"Wake up! Come on… you've GOT to wake up!"
Amata shook her almost violently—Sandra groaning and irritably trying to shove her away. Amata was yammering madly over her bed, Sandra drifting in and out of consciousness as she did, tossing and turning on her hammock within the bus as a cold sweat broke out along her forehead…
"Where is he…?" Sandra moaned thoughtlessly.
"He's gone!" Amata shrieked from her subconscious. "He's just… gone!"
"He can't be…" Sandra shook her head as her heart began to pound. "No, I…"
Vault 101 vanished from around her—and the Capital Wasteland whizzed through her thoughts like a holotape on fast-forward, shakily discovering Megaton, wandering the wastes and growing extremely rattled by her frightful experiences—but she hit a stroke of luck when she finally managed to hire a bodyguard. With Charon by her side, the terror soon became commonplace, and the fear turned to excitement, the thrill of adventure sweeping her away before the horrific showdown came to be—James hunched against the thick glass, face warped with pain as the radiation ate away at him, tears filling his eyes as he swatted his hand, pleading for his daughter to flee… and flee, she did. Fleeing the radiation—fleeing the death of her father—fleeing her innocence, and fleeing into a cesspool of the Enclave metal men that had started it all—and at long last, a demon most needed finally arose inside her, and Sandra became a necessary monster the day the Enclave daunted upon the Capital's doorstep.
Never could she forget the rush of it all—the white hot rage that dominated her every move, the wicked contest of survival between her and her opponents, from every sound made to every move enacted, every breath inhaled and every gun loaded—her body moved swiftly in sync with the reloads and pauses, taking full advantage of every opportunity she got to ambush yet another Enclave murderer. And it filled her to the brim—an absolute blast of euphoria, an evil, wonderful sensation, an explosion of murderous and victorious glee with every kill she obtained. And it was that very feeling—that haunting, evil enjoyment of slaughtering the Enclave—that so deeply plagued her now.
Because part of her longed for it again.
They deserved it, after all.
Charon's coffin shot through her mind in a split second—and Sandra found herself enraged, jolting around and grasping for her weapon, desperate to kill them all—oh God, would they pay for what they'd done—!
"Mistress!"
Charon's raspy voice hollered through her mind—she could've sworn she felt his big hands clasped around her arms once more—giving her a hard shake and snapping her out of it all.
And truly, he succeeded again—because Sandra sat bolt upright in her hammock with a start.
Inhaling rapidly, her tank top glued to her with sweat and her long crimson bangs hanging wildly over her face, Sandra sat still inside the dark and quiet bus, hunched on her hovering bed and trembling all over. She gnawed her lip, trying, forcing her mind to cling to the faces she saw—the pained James and the ghoulish Charon—but they fled her mind at once, leaving her only with a deep darkness inside, a total emptiness and a longing to kill with no rhyme or reason whatsoever.
Sandra let out a choking sob, burying her face in her hands and feeling utterly overwhelmed. She knew it—she saw it, memories and experiences, people she loved—but how close were they to her? How long did she travel with them? Did she ever travel with them? Where were they? How did they die? How did…?
It all eluded her—and Sandra sank deeper into her sorrows, trying her damnedest to swallow her muffled cries and failing entirely.
It was maddening; she felt it so strongly, so deeply, and she was so certain of how profoundly the experiences had impacted her—but nevertheless, she couldn't recall a single detail of it all. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had loved ones back east, and the Enclave was responsible for killing them.
Her cries faded away, a slow-burning anger beginning to take its place. Her hands lowered, coiling into fists as she gritted her teeth, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes as her heart hammered with fury.
Yes—this feeling was the problem, the very thing that nearly urged her to shoot Old Man Sellers, the overwhelming desire to hunt down and kill every last member of the Enclave.
But back then, back out east…
This feeling wasn't a problem at all.
It was her solution.
Sandra glared hotly down at her hardened, trembling fists, heaving several angry breaths and wanting more than anything to please the demon inside. Nothing would feel better now than killing yet another Enclave monster…
In fact, the world was full of monsters.
The Legion, the raider gangs, Marko, the Judge, and surely certain crooked elements within the NCR—the Mojave was filled with terrible, evil people.
"Oh… I will get you," Sandra snarled at no one, cradling her head and digging her fingernails into her skull. "I'll kill you all… I'll kill you all… I want you dead… I want you dead…!"
Her eyes clasped shut, and for several minutes, she sat in total silence, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she finally began to simmer down. She heard herself speak, hissing and angry words, the ramblings of someone gone mad…
Sandra choked out a pitiful laugh.
"I'm f…" she sputtered sadly, shaking her head. "F… fucking… falling apart…"
In the seconds following, strangely, she found herself thinking of Randall.
Steven Randall had a particularly traumatizing past as well—but unlike Sandra, he seemed to carry it in stride, maintaining total sanity as he did. Sure, he had a desire for revenge just like she did—but he was calm and collected, well put-together in a way she was not.
Sandra pondered on this. Now, all she wanted to do was venture up the hill and speak to Randall, to ask for his advice on the matter… but it was the middle of the night now. Randall was probably sound asleep, and she didn't want to disturb him.
Then again, he once told her that he'd be 'liable to tan her hide' if she ever kept any serious problems from him, especially problems that could negatively affect her ability to do her job.
Sandra decided it was worth a try, climbing out of her hammock and stretching as she carefully maneuvered around the others. She slid into her bounty hunter duster before opening the side door, Niner and Vulpes sound asleep, and she didn't notice that Arcade's bed was empty as she walked past it, stepping outside and pausing for a moment simply to enjoy the peaceful scenery.
Sandra slipped her hands into her pockets, glancing around—then, she caught sight of something peculiar farther down the road south.
It was incredibly far away, near the old abandoned jail that sat south of Primm—but she was certain she could see movement just before the building, a few people in tanish-brown uniforms marching toward the jail, two of them carrying a body, a body with a dangling white doctor's coat hanging from its torso…
Sandra felt a horrid sinking sensation as she gazed down the street.
"No…" she shook her head, backing away and climbing into the bus again.
To her horror, Arcade's bed was empty—and he was nowhere else to be seen.
A sudden panic shot up and down her like lightning.
Sandra rushed to the front of the bus, snatching up Vulpes's binoculars and hunching over the dash—she pressed the binoculars to her eyes and gazed out the windshield, far down the south road outside. And, in the magnified sights, she was able to see three rangers approaching the entrance of the old jail, two of them carrying an unconscious Arcade into the building.
It was during this moment—this brief, tiny moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity—when Sandra slowly lowered her binoculars, her eyes an icy blue, the dark and perfect realization instantly came to her in full.
The demon inside was not a problem.
It was now—just as it always had been—her greatest and most reliable solution.
In fact, the demon guided her hand now—as well as her feet, moving across the bus to grab her weapon, guiding her fingers as she reloaded her shotgun, guiding her legs as she marched out of the bus with a powerful stride.
Sandra strode alone down the empty road, calmly lighting a cigarette and puffing on it smoothly, her free hand clenching the shotgun by her side.
It was during this time when Ranger Dawson and her two followers settled in the back room of the building—handcuffing Arcade, wrapping a rag around his head and gagging him, then tossing him crookedly onto one of the cots inside the jail cell. Arcade lay motionlessly on his side, unable to move, his eyes fighting to open as Dawson slowly closed the barred door on him, locking him inside and smirking evilly at him as she did.
"Trying to stay awake… you're tougher than you look," Dawson remarked. "But you might as well give up, seeing as how you're caught now."
Arcade moaned weakly into his gag.
Dawson slowly grabbed the bars, her nasty grin widening.
"Do you know… what the NCR does to Enclave scum like you?" she hissed sadistically. "I'll be surprised if you make it to the prison without getting your ass beat first. The truck is gonna be here by morning, and then, you'll be off to your new miserable life. I hope you like hard labor, buddy. In fact… a squirmy little pretty-boy like you… oh, you're gonna get everything you deserve in prison."
Arcade gazed drearily up at her from behind his lopsided glasses.
Dawson maintained her disgusting smile.
"And you know what else?" she snarled with serpentine rasp. "You… fucking… deserve it."
Arcade let out a terribly defeated breath, his eyes drifting shut.
"Not as much as you do."
The rangers whipped around at the sound of a new voice in the room—
BANG—BANG.
Sandra fired off rapidly—and both of Dawson's men fell dead to the floor instantly.
Dawson whipped out her pistol just when Sandra raised her shotgun—both of them holding one another at gunpoint as a terrible sense of urgency overtook the room.
There was a tense pause.
Sandra gripped her shotgun tightly, glaring daggers into the ranger woman.
"Let… him… go," she growled furiously. "Now."
"Oh… you're really not in a position to bargain, sweetheart," Dawson sneered, cocking her head smugly. "Killing two rangers—you know you just made enemies of the entire NCR, right? Your life is ruined."
"Really? Because I don't see any witnesses here," Sandra snapped in response. "Just a couple of dead rangers just like you."
"You'll wanna think about that, hun—you'll really wanna think about that," Dawson uttered breathlessly. "Because I have backup coming to this building as we speak—and if you keep doing what you're doing, you won't get out of here alive."
"Bullshit. I heard what you said—you said they wouldn't be here until morning."
"It is morning."
"Not by the rest of the world's standards. Morning means sunrise—not four a.m."
"The NCR is painfully punctual, dear—and they often show up before the allotted time," Dawson told her. "You really wanna take that risk? You really wanna be standing over three dead rangers when the entire unit shows up here?"
Sandra glanced over at Arcade, feeling another stab of anger.
"Worth it to me," she rumbled.
"Oh, is it?" Dawson snarked, nodding at the jail cell. "And is it worth it to you to save a member of the fucking Enclave?"
Sandra stared at her, holding her shotgun high and falling entirely silent, now completely lost.
"You know who the Enclave are, don't you?" Dawson asked. "Evil, evil sons of bitches—they tore societies apart, waged wars for no reason, and they killed and kidnapped hundreds of thousands of innocent people—civilians and NCR alike. You do know that, right?"
Sandra said nothing, her furious expression hardening as her head began to ache.
"They are—the absolute—worst," Dawson growled angrily. "Whatever you think of the NCR—or even the fiends or the Great Khans—I assure you, they are nothing compared to the fucking Enclave."
Screams and visions penetrated her mind in a millisecond—a vertibird soaring over the monument—Enclave slaughtering everyone inside as she dove behind cover and attacked them one by one—James—dying—
Sandra shook her head and forced herself to remain in reality, though her eyes were beginning to water with a fervent angry remorse, hatred, hatred for the Enclave…
"And this man here," Dawson spoke on, using one hand to point at Arcade within the jail cell. "This man here is Enclave, sweetheart. His whole damn family was Enclave. We have all the evidence… from the war crimes of the Devil's Brigade to the names of everyone his family knew in Navarro. Mark Gannon—this man's father—was a top dog in the Enclave. That whole unit of the Enclave was the worst of the worst, and Arcade Gannon is one of them."
Sandra suddenly felt as if she was being physically ripped in half—vivid flashes of horrendous traumas whizzing through her mind as she fought to remain in the present, her mouth drifting open as the hot, furious tears streamed down her face. Unbelievable. Unbelievable…
Arcade—her best friend, her inspiration, the sweetest man she'd ever met—Enclave?
She stood rooted to the spot, hands shaking as she gripped the shotgun viselike, the terrible conflict feeling as if it might tear her in two.
But then, her eyes ventured past Ranger Dawson once more.
Her gaze landed on Arcade, lying on his side, helpless and unconscious, hands bound behind his back, a gag fixed firmly into his mouth…
Sandra's tears suddenly seemed to stop, as did every vision and every sense of conflict.
Because in this instant—it wasn't the visions of the past, nor the pain of her losses back east. It wasn't the hatred for the Enclave, and it wasn't her lust for revenge that so angered her now.
It was simply this—seeing Arcade kidnapped and captive, unjustly stolen away from her and held behind those goddamn bars.
"He's one of them," Dawson snarled with a sneer. "He's one of them, sweetheart."
Sandra took a deep breath, gazing into Arcade profoundly before slowly turning her predatory gaze back to Dawson. Then—with great resolve—she gripped the shotgun tight and gave the ranger a searing glare, responding to Dawson with a final, hateful glower.
"I don't care."
Sandra pulled the trigger as the shotgun kicked her with recoil—the gun let off a deafening bang, and that familiar blast of euphoria rushed through her once more as Dawson's head exploded into a revolting eruption of blood and bone, red mist penetrating the air as a burst of crimson splattered the wall behind her fallen corpse.
In the silent moments to follow, Sandra let the shotgun hang by her side, releasing a contented cloud of breath as she glared down at the ranger victoriously—because there were, indeed, many other monsters in this world, many of them beyond the Enclave, and she'd never feel remorse for ridding the world of more. That was the very core of her new profession, after all.
The core of the courier-turned-bounty hunter.
Before long, Sandra began to move again, hoping to get Arcade away from the building before any more NCR could arrive. She pulled the jail's door open and hunched over him, scanning him up and down worriedly before gently grasping his face.
"Arcade," Sandra said sadly, clasping his face and trying to stir him awake. "Arcade… hey… wake up. Can you hear me…?"
Arcade let out a faint groan, his bleary eyes attempting to venture up to her.
"I got you… it's okay, I got you," Sandra assured, her heart giving a pained throb. "What did they do… knock you out? Here… wait a sec…"
She reached around, untying the rag around his head and pulling the makeshift gag from his mouth. Arcade let out a massively relieved breath, resting his head on the cot and still fighting to remain half-conscious.
"Trank…" he breathed wispily.
Sandra squinted at him, then nodded with understanding. Yes, it would've made sense for them to sedate him…
"Just… hang on," she said, rushing out of the cell and quickly ripping the keys from Dawson's corpse. "Hang on…"
Sandra grabbed either of his arms, slowly lifting him to a sitting position and holding him upright. She then held him with one arm, using the other to try several keys on his handcuffs—and after the fifth try, she managed to unlock them and peel them from his wrists. Once his arms were free, he barely moved them.
"Come'ere, hey… look at me," Sandra breathed, holding him upright by the arms and trying to meet his eyes. "Can you… you can't walk, can you?"
Arcade couldn't seem to keep his head raised.
Sandra bit her lip, then nodded and inhaled deeply. "Okay—I got you. Hold on. Brace yourself."
"What… aghk…!" Arcade sputtered—Sandra whipped around and pressed her back to him, flattening him to the wall just before hooking her arms around his legs.
Then, in one burst of strength, she forced herself to her feet—lifting Arcade onto her back.
With some difficulty, Sandra carried Arcade down the hallway, kicking the doors open before stepping outside. She didn't head for the road north—she broke a hard left, lumbering steadily closer to the darkness behind the building, the vast hillsides in the far distance. It didn't matter where she went—as long as she and Arcade weren't inside the building when the NCR arrived. This great wilderness of darkness was the quickest escape.
Sandra couldn't have known how long she meandered across the dirt, trekking up hills and growing quickly exhausted, her legs throbbing and burning with pain. But nevertheless, she carried on, up a fourth hill, then a fifth…
When the jail was almost out of eyeshot behind her—her boot caught a rock, making her fumble and hit the ground.
Sandra lay flat on her stomach, Arcade sprawled crookedly overtop of her. She didn't move, fighting to catch her breath for several minute before finally turning over. Sandra pushed herself aside, rolling onto her back and shifting Arcade to her left, his body still halfway on hers, his arm draped over her and his head resting on her arm.
Sandra panted tiredly up at the night sky, then lifted her head and gazed down the hill, barely able to see the old jail in the distance. She then nodded, laying her head back and finally allowing herself to relax, as she'd put plenty of distance between herself and the old building now.
"S'okay…" she gasped, patting Arcade's arm. "We're good now… we're okay now…"
Overwhelmed with fatigue, Sandra and Arcade both drifted into an unwitting sleep, resting behind a large tree as morning slowly dawned upon them.
As the two of them rested, the sun began to rise, a large NCR convoy truck rolling up to the jail far down the hill. The troopers swept the building clean, finding the bodies of Dawson and her men. They spared some time to investigate the scene before driving away, and—luckily—none of them trekked up the mountainside, leaving the courier and her doctor to snooze safely in the dirt.
It was nearly eight in the morning when Arcade began to blink himself awake, his glasses lopsided and his head resting cozily on Sandra's collar. His limbs felt as if they weighed a ton, and he barely managed to curl his fingers open and closed, glimpsing at his hand as it attempted to regain mobility atop the courier's stomach. Then, his shiny green eyes crawled up her body, landing on her face—her eyes closed, her breaths deep and heavy, her mouth slightly agape.
"S… Sandra," Arcade croaked, trying his damnedest to lift his head, though he hardly managed to look upward. "Sandra…?"
With all his current strength, he managed to slide his arm up her body, gently grasping her cheek and giving her head a faint, mild shake.
Sandra blinked and yawned, raising her brows at the beautiful morning sky above her.
"Oh… hell," she moaned, swallowing another yawn. "I didn't mean to fall asleep…"
"Are y…" Arcade uttered weakly. "Are you all right…?"
Sandra glanced down at him, flashing a faint smirk. "Look at how fucked up you are… and you're asking if I'm all right?"
Arcade peered up at her tiredly, managing a tired little half-smile and exhaling an exasperated chuckle. "Of course…"
Sandra's left arm was still tucked beneath him, tingling and aching, as his weight had cut off part of her circulation, but it didn't matter. She tightened her arm around him, patting him gently as she savored her one-armed embrace, releasing a long, content breath of relief. She'd barely managed to rescue him—but here he was, and here they lay. Thank God.
"What… happened?" Arcade groaned, trying to lift his head again. "I don't…"
"Rangers arrested you… and tranked you, apparently," Sandra informed. "Don't worry about it. It's over now."
Arcade gazed up at her, resting his chin on her collar and eyeing her closely, his tired expression now carrying a hint of concern.
"Did you…" he muttered. "Did you kill them?"
Sandra's visage darkened, her fingers tightening around him as she glared up at the sky.
"Of course," she replied grimly. "They took you away. Of course I killed them."
Arcade's eyes began to widen. "Sandra… you shouldn't have…"
"Shut up, now," Sandra sighed. "I don't wanna hear it."
"But they… they're gonna be after you now," Arcade breathed worriedly. "You made enemies of the entire NCR… you shouldn't have…"
"Arcade," Sandra said in a firm, flattened voice. "I don't give a damn who it is—if they cross me and target anyone I care about, then they're dead. Simple as that."
Arcade laid his head on the side of her chest again, sighing heavily.
"Just for me," he murmured. "You villainized yourself just for me… I don't… I don't think that was a fair trade…"
Sandra glimpsed down at him again, scoffing out a laugh. "Shut the hell up. I'm sick of that—I'm sick of you acting like you're not worth the trouble."
"I jus…" Arcade exhaled. "I just know… this is gonna cause so many problems for you… for all of us… and I… it's my fault…"
"Arcade—you've been babysitting my ass since day damn one," Sandra said sternly. "You really think I wouldn't return the favor? It's not your fault. It's just another complication—but we can deal with it. There weren't any witnesses—which means the NCR can't prove that I killed the rangers. I'm not villainized. Not quite yet. And don't worry—I'm gonna go straight to someone in charge, and I'm gonna get a pardon for you."
Arcade blinked, slowly raising his head again and gazing into her questioningly. "A… pardon?"
"Yeah," Sandra said simply. "A pardon for being an Enclave remnant. That's why they came after you in the first place."
Following these words was a long, thoughtful silence—and Arcade stared into her profoundly, his mouth drifting agape, ogling her as if he'd never seen anything quite like her before.
"I…" he uttered at a loss. "I… don't… h-how did you…?"
"The bitch told me," Sandra informed. "Before I shot her face off."
Arcade stared at her again, his heart palpitating nervously as he surveyed the oddly calm expression strewn across her face. He'd feared her reaction so deeply—dreading how she would respond when she learned the truth—but now, Sandra seemed calmer and more sincere than he'd ever seen her before. It was the last thing he expected.
"I… thought you'd be… angry," Arcade muttered breathlessly. "I thought you'd…"
Sandra said nothing at first, staring into the sky and tightening her one-armed grasp on him.
"Arcade," she said sincerely. "I still don't even know what happened back then… I just get flashes. Metal power armor… storming all around me, killing everyone I knew. But those little flashbacks… everything I remember about the Enclave…"
Her arm tightened even more, holding him closely.
"It's the exact opposite of what I see in you," Sandra conceded. "What I see in my flashbacks is just evil… evil people. But what I see in you is just… everything I needed to find in the wasteland. You inspire me. You make me wanna give a damn… and you make me wanna fix everything. I know you… and I know you're not what I see in the past."
Arcade rested on her, turning his head crookedly and gazing up at her face, feeling deeply touched with every word she spoke.
"So… I don't care," Sandra synopsized, smirking and stroking him softly. "I don't care if you were Enclave… hell, I don't care if you did some terrible shit in the past, either. Because I know who you are now… and that's the person I love."
Arcade felt a pained tug in his heartstrings, brandishing a broken smile.
"I underestimated you… I'm sorry," he murmured. "I thought you'd flip… I really did…"
"Well… I can't blame you for that," Sandra admitted, recalling her bizarre behavior during her restless sleep in Novac. "I know I can be… a little bit unstable sometimes. But I need you to think about it… really think about it. Think about me and Foxxy."
Arcade squinted up at her oddly.
Sandra lifted her head, looking downward and meeting his eyes.
"He's done a lot of horrible shit," she told him grimly. "But I still see a worthwhile person in him… and I'm trying to help him. Now, think about that. If I can look past all the awful shit he's done… then do you really think I can't look past you being Enclave?"
Arcade paused, giving a slow, weak nod. "I didn't think of it like that…"
"Well… that's how it is," Sandra disclosed. "I love all of you guys. And I've done some bad things, too… but I think I'm making up for it now. We're all making up for every mistake we've ever made. We're working to save the entire Mojave. That's what matters. Not our past, not our old connections—just what we're doing now."
"Yeah… that's how I tend to think of it," Arcade told her. "I just didn't want you to…"
He sighed deeply, his eyes drifting shut.
"I didn't want you to hate me," he exhaled. "You're the first woman in my life that I… I feel like I can actually trust. Since my mother died… I haven't been… I haven't exactly been close to anyone… and certainly not trusting of anyone… but you're different. You're the first person I've found out here that I can actually trust. And I didn't want that to… I didn't want that to change, just because…"
"Arcade—that's never gonna change," Sandra stated. "I told you that already, didn't I? You think anything's gonna change us being best friends? Then you're stupid."
Arcade let out a faint laugh.
"Thank you," he said genuinely.
Sandra perked her brows. "For what…?"
Arcade chuckled again, just barely managing to lever himself upright. He hunched over her, giving her the most sincere smile she'd ever seen on him.
"For what?" he snickered, shaking his head. "Well… where do I start? You saving my life? Giving me an actual purpose out here? Looking past my Enclave background? The list goes on."
Sandra laughed, grinning up at him and feeling a rush of contentment.
Then, she muttered something without any forethought whatsoever.
"You remind me of my dad…"
Arcade stared at her, his smile fading and his eyes glistening with interest.
Sandra looked to the sky again, wondering why she'd said such a thing, a few feelings from the past slowly creeping up on her. It flashed through her mind in brief bursts—the sight of James back in Vault 101, his tender smile and graying hairs, always wearing that doctor's coat much like Arcade, his caring nature and his final moments within Project Purity, leaning on the thick glass wall and wincing in pain as he pleaded for Sandra to run for her life…
"He was a doctor," Sandra murmured, again speaking without any thought. "And he cared so much about everything… saving the wasteland… just like you…"
Arcade observed her, then pushed himself fully upright, finally managing to sit up on the dirt. Sandra leaned upward and sat closely beside him, swiping her hairs aside and gazing downward as her recollections continued to drift out of her mouth without her permission.
"You make me feel like he did," Sandra mumbled distantly. "Like there's hope… and I need to… do whatever I can to fix everything out here…"
Arcade slowly nodded, folding his arms over his legs and listening intently.
Sandra stared down, crossing her legs and sighing heavily.
"Foxxy makes me feel like I used to… back when… I was traveling," she went on. "I don't know why, but he… it's the same feeling, like… I need to help him… help him get out of his old mentality, and… learn how to live like us."
Arcade nodded again, gently stroking her back as she spoke.
"And Niner…" Sandra smirked and let out a chuckle. "He just makes me feel… like it's always okay to have fun, and grab life by the horns, and enjoy traveling and everything. I used to feel that way by myself… but now, he… he makes me feel that all over again… and it's awesome."
Arcade gave her another nod. There was a brief silence between the two of them, Arcade tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"I think I have a pretty good idea of what's going through your head now," he told her.
Sandra glanced over at him questioningly.
Arcade met her eyes and spoke on.
"I think… you chose your companions perfectly out here," Arcade determined. "Because they reflect all the good things you used to feel."
Sandra stared at him.
"With me… I make you feel the same way your father did, like you can really make a positive difference in the wasteland," Arcade explained. "Vulpes makes you feel the same way Charon did… like he's a broken soul, but he has enough potential to become better than he used to be. So… you feel obligated to help him do that… just like you did with Charon. And with Niner… Niner makes you feel like your old self, optimistic and fun-loving. So I think… I think I understand it now."
Sandra's heart gave an empathetic jolt, her visage intensifying.
Arcade smiled at her. "I reflect your father… Vulpes reflects Charon… and Niner reflects you."
The words sank into her like water to a sponge. Sandra pondered deeply on Arcade's synopsis, her heart now pounding with reflective empathy as she slowly began to accept the doctor's diagnosis. It made perfect sense; Sandra was once a free spirit in the wasteland, grinning and traveling, always looking for adventure and never caring about the dangers attached, much like Niner always did. And Vulpes was a powerful sort of figure, and he always managed to protect her somehow—just as Charon once did—and she felt obliged to help him overcome the mental baggage he carried from his brainwashing past. And Arcade—he was the beacon of hope among the group, the person who always reminded her that they truly could make a difference in the wasteland, just as James once did.
Somehow—perhaps by simple chance, or perhaps by her unconscious actions—she'd managed to fully recreate the chemistry of her past, finding hope again and clinging onto all the perfect companions that resurrected every feeling she once held dear.
"Is it…" Sandra muttered, turning and narrowing her eyes at him. "Is it bad that I did that? Is it… is it unhealthy that I…?"
Arcade smiled and chuckled, patting her on the back. "Of course not. It makes perfect sense for you to manifest a coping mechanism in your life, especially after all you've been through. And I'm damn grateful that you did—because otherwise, none of us would be here now. I'd still be sitting in the Mormon Fort, flipping through old books and trying to find new medical remedies that always turn out to be fruitless. Niner would probably be stoned in a gutter somewhere, and Vulpes would still be a monstrous tool of the Legion. I don't think you even see it… but you rescued all of us. So don't you dare kick yourself for that."
Sandra's heart skipped, a spark of empathy coursing through her as she gazed into Arcade's wonderfully genuine smile.
"You always know exactly what to say," she said softly. "See… this is why I need you. One of the many reasons I need you…"
"We all need each other," Arcade figured. "Hell… we've created a militia of heroes, in a way. We're saving the Mojave one step at a time. And, like you said… that's what really matters."
"Damn right," Sandra nodded, glimpsing down the hill and seeing that the old jail was completely unoccupied, no NCR in sight. "I think we're good to leave now. Let's head back."
"All right," Arcade nodded, hunching forward and hesitantly attempting to stand, his head going light as he did. "Oh, man… I'm still a little woozy…"
Sandra stood and grasped his arms, slowly helping him to his feet. Once they were both standing, Arcade let out a deep breath, meeting her eyes and smiling once more.
"I really can't say it enough," he said sincerely. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Arcade… you're my family now," Sandra replied genuinely. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."
Arcade's sweet smile seemed to widen. "I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you… I really don't."
"Oh, stop that—I'm not a hero. I'm just a dysfunctional and violently overprotective friend," Sandra snickered. "Now, let's get back to the bus. We've got a lot to do today. We're heading to the embassy."
Arcade raised his brows. "The NCR embassy? Why…?"
"Because I'm gonna get you a pardon," Sandra told him firmly. "I don't want the NCR hunting you anymore. I'm gonna nip that shit in the bud now."
Arcade gulped nervously. "How… how are you gonna pull that off?"
"No idea," Sandra shrugged, taking his hand and beginning down the hill. "But I'll make sure it gets done. I've got your back on this. C'mon."
Arcade sighed and followed her down the hill, walking somewhat crookedly, as the tranquilizer hadn't fully worn off yet. It was a long walk down the hillsides—Sandra occasionally grabbing Arcade and helping him to climb down slopes and rocks, as he still felt dizzy—and they eventually reached the road again, marching north and strolling toward the large bus that sat just down the hill from Randall & Associates.
The moment they returned, Sandra and Arcade spotted Niner and Vulpes just outside of the bus, both of them marching around and looking urgent. Just when Niner spotted Sandra, he huffed an irritated breath and rounded on her.
"Six—where have you been?" he breathed, grabbing her arm and giving her a shake. "Don't fuckin' scare me like that—shit!"
Niner and Vulpes both glared into Sandra and Arcade, expecting an explanation for their disappearance. Sandra simply sighed, glimpsing at Arcade and releasing a deep, solemn breath.
"It's a long story," Sandra conceded, opening the side door of the bus. "Everyone, get inside. I'll tell you the whole story while we're on the road. We got somewhere to be right now."
Niner stared at her for a moment, still clearly agitated. Then, he sighed and climbed into the bus. Sandra helped Arcade to march up the tiny narrow stairs that led into their vehicle—and as she did, Vulpes stood behind them, eyeing the two of them intensely before following them into the Vegas Machine.
Sandra told them the entire story as she drove them toward Vegas with haste.