"Could you drop the head?"

"No."

Camp McCarran was the stronghold of the NCR in the Mojave, or so she'd been told. Every decision from the top brass, every troop movement, even the weapons apparently was distributed by McCarran over the Mojave. And because it had been built on the ruins of an airport, with mighty tall walls, it made for a good position to settle in. True, the Fiends outside were a pain, but the walls held strong against their efforts, and it would take heavier weaponry than even energy rifles for them to start making a dent, and the 1st recons snipers in the camp were quick to take care of groups deemed too large for conventional NCR troopers to dispatch easily.

It was perhaps one of the safest places to be at in the Mojave, once you were inside the walls. It was also teeming with modern trucks but also derelict vehicles. Mighty machines that conquered the sky of the old world and crossed America or even the entire planet, allowing voyagers to depart from Vegas and arrives at the other side of the coast or countries beyond, and vice-versa for those who wanted to try their luck in the old world version of Vegas. Nowadays, those planes were grounded, and anything useful inside had been taken out already, but they still made for an impressive sight here and there, especially since planes, unlike cars, had yet to be reintroduced to civilization.

There were several reasons for Max to be excited about this, but all she could think about, as her eyes scanned the place, was those Fiends she'd fought with the squad earlier. She was happy to be alive, and her brain was continuously feeding her rational justifications on why it had to be done, but the sight of those bloody holes on their sickly bodies kept coming back at her whenever she thought of getting over the incident. Emma's decision to carry around a severed head didn't help much in the matter, but she was unnerved at how quickly some of her fellow troopers had adapted to it.

"You could've brought a finger!" Chided the other Wastes veteran. "Heads spill out too much blood."

"Fingers aren't enough. You can live with a severed finger," Retorted Emma, matter-of-factly. "But it's a bit harder to live without a head. Besides, I haven't got my bags." She looked down at the severed head and poked it with her finger. "Heh, not like he was using it much, I reckon."

The squad stood past the main gates of McCarran. Since they'd arrived first, the Lieutenant was handling the paperwork ahead, to let it know that none of his soldiers had been killed over the walk to the camp. Only two soldiers seemed to be handling the administrative side of things at a little table, right to the left after entering the camp. The other had left early, leaving the other to do the paperwork on his own. At first, Max thought it was him simply being horrified by the gory display right beneath his eyes, but she could see his silhouette coming back, holding hard unto a dollar to prevent the wind from blowing it away.

"Sheesh, why don't you keep a box full of cash next to you, that'll make it easier." Grumbled Emma, holding her hand out to receive the money. The man handed it to her but didn't quite take the head yet: Instead, he pulled a white glove out of a pocket in his uniform, put it on, and grasped the head using it.

"We can't do that. Matters of… desperate thieves and trust. The last people in our spot ran off with the money to gamble it in Freeside," Replied the man, matter-of-factly. He took a glance at the other soldiers. "I trust that none of you have more heads or limbs to deliver? We've deemed arms and legs to be proof enough of demise." When everyone simply stared in silence, be it polite or horrified, the man gave a short bow and headed out.

"Bleh, for five dollars, I'd have brought in more heads." Emma took a proper look at the dollar, sticking out her tongue and bringing it close to her left eye. The picture of Aradesh, great Founder of the Republic, didn't seem altered in any manner and the picture of Shady Sands, at the back, was accurate. It was just odd to imagine that the sprawling city of today had been a humble village amongst many, but it was encouraging to see that, isn't it? She remembered dwelling near that well from time to time. The closest thing to a monument to be found in New California for now!

"I'm glad you didn't. It's… pretty creepy to behead dead people and expose their heads to your superior," Max held her arms close and looked to the side, remaining a bit distant. It was more Legion behavior than NCR, but to see it encouraged by the latter was alarming. "… Sorry about the shoes."

"That's fine. I've been thrown up on by worse," Emma glanced at Deacon and turned to her team, raising her left hand to caress it against the wall. This confused Max until she saw some blood and hair on the wall. The black-haired woman then rubbed her hands together to finish it. "You guys hungry? I don't think you've eaten food since the outpost. Geez, you could've bought something for yourselves!"

"It looked bad," Complained a soldier, Pvt. Wilson by the name. Max had to agree: The food didn't look appealing enough for her. Besides, some probably still had their rations or ate at the Mojave Outpost.

"A lot of the food is going to look pretty disgusting… and you'll need to eat it all the same because you can't get picky," Intervened the other veteran of the squad, Wood, by the sign on his chest. "Count yourselves lucky that the Lieutenant commandeered these trucks or else you'd be crawling in the desert on an empty stomach." And speaking of the man, the Lieutenant had wheeled around to face them, his face stern as usual. Both Emma and Wood immediately saluted, and so did Max and the rest after seconds of hesitation.

"I've handled the paperwork for you guys, so if you want to go to the mess hall, now's your time," The mustached man put his hands on his hips and leaned forward. "Some of you are going to be sent back east, to the Dam, so I suggest you rest up, eat and drink well before the trip. But even for those of you who'll stay here, you better get back in shape! Your duties will be given to you today, and I want to see you hard at work during my tour of the facility later! For all of you, McCarran is just the part of something greater! You're not at the halfway point or at the end of your story: This is the beginning! So shape up! You're going to be sent to battles very soon, and I want you to come back with the full honors! Let those eggheads run out of baskets where to store those heads at!"

"Actually, we'd be very upset if that happened, the sun would make the rot-"

"Understood?!"

"Yes sir!" Satisfied with that display, Deacon waved them away, and most of the soldiers decided to depart for McCarran itself, at a somewhat fast rate. She could see more of the squads arriving in the base, having seemingly had no accidents on the way in. Or at least, she hoped that they'd all make it through. The desire to stick around and greet the survivors briefly crossed her mind, but there were… priorities to solve firsthand, and so she hurriedly walked along the rest of them.

"Man, look at these guys. Not even two days out in the desert and they're already skittish to head back to civilization," Emma groaned, walking along at a fast pace as well. "Back in my starting years, I had to scavenge, steal or hunt if I wanted to be fed or have water. I wasn't begging to have it all on my plate, no sir! I killed a full-grown gecko and used its hide to carry around what I needed…"

"You were a tribal?" Asked Max, eyes darting around. She spotted tents, training dummies, various other vehicles, but none of that was remotely interesting to her at the moment. "You had to hunt for food in the wasteland, drink water from caves… all that?"

"Hmmm, nope! I was a young adult when I headed out for the cruel wastes. If I were a tribal…" She sneered derisively before continuing. "I'd be freaking out over all these metal birds and evil demons around the place!"

"That's a mean thing to say! Tribals know a lot about the Wasteland, and they had to live… huh, without the hindsight of old books!" Max's walk accelerated when she spotted a soldier advancing at them, stunning even Emma as she ran past the entire group to get to the private. "Excuse me!" She yelled. Once she was close enough though her next request was a good deal more silent, and once the soldier answered, she was even quicker in her departure, slamming open the closest doors and running into the base in itself.

"Is she going to stab someone in there?" Wondered out loud one of the privates, astonished at how fast Max had taken off. As they approached, the same private pointed at the guide. "Hey, you, what was her deal?"

"I can't say." Retorted the woman, before walking off. Emma frowned for a second… but then a thought came to mind, and instead the black-haired woman laughed.

…

Max walked out of the room feeling both satisfied yet supremely embarrassed, though it provided her at least with a little relief in her train of thoughts. Once ensured that everything was put back in its proper place, the younger woman glanced around at the base, curious about how busy the NCR's HQ in New Vegas looked like. To her surprise, there wasn't too much activity going around: Patrols were plenty, and some looked at her oddly now that they'd seen her amazing run, but it was somewhat quieter than in her imagination. Though perhaps that was something to be relieved by since it meant that everything was in order. Max took a few more steps and looked around at the countless posters.

She basked in the atmosphere of a place where General Oliver himself had resided in. That, and it may be her home for the coming months, so she may as well get settled in and acknowledge. It was a big place but owing to its former life, there were a lot of signs to use in case someone was lost. And she'd had a rough knowledge of the place thanks to the instructions from that private. She'd really need to thank her! But that'd come after lunch. God, she could kill for some tasty iguana bits! Or even a Brahmin steak! Licking her lips in anticipation, Max settled out for the concourse, where she guessed that her friends were, and the food too.

As luck would have it, though, a hand set itself upon Max's right shoulder. Not strongly, but it was enough to make her wheel around with her fist raised, meaning to firmly crash it against someone's nose if they needed to. A tad less restraint would've caused that nose to belong to an Officer, who quickly backed off and let go of her. "Apologies." He said hands held up to reassure her. A superfluous gesture, since the beret he had on convinced Max to immediately lowers her arms in shame.

"A-apologies to you, sir! I came close to hitting you!" Max stood up straight and slammed her boots together, in imitation of Emma. "I hope that you'll forgive my lapse in attention!"

"All is forgiven indeed," He snorted, seemingly amused, but then immediately snapped back to attention. He was a Caucasian man, who looked to be in his mid-40s at most, with an impressive build that matched and even surpassed Nolan's or Deacon. He was straight out of a propaganda movie: A build like that could scare a Raider into giving away whatever he stole. Brahmin barons would battle to have a man like that around their ranches because his sole presence would convince thieves or troublemakers to immediately vacate the area. "I'm Captain Curtis. I was surprised to see you dart down the hallway at full speed like that." Curtis, huh? She'd remember it. "I checked to see if anything was off in the surroundings, and found you on the way back. What gives?"

Max bit her lips, already feeling ashamed about the end of the conversation. How could she explain it to the captain? "Well, I had to walk through the desert for a day and I was… well…" The younger woman nodded behind Curtis, who glanced backward. His eyes widened in realization but the military man kept his cool: Instead of immediately backing off or apologizing, he instead chuckled, realizing that he'd had made a mistake.

"Well, they are right next to my office! And here I thought you had a sinister plot in mind!" Max laughed as well, but not solely out of politeness. It was still silly, but she felt less stupid now that he'd acknowledged the reason. "Well, I won't be holding you up then. I guess you have some assignments to go to!"

"Oh, I'm going to grab a bite first. I haven't eaten in a little while. And you need to eat your veggies if you want to defeat Legion scum." Curtis glanced at her and shook his head slowly as if preparing to deliver terrible news.

"Ah, yes. Hrm, I would suggest tempering your expectations regarding the food," Before she could ask him to elaborate, he was already on his way out. "Nonetheless, I bid you a good day, private Doleetle!"

"Likewise, Captain Curtis!" She saluted once more and dropped her arms as soon as his back was turned. He was quite polite, but he seemed to be wrestling with an acute paranoia going by the way he interrogated Max. Was he under the stress of a sort? Rooting out disguised spies and all the stuff that Officers do? Well, regardless, that was his problem for now. There was time to ponder and time to eat, after all, and her stomach would be plotting betrayal anytime soon if she didn't comply with its demands. Wheeling around, Max headed for the mess hall at a decently fast pace, to catch up to the others before they were done eating.

She shouldn't be sitting alone in the hall, eating her food by her own side and quietly departing once done. No. For the better and worse, everyone inside that base right now was a friend. An ally. Perhaps even a member of a great big and dysfunctional family called the NCR. She needed to make pals, to get to know them, to see what made them tick. And she felt closer to her own squadmates than anyone else for now since she'd crossed the desert with them. Max was also slightly hoping that her good deed from earlier, at the Outpost, would be able to endear her to them. The youth quietly made her way for the mess hall.

The airport was slightly less grimy looking than she'd expected, but it didn't mean that it was clean either. Its gigantic halls were still filled with papers older than the republic itself, and while most of the previous posters had been put down in favor of modern propaganda, some of the brochures or ads from the place were still up for everyone to see. VISIT… WASHINGTON DC! BOSTON! CHICAGO! VEGAS! LOS ANGELES! TORONTO! ALL THE GREAT CITIES OF YOUR COUNTRY!

She could read, passing by. A melancholic feeling briefly gripped her heart as she read those words. What Max wouldn't give to live in the times way before the war, where strife was less common and people didn't have to worry about brutal humans or radioactive deformities! With buildings as tall as the sky, and a vast world to explore beyond America. Thanks to the NCR that old way of life was slowly returning, but some privileges were forever lost. And she had the benefits of being born in Shady Sands: Plenty of others, including what she suspected to be Emma, were forced to fight to survive early in a world ruined by their ancestors.

Her stomach groaned, and her train of thoughts instantly distracted her from her ponderings over the Old World to instead focus on the hall. Once more taking off, Max crossed the grey halls to directly arrive at the concourse of the airport. It served as a mess hall, but many beds were arranged over the room, with some soldiers currently using them. Swearing to be silent, Max made her way towards the cook, rubbing her hands in delight. They could serve her a whole Brahmin and she'd eat it in one go! "Hello!" The cook turned towards her as the young woman grabbed a plate and held it up. "I'd like some Brahmin steak!" He didn't respond. Instead, the cook stared at her in pure surprise, as if not sure how to proceed. Some soldiers chuckled.

"… We haven't got that," He replied. "But I've got some vegetables if you need. Beans will give you the proteins to carry on your work."

"Beans?!" Max yelled back, pure frustration taking over. She immediately clamped her mouth shut, to calm down, and lowered it. "… There's no meat?"

"Nope. Unless there's a miraculous shipment that I'm not aware of," He took a look at the kitchen. "Here be beans, corn… maybe some carrot. So you won't starve to death." He shrugged a practiced gesture. "I'm sorry. But there isn't much I can do, so you please don't swear at me. I've already had to hear a lot about my mother's sex life out of the troopers here so…"

"I won't insult your mom," Said Max, slowly realizing the situation. "Huh… give me beans then. And a carrot." The man nodded and scooped up some of the precious beans before dumping them on her plate. The Brahmin Steak from before felt like a wistful thought by now, but the young woman guessed that such meals were kept for the Core Regions. Still, her stomach bemoaned further at the thought of being fed such pittance, leading Max to quietly take the plate away and head to the tables nearby. "Thank you!"

"I know you're not thinking that." He replied. She'd protest, but a familiar sight greeted her: Emma was sitting with a couple of other soldiers at a nearby table, and upon noticing Max, she taped the chair next to her.

"Come on to our feast, Max!" The young woman did as asked, sitting down next to her friend, who promptly gave her a slap on the back. "We've got beans! I hope you like 'em." With a quick glance, Max indeed discovered that beans were apparently the stars of the meal, to the displeasure of most of the soldiers. There was no meat to be found, but the vegetables were overflowing! Instead of commenting yet, the younger woman dug into her plate and proceeded to begin to eat, hopeful that the food would at least shush her rumbling stomach.

She was disabused of that notion as soon as her taste buds made contact with the food: It was cold, and anything that could've helped smooth things, like sauce or spices, was missing. This didn't mean that it wasn't comestible, but very few would find it to be good to eat nonetheless. After swallowing the first batch, Max decided to briefly give up on the beans and seized the carrot, taking the first bite at it. She wasn't even surprised to find that the carrot could easily be confused with a block of ice, but it had more of a… taste to it. And in a pinch, should there be a sudden attack, it could be used as an impromptu bat to knock out an offender.

But she had the simpler option of keeping her rifle around, tied to her shoulder.

"… This makes me want to go out and hunt geckos," Contemplated a soldier. "Why don't we just do that? It's a good excuse to clear them out, right?"

"Geckos aren't common around these parts," Replied Emma. While everyone else was trying hard to get through their food, she had no problems whatsoever. She even swore that the soldier would stab her fork into a single bean before consuming it. "You won't find many animals, in fact. Except for the ones with advanced weaponry and makeshift armor."

"… Well, what do we do then? I can't have a firefight with Fiends on an empty stomach! It's the HQ, damn it! Do you think that… general Oliver would eat frozen vegetables while planning our fate?!"

"W-well," Ramones interjected. "He did leave to Hoover Dam." Another soldier almost intervened, considered what Ramones said, and sat back down. Max smirked at the picture of Oliver arriving at Hoover Dam and immediately ordering a buffet for himself after months of relative squalor, but then she found herself fixating a bit too much into the buffet in itself. So instead, she took another pity bite of the carrot. It almost tasted like an actual carrot!

"I wasn't expecting for the food to be… of dubious taste either," Admitted Emma. "But it's how it is. Supply lines are having trouble making their way here and the barons would rather make money off the restaurants in the Strip. We're going to have to be smart and get our own food at this rate." Everyone listened in as if Emma was going to miraculously spawn something. "Well, vendors from the Crimson Caravan would be a good choice. They tend to do runs from here to their own fort. They've got food to deliver to whoever would pay."

"Then why don't they just cut to the middle man and give us the food we need?" Asked Max, befuddled. "The Crimson Caravan is in California, right? And it's a fight for civilization, so they could give a hand."

"Huh-huh. If you asked some guy or gal over at Crimson Caravan to throw an old man down a set of stairs, they'd get multiple old men because you'd need to pay them for each victim," Replied Emma, her tone knowing. "The NCR is throwing their caps around at a lot of problems, and as it stands, "our soldiers are only getting beans to eat!" is small-time next to some of the other stuff that's being dished out. I have a feeling that some of them here would like to change that, but they're caught up in the Fiends and Legion and would get blown off if they asked for caps to feed us."

"That's bullshit!" Clamored the same soldier from earlier.

"Welcome to politics," Emma shrugged. "Still a problem even when the bombs went ahead and cleaned clock across the globe. I'd definitely recommend converting your dollars to caps and getting the food out of merchants. You may get a discount if they see your face for long enough."

Max dug into her food with a disheartened sigh. The NCR was now too lazy to properly feed its soldiers? They'd never described that when reporting the war. The more it went along, the more it felt like a bizarre dream. Men and women were sent away from home to fight post-apocalyptic Romans with nothing but two weeks' worth of training and little support in the way of supply. What'd happen if the Gun Runners started to get too costly? Would the higher-ups proceed to supply the recruits with wooden spears or tell them to chuck stones at the enemy?

It was a difficult thing to rationalize, that was all. But, well, what could she do but accept it? The rest of the meal concluded in silence.

…

Night had soon fallen since the trek to McCarran had taken the better part of the day. Max wasn't surprised to find that she'd been assigned to the camp itself, but she was lucky. Most of the soldiers, bar a few like Nolan or Emma, had been sent off to either Forlorn Hope or the Dam. For those men and women, it would be another trek through the arid wastes before they could finally begin their work. And after seeing the relative state of the headquarters, some were not too eager to arrive in the other places.

But she didn't try to let it affect her. Instead, she tried to think positively: She'd be patrolling the area behind the main building itself, full of discarded planes and other interesting bits of technology. As far as assignments went, there were lesser places to go to, right? Fiends couldn't reach past the walls after all, so there was no risk of being attacked or stumbling upon something traumatizing. Like dead corpses riddled with bullets and grime...

Nolan was also assigned to McCarran and so was Emma, which was likely a sign from destiny considering how close she was to either of them. Furthermore, the two women were bunkmates, meaning that right now, Max could hear her wasteland mentor digging around in the bed above hers, fiddling with her covers and putting up various small posters over her bed. Max had done the same, but because she had comparably less space, and was anxious about someone else spotting them, she'd decided to simply equip her little space with posters from all the major towns in California. Shady Sands's humble well would greet her upon awakening, and she'd see pictures of the Boneyard upon looking up. She'd never went there, but her brother had to, to learn the Followers's craft.

Dayglow and the Hub completed her little periphery of states of the NCR. Maxson was a bit more ambiguous: Ever since the NCR-Brotherhood war, it had been renamed various times, and the names never stuck around long enough for people to absorb them. Right now, she'd learned that it was named the state of Tibbet, in honor of the successor of the beloved Tandi, but that could change.

Fuck New Reno. She didn't want to even see it in pictures. So that'd make four pictures. Max's incomplete Republic of California, tied to the wall by the scotch she could muster. Once done, Max leaned back into her bed: It wasn't too comfortable compared to what could be found back home, as all things were nowadays, but it was still cleaner than she expected it to be. There was also a cool chill in the room, to be blamed on a cracked window perhaps, that she found most refreshing. But she didn't dwell on it, not wanting the universe to hear her and suddenly replace the cool breeze with a vicious heat ray. Max placed her hands behind her head and relaxed on her bed instead, taking a look at her posters and shrugging.

"You done arranging your own stuff?" Asked Emma, almost startling Emma with the suddenness of her question.

"Y-yeah! It's a good thing we found these brochures." Max glanced at the discarded posters left around the room for anyone to find. She suspected that in about five years of occupation, some poor soul had taken upon themselves to supply their fellow soldiers with posters of their home. Certainly to make them remember why they were taking up their weapons and going to war in the desert, but it wouldn't be surprising to hear that many soldiers grew quite homesick upon seeing their former homes, where the locals tended to have distinctly lesser worries. "… Can I ask you a question?"

"I buried the bodies near the red radioactive barrel." Emma retorted. When Max failed to reply, out of surprise, she snorted. "It's a joke. Yeah, shoot."

"… Where do you come from, in the NCR? No need to tell me exactly where you were, like born, but the general region maybe?"

"That's fine. I was born in a small town south of Klamath. It wasn't too big, but there was a mine to gain supplies from, a lake, and settlers were lucky enough to find some minor pre-war town that had been spared by the nukes. Oh, it was no Den or Redding, but it wasn't too big for its own good. It went below the radar of the slavers at the Den, and if any of them stumbled upon it, the inhabitants poisoned them with lead," Emma chuckled at that sentence. "Same with the raiders."

"They fed them lead? That sounds tricky!"

"N-no," Emma stumbled along with her phrase. "It meant that they shot them and took their stuff. Bullets are like lead you know and… anyhow." Max felt a tad dumber now, but at least she had a cool sentence to use later. "They kept out of the big stuff that shaped the Wastes. The Super Mutants were done with before they could sack the town, thankfully, and then here come the NCR decades afterward, promising civilization and peace. Some of the folks were still suspicious, but they recognized that they were being offered a carrot and took it before being given the stick. The NCR promised them the usual, and off they went."

"Did they ever interact with the outside world before? Without, huh, shooting them I mean…"

"Yeap, but in a limited capacity. Merchants would come and go, and the town said no housing folks from the outside world. They'd also sent scouts, to try and see if there were rowdy neighbors around or not. It's how they figured out that the Slavers were bad news," Emma spoke almost giddily, and that tugged at Max's heart because she could recognize the nostalgia in her voice. It was similar to her dad's, whenever he described her mother to her. Those wonderful memories were all they had left of them. "But they kept to themselves. I mean, what else do ya do when the world's gone mad like that? Anyhow, they weren't destroyed or anything if you're asking yourself. They thrived, in fact. With the protection of the NCR, a lot of young folks could finally explore what was beyond the horizon and didn't need to take up arms."

Max sighed in relief. "So… why'd you leave it then?"

"I killed a lot of chil… Nah you'd take that seriously. Well, mom was an NCR soldier who settled there and dad was a prospector. They met somewhere near Dayglow, fell in love, went back home… I grew up, and they told me that I was going to need to leave town by 16. The job was to thrive in the wastes and show that I could live on my own without their guidance or civilization."

"That seems harsh…"

"Yeah, but it's the good kind of harsh. I could've joined the army at that age. Hell, I even had a little beret already! But it's too faceless. Even back then, the main tactic was to swarm the enemy to death. Not a good environment to form a legend or develop skills, they thought. Wastes are ruthless, but you can be your own person and gain the needed skills pretty damn easily. How to barter or shoot or lockpick... They figured it was worth it."

"So like Nolan?"

"Huh-huh. It's common or so I've heard. Anyway… I left and didn't partake in the war against those Brotherhood pieces of shit." Her tone darkened, but she didn't seem to remark it. "Much as I wished to… I did what I was told to do and after some decades, I walked back home a different woman. I told her I'd gained unimaginable freedom out of it, and they asked me what I'd do next, and I told them… I want to be the next General, and that I didn't care what they thought of it. So I joined up the army and… here I am, talking to you."

"That was… pretty fascinating! So that's why you're so used to the violence and all, right? And you went to the Mojave beforehand!"

"Yep. Three years ago. I wanted to see for myself what it'd looked like before returning to it for real… I Gotta say I'm unimpressed with the way the NCR runs the thing. What about you?"

"W-well, they're… hrm… a bit overwhelmed."

"That's a polite way to put it. I think it's doing a shit job." Emma snorted. "But I'll be damned if I let the Legion wins. And I think the values that the NCR embodies are in the right place. Who doesn't love equality, justice, freedom-"

"I love silence." Hissed a nearby soldier. "Go to sleep already!"

"Shut the fuck up, and all that jazz?" Emma said, concluding her statement. "The NCR is imperfect, and they emulate the old world way too much for my liking, but I'll take them over those armored fucks or the Legion. All that we need is someone that'll kick the Brahmin Barons' teeth in… And I might just be that."

"That's ambitious… But I'd love to witness that."

"You'll get to. Don't die. Goodnight, Maxxie."

"Goodnight, Em." Max relaxed into bed, satisfied to know more about her friend. She could be wondering if that was all the full story or not, but that didn't matter. It had been a long time, and she'd raked her brain a lot already. So instead she closed her eyes and attempted to drift to sleep.

Attempted to, because she saw him again. Laying on the asphalt. Not even being given a proper burial. Maybe he was still out there? She could sneak out of the camp and behold the abandoned bodies of the Fiends, left on the side of the road like animals. And perhaps they were closer to animals than humans by the time of their deaths, but still… To be born, to once have held potential, to have been perhaps held or consoled, only to end up shot to death and left to rot beneath the cruel sun of the Mojave, that was a sad fate for anyone.

If Emma could read her thoughts, she'd chide her over those hesitations even after her first kill… But Max was almost glad to still have them. Emphasis on almost, since it always brought her much in the way of sadness, but at least it was a reminder that she was human and capable of remorse! She'd be much more worried if she'd killed a man and shrugged it all off immediately or after a few hours. But still, that was a meager consolation to have, with what was going through her mind.

Maybe she could talk about it with Nolan? Emma was nice and willing to open up to her, but she could also tell her to get over it because she was going to need to murder a lot more people. The young man, meanwhile, was also experienced in the way of the wastes but was more affable. Should he be approached and asked how he got over it? That'd be nice to get tips. But to get tips, she'd need to sound coherent tomorrow. And to sound coherent tomorrow, she should really catch some sleep now and make up for being awoken early on today.

Max drifted into sleep, with difficulty…

…

He'd never liked to dwell in Freeside, especially by night. Not because of the smell or layout of the place, he'd known worse, and not because of the locals: After two centuries of dwelling in the Wastelands, he was not going to cower in fear at the sight of two dirty roving idiots wielding broken pipes and knives.

It was simply the reeking despair of it all. Freeside served as the Strip's junkyard, and everyone who dwelt within it knew of that. The smarter ones could set up shop and pretend to make a difference for all he cared, they ultimately couldn't stop the violence or abuse going down there. Settlements all over the Wastes had problems, some of which he'd bothered to resolve when asked to, but at least they had a goal of rebuilding civilization and provided nearby towns with water or other supplies if they could.

Freeside was merely a slum for the greedy and imprudent. Those who threw away their whole fortune to attempt to earn more, only to fail and be spat out of the loftier side of Vegas. Most then tried to earn enough caps to leave and return home, only to fail. He'd had to step over the corpse of one as he stepped out of the alley, the body clumsily "buried" beneath cardboard as a form of funeral. He didn't even bother to put back on the material that he'd disturbed with his foot, instead deciding to take a look at his surroundings. As usual for nighttime, Freeside was technically quiet. Only a few distant screams, some not too far away from his location, broke the occasional silence. He'd see shadowy shapes chasing each other across the debris-covered roads, sometimes entering the various dilapidated buildings all around the slum. At a nearby corner, there was a congregation of people around a flaming barrel, but he turned away from it and headed deeper into town.

He could see more low lives shambling around, but none of them were bold enough to try their luck with him, since he wasn't like the average dweller of those streets. While most were malnourished or had withered away because of the drugs, he was a tall barrel-chested man with strong shoulders and thick arms. His clothes, while low-key, were nonetheless much better off than the dirty rags wore by most of the troops: He had a buttoned black leather vest on, for instance. It wasn't bulletproof, but it could stop knives, and that was more than enough to be safe around these parts. Below the vest, he wore a plain red button shirt with long sleeves, though they'd been somewhat torn off by times, partly revealing the diseased skin on his forearms, that he otherwise covered up with thick black gloves. Around his waist, he had a belt, with two revolvers tied to them. Several crossed marks had been carved into the wooden crosses, each depicting a story.

His jeans were torn, and numerous other bits of clothing had to be sewn on top of them to keep them in shape, but they still were pristine next to what everyone else around him was wearing. His possession of black boots also made him stand out amongst the beggars. His head was entirely covered up by a combination of three things: A large black hat to protect the top of his head, thick goggles, and a red scarf that he wore around his lower face.

Lastly, he went around town wearing a large black cloak over his shoulders, which provided him with some further protection but had other uses besides that. Ironically enough, wearing those clothes in Freeside put him in danger more so than it saved him since the dirty thieves figured they could use those clothes or even sell them, but he'd taught them… lessons. Kept around survivors, at times, to go teach those lessons themselves. Some went back at him with bigger groups, but he never tired, and could handle a dozen drug addicts in his sleep anyhow.

He could see one such gang prowling around near the street leading to the floor, looking to ambush some poor soul on their way to the fort. The man didn't see fit to directly acknowledge them, but he kept them in the corner of his vision, without needing to turn his neck to better stare at them. The oldest of the gang stared back at him very briefly before motioning his men to move out to head opposite of where he was headed, which the goons obeyed without much protest, out of loyalty or because even they could see that they'd be messing with the wrong person.

Smart guys.

As he ventured further, the wandered heard the sound of jeering in the distance, where he was going. Before soon, his trained eyes perceived a makeshift camp near the fort, where beggars would reunite around a warm fire, trade supplies, and group up to ward off gangs like the one he'd chased off by his presence. But for this night, most had fled, and for good reasons: What they were dealing with, right now, was much more dangerous than the usual Freeside fare.

Four armed people, two women, two men, were gathered near the fire and around its inhabitants. Half of them were in the midst of "negotiating" with the current inhabitants of the place, while the rest had their back turned to it, observing in case anyone approached. Their leather armor wasn't as impressive as his but was still intimidating by the standards of a local. And for those bold enough to come their way, they were equipped with guns: One of the women even had a lever shotgun strapped to her back, while the male standing guard was equipped with a carbine. A dirty, broken carbine, but he guessed that it could still do its job.

Wayne, as he was called, had no reasons to even consider approaching normally, but he recognized the place, and something about the current interaction displeased him. Defying his common sense, he stepped closer to the showdown. The fire illuminated the mangled features of a ghoul, who was in the middle of "negotiating" with the collectors. Bad choice to be a ghoul and seek money from a human, or "normies" as they were called in some places.

"The Garrets send their regards, zombie," Snarled the first male. "Give us the caps you've taken from them and continue dragging your useless carcass around these parts. Or don't… and we'll see if we can make that face of yours even uglier, somehow."

"H-hey, no need to get so… so rough from the get-go! I've got your caps!" He recognized that ghoul: Grecks. Endearing, but not the brightest of the bunch. Shrugging off the insults thrown his way, he glanced behind him, at a nearby rock. "I've got the caps buried here. Hm, let me get them for you!"

"Buried?" Asked the woman. "This better not be a trap, Grecks. You pull out anything suspicious from beneath that rock and… ah, nevermind. I'll dig it up then." She advanced to do so, but the man yanked her back by the arm.

"Naw, let him dig it up. It's gonna be fun to watch." The woman grimaced in protest but was ignored by the other collector. The ghoul set into action in the meantime. Beneath the careful gaze of the humans, he set out to lift the rock. Indeed, there was a small hole right below it, sufficiently large to hide a small bag worth of caps. However, it didn't appear to be holding much as of right now: With a horrified gasp, Grecks came to realize that his riches were missing. Irritated by the display, the woman collector shoved aside her male coworker and approached cautiously, to see if they weren't being tricked, but the caps were indeed missing.

"You've lost it all!"

"N-no! It can't be! I was watching over it and… Andrew! Andrew!" Grecks snapped at a young man close to the campfire, on a makeshift bed on the ground. After realizing that he couldn't sleep this one out, Andrew, as he was called, turned to the side and glanced at his ghoulish acquaintance. He looked like hell, with long unkempt black hair, dark eyes, a thin frame, and a scraggly beard that no razor could hope to defeat in one try. When he noticed the collectors, he promptly thought adequate to expose his yellow teeth with a smile.

"H-hey, Grecks." He stammered.

"Andrew." Said the man collector, curtly. "You're not in danger this time unless you act stupid. Your ghoul friend owes 138 caps to some good friends of ours, and the money's mysteriously vanished. Being the upstanding citizen that you are, you know what happened to it, right?" The human immediately shook his head, panic seizing his features.

"N-no no-no! I was away for the whole day, roaming Freeside. Making myself useful and all, erm… I guess someone took it away? You-you should go ahead and hunt for them."

"I told you to keep watch over it, you idiot!" Chided Grecks. "… Because I always planned to give it back, of course!"

"Hmph. Why should we scour the town for these caps when we know that you have it stashed somewhere?" The young woman dug into her pockets and pulled out, much to Grecks and Andrew's horror, a nice set of golden brass knuckles. After putting them on, she pulled her fist back and approached the ghoul. "We can't kill you, but we'll rough you up real bad unless you stop lying!"

"And we only need Grecks alive." Summarized the man. Not satisfied with pulling out a mere set of brass knuckles, he instead grabbed a combat knife out of his belt. "This means I can kill you this time, Andrew!" Wayne was unfazed by the youth's fate though. What bothered him, instead, was the coming violence for Grecks. Luckily, monetary troubles were quite easy to solve, and so he stepped forward quite confidently.

"Stop!" He called out, his scratchy voice freezing everyone in their tracks. The guards, who were mostly observing the confrontation, readied themselves for combat five seconds after his dramatic announcement. This gave Wayne more than enough time to grab a little bagful of caps and hold it up. "I will pay for Grecks. You will let him go and return to your masters." This gave the collectors pause, and they mostly ignored their intended victims, for now, to turn towards Wayne.

"… You're saving them?" Asked the woman, sounding incredulous. The cowboy shook his head quietly.

"I'm saving him. Mutilate the boy for all I care but don't touch Grecks."

"Or what?" Asked one of the guards, irritated by his sudden entrance. "He's crossed the Garrets. A lot of people have, recently. He needs to serve as an example!"

"No, no," Said the male leader of the four-man squad, eyeing Wayne's revolvers. "There's no need for a fight. We'll take the money and walk away from this… and I'll get Andrew, too."

"No. He's off-limits for the mission. The collateral damage's for the Van Graffs," The young woman took her weapon away. "The Garrets are pros, so they hire pros. Andrew did nothing wrong today. He'll continue drawing breath for now." After some protestation, in the form of a grunt, her co-worker likewise backed off. All of them approached Wayne and seized the bag of caps out of his hands, shaking it afterward to verify it. "You're lucky, Grecks. Really lucky." Tempered the woman. "… And so are you, Andrew. You're still forbidden from entering the Wrangler."

"A rule that I intend to respect." Replied the young man, silently thanking every god he'd heard of.

The collectors, their job done, walked away from the scene. Wayne kept an eye out for them, ready to return fire in case one of them decided to suddenly attack the trio from a safe distance. Humans were humans, after all. After a bunch of waiting around for a bullet to screech out of the dark, Wayne figured the coast was clear and turned towards Grecks, lowering his scarf as he spoke.

Andrew gasped, the fire allowing him to perceive the melted skin on Wayne's lower face. Grecks was noticeably more subdued, or perhaps his bad eye eluded him in that aspect. Wayne was his savior, after all, on top of being a fellow ghoul.

"… Do you know where the money is at, Grecks?"

"I've got as many ideas as I've got caps." Pleaded the unfortunate ghoul, even if he pointedly looked back at Andrew. "… Thanks for your help, though. W-why'd you give away your money for an old wreck like me?"

"It doesn't matter. I saw that you needed help, and I stepped in," Answered Wayne, speaking firmly. "I will not ask you for caps, or services, or anything. In fact, I'm offering the opposite." The cowboy checked his coat and offered Grecks a 10mm gun in near-pristine condition. Then, before he could even be thanked, he saw fit to bestow him with a Salisbury Steak in its container as well as a bottle of purified water. When offered those gifts, his fellow ghoul looked taken aback but held them close, as if they could disappear at any given moment.

"W-whoah! This is quite some loot, erm… How could I thank you?" Grecks awkwardly tried to fit his gifts into his outfit, taking a 10mm clip from Wayne as well.

"Do not gamble it away," Chided Wayne at first, waging a gloved finger. "Where is your home? Your true home." Grecks pointed west, and the cowboy ghoul nodded. "Very well. I'll escort you to a caravan. It'll bring you out of this hell and back home. Hopefully, you will use this new start wisely and make your shadow grow."

"Make my what?" Grecks replied, incredulous. "W-well, I'll sure do, pal!" He turned around to glance at a baffled Andrew. "See you, sucker! I told you I'd leave this shithole first!"

"Not fair, man! You've handled all the cool stuff!" The young human slightly approached Wayne, his hands held out. "Hey man, could you spare some of that loot for" The cowboy ghoul turned on his heels without bothering to acknowledge the human, and walked off, signaling for Grecks to follow him.

"Be honest, man. Where's the money? I could make use of it." He asked Andrew, though he was already on his way out. The young man grimaced.

"You can always ask your guardian angel for some, jackass." He mumbled, walking back to his camp. Grecks smiled, and walked after Wayne, sticking close to him. The older ghoul, after putting his scarf back on, very quickly reached the alley where he had started his patrol, and wordlessly motioned for Grecks to pass by in front of him.

"There's a manhole at the end of the alley. We'll take it and get down to the sewers. Safer there, and I know a shortcut to the better parts."

"The sewers? Well, they can't be worse than Freeside." The ghoul did as he was told, ignoring the dead corpse at the entrance, and indeed found a manhole cover after a little while of walking. With a grunt, he moved to remove it but gave a glance backward just in case to find Wayne standing beside him, quite casually carrying the dead man's corpse over his shoulder as if he was light as a feather.

An odd sight, but Grecks shrugged it off. He descended down the ladder, all too eager to be on his way to Dayglow. Wayne considered going, but he heard something in the distance: The scream of a woman. The gang from earlier more than likely had found an easier prey to target, he realized… and didn't care for. He knew that a scream like that could only be made by a human.

Wayne went down the ladder, whistling to himself to cover up the scream until he could put the manhole over his head again and simply let silence fall.

….

… Unfortunately enough for those of you with an interest in local celebrities, the butcher of the Mojave has been silent once more this day. This man, who some say was also the one to help the NCR retake the correctional facility, is suspected by some to be behind the murder of Vulpes Inculta and his men, owing to similarities in the methods used to dispatch his foes.

Few of us will be shedding tears over Vulpes anytime soon, but such assault may have invited retribution from the Legion! Some theorize that Caesar sent his famed assassins after the killer of his right-hand man to dish out the Legion's own brand of justice. Now that looks like a fight for the ages.

Unto the song, now. This one's a classic! Stars of the Midnight Range, courtesy of Johnny Bond.

…

Seventh chapter is done! We get to McCarran and witness another OC for the later half of the chapter. He's kinda meant to be there because I'd rather not replicate the game entirely. It'd be too predictable, otherwise! He and future characters may serve as obstacles to Max and the NCR so as to keep the threats "fresh". We've all seen the game, so might as well spice it up at moments!

I can promise that none of them are Ulysses-tier warriors with 10 SPECIAL and a plot to doom the Mojave. It is about the life of a NCR soldier, so I'd rather not have Max fight to save the whole Mojave or something!

What do you think of Wayne? Is he cool? I may put up more of him if you like him, but he'll reappear over the course of the fic to interact more.

Anyway, see you later!