Sandra and Arcade returned to the bus just before Niner and Vulpes awoke.

During the long drive up north, Sandra steered the massive vehicle over the broken Nevada roads, driving a bit too casually for the hazardous conditions of the street. She told the whole story of the NCR's kidnap attempt, leaning back and driving with one hand as the bus rocked to and fro—Vulpes stone-faces as he stood behind her seat, gripping the nearest metal bar for support, Niner doing much the same across from him, and Arcade sitting in the passenger seat, wincing and cringing as the bus thumped almost violently over the fractured pavement, his hand clasped viselike around the overhead support bar and gripping it for dear life.

"And… that's why we're going to the embassy," Sandra concluded, driving around a corner and cruising past the Grub 'n Gulp, the Vegas lights appearing on the distant horizon. "I'm gonna get Arcade a pardon, and then we're gonna make this delivery to Westside. Two birds."

Scar—still being a fairly young deathclaw, only having rode in the bus a couple times—didn't care at all for the frequent movement. He let out a disdainful squeaking groan, scuttling down the bus's walkway and clinging onto Vulpes's leg. Vulpes glared down at it, biting his lip and releasing a long, sighing breath.

"Embassy," Niner mumbled, scratching his face and squinting at Sandra from behind. "We're goin' back to Vegas…?"

"Just for a pit-stop," Sandra replied. "But yeah. Me and you are gonna head to the embassy, and we're gonna take a couple securitrons in case they try anything. We should stop in at the 38 and check on Melody, too."

"No," Niner said suddenly.

Sandra blinked and glimpsed up at the rearview, eyeing Niner strangely.

Niner cleared his throat and quickly spoke on. "I mean ah… well, we don't both need to go to both places, do we? We can get it all done faster if you go to the embassy and I go to the 38."

"Niner… I need backup," Sandra told him. "If they try and arrest me, I need you there."

"Yeah, but…"

"And I haven't seen Melody in forever. I wanna see her. And Eddie, too."

"Right, 'kay… yeah, you're right…"

They all fell silent, Niner glancing down and frowning at his feet. He was the only one who knew; inside the Lucky 38 right now, another old companion of Sandra's was managing business in secret. Someone Sandra once knew back east—a mysterious and cunning man named Mr. Burke—was taking care of the Lucky 38 right now. In fact, two more of her eastern companions—Sarah Lyons and Bryan Wilks—were also frequenting the 38, helping Mr. Burke to oversee New Vegas. Sarah and Bryan now belonged to the western Brotherhood of Steel, so the two of them were always coming and going—but Niner knew for certain that Mr. Burke was always on the strip. And if he and Sandra visited the 38 today, they would likely run into him.

Niner let out a heavy sigh. Mr. Burke had explained everything to him—everything that happened to Sandra five years ago, and all the reasons he wanted to keep his presence in Vegas a secret—and Niner mostly agreed with him. Sandra's memory problems usually kept her from reliving the terrors of her life back east, and Mr. Burke didn't want to ignite those past traumas by revealing himself to her. So, they all agreed to keep the presence of her eastern companions a secret for the time being.

But that secret might get revealed today…

The bus hit a deep crack in the road, thumping and bounding harshly as the vehicle rocketed up and down—and Arcade jumped, his arm shooting out and his hand clamping onto Sandra's wrist.

"For the love of—God, Sandra!" he gasped. "Please be more careful!"

"Careful don't get the job done, son," Sandra snarked in response, leaning even further back and driving fully relaxed. "You oughta know that for damn sure now."

Arcade shot her a befuddled look. "Why're you talking like a redneck—?"

"Oy—hey, slow down," Niner said, leaning between the two front seats and gesturing toward the windshield. "We're comin' up on the Freeside gate now. Here—lemme tell them Kings to open up."

Sandra slowed the bus to a stop just before the Freeside gate, and a little ways ahead, a group of loitering Kings slowly turned their heads, staring at the bus in total bewilderment.

Sandra breathed out a laugh. "Oh yeah… we never brought the bus here before, have we?"

Arcade slowly released the support bar, releasing a faint chuckle. "Freesiders aren't exactly accustomed to seeing running vehicles. Look at their faces. We might as well have landed an alien spacecraft at Freeside's doorstep."

Sandra barked out a laugh, trading a high-five with the doctor as they both snickered in amusement. Vulpes remained silent as he had the whole drive, though his eyes seemed to be fixating more intently on the two of them now.

Niner leaned out the bus's side door, waving at the Kings and asking them to push the gates open. The Kings traded faces before moving toward the gates, pushing both of them open and clearing the bus a path.

Sandra gave the Kings a polite wave before cruising past them, and after driving slowly and carefully through Freeside—avoiding all the pedestrians, all of whom were giving them strange stares—she brought the bus around in a slow circle outside of Vegas's entrance, stopping in the open clearing to the right of the guarded gateway. She parked the bus as far away as possible, the massive vehicle sitting idly beside the junk wall that separated Vegas from Freeside, and at last, she powered off the engine, pocketing the keys and facing her companions.

"M'kay." Sandra grabbed her tortoiseshell sunglasses from the dash, slid them coolly onto her face, and propped her arm on the back of her chair, sitting slacked back and crossing one leg over the other. "Me and Niner are going to the embassy, and we're gonna take Scar and two securitrons with us. Arcade and Foxxy—stay here and guard the bus, and don't let any hobos or hussies inside. One of you is an ex-Legionary, and the other one is currently wanted by the NCR—so just to be safe, don't set a single foot outside this bus, okay? Me and Niner are gonna stop by the 38 and visit Melody and Eddie before we leave, and then it's off to Westside to find this guy, Bradley. All clear?"

Niner, Arcade, and Vulpes swapped brief glances with one another before giving her a nod.

"All right." Sandra tossed her keys up and caught them, leaping swiftly to her feet and sliding the keys into her pocket. "Then off we go. Auf weidershen."

She, Niner, and Scar stepped off the bus together, closing the door behind them before marching off toward the Vegas gate.

Arcade sighed and rested his head against the passenger seat's cushioned back, Vulpes sinking into the driver seat and keeping a vigilant watch on the outside, though there wasn't much to see. The two of them were silent for a short while, though it felt like a long silence…

Arcade folded his arms and leaned back, feeling utterly exhausted and desperately longing for a short nap. Vulpes, on the other hand, remained awake and alert—hand on the steering wheel, blue eyes pensive as they scanned over the environment outside, watching for any NCR who might've been passing by, though there were none anywhere around as of now.

After a while longer, Vulpes glanced to the side, eyeing Arcade for a moment before looking back to the windshield.

"You don't seem worried," Vulpes remarked.

Arcade blinked himself fully awake, turning and squinting at him. "About…?"

"Being hunted," Vulpes clarified. "Kidnapped, carted off, nearly killed…"

"Oh. Well… no reason to be," Arcade moaned, his voice stifled by a yawn as he readjusted more comfortably in his seat. "Apparently I've got no reason to worry… with her here…"

Vulpes stole another glimpse of him, this one longer and a bit more intense. He sighed and faced the glass, his jaw giving the slightest twitch.

"I've noticed," he grumbled.

Arcade didn't react at first, his eyes drifting shut as his exhaustion crept up on him. Then, he blinked and turned his head, staring at Vulpes with interest.

"You've noticed," Arcade uttered. "What does that mean?"

Vulpes didn't reply right away, this time keeping his eyes locked on the windshield.

"The incredible… and ridiculous effort she expends… for your sake," he mumbled distantly. "I can't help but notice… she hasn't been that way with anyone since me."

Arcade's eyes began to narrow, and he slowly sat more firmly upright in his seat.

"Christ in a crisp can," he breathed, his mouth unraveling into a faint, mocking half-smile. "Are you really going full-on jealous love interest in a love triangle from a bad romance novel now?"

Vulpes turned to him. "No I… what?"

Arcade barked out a laugh, fixing his glasses and facing Vulpes more properly. "Wooow… now this is a rare find. I've never seen you quite this transparent before."

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"Well, you're a smart guy—think about it. Why should it bother you if she's going through hell and high water for me?"

"I don't care."

"Oh yes you do."

"I really don't."

"You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't, Foxxy."

Vulpes's fingers began to tighten around the bottom of the steering wheel, his teeth clenching as he shot the doctor a searing glare. "I will crucify you."

Arcade choked out another laugh, grinning and cocking his head. "You lash me to a cross all you like—that's not gonna make me wrong."

"I just don't see it is all."

"You don't see it?"

"No—I don't see what attraction she could have to a fragile little beta-male."

Arcade's mouth fell open, scoffing and giving him an intrigued stare. "Well, look at that, he's got some sass to him. I'll save you the trouble of further insults, Foxxy—I've only ever been with men. Not women. So you have very little to worry about."

"I am not worried—not about a thing," Vulpes stated. "So kindly close your noise hole."

Arcade stared at him, then turned away, shaking his head and concluding the conversation with a final, snarky utterance.

"Well, pardon the hell out of me…"

Sandra, Niner, and Scar marched down the vast open strip of New Vegas—Scar scuttling at their heels, Niner's hands hanging loosely from the belt loops of his jeans, and Sandra sauntering along with a cool stride, wearing her sleeveless black top today, which fit her tightly and snugly hugged her figure, leaving her belly and the bottom of her back revealed, her jeans cut into shorts with frazzled light blue rims circling around each of her thighs, black leather boots strolling along pavement and black fingerless gloves to match. She looked and felt especially cool today, and she hoped that confidence would follow her into the embassy of the NCR.

A few of the Vegas townspeople spared them odd glances in passing—mostly ogling Scar, as they felt unnerved with an adolescent deathclaw roaming about—and Sandra strode up the wide flashing walkway of the Lucky 38, stopping at the nearest securitron and speaking to it briefly. Once she ordered two of the robots to follow her, she led her odd group down the rest of the strip, all of them marching onto the NCR's property at the end.

They were getting even more odd glimpses now, but Sandra ignored them. She waltzed into the embassy building—the securitrons leaning far back and wheeling inside, as they were barely able to fit—and they all roamed the hallways for a while before someone pointed them to the ambassador's room.

Sandra led her followers into the large, rectangular office, and she spotted the bald, suited man sitting at the desk directly opposite her, the NCR ambassador, Crocker.

Crocker's eyes shot up from his desk, his pen slowing to a stop as his writing suddenly ceased, his eyes landing on Sandra and her bizarre followers, squinting at them expectantly and giving them a wary sort of look.

"Hey." Sandra sauntered forward as casually as could be, plopping down in the chair across from him and propping one leg up on the other. "We need to talk."

"And… you are?" Crocker asked, his eyes shifting between Niner, Scar, and the two towering robots standing at either side of her.

"You sent for me a while back. You should know," Sandra said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, cocking her head before flipping her zippo shut. "Sorry I didn't get back with you, by the way. Busy life. Movin' on."

Crocker stared at her for several seconds before a look of realization overcame him.

"Courier Six," he understood, making a small, subtle nod, intertwining his fingers and clasping his hands atop the desk. "Good to see you're finally here. I imagined you wouldn't make it here for a while, considering the statement that was delivered to me."

Sandra's eyes narrowed behind her dark reflective lenses. She knew for certain she'd never sent a letter to the ambassador before.

"Being shot in the head kinda scrambled my memory," she commented, gently tapping the scar on the side of her head. "So forgive me, but I gotta ask… what exactly did the statement say?"

Crocker made a sideways nod. "Well… it was a postponing of our meeting, essentially. The letter sent here stated that you wouldn't be able to make our meeting here for a few weeks, considering all your business outside of Vegas. It was sent to me by your manager at the Lucky 38."

"Manager," Sandra mumbled, making an odd face. She couldn't think of anyone who might've been posing as her manager, and the only person in the Lucky 38 right now was young Melody, but she wouldn't have…

Niner's mouth slowly drifted agape, standing behind Sandra as his eyes moved between her and the ambassador.

"Yes, your manager…" Crocker affirmed. "Let me see. I think I remember… it was signed by a gentleman named… Mr.—"

"Oy—Six," Niner interrupted, leaning forward and tapping her shoulder. "I did that—sorry, I forgot to tell ya. I sent that letter here before we left the city. Didn't wanna leave 'em hanging, y'know."

"Oh." Sandra nodded, turning back to Crocker. "Okay, well… I need to ask you something, and it's important. How do you go about getting an NCR pardon?"

There was a pause, Crocker slowly raising his intertwined hands and gently placing them against his mouth, giving her a thoughtful stare.

"Generally… that's a privilege reserved for people of special importance," he told her. "Which is precisely why you received one yourself. You've become a person of import here in New Vegas, and the NCR intends to extend an olive branch, so to speak. That's why, in my original letter, you were pardoned of any and all possible crimes you might've committed against the NCR."

"M'kay," Sandra mumbled. "So… if someone is wanted but they're actually innocent, then you won't give them a pardon?"

"Well." Crocker nodded sideways again. "That depends on a lot of factors… mainly if there is evidence pointing to their innocence."

"All right. Say… it's someone who's accused of being an Enclave remnant," Sandra proposed. "But… say this person was never actually Enclave at all. His family was Enclave, but he himself never was… and he also used to work for the NCR. He hasn't done anything wrong, and he's never fought the NCR before in his life."

"Well… if it involves the Enclave," Crocker muttered grimly, leaning back and shaking his head, his tone suddenly changing. "That's a lot more serious. And it's not a situation that's likely to yield any lenience or compassion from the Republic. Nor me."

Another silence fell upon then, this one longer and tenser.

Sandra sat leaning back, arm propped on the chair's arm rest, eyes pensive as they remained locked on the ambassador from behind her sunglass lenses. She raised her hand, took a drag from her cigarette, and—rather than using the ashtray on the desk—she carelessly flicked her ashes onto the clean carpeted floor.

"Y'know what," she uttered in a soft, angry hiss. "I really didn't wanna do it this way."

She snapped her fingers—and the securitrons' televised faces both flickered red.

Crocker's eyes shot up to the bots—and to his astonishment, the giant bulky shoulders of the securitrons began to unhinge and dismantle, expanding and opening to reveal a three-rowed assortment of missiles inside each one, all four collections of missiles aimed directly at him.

Niner swallowed and bit his lip, Crocker's mouth slowly drifting agape as his eyes wandered back down to the courier.

"You're a psychopath," he exhaled.

Sandra let out a smoke cloud, making a dismissive shrug. "Probably more like… a high-functioning sociopath. Chaotic neutral. Something in that ballpark…"

"You're not gonna shoot missiles at me in here," Crocker scoffed ridiculously. "You'd kill yourself and your friend in the process—"

"No no no—nooo, that's not the point, dammit, you're messing it all up," Sandra ranted, swatting the air and shaking her head. "Fuckin'a—can you believe this guy, Niner? Nooo—the point of showing off the missiles is to make a wide threat to the whole NCR, not a direct threat to you here right now. Man, and that was so badass, too… until you fucking made me explain it…"

"You do not wanna make a threat of war against the NCR," Crocker growled warningly. "Especially not right here in my office."

Sandra let her cigarette dangle limply from her hanging hand, smirking and releasing a low, cackling laugh.

"You're talking… to the person who wiped out the entirety of the Enclave," she glowered with serpentine rasp. "And I thought nothing of it… so much so, I don't even remember most of it. Now, tell me, and be honest… do you really think I won't do the same damn thing to you?"

Crocker was quiet for several seconds, reading every inch of Sandra's dark expression and searching for any hint of deceit.

"That's impossible," he breathed. "The NCR warred with the Enclave for decades…"

"Out west, they did," Sandra corrected him, pointing at him with her cigarette. "What the hell do you think happened back east? Why do you think they all fell off the freaking map out there? Because there's no NCR out there, my friend, and your little toy soldiers had nothing to do with that genocide—that was all me."

"That is a very bold claim, Courier," Crocker grumbled. "There's no possible way you could've single-handedly won that war five years ago."

Sandra opened her mouth to reply—then suddenly hesitated, narrowing her eyes at him and leaning forward in her seat.

"I never said anything," she breathed. "About five years ago."

Crocker slowly took back, Niner's eyes darting between the two of them nervously.

"How'd you know," Sandra murmured, scooting slightly closer and glaring daggers into him. "How'd you know it was five years ago?"

"We're the hand of law throughout the entire west coast, Courier," Crocker replied. "Do you really think we don't keep track of what's happening in the rest of the country? We've gotten a lot of refugees from the east ever since the Maxson takeover. We know all about the war that was waged in DC, and we know the Enclave never recovered in the aftermath. But that had nothing to do with a courier. It was a war between—"

"The Lyons Pride branch of the Brotherhood of Steel," Sandra stated. "Working in unison with the leaders and scientists from Rivet City and James from Vault 101—as well as James's daughter, someone they all referred to as the Lone Wanderer. Yours fucking truly."

Crocker fell silent again, glaring at her as if she'd changed colors before his eyes.

"How do you know all that?" he uttered.

"Because I was there—and I nuked the Enclave straight to hell," Sandra fumed in response. "So don't insult me, and don't you dare tell me I'm lying—because I turned the goddamn tides in the east, and I'll be damned if I'm not gonna do the same here."

They shared an intense glare—Niner standing behind her and observing her from behind, looking and feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

Then, out of nowhere—a face flashed through her mind, the face of a young boy, a teenager with wild ambitions—and Sandra sat back in her seat, wincing and massaging her temples as a sudden headache began to form.

"Maxson," she murmured.

Yes, she remembered—it was a minor memory, barely a footnote compared to her other endeavors back east, but she knew it happened somewhere in the Citadel. At some point in time, she met a teenager in the Brotherhood base, someone who was quickly rising through the ranks and frequently expressing his aggressive ambitions for the way he would finally rule the Brotherhood.

Her eyes ventured back up to the ambassador, her expression now nonthreatening, entirely questioning as she gave him a curious squint.

"Maxson takeover?" Sandra asked. "What do you mean?"

Crocker sighed, frowning at her and folding his arms on the desk.

"Like I said… we've gotten a few straggling groups of refugees who traveled a long damn way to get here," Crocker explained. "They started showing up about ten months ago. It's only happened a couple of times… but they certainly had a lot of colorful stories to tell our soldiers. Evidently, they all ran from the east because a ruthless tyrant named Maxson took over the eastern Brotherhood, and he began invading and enacting hostile takeovers of all the settlements in DC. There were even rumors of him targeting Boston sometime in the future. I don't know any more than that… but considering those people were willing to cross the entire country to get away from him, I'd say it's probably gotten unfathomably bad out there."

Sandra took a moment, letting the awful information sink in—and more faces from her past flashed through her mind, a blonde woman, a young boy, a man in a hat and a friendly supermutant—but then, she shook it all away, tensing up and resuming her original conversation.

"Look. Just… look. Listen." She snapped her fingers and waved downward, motioning to her securitrons, and both of them relaxed, sealing their missiles away and letting their faces flash back to white. "I don't want to go to war with you. All I want is to be left the hell alone—and that includes all my friends. I'm not gonna make this get ugly unless I have to."

Crocker was silent for several seconds, his hands cupped and his eyes fixed onto her.

"You need a pardon… for whom?" he asked.

"Arcade Gannon," Sandra replied. "Apparently there's a bounty on his head now—and there is no reason for that. None whatsoever."

Crocker pondered on this, tapping his fingers to his mouth and wearing a thoughtful visage.

"Arcade Gannon," he mumbled. "You're the Lone Wanderer… and you helped to wipe out the entire Enclave across the east coast. And, this Arcade Gannon… he helped you to do that, didn't he?"

Sandra slowly took back, now confused and staring at him strangely. "Um… no… I didn't know him back—"

"Arcade Gannon helped you to bring down the Enclave," Crocker spoke over her, jabbing a finger at her. "Which makes him deserving of a pardon."

Sandra paused, suddenly understanding and nodding in agreement. "Oh, yeah, totally—he helped me do it. Yup. Me and him both brought down the Enclave. Absolutely."

"All right." Crocker reached into his drawer, pulling out a sheet of paper and stamping something onto it. "Then I hereby pardon Arcade Gannon of any and all crimes perpetrated against the New California Republic. Keep this paper with you in case you run into any bounty hunters who haven't received the memo."

"Thank you." Sandra took the paper and folded it up, stuffing it in her pocket and standing to leave. "That's all we wanted."

"Courier," Crocker called after her just when she began to walk off.

Sandra turned toward him again.

Crocker gave her a deep, serious glare. "That is the only favor I plan to do for you. Don't come back here expecting another one."

Sandra stared at him, then smirked and let out a laugh. "That's not a favor, man… that's just you doing the smart thing and preventing a preventable war."

And at that—she marched off, waving for her companions to follow.

They all headed down the hallways and pushed the double-doors open, marching outside and strolling back down the open strip. Sandra dismissed the securitrons, allowing them to roll away and resume their task of policing Vegas, and Sandra was left alone with Niner and Scar, the three of them venturing toward the Lucky 38.

"You coulda warned me, y'know," Niner muttered to her. "I didn't know you were gonna walk in there and threaten to blow 'em all sky high."

Sandra finished off her cigarette, dropping it to the pavement and stepping on it before resuming her pace beside him.

"They're not important, Niner," she told him conclusively. "Don't act like they are."

"Yeah… yeah, I hate 'em too," Niner halfway agreed. "But they're still people, Six. You walked in there and put genocide on their table like a bartering chip. That's kinda…"

"Niner… there's a word for governments exterminating people, too," Sandra informed. "It's called democide… and it's killed way more people than I ever could. They're part of that, so they're not gonna get any sympathy from me. Why do you even care, anyway? You hate the NCR."

"I hate 'em for a reason," Niner stated. "They got my brother killed for nothing—and my brother was a soldier. Y'know—an NCR soldier, a guy just tryinna make end's meet and do the right thing, same as all those blokes you just threatened to wipe out."

Sandra sighed, slowing to a stop and facing him.

"I just needed him to give me a pardon," she told him firmly. "I just needed him to do one little thing for me—and putting the fear of God in him worked. I wasn't really gonna do anything. I just needed the pardon. All right?"

Niner returned her stare, looking uncharacteristically conflicted and releasing a heavy sigh.

"Yeah." He eventually replied, giving her a mild nod. "Yeah, Six… whatever you say."

Sandra nodded and began walking again, the two of them heading up the expansive walkway of the Lucky 38 with Scar trailing along in their wake. And as they drew closer to the entrance of the tower—Niner suddenly remembered just how close her insane past truly was to her.

His eyes ventured up the towering structure, staring at the penthouse that stood high above Vegas. He stared at it, sighed, and began walking once more, feeling a rising anticipation as Sandra marched into the 38 and Niner reluctantly followed suit.