He was a random private. Merely a cog in an enormous machine, the ones sent to die to preserve the Republic. Or well, with hindsight he was exactly that, but at that time Max knew little of the perils that her dear nation faced. While most children in the Wastes were very quickly educated on the matters of death and who they'd need to avoid or even kill to thrive on, those in the safer towns or cities were kept from such morbid or mature matters, as it was in the old world. Innocence was a gift in the desert, after all. That those young children could spend their little years in peace, without worrying about killing or stealing, was seen as a triumph of President Tandi, and a sign that civilization was finally making its way back after more than a century of violence and pain.

This meant that kids like Max, Matthew, or Andrew knew very little about the actual work of a soldier, the nature of their endeavors, or what exactly stood in the way of the Republic at the time. "Bad people" who didn't like the efforts of the government to create a lasting peace in the wastes and sought to prevent it via overwhelming violence and aggression. The siblings or even children of soldiers would further describe the enemy as "metal men" who could shoot lasers and live underground. There were two different groups of "metal men", but one of them was gone and the other was being defeated by the brave soldiers of the NCR. This was highly impressive to them at the time, and a lot of the students request, if not begged, to be allowed to see one of the soldiers of the NCR up close. To defeat laser-shooting metal people, Max and the others had imagined them to be very strong, at least of similar stature to the heroes of those old comic books their parents would something bring them. And they wished to see them up close, to see if it was the truth.

The government wanted to protect children from the war and other topics indeed, but it knew that there were about a dozen little future soldiers in there, and they could secure their loyalty to the Republic forever with the right argument. But they'd need someone closer to the kids. At that age, the concept of hierarchy could still be poorly grasped and colonels, lieutenants, and above tended to wrestle with politics and paperwork a lot more than they wrestled with mutated bears or Paladins. A private would be the simplest choice since they directly fight and fit best with what a kid would think of a soldier. So Max's young eyes were soon laying on an awkward twenties-something soldier, sitting next to the teacher's desk with a nervous smile. His name was Marcus Cristensen, and his task was to convince a bunch of impressionable children that war is dangerous but also very cool. He hadn't brought weapons, somewhat disappointing all the children, but he did carry a bag with him, a rather heavy one too since the floor creaked when he finally put it down next to his chair.

"It's not exactly a cute job, but huh… Yeah, it's thanks to it that you can be there learning algebra and poetry. My father's father… was born in a little shack in the desert, when it was far smaller," he held his hands together at a short distance, giving some context for the kids. "And he went out to… defeat bad people. And he defeated them so much that they couldn't be there to stop smart people from coming up with buildings and other things like that."

"Who are the bad people?" asked a kid in the front row. "Why do they want to attack us?"

"Well, the bad people grew up in a bad place. They were taught bad things, instead of good things like for you, and want to do the bad things to us now! But if we're careful…" Andrew raised his arm and stood there patiently, looking more and more indignant as the soldier trailed on without taking his question. The private did stop to glance his way several times over, but each time the teacher, a stern man with a mustache so thick you could fit a whole desk in there, shook his head slightly. Andrew refused to keep his arm down either way, because of his nascent defiance and also thanks to that curious patience that young children can have at times when they really want something answer. "… Imagine a place where you can get sick and your mommy can't get medicine or doctors for you. And you can't buy any milk at all because all the adults are keeping it for themselves and they don't give you pocket money. And there's one adult in charge who doesn't listen to any of the other adults because he said he's the leader. That's pretty bad, right?" the children urgently nodded. "That's what happened to them. They did not have the chance to get the good things we have. So we'll get over there and give them these good things, like doctors, and they'll stop being bad."

"How do you defeat the bad people?" he spoke, with that grand sense of curiosity inherent to his age. Or perhaps Andrew sought to embarrass the private by asking him something that'd freeze him up. He failed at that, the soldier having expected such a question at the first utterance of "defeat".

"We defeat the bad people by preventing them from continuing hostilities…" faced with their confusion, he quickly correct with "And by that, I mean that they stop wanting to hurt us. It's what it means. Sometimes, it means that they get on their knees and stop fighting. Sometimes it means killing…" he looked somewhere out of the classroom, and grimaced ever so slightly. Max could see the shadow of a person near the door, out of sight of most of the children. "… Killing means when someone is knocked down and can't ever get up again. We sometimes need to do that because the bad people keep attacking us. It's bad that it happens though. You should always avoid hurting someone else if they're not hurting you or someone else near you, alright kids?" they nodded, not getting it. "Alright, you, third-row boy."

Matthew took over, slightly fuming over being picked after Andrew. "Is that why my parents said you're all vicious killers?" he asked, with the innocent bluntness typical of his age. That got the soldier to freeze up slightly, and the person outside smacked their face with the palm of their hands.

"… No…" The soldier stammered, a little cold-sounding, before picking up. "A vicious killer is someone who hurts others because they find it fun. They think it's like those games you play in-between the classes. Some also do it because they really want a good thing but don't want to share it with someone else. It's bad," Marcus tapped his knee with the fingers of his right hand, obviously improvising. "We kill, and it's bad. But we do it for good reasons. We don't do it because we like it or because we find it fun, but because some bad people are really dangerous at times. We do it because if we don't, then they could do the same to innocent people. It's not a nice thing but there are compromises to be made sometimes. You'll get that when you're all older." He concluded, seeing their quizzical stares.

There was a bit of silence, each of the kids trying to make sense of what was said until a young voice cut through it. "… Mister Marcus? Are you okay? You sound sad." Max went red as a tomato when some of her classmates began to laugh at her question. Mister Krapt also looked really angry at her, evidently because she didn't raise her arm beforehand. And Marcus gave her an odd stare like he truly hadn't expected that question to come out. Matthew's was disconcerting, but at least it didn't lead to a solid ten seconds of awkward coughing, without consulting whoever was outside the room. Because of the built-up awkwardness, Max proceeded to hide behind her desk until he spoke out, startling the class.

"… I'm fine," he articulated. "It's tough work, being a soldier, let me tell you. There's a lot of moments that aren't really funny," That seemed to shush the class, giving Max enough boldness to slowly lift herself back up. "… We soldiers don't do fun things, and some of us sometimes get hurt. We sometimes get hurt too much for any bandage to fix things. But we do it because we love this country and we love getting you kids some future where you can get a lot of doctors and milk. I may be…" He pondered on using "kill" or not. "Defeated, myself, in the next week. It's something I know. But I wouldn't regret it, because it'll have been in the name of the Republic and you guys. It's what I tell myself when I'm not alright. Whatever I do, I do it for the nation. When you'll get older, you'll find out what that means. But there's a lot of things left for you before you get to that point, like getting a deeper voice or some hair on your face." He stopped there and nodded to Max. The young girl smiled back slightly, but wasn't that enthralled: He almost sounded like he had wanted to convince himself more than he wanted to convince the children.

"Your question sucked..." whispered Andrew to her, leaning to her side as soon as the soldier was looking away.

"No, you suck!" Max shushed back before giving him a little slap on the right thigh, with all the strength she could muster in her indignation.

"Did you defeat the President, mister?" Asked a young kid elsewhere. The teacher and Marcus both looked confused for a moment before the former snapped his finger and whispered something to the ears of the private.

"The President? Well, there's one true President, and you shouldn't be too scared of him, kiddos! Mr. Wendell is looking out for all the citizens of the Republic, including its youngest ones! But I know what you're thinking about. Or rather, who!" He leaned to the side to grab his bag and hoisted it up with a pained grunt to put it on Mister Krampt's desk. The teacher looked subtly alarmed, expecting the soldier to pull out and demonstrate a machine gun at any moment.

"The "other" President was defeated for good a long time ago. He can't hurt you anymore, because the soldiers of the NCR, like me, were able to discover his base of… his home. It's where the other, huh, metal men…" he gave a glance to the outside. "lived. We defeated them and took his helmet." He pulled out of the bag perhaps the most disconcerting thing Max would behold for a solid decade: A metal helmet, vaguely shaped like the head of an insect. The gizmos on it were too complex to be described by a child's mind. But it looked ugly, and sharp and kind of bug-like, with those big yellow eyes on top of that to help things. The lack of proper maintenance had led to rust accumulating over there, forming a big brown "tear" below the left eye of the helmet.

He set it down on the desk, and there was silence. Even on its own, without a big metal skin lugging it around, the helmet was intimidating. For its general appearance, for the degradation, and also for the size of it. If the head of the metal men alone was the size of the children's torso and half the legs, how big were the Metal Men themselves?

"With this, the evil President controlled some of the Metal Men. He wanted to steal our milk, our dollars, our medicine…"

Cindy, the blond girl sitting in front of Max, blanched. "… Even my parents?"

"Yes," Said Marcus, struggling mightily to stay serious. "They were very bad people. But that's why we stopped them. Now they can't threaten us anymore because we took the President's helmet and he can't get it back, so all these Metal Men are gone. There's another group of them, but we're also defeating them. And they won't be a threat when we'll take the helmet of their own leader. You know, maybe you could be the ones to take his evil mind-controlling helmet away from him." Andrew and Max, and perhaps a few of the more perspective of the children, noticed that he'd spoken with slightly less enthusiasm. But they didn't give it notice when they were so busy dealing with the presence of the President's evil mind-controlling helmet!

"Hey Max," Andrew leaned in again. "I heard the soldiers will hide the evil President's helmet under your bed, so he'll come looking for you!"

Max's eyes widened and she stood up straight, pointing accusingly at Andrew. "MR SOLDIER ANDREW SAID YOU'RE GOING TO HIDE THE HELMET UNDER MY BED!" Only after yelling did she realize that she'd once again brought everyone's attention to her. But she stood tall this time, with her tiny fists clenched. Max would only go back after getting an answer!

"Doleetle! Dehoum! For once-" Marcus raised his hand, and the Teacher backed off, letting him take over.

"We won't keep the helmet under your bed, young lady. We keep it somewhere very secure, and its owner is in prison, where he'll remain for a long long time. It's a place where bad people are sent to after being caught, and it's far away from here, so you're safe," Max smiled gratefully and sat back down at her desk.

"Well then, next question-"

He'd left or something. Her remaining memories of the event, which occurred when she was still young, stopped there. She remembers not being very convinced though, along with the others. After all, they'd end up picking other jobs and dodge drafting, thanks to Matthew's influent father. Andrew disliked the order and surveillance inherent to the military, as well as the risks, Matthew's parents offered him stronger arguments the very night after the meeting or so he said and Max had been disturbed by the melancholy carried by the private. It was no happy life for sure, to drag oneself through the desert, shooting at and fighting metal men and bad people. And now that she'd tried it for herself, she'd understood Marcus far better than ever.

But she also understood, from talking with Emma and seeing the locals in action, that it was deeper than a matter of bad people. The inhabitants of the Mojave and other locals… simply relished in their filth. They knew what they were doing, they had doctors, they had important figures to rally around, they understood and clung to the Old World and they used caps, same as everybody else now that the value of the NCR dollar gone down like a dropped anvil. Obviously, they were living in worse conditions, one could argue, but the Republic did build a successful nation out of similar squalor, did they not? Aradesh, Tandi, and their ancestors fought off the ancestors of the Khans and created a new nation with their own hands and a bit of help from a Vault Dweller. What had prevented the locals at Vegas from doing the same?

The truth was that the locals enjoyed the chaos and anarchy inherent to the wastes. Democracy and order scared them because it meant fewer opportunities to steal and kill. Why do movements like the Fiends never start in the Core Regions? Because drug use is punished harshly, and even the people at New Reno know when to take the trash out. But the people of the Wastes have no such laws, or at least the local thug-in-charge approve of such use. And because of that, the NCR finds itself cleaning up again, and soak up losses to fix previous messes. No, it had to be something deeper than them not having access to the same privileges. Maybe they were… broken. Spent too much time on their own, and now the NCR can't help them because it's too ingrained. But then what could they do? Perhaps something drastic was needed to get them in line?

No, no, no remember Veronica? The Mick and Ralph guys were also the only two nice people out there in Freeside and it's complicated to judge the actions of people who hadn't been as lucky. She couldn't condemn them all, could she?

There were a lot of things to ponder in and about in that black void where she was present, even though her memory was terribly spotty. She'd remembered being attacked by a tall man with a golf club, but anything beyond that was out of her mental reach. Was she dead? Was that the fabled afterlife? She'd secretly started to believe in it after taking up arms. It was oddly comforting to go into battle with the knowledge that you're going to be alright even if you're shot or beaten to death. Well of course it'd hurt to have that happen, and of course, it was also good to live a full life, but going somewhere nice after all of that was neat, in her mind. There were those books that Dad kept, that talked about that. It was all very complicated stuff though, and he'd taken it away from her quickly when he was informed of her discovery of them, so she didn't know if this was heaven or something else entirely. Had she done bad things? That wasn't possible. She'd only killed or hurt bad people thus far. There was that time she pushed Lucy kinda harshly in sixth grade…

"Dl-e?"

Anyway, since there weren't a lot of things to do in the Void, maybe she could see if she had memories of her mom? She'd been sitting there for a little while now, and the pictures were nice but disorganized. Or she could consider her current lack of emotions with things but, well, the Void wasn't bad, eerie emptiness aside. It was warm and secure, and Caesar or Nephi obviously couldn't get in. The Mojave's hot, and there's sand that sticks to your boots and clothing and you get all sweaty so it's two things sticking to the uniform and it gets all hellish.

"Do-etl?"

Max looked up as a small point of light, barely the size of her little finger descended down to her… nose. Or to where her nose would be. The Void had no direction to it, and she was devoid of her body for now. So maybe it was on her stomach or something. Because her eyes were on her head, but what was she seeing with? Probably not them. Anyway, she had to figure out...

"Doleetle?"

Without warning, the light erupted into a bright explosion, engulfing Max and the darkness all around her without a warning. All of a sudden, she recovered her body. And with it all manners of feelings agreeable and not agreeable, like pain from sudden bright light. And lastly, with a body came hands, which she used to swat at the air to try to remove the light. A little surprised yelp later, and Max felt her hands hit something soft and fleshy, accompanied by a second more surprised little shriek. With that, the world finally cleared itself up, and Max fully adjusted to her senses to notice where she was. Most luckily, it was a familiar location to her: McCarran's infirmary, where she'd been sent after her run-in with the Khans. She was sitting on the very same bed as before, with the very same radio. Nearby was a young female nurse, who was tending to her reddened left cheek. "The patient is very awake, Dr. Kemp!" She warned, before putting up her glasses again.

Max realized she'd hit something, and held her arms out. "S… sorry! Are you alright?"

The young woman walked back, not too eager to get slapped again. "Y-yeah, but the health that matters here is yours," she rubbed her cheek again. "Patients do not tend to wake up that quickly or… energetically. Hmm, I'm Nurse Krawski, if you happen to need a memory check. Helen will do otherwise!"

"O-oh, I don't. It's nice to see you again, Helen!" Max adjusted to her bed slightly, feeling all manners of slow for a reason. Ok, so her hands were there obviously, and the two mounds below the sheet, at the end of her bed, meant her legs had to be okay too. She almost checked for her neck before realizing how stupid it was. "G-geez, it's my second time ending up here in such a short time! I should train up better, right?" feeling distinctly well, if sluggish, Max set out to get out of bed, but Helen carefully approached and held Max by the shoulders and prevented her from doing so. Instead of slinking back to her bed, however, Max continued to silently push, and Helen kept on pushing her back.

"Hmm, Max. Captain Curtis will be seeing you, and we'd rather not have you stand on something solid before the… You've spent one day sleeping, you know?" she said, changing subjects. "It's rare to be in top shape straight up after awakening, so you'll need to be"

"I don't see myself guarding the bed now that I'm awake!" Max dismissed, accompanying her nervous laughter with a dismissive hand gesture. "There's a poor private who fell down the stairs or something, right? Just give him my bed and I'll… o-ohh that sounded a bit risky! I s-should take in the air, I'm reeling from spending three days boxed in!" Max attempted to push her way past Helen, but the nurse resisted the attempt and pushed her back in, with a resigned expression. This wasn't normal.

"Helen, are you in need of… a-ah, Max!" Dr. Kemp's voice interrupted the light struggle taking place before his eyes. The older man didn't carry that much authority by himself, but his words would convince Max, right? Helen had to be thinking that, because her grip on Max's wrists lessened ever so slightly, out of confidence that there was no need to get the young soldier to stand down now. And she'd have been right: Fighting past a nurse was bad enough on its own, but disobeying medical advice and making a scene? That was a whammy. The young Doleetle was this close to admitting her mistake and standing down, with her brand of nervous apologies, before she realized something that'd slipped her mind during the conversation.

Where was Emma?

Tapping into all her available reserves of strength, Max pushed past a distracted Helen with enough strength to get her out of the way and dashed past Kemp entirely. It didn't matter to her that she was fighting off medical personnel with nothing but a medical gown on her in the biggest room in the whole military base: Where was Emma? In her recovering field of memories, the young woman had been in quite a pickle, facing off against the mighty Driver Nephi! Was she okay? Well, she had to be! She wasn't in the infirmary! Was she on a mission or something then? She'd know! She'd just need to grab an office and-

"Puh!" Max yelped, her mad dash coming to a very early end via a crash into someone else's chest. Whoever that "someone else" was, it felt like slamming into a wall! The impact alone could've sent a healthier Max back to her hospital bed, so she was lucky with the mere minor daze that ensued. Then, whoever it was she slammed into grasped Max by the shoulders, and before soon Helen, Kemp, and the mystery-man were bringing her back to her bed.

"My apologies, Captain! She had a more violent reaction than antici-"

"E-Emma! They're hurting me! Em!" Screamed Max, the desperation in her voice inciting more than a few heads to turn, like a genuine crime was happening right before their eyes. Kemp winced, not expecting this much energy out of the patient early on. The man in the middle said nothing: In her panic, the young girl had forgotten how to register faces entirely. It was all creepy faceless people holding her down. Where was Nolan too?! She really needed somebody! If… if even Andrew could show up, she'd forgive him for everything, for as long as he actually pulled her out of this nightmare and back to Em! Who was really in need of her help!

Driver Nephi was about to kill her. It all fell down to Max's trusty aim and a bullet that'd tear Nephi's mind (or whatever burnt-out mess remained) to pieces. She aimed, missed, the bullet flew past the Fiend's head and he raised his golf club to slam it down on Emma's head and smash it into a gory mess, Emma…

"… is dead!" The man only needed to say those three words to get Max to stop entirely mid-assault, freezing shut in an instant, looking like she'd gotten back into a coma. She's slumped so brutally that the soft fabric of the bed, and the tight grip of her benefactors, saved her from another little coma, in fact. A detail she'd be certainly thankful for, if not for her current mental state. Emma was dead. Deacon was dead. Morales was dead. Nephi massacred them all, and he'd laughed while doing it.

"… I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, private Doleetle," Curtis assured, wringing his hands together in dread for what would come next. "But let me assure you first and foremost that what was done by the departed will save countless future soldiers from Nephi's wrath. Lieutenant Deacon, Private Morales, Private Hawkwood, Private Varzi, Private Menker…" Curtis realized he could get to the point or mention dozen and dozen more fallen privates. "All of our departed friends have laid down their lives in service of a greater cause. And by killing Nephi, with your own hands, you've ensured their sacrifice would not be in vain."

It sounded hollow, to Max. Who cared about a greater cause? None of these soldiers deserved to die in pain and terror at the hands of some fucking low-live junkies. Emma… She'd trusted her to lead the troops to battle and save her from Nephi, and she'd failed in both. The only one who'd survived, ironically, was that deserter who fled the battlefield early into the battle with Neph. And while the Fiend leader was dead… Was it worth it at all considering the sheer amount of losses? Had it been worth it to see her friend begging for her help before getting her face caved in by a madman? To see people who trusted her cut down because of her incompetent orders? Obviously not! Especially when Nephi had died so quickly, to make up for his sins. Up until the very end, he never experienced the overwhelming terror he'd dished out to so many of her friends and colleagues.

"We found you "thanks" to the efforts of Private Carter, who was caught fleeing the battlefield by another patrol," continued Curtis, acquiring a chair to sit on. Kemp and Helen kept close to Max, in case she'd freak out again, but with a firm stare, he convinced both that the situation was handled. "After interrogating him, our men found the aftermath of your battle. Rest assured that, for his cowardice in battle, Carter will be hanged."

Max looked up at Curtis slightly. "… C-could you not?" she asked. He gave her a quizzical head tilt. "I wouldn't want to be the last of my unit to survive. It'd be a mark of shame for me…" Did she hate the guy? A bit, and a bit not, if that made sense. Had he stuck around, Nephi would've cut him down all the same she thought, but surely he could've done more! Maybe… maybe that slightest bit of added firepower would've crippled a leg before Nephi could've rampaged about. Or maybe not. Either way, she was quick to brush him off aside once he was out of mind.

Emma was dead. Max would never get to see her smile again. She'd never get to go through her harsh but fair training every day. She wouldn't get her experienced opinions on the matter of the Mojave or the NCR. She wouldn't get complimented after a nice shot on a dummy or lightly scolded after a near-miss… But more importantly, Max will never hear her voice again. And there may come a day, in some decades or so, where she'll forget entirely how she sounded like. Even now Max held to her souvenirs tightly, as if an evil mist would seep into her mind and erase her memories of her voice entirely. The memories, that's all that'd remain, because she'd never get to hear Emma speak again. But most importantly, what was biting away at Max was the way her good friend died: She'd seen her fail to save Deacon, by cowardly jumping out of Nephi's way. "That was nice dive, yeah," she'd said, one of the last things Max would hear out of Varzi. And no one would know, that was the cruelest thing.

Max was a survivor not because of her skills or guts, but because she'd fled and let others take the hit for her. And who could put that to light? Carter, the coward? Morales, decapitated? Deacon, with his head, firmly lodged deep in his torso by a nine iron? Her squad had gotten killed through sheer incompetence, but she'd earn all the merits. She knew how it'd go even before Curtis started his spiel.

"… I'll see what I can do to ensure that. But either way, Max, you've done us all a lot of good by killing Nephi. The upper brass finds your profile to be ideal, for them," he continued on. "You're a young girl from Shady Sands, not different from many of our brave little troopers, and you've got the blood of a Fiends leader on you! Obviously, you've opened up a bit of a path for yourself. And as coincidences go, you were also pictured walking away from Boulder City, so you've built up from earlier fame to use."

Max didn't answer. Despite having slept for some days forth, she wanted nothing more than to go to bed again, and pretend that it had all been an awful nightmare. To try and convince herself of this, she began to look around the room, waiting to see an absurd detail or two that'd convince her mind to snap out of its twisted fantasy. But things were average in McCarran today: The soldiers were dining on whatever beans the cook has scrapped out of centuries-years old cans, others were moving about the base… It was the same old routine. But she couldn't see Morales, amongst them. Or Deacon, always there to keep the rowdier couples in check. It felt empty, without them, even when the place was crowded with troops.

"… General Oliver and-"

"Pardon me?" Max glanced at Curtis.

"General Oliver will be seeing you in five days. You'll be posing with him for a photoshoot, with Nephi's golf club…" Max whined and buried her face in her hands. That accursed thing had not been destroyed already? "D-don't worry, it's been cleaned up. Hm… I know, it comes at a bad time, but-"

"The worst time!" Cut off the young woman, in what should've been a defiant yell, but instead sounded like naught but a sore whisper. "Sorry…" she mumbled in apology, letting go of her head to better glance up.

"It's alright. But… There is a need to raise morale, and showing the Mojave that we're succeeding and that our privates are contributing to killing known enemy forces, is important for the success of our operation. You'll also get a compensation prize and Nephi's bounty. You would be settled well for life after your tour."

"… Heh. All my pals died but I get to be rich." Max wiped the area below her eyes but didn't find herself crying yet. She couldn't quite identify what was seizing her, in fact: She had a desire to sit down in bed and spend the rest of her life there, safely cocooned away from that damn desert. But it was matched by the urge to push Curtis aside, leave the room and punch a wall, shoot more Fiends, do anything really, instead of staying in one place. A miserable feeling of grief and righteous anger were battling for dominance, and as a result, the young Doleetle felt blank. She waited for the emotional tussle to end, first, before deciding on what to do next.

But for now, she settled on having an invisible knot on her stomach form as she thought of everything that happened to her. How she'd do without Emma. Without Morales. Without the others. The more and more Max realized they were gone, the more she thought of it as absurd, and the heavier her stomach felt.

"So, in five days, Oliver will arrive?" Curtis didn't see fit to reprimand her for not properly referring to the boss, and nodded.

"As I said, you could be a figure for the NCR's efforts in the Mojave. You're a young girl like any other, but you're out there fighting Khans and Fiends, and taking some real losses among the way. This war of ours… It's gotten pretty unpopular back home, as you might've guessed. The civilians and even the Barons think we should focus elsewhere and not waste resources on the Mojave," said the Captain. "But at the same time, we can't pull out yet. Or else we'd have wasted a lot of resources and lives. Needless to say, we're in a bit of a pinch."

Max nodded, half-acknowledging. She was too tired to tell Curtis that she honestly couldn't give a single lonely fuck about the politics back home. "So, do I climb on a stage and say that we should keep fighting?" she didn't see herself pulling that off, especially not now, but kept the tone half-joking to see how he'd react.

"No, not quite that! The General will shake your hand, and our journalists will take pictures of you. Your image will be used as a symbol of the efforts of our troopers to prevail against the evil of the wastes, like the Legion," Curtis coughed, and his voice took that patriotic fervor she'd sometimes hear on the radio back home. "Those who avoid conscriptions by cowardly means, or who hold back on shipping the veterans we so desperately need… They'll see the triumph and pains that our youth goes through, in that desert. They'll see you, but what they will also be seeing is their young cousin, or their daughter, or their granddaughter, their niece! It'll be unpleasant, for them, but they'll finally get how many young folks are out there dying so that they can get the water and electricity they need, and the public will once again be behind the Mojave campaign. Even the barons will be moved!" He concluded by triumphantly raising his fist, a motion which Max awkwardly tried to replicate, before falling into another deep silence.

"We can't force the barons to help us along?" she blurted out, rubbing her hands together.

"Force? Well, no… They're free to practice their business, it's a democracy," the captain smiled at her. "And it helps that they rub elbows with some of the people in the senate. We all have a voice in the NCR, but some voices get to be louder." Max noticed the very slight change in tune but didn't see fit to point it out.

"So, my image will be plastered everywhere like that?" she thought of it, but the whole matter was trivial, compared to what was going on right now. Max knew matters like this were best thought of carefully… But she didn't have the mental power to spare for that.

"It'll be a way to keep soldiers like Emma alive. They'll live on through you. You'll be a symbol for all the troopers out there, you know? You-"

"Alright, I'm fine with that," Max dismissed, cutting him off with a dismissive swipe of her hand. "All I want right now is to take a walk and leave this infirmary. I'm going to go mad if I stay unto this bed!" The anger had seemingly won out in the end, as she got up from her bed with her fists clenched. She'd need to do something, right now. It was the only way she could escape that grief and guilt, at the moment. Maybe she'd see Nolan, maybe she'd patrol, anything would be fine.

"You can't really patrol or leave McCarran outright though. Having you die on us before your meeting would be disastrous… and well, I'd rather not lose you so soon after your recovery," the officer motioned at Max, standing up himself to catch her should she fall. Quite frankly, you shouldn't even be standing on your feet."

"Where I'm going, I won't need to stand." The young brunette answered, as defiantly as she could. Curtis considered her and got the tip after some seconds of thinking about it.

"I really shouldn't be doing that…" Curtis slowly shook his head. "But I owe you that much for killing Nephi. You'll stand guard in one of the towers. The Fiends are poor shooters, and the death of their leaders has broken their tactics. I doubt you'll find difficulty in killing the stragglers."

"That's fine," Max assured, smiling very slightly. It was all she could manage. "Thank you, Captain Curtis."

"You're welcome! I would suggest resting beforehand. The stimpaks have tended to the damage you've received, but you may not be in condition to climb a tall ladder like that," he began to wag his finger as an authoritative teacher would do to discipline children. "Give it a day or two."

"No," Max said, as bluntly as she could, her smile vanishing. "I'd like to be overlooking those ruins in one hour, where's my uniform?"

Picus repressed a snarl. What business did she have, talking to a superior like that? He wouldn't tolerate that language from a man, much less a woman. "Your uniform and weapons will be given to you soon. I'll have them fetched and you'll be given the time to change. Once again, I can only recommend resting for a bit before going on such an endeavor." Keeping his even tone, Picus braced himself for more complaints.

"I'll be worse off if I stay here," Max assured, progressively losing her patience. And so did he, but you wouldn't see him losing his cool like that.

"I understand! Well, I'll send someone your way to get your gear. But my duties call…" Picus saluted, a gesture he'd practiced countless times over the years. "The Republic thank you for your efforts."

"I only wish it could thank them for their efforts." Max fell back down, and Picus gave her a sorrowful look before leaving. The nerve on that woman… When he learned that she was the sole survivor, aside from a soon-to-be executed deserter, he'd wondered what past folly of his may have earned the wrath of Mars. Depraved in their ways and reliant on chemicals as they were, the Fiends proved to be a mighty asset in bleeding the Bear dry. Soon, he would have the soldiers of the camp all but boxed in. And when the time would come, these imbeciles would snatch the camp from the NCR, with the winner being left too weak to fend off the victorious army of Mars. The Fiends also disrupted caravans traffic around the area and intimidated merchants, meaning that McCarran couldn't receive the food it needed to take care of its growing population of conscripts. This only demoralized them, while the Fiends, supplied by their Khans allies, continued to swarm forth, undeterred by the deaths all around them. Picus himself had been affected, but he'd thrived on far less.

But now, that careful plan of his was all but in ruins. He, hand-picked by Caesar himself, was falling in his task. The Khans getting caught at Boulder City was a mistake, Silus being detected and captured was direr, but he had hatched a scheme to get rid of the traitor. Setbacks after setbacks, leading to the eventual demise of all three of the major Fiends leaders at the hands of… a scavenger local? A bloodthirsty imbecile, who could somehow kill squads of experienced assassins? A mere NCR girl, plucked out of her hometown and sent to die like countless before her? Absurd. If things kept going at that rate, the morale would be raised, the trading would start again and the soldiers could be relocated elsewhere, with the Fiends too weak to pose a threat anymore. There were already talks of their elite sniper units being sent elsewhere to the front. Curtis wasn't specifically worried about their use in battle, since the profligates appeared reluctant to use their best assets in fights, but he nonetheless worried about what would happen if he was wrong in his assumptions. Hsu was skilled, yet soft, easily influenceable, not like Deacon at any rate, but the other officers may be more aggressive.

But he wasn't completely out of options either: That girl… He could turn her reputation against them. The profligates wished to prop her up as a mascot, but that could be exploited and turned against them. Let Oliver come. Let those pictures be taken: As soon as she'll take her leave to Vegas, he'll destroy the monorail, and she'll be finally gone! This would turn the tide! Their precious mascot will be dead and in pieces in the smoking ruins of their precious vehicle! The vision will break those weak-spirited imbeciles!

And as for the girl and that brute, Picus had been advised to avoid interacting with the latter yet. Caesar was apparently intrigued in his martial prowess and saw in his limited intellect an opportunity, or so he had been told. The death of Vulpes was regrettable, but he died on the field of honor, like any true Legionary, and Picus was sure that his triumph at McCarran would allow him to take the fox's place as the mightiest of the Frumentarii! This would more than match the fall of New Canaan!

But he would first need to complete the deed, before gloating. For now, he'll resume his duties as Captain Curtis, and will let that foolish woman assume her new role. She would only shoot at the more useless Fiends, anyhow. So long as Motor Runner remains alive and well, then the Fiends will keep a presence, weakened as it is. And while Hsu thought that he should be crushed as quickly as possible, they'd been told to wait for fo Oliver, who would arrive and assume "direct command" to crush the Fiends of Vault 3 for good. Those junkies would get crushed anyway, but that gave Picus some time to get them to prepare. The Fiends in that vault were… somewhat smarter than the rest. They'd put up traps and equip themselves for a fight. They wouldn't win, but Oliver would not get to crush these raiders as easily as he thought, and it'd always mean less profligate troops on the Dam. Oliver's arrival also distracted his sworn "friend", preventing him from carrying out his investigation into the matters of the mole.

He would have the base, and Hsu's head delivered on a silver plate to Caesar. It was a matter of time.

…

Max grunted, and grabbed another step of the ladder along the way, before pushing her body a little more upwards. She found herself regretting her decision with every step, but refused to call it quit while she was ahead yet. Her weakened pride needed a victory, and in Emma's words, pain is merely weakness leaving the body. That agony that tore through her stomach with every motion was a purge of her weak past self. The more she held unto that pain, and fought it off, the better she'd be ready for the next fight!

It also helped that she was several feet high in the air, so to let go would be ill-advised.

"Are you okay?! Huh… I could climb and help you down! Just ask!" Pvt. Montgomery yelled from below, looking mightily concerned.

"I'm okay!" Max wiped some sweat off her forehead and continued her climb. With a final effort, she ascended all the way to the steel platform where her affairs had been gathered and finally got unto position, though she only relented when she was one-hundred percent sure that something was standing between her and the concrete a dozen feet below. Once done with her ascension, Max sat back and griped her stomach, hoping that she could somehow grab all that pain and throw it off herself or something. No such luck to be had, so instead, she leaned against the railing until she could get her breathing under control.

"… I don't think you are! Huh! I can hear you all the way from here!"

Max took a deep breath and surveyed her platform. A radio had been left, but also some snacks, some bottles of water, and a few ammo boxes on her behalf. Without hesitation, she grabbed one of the bottles and splashed the water against her face, hoping to do away with the sweat that way. She then discarded the bottle to the side, reached for some of the snacks, and proceeded to devour them in a second.

"… Y-you don't drink water that way, ma'am!" Max set down the snacks and water and sighed, feeling a bit refreshed now.

"I'm alright, man!" the young soldier turned to Montgomery and waved at him, with a sweet smile. "I'll take care of myself just fine from there! Huh, the view's nice by the way!"

"Hell yeah it is!" he answered, somewhat disbelieving. "… Do tell me if you need any help, huh, we'll figure something out for you! I'll always be patrolling nearby!"

"Thanks! I'll scream if I need help!" Max waved by, and then turned around, her smile vanishing entirely as she got into position by loading in her rifle. It was a high vantage point, her hands were still shaking ever so slightly and the cruel heat above would have her sweating bullets very soon again, but it didn't matter. She could only thrive in such situations, could she not? Getting consistent shots with those handicaps would be a bit of a challenge, but if she could go around to pulling it off, then she'd never miss again.

The woman got on her knee as she inserted the bullets into her rifle, and pressed a button on the radio to get it on.

"NCR officials at Camp McCarran were relieved when technical difficulties with its monorail line to the New Vegas Strip proved easy to fix."

The young woman aimed down the scope, and glanced near the ruins, looking for some targets. Her sights soon settled on a merry bunch of weaponless Fiends, who were progressing in the ruins. Unlike their aggressive counterparts from the days before, they didn't even have weapons and looked to be in a daze of a sort, walking aimlessly around the perimeter, just barely out of sight of the other sentries. Max's heart tightened slightly at the sight of those poor fools, who probably wouldn't be too aggressive if they were to be found by some NCR soldiers. She even doubted that they'd have the presence of mind to notice the soldiers, let alone attack them. The barrel of her rifle lowered ever so slightly…

"Gonna play a song for you right now. It's about that special someone you only find once... in a Blue Moon."

Max looked away from the scope to glance at the radio and tentatively held her hand out to shut it down… and then her hand stopped in the middle of the motion, and went back to the rifle instead, her eyes now hardened. Holding back like this had cost her too much! For the sake of her fellow soldiers, and in the memory of Emma, she'd have to swear to never hesitate again in dealing with the locals.

Blue moon

You saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

She would never miss again. Never.

Blue moon

You knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

Grasping her rifle better, she adjusted the scope to have the head of one of the Fiends in sight. She pictured how many of her comrades she was avenging, right now, and smirked slightly at his oblivious air.

And then they suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper, "Please, adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

And fired.

Blue moon

Now I'm no longer alone

PART 1 – END

…

Phew! Pretty intense ending, I hope! I guess this conclude my "epilogue" to part 1 of the fic. Now is time for part 2, which is about the mid-game! Mid-game starting, imo, when the Courier get to sweet old New Vegas!

I'm really looking forward to some of the scenes I have in store for you! A lot of the ideas of part 1, like Andrew, will be resolved! And we'll see more of Veronica too! Can't say the same for the Courier. As I said, we all know the Courier's story, and this fic is all about Max's story in the end. I prefer him being more of a distant background entity, if you will. Oh, he'll have scenes, and I'd love to see how you'll react to them, but he won't be the main focus!

How are you doing otherwise? I'm tidying up Dark Souls III! I might decide to return to New Vegas once I'm done, to better get in the mood for the fic. I like going to the places described in my fic and going "Max's there" sometimes.

Also good ideas with 1st recon! You'll see what I'll do with them, but I haven't forgotten for sure!

Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Any review is welcome! Love you guys, see you later!