the occupants except the woman whose job was to sing his favorite song. Now instead of only singing that song every hour or so, she sang it all the time. Forever.

In a matter of minutes, all the livestock had been devoured. It was enough to satiate him for the week. Finally, he turned to the pit-fire that Not Food #2 was manning. The female, wearing a jester's motley over her hood, was turning the spit as she looked upon her master. "…Johnny…"

Johnny's seven jowls quivered as he shook in his rage. "WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!" he roared.

Not Food #2 groaned as the rest of his flock shuddered in fear. "…King Johnny, your dessert has been prepared, just as you like it, asshole," she muttered the last part under her breath, but Johnny was gracious enough to ignore it. Looking towards the spit, his mouth salivated in anticipation of the delicacy he was about to enjoy. Tied to the spit, rotating above the fire just enough to not be burned was the weepy human. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she bit into the potato shoved in her mouth. Pinching the side of the spit with his fingers, he lifted the spit from the notches and brought the girl to his face, before popping the whole thing into his mouth. With a final belch, the crowd erupted into a massive cheer.

"Ah, that was OK, I guess. Not Food #1, I hereby give permission to mate with Not Food #2, and you shall produce many servants and morsels for my amusement. Everyone else, I'm still feeling a little famished, so if sixty or seventy of you could stick around, maybe I co-" he felt a sharp pop in his stomach. Looking down, he could see some force pressing against his stomach. Finally, it burst through. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Johnny fell over in agony, his body weight forcing the earth to tremble around him. Rolling on his back, he watched in horror as a figure burst through his stomach, not covered in any blood. It was a male human, wearing an overcoat and hat, and glaring at him with absolute fury. He walked the length of distance from between Johnny's burst stomach to his face. Johnny could only stare at the figure with fear in his eyes as he pulled out a magnum, a gun that was so small but carried the weight of a cannon. The stranger pulled the trigger.

New California Wasteland

Johnny woke up with a startle. Judging from his senses, he could tell that his stomach had not burst open (Oh good!) and he was back to being only ten feet tall (Shit). Looking around the camp, he could see Not Food #2 was snoring next to the dying embers of the campfire. He blinked and decided to try and go back to sleep, hoping that this time he could dream about something other then that strange and bizarre mystery man that kept popping up. As his lids began growing heavier, he figured that he must have missed something when he checked the camp.

"Ex-excuse me, Mis-mister Johnny," a shaky voice squeaked out. Johnny looked up to see Weepy standing a few feet away from him, clutching on to herself as she tried to stop trembling. "I-I-I know we got off on the- on the wrong foot earlier, and I know that V-V-Veronica says you're friendly. Veronica says that I-I shouldn't be afraid of you, and that you d-d-don't want to hurt me." Johnny didn't say anything, just keeping his eyes locked on Weepy.

"I-I-If it would be OK, Mr. Johnny, could I… could I, maybe… um… pet… you?" Weepy mumbled. Johnny continued to not say anything. Weepy took it as a sign to continue. Weepy cautiously approached Johnny, extending her hand and drawing it back ever so slightly. Slowly, she inched towards the lizard, almost coming into contact with its skin. Weepy gulped, and for a brief moment, almost looked elated at coming so close to conquering a fear of hers. In an instant, Johnny immediately rose up, and snapped his jaws a mere inch from her face.

Not Food #2 was rudely awakened when Weepy, screaming in panic, fell back and crashed into her as she crawled away from Johnny while bawling hysterically. Johnny, on his part, simply snuggled back to sleep, the sobbing of Weepy and the enraged castigations of #2 were the perfect white noise to lull him back to slumber. Even with #2 practically screaming in his ear, all he could hear was buzz buzz buzz… buzz…

Johnny perked his head up, fully alert and on edge. "AND FIFTHLY, YOU OVERGROWN NEWT, NOT A SINGLE CLAW, JOHNNY! IF SO MUCH AS A SINGLE CLAW SO MUCH AS TOUCHES HER, YOU WILL BE IN FOR A WORLD OF…!

"Shut up," Johnny stated, sniffing the air and trying to hide his nervousness. Veronica, just about plain fed up with the lizard, was about to slug him in the kneecap when Ziyi stopped sobbing and started listening too. "…Are those bees?" she asked.

Veronica stared into the distance, and she could make out a few specks of orange approaching. Her stomach dropped to her feet. Those bugs… this far out. "Cazadores," she breathed, moving behind Johnny. "You… you think we can take them on?"

Johnny stared at the bugs, narrowing his eyes in anger. "…I know just what to do with those things," he growled. He braced himself, fully extending his claws, growled as low as possible… and promptly bowled over Veronica as he turned and sprinted away from the approaching bugs.

"JOHNNY!" Veronica screamed as she picked herself up.

"I'M NOT CRAZY ENOUGH TO TAKE THOSE THINGS ON FOR YOU, NOT-FOOD!" Johnny screamed as he smacked down a signpost in his hasty retreat. Ziyi looked at the retreating lizard, and then back to Veronica. "…Are those things… bad?" she asked, her ignorance of wasteland fauna an open secret between her and Veronica.

"… I can't believe I'm about to say this. Ziyi… FOLLOW THAT DEATHCLAW!" Veronica cried as she grabbed Ziyi by the hand and charged after Johnny.

As they fled from the swarm, they both took a moment to vault over the overturned sign. Had either of them taken a moment to read it, they might have taken the warning to heart. NCR ADVISORY: DEATHCLAW PACK SIGHTED IN AREA! PROCEED AT OWN RISK!

EXCEPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Cazadores: A recent addition to the already highly lethal wildlife of the wasteland, cazadores are very agile and extremely venomous insects. Growing up to three meters long, cazadores tend to nest in rocky hills, and send out swarms to hunt for food and nesting material. Cazadores are ranked only behind deathclaws in lethality, and avoidance is always advised as opposed to combat. In the event of being stung, please consult with the antidote recipe guide on page 229.