Courier walked through the camp of the Sorrows. Many of the Sorrows were fighting each other, training for the battle soon to come. Whenever he was spotted by them, they would smile, and wave. Courier turned his back on them. Smiling, waving. They were familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on why. They brought fog-covered memories back into his mind. He wanted to remember what they were, the warm and comforting memories, but every time he tried, they slipped out of illusionary fingers, leaving only a burning feeling, like mid-day mojave sand.

It was strange. He remembered trying to forget things. He remembered trying to remember things. And, if he forgot them before, in the past, then how indeed would he know?

Fuck you, Benny. I should know what my own Father looked like.

Yet, he didn't. He couldn't remember any of his family's faces. And that ate at him. He spent years with them. He could remember, he had the memories. But the faces were gone.

There were strong hands and arms around his own, a bulk of muscle weighing on his back. In his fingers, was a rifle. A simple, reliable hunting rifle, chambered in .308 Winchester.

"Whatever happens, I got you. Just breathe and squeeze, Owen. Breathe in, breathe out, and squeeze."

"But what if it bounces off, Pop-pop? What if it hits me?"

"It won't. Do you trust me, son?"

"I… But Dad, I-"

A sterner voice, this time. "Do you trust me, son?"

Owen felt ashamed, and scared. "Of course, Pop-pop."

One of the strong hands was taken off of his hand, and Owen felt his hair being ruffled, making his face red with anger and embarassment.

"That's m'boy."

Owen protested. "Stop treating me like I'm a kid! I'm eight and a half! I'm two-thirds the way to working like all the other adults!"

"Alright, alright. You're not a kid, Owen. Tell you what, if you get three bullseyes, I'll go get you an ice cream. How does that sound?"

Owen smiled a two-teeth-missing grin. "I'll get five of them, you just watch!"

"Heh. I'd like to see that."

They returned to a comfortable silence, as his father acted as a sort of steadying brace for him. The target was in the hills a couple hundred meters away. He had never hit that bullseye even once. But it was different, now. He was eight and a half. He had a new skill in his inventory. Multiplication and Division. Lost secrets invented by the ancient American civilization. America sounded like a nice place. Owen wished to go there, someday.

He breathed in, breathed out, and squeezed.

CRACK-PANG

He… he did it. He actually did it!

"Pop-pa! Did you see it! Did you see that shot I made!"

Owen looked up. But where there should be a face, there was only a zig-zag of light. Like some angel took a heavenly marker and tried covering it up. Little dots and bits of light flowered outwards from the zig-zag. Owen felt a bit of a headache.

"Su… di… on… nt… tell you th… ut I lo..."

A splitting migraine brought the Courier back to reality. He took off his helmet, and dug around in his bag, getting a bottle of pills, poured one out into his hand, then just swallowed it dry.

Owen put the chems away, and the mask back on. No, that wasn't right. It didn't end like that at all. So why did his memories always end like that? They didn't use to, but he couldn't remember when it changed, or why. He had a past, once. He knew he did. Yet all he was left with was bits and pieces. Broken parts of a whole machine. He was the son of a Ranger. He had a Mom, a Dad. Two brothers, and a sister. He was the youngest child in his family. He was raised in a nice town with brick & concrete buildings everywhere. He started doing simple jobs for the Mojave Express when he was twelve years old, and then...

Fuck you, Benny.

Poof. The memories ended there. Like hitting a concrete wall in his own mind. Couldn't remember the names, faces, nothing beyond age twelve. He could count his memories before getting shot on his hands and toes. He had a rough outline of his history, but no certainty. No leads or clues to follow. Well, there was one, but Benny took it with him to his grave. So, he just took whatever jobs promised the most caps, and went from there.

He looked around at the shirtless tribals, fighting with sticks against scarecrows made out of metal tubing.

My trails would be a lot happier if I had some more caps to my name. But the chance of that happening died along with Masterson.

The Courier thought he might be able to convince the nearby Mormons to offer aid to the Rangers, and by extension Vegas' cause, in the battle of Hoover Dam. And, even if he failed to do that, it would be good to have a reliable source of intelligence in Utah.

But they were mostly wiped out around Zion national park, so that option died out too.

A smiling and bald boy, barely any Sorrow tattoos on him, ran up to him out of nowhere, his hands cupped together. The kid held his cupped hands up, showing a small handful of pinyon nuts for him.

Owen regarded this small smiling child for a moment. Innocence. Just innocent happiness, plain and simple.

Then, he unsheathed Gehnna, flipped a switch, and pointed back at the way the kid ran from with it.

"Beat it, kid."

The kid was no longer smiling, and he saw confusion and fear in the boy's eyes as he stepped back uncertainly, before he dropped the food and ran away.

Owen sighed, and flicked the flame off. Threats were a universal language, it turned out.

What the hell am I still doing here? There's nothing here for me. Happy Trails is gone. The Mormons are gone. Sure, I guess I'm denying the Legion territory by helping to erase the White Legs, but… After the battle, these people will be dead. Lanius is going to have nothing to do but either expand or consolidate. Both aren't good options for them. Why am I wasting my time on The Legion's proxies? Everybody in this park is going to die in only a few months, no matter which side anyone takes.

Owen flicked the flame on the sword on and off.

Graham probably has a plan. His help and advice is the only thing of lasting worth to me here. Otherwise, all that's here is clean water, honest hearts, and people living on borrowed time.

He started walking up a path leading up a cliff, into a cave.

Is it faith that keeps them moving? Love? Or is it…

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What?"

White Bird breathed in deeply, closing his eyes.

"I will explain, for sake of Great Father, in words simple for Ouslander to stand under."

He opened his eyes, both of them intensely focused. His face and frown muscles strained under the force of his conviction. His biceps and pecs clenched, arms crossing each other in a confident pose.

"Take drugs! Kill a bear!"

Owen was stunned. "That's what a 'Spirit Quest' is?"

White Bird nodded. He was a strong man, almost all muscle, with three tattooed tear trails going from each eye all the way down to his legs. On his left leg he wore a thick metal band around his ankle, and around his neck he wore a necklace of square-like stones, painted blue, signifying his years, and four feathers, signifying his children.

"The sacred datura root make vision tea. You drink, you receive visions of truth."

Owen waited for him to explain further, but no explanation was forthcoming. He just sat around the fire in the caves, staring at him.

He sighed, dug around in his bag, and dropped a few of the roots on a nearby table.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Don't wait up on my account."

White Bird nodded, eyes closed and still frowning deeply, as he drank of his cup.

"Before you start spirit quest, Joshua spoke of you. Go to fire-cave, speak to him. Don't come back until you do."

Owen rolled his eyes, gave a sarcastic "Goodnight, wiseman," and waved goodbye as he left the cave.

This whole place is a waste of time.

Owen lifted up an animal skin, hearing a sound of an aggrieved voice, and a steadier one. It was the sound of bickering.

"-worth it! Let's say, just for a moment, that nobody died. We can leave this land for a few months, even a few years if we have to! We can live off the land if we all pull together! The White Legs can't hunt, can't forage, they'd move on in a few months to a year!"

A bandaged man was cleaning a 1911 barrel with a brush. He retorted to the man in a checkered shirt. "Of course they can hunt, Joshua. Do you really think they've been surviving off of canned pre-war junk this whole time? Men are built for survival. With no other option, even the weakest man can live for years in the wild. They're bad at hunting because where they're from, dogs travel in packs of hundreds. They're hyenas, jackals. They live off the scraps the dogs can't stomach. If they take this land, they will occupy it forever. Zion is forgiving, nurturing even. Fresh water, plenty to eat. Lanius will use this land, and the White Legs, and hunt us to the ends of the earth. He has no shortage of reasons for wanting to do so."

Owen spoke up. "Am I interrupting something? Because I can come back later."

Daniel rubbed his face with his right hand. "That'd be for the best, this isn't for gent-"

Joshua spoke up. "Actually, this is exactly the matter I requested you here for. If I can take a moment of your time."

Daniel shouted incredulously, raising an arm with a flattened hand pointing at Owen. "Joshua, you can't be serious! He's a genti- He's an outsider! Why are you bringing him into this?!"

Joshua set the gun barrel and brush from each hand onto a wooden table. "Because his tribe is still alive, Daniel. Ours is not. Wisdom doesn't come solely from the pious." He tiredly & bitterly spoke, like he was only half-way in this world, and did not like what he saw on the other side.

"Come over here, ranger-child." Joshua spoke before Daniel could get another word in. He waved him over to the table.

Owen rested his hands in his pants pockets. He did as he was told.

On the wooden table, was a map. Several bottlecaps, notes, and strings were all present on the table.

"Me and… Daniel, need some sort of… assistance. The White Legs, as you know, outnumber us almost five to one. They are veterans of many battles, while the sorrows, the dead horses, are… not so much. The odds of our tribe's survival, is… poor, to say the least, if we try to make them rout. Your missions have been helping to disorient and dishearten the White Legs, and a… plan, of some sorts, is in the works. They're a bit overstretched, and we can get their general in just a few days, if need be. But we'd need to dedicate every man, woman, and child to the assault. So, I've come…"

Joshua looked down at the table.

"...I've come to ask you. What do you think we can do? Everything I've done here, I've done for the Sorrows & Dead Horses. I don't want this to be any different."

Daniel was staring at his shoes, leaning against a wall of the cave.

"I've tried telling him that we can evacuate most of the tribes if we're willing to blow up a few of the canyons and make a fighting retreat, but Joshua sees it differently. He… he thinks it can be won. I just want to make sure the tribes are safe. And if… if a few men need to be sacrificed, to make sure the whole tribe survives… It's a sacrifice I can accept. Zion is just a land. We've called many places Zion. So long as Zion is remembered, and God is honored, we can find or make any land a prosperous home again."

Owen pulled his helmet off.

"...Why are you asking me? This land isn't my land. These people aren't my people. They're both yours."

They both turned their head to look at him.

"The way I see it, you both have dead men's hands. Let's say you kill them all. You're in the middle of legion territory. You will be persecuted, or worse, once the Legion is done at the hoover dam, whether you win or lose. The Legion doesn't like unassimilated tribes. There's no guarantee you'll survive if you leave this land, either. Why do you think the White Legs would stop hunting you? You could easily be encircled out in the wide plains, and then you'd have the same fate happen to you as the Great Khans. There is no winning situation here. You either die fighting, or die running. Asking me to choose your death is madness. Ultimately, it's up to you how you wanna leave this world, and it's up to the tribes what they want their last days to feel like. It's not up to me."

Daniel protested, "The tribes have never known war. They don't know what war is. Asking them to fight a war is like asking a fish how to walk. They have no concept of it! Zion is a spiritual place, not a physical one! We can rebuild and move on from here, but once Zion is lost, a person can't get it back."

He looked at the bible held in Daniel's hand. "I don't know most of what's in your guys' books. I probably don't have the full picture, and I don't know why Zion, the biblical one at least, is so damn special. But this place is nice. I'd rather spend my last days here, than out in the desert, running from a bunch of sadistic savages, watching my brothers in arms bleeding out, getting shot to pieces. Maybe God likes pacifism, and peace, and refusing to kill your accuser, or what have you. But the wasteland is anything but Godly. If you're asking me, Joshua has it right. Being too rabid to deal with is a survival strategy that's worked pretty well in the wasteland. Anything else is seen as weakness, and pounced on, regardless of the truth. Man's evil knows no limits."

Joshua rested his hands together. "I am not rabid. Killing is not something I take any amount of joy in. But when done righteously, it is a chore, no different from any other. A life being extinguished is never a beautiful thing."

Owen nodded. "I get that. But rumors are more accessible than the truth. I don't think any of you have a chance of getting out of Legion territory alive. But if it could be done, it would have to be after destroying or routing the White Legs. That could possibly, just possibly, buy you enough time to try and leave relatively unmolested. It could also be a death sentence for you. It's up to you & your tribe to choose how to die. How to live. You're free men. You, and you alone, make that decision."

Owen rested his hand against the animal skin that acted as a tent flap.

"If it were me, Daniel, I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that others were dying for my home while I just sat there and watched. I'll help you guys, no matter which decision you make. It's what I owe you for the food and medicine. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bear to hunt."

Joshua sighed. "Directionless, restless, and indecisive. I wouldn't have invited him at all had I known this is what lied in his heart.

Daniel shrugged, arms tucked into themselves. "He's a gentile, what did you expect?"

Joshua scoffed. "Daniel, we are all gentiles at one point of our life or another. It is only by the grace of God and the blood of the lamb that we are any different, and that is nothing we've earned. He can become saved, just like the sorrows can be saved. Just like we've been saved."

Silence resumed, and Joshua picked up his brush and barrel, beginning to clean his pistol again.

"If you can, Daniel, we will need many healers during and after the defense of Zion. You do not have to fight, I have always respected your iron dedication to pacifism. But Daniel, I beg of you this: Give the Sorrows the choice. I will be doing the same of the Dead Horses. The Courier was right about one thing, it is their fight much more than it is ours."

Daniel sighed. "I… I don't have a choice but to. I wanted to keep them sheltered from things like war, and hatred. They're innocent. I thought… that maybe even though the rest of the world was tainted with sin, that didn't mean that they had to be. I wanted to prove to myself that it was possible to make a better world, where men like us didn't have to exist. Is war just… part of who we are? As inescapable as the bones beneath our skin?"

Joshua was quiet for a long few minutes. He had stopped cleaning his gun. Eventually, he spoke.

"I don't know, Daniel. But we must fight with all our spirit. Our cause is just, so…"

Daniel cut him off, "So what?"

Joshua looked away. "So we have to fight for the people we love. So we can live with ourselves, as that courier said. We've committed many sins, but God won't condemn us for this war. Not this battle, not this time. No, not this time."

Joshua slid the barrel into the slide, and clicked the slide back into the gun, racking it several times in a row. He stood up from his chair. "Go rally the tribes, Daniel. We have a holy land to protect."

Owen walked out along the riverbank, kicking stones into the pristine water & watching the dark clouds gather in the sky. Rain was a blessing here. Cazadors, as well as other insects, would dig into the ground & hide, though the Yao-guai would come out.

The Courier saw a flash of light pan across the dark grey sky.

Brumm...Ka-Thrumm…. Brrrbrrrllll….

Lightning, and thunder. Soon a wash of rain would join them.

'I should probably go get those drugs that cooky shaman is making, so I can take it & finish this "Spirit quest" or whatever and get my bear claw. Hell, I should take the bear pelt while I'm at it. I am going to look -so- fucking cool.'

He wondered how many tribals he could scare or impress with a bear pelt. Probably a ton. Probably all of them. The hide was tough, too, so it should be slow down enough stabs for him to retaliate. Be a good poncho, or something to keep warm with on the go at night.

'I'll look like a regular centurion or- no, no, those dark days are behind me now.'

His mood soured by memories, he walked further on, until he reached the caves.

He raised the skins acting as a curtain door, and walked inside the cave.

Shaman White Bird was resting, drinking some foul-smelling liquid with his eyes closed.

Making no indication he heard him or saw him, he pointed at the pot of boiling water hanging above a fire.

"Take the tea off. You must drink."

Owen did so.

"How did you see me?"

White Bird answered, "Your spirit rots, lashes out. Very potent, very obvious."

Owen put the tea onto the picnic table.

"I don't put stock into any of that magic stuff."

"Yet you read holy book?"

Owen poured some tea into a clay cup.

"Know thy friend, and know thy enemy. Can't fight with or against what you don't understand."

White Bird drank more tea. "Wise man know when to shut his mouth. You maybe wise. Or maybe not."

"Don't worry, you guys aren't remotely close to getting on the enemy list." Owen drank some tea. "Ugh. This is more bitter than fermented dirt. How do you drink this stuff?"

"Tea is strong. Tea is bitter. Wisdom is strong. Wisdom is bitter. You see?"

"I'm going to have a fucking hernia if I continue talking to you, old man. Just..." He drank some more tea. "Tell me where this bear I gotta kill is. Show me on my map."

Owen fiddled with some dials & buttons on his pip-boy, then held his arm out for the shaman. After a couple minutes, he knew where to go, thanked him, and left.

"You go to cave. Find Ghost of She. Lay ghost to rest. This your quest. Bring peace where was strife. Go!"

Owen pulled his masked face to look behind him. "Ghost of She? Is that the bear? Why is it called that?"

White Bird opened his eyes. "Sad story. Not for your ears from my lips. Ask midwife. She speak to your ears." Owen held eye contact with him for a good five seconds, then walked away, muttering a "Fuck it, I'm not that interested." as he went.

White Bird frowned as the courier left his cave. He sipped some more tea.

"What a prick. Thought he'd never leave."

He looked into the fire.

"...Needs a bath, too. Smell like shit in here now."

Owen checked his gear. A 45. Colt Pistol, Silenced. Check. 7 Bullets in each magazine, for a total of 6 pistol magazines. Check. A .308 Browning Automatic Rifle, check. Action works clean, check. Six 20 round magazines, stocked with ammo, resting in his bandolier. Check. Six fragmentation grenades, check. Gehenna, his flaming sword of justice & fury, check. And finally, a few knives of varying sizes stashed away. All resting in or around his riot armor he got from a place called the Madre.

He checked the buckles of his armor, tightening them while making sure they were secure, then nodded to himself.

He opened up a pack of two-centuries old M&Ms, started the radio, then started marching.

I know my home is waiting for me by the river shore~

I know that all the ones I love would welcome me once more~

In dreams I see them now though it seems I'm bound to roam~

My thoughts are still of Texas and of home~

'Honestly, when he called the tea a drug, I thought it'd be hallucinogenic, or something.'

The Courier walked south, following the map to where he needed to go. Rain poured down all around him as he trudged through the water, holding his rifle above his head. The water threatened to take him downstream, back where he came from, with every step.

'Need to find some solid ground before I get pneumonia or something.'

He thought about going back to camp and resting, maybe putting it off for another day, then disregarded it.

'I've gotten this far. I can make it.'

He saw a large lump coming down the river from a couple hundred meters away, so he kicked himself through the water, falling back and going to his left side, over to the riverbank, trying to hide underneath a piece of canyon that jutted out a bit. His riot gear was impermeable enough to have a tiny air bubble, and he held his breath while he held his gun by the charging handle, holding onto it with his right as his left dug itself into a rough surface of the rock. He waited. One minute turned to two, and two to seven eventually. The rain never lightened its falling.

'...Bear's gotta have moved away by now. If that was it.'

His mask was fogged up by then, so he quickly dipped his head under and back out.

He swam up, keeping to the side this time, as his hand grabbed the rock for support.

'Gun oil's definitely been wiped away by now. This much water can't be good for the bar.'

His radio crackled, playing it's tune through a muffled, damaged speaker.

Stars of the midnight rangers~

Shining through the night.~

Stars of the midnight rangers~

Light my way tonight.~

Eventually, he found his desired footing in a muddy slide. He checked his map against the landmarks, seeing that he was almost there. He poured the rain out of his guns as best he could, wiping them with his leather gloves. He could barely make out the details of things fifty meters from him.

'I can't see shit. Bear can't smell shit. We're even.'

He began a steep uphill trudge through the mud & rocks. The den should be just up the hill & to the left. He felt like he was walking directly up a wall, such was the hill.

The rain picked up, and his visibility got even worse. He swore under his breath, fumbling with his pip boy as he used the BAR like a walking stick, kneeling down. He activated the pip-boy light, along with his sword, Gehenna, lighting up in flames.

It helped a bit. Only a bit, but enough. Oddly enough, he felt very light. He wasn't so worried. And soon enough, he was at the top of the hill. He went into a duck-walk, then a crawl, setting his flaming sword onto the ground beside him, and using his rifle like he should.

He saw the bear, and aimed right for it. It didn't seem to notice, as it was pawing underneath a log.

It sniffed, putting its head inside the log. Owen took the opportunity to position himself better, and fold out the bipod. He did his best to steady his breathing. The tea helped, he barely felt the extreme cold that otherwise would have been chilling him something fierce.

The log shook, and shook. It had to come out eventually. And it did.

Owen took the shot, right at it's head, and as it seemed to react to it, he let out a four round burst, three of which hit. It thrashed around, and then dropped unceremoniously onto its side, going to the ground.

The radio changed its song.

Like a shooting star~

Owen got up, grabbed his flaming sword, and jaunted merrily down the hill to meet his prize.

You appeared before me~

Owen skidded down the last part of the hill, letting the bar go slack in it's sling as he made jazz hands, arms outstreched.

Where have you been all my life?~

"Ho-ho baby, come to papa. You're my fresh new rug and raincoat all-in-oner, aren't you?"

He examined the bear, making sure it was dead. It was. He turned Gehenna off, and made an incision into its stomach.

All at once I found~

After doing so, slicing its stomach open, he found something unpleasant.

Baby bears.

Cubs.

One didn't make it through his assault.

Someone to adore me~

'Oh, Mrs. Bear, I'm... I'm sorry. I had no idea. What were you doing out here?'

The cubs made little 'awp'-ing kind of sounds, crying, and keening.

He scooped up one of the cubs into his arms-

It was warm.

Where have you been all my life?~

"I guess you guys are my responsibility now, huh?" The pink shut-lidded eyes of the thinly-haired bear twisted into themselves, as it made awping sounds, again and again.

Owen realized that they needed warmth, if they would live. But everything right now was very cold, and wet, as it was raining.

Until the moment we met I had no one to cling to~

He put a gloved finger to its mouth, and it tried chewing on it.

'!'

Owen had an idea. He put the cub back inside its dead mother, and activated Gehenna. He put the sword into the ground a few feet away from the bear, and covered up the wound with himself, facing outwards of the bear.

'Sorry little guys, I know it's not as comfortable as before, but… Sorry.

He sat against the bear, getting a bit more comfortable. The bears pawed against his back with their tiny paws.

The rain, the heat of the sword, the comfort of the bear pelt, both its warmth, texture, and scent, made the courier a bit drowsy. And without even meaning to, he found himself passing out, fast asleep.

To be just everything to, to be my own true love~

The cubs were crying. Quite a lot, actually.

'…..Hm? ...Five more...Too warm… Cozy...'

One of his eyes, the right one, opened a bit. He saw that it was dark out, it was still raining, that there was a fire giving light, and that Gehenna was out of juice.

He shut his eye again. It was almost uncomfortably warm, actually.

…

His eyes popped open as fast as they could've.

On his left, there was a bear sniffing him. PUH. SNUFF. SNUFF.

It was on fire.

…

Maybe if he played dead then he could-

"If this is a dream~" The radio sang.

GHHHHRRRRRAAAAOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH

Owen flicked his hands, and he was unloading his bar into the bear, he jumped out of the way of it's bite, grabbing his sword after liberally firing into the hell-bear.

Let me keep on dreaming~

THUDDA-THUDDA-THUDDA-THUDDA

The bear was no slouch however, and quickly turned to face him, standing upwards at almost 12 feet and lunging for him.

Owen rolled and sliced at it's arm, trying to maneuver around it so he could go back up the hill.

RRRRRAAAAOOOOOUUUUUUOOOOOHHHHHH

The fire from the bear was the only thing illuminating his sight. Everything else was rain, and darkness.

Where have you been all my life?~

Owen ran like hell up the hill. The fire was close behind him, he could tell. When he was almost at the top of the hill, he felt the armor pads around his left leg become painfully tight. He was bitten. His hands went for the bar, but the bear stood up, and thrashed him around. It went to all fours, and smashed him against the ground, releasing his ankle. He felt the burning heat all around him.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAOOOOOUUUUUUOOOOOHHHHHH

It was going for his neck.

Owen put the gun horizontally into its jaws. He saw the saliva drip down, heard the metal buckle, the bear was much, much stronger than him, it had him pinned. He pushed the gun into its fiery jaws as hard as he could, barely making a difference in its descent down onto him, but it bought him enough time to rear his own head back, and headbutted its nose.

It made it flinch back, just the smallest amount. It was enough. Owen grabbed a knife from his vest, cutting the sling on his gun, and rolled through its legs. By that time, the bear had recovered from its strike. It charged him. Owen ran up the hill – Just a little bit more, and he'd be at the peak -

"Owen Lee Yankee! You get down from there this instant, young man!"

His heart stopped, and his jaw went slack.

"M-mother-"

The bear had him pinned again. And although he didn't remember how he got there, he was at the peak of the hill. Both of his legs were really sore.

Until the moment we met I had no one to cling to~

Its teeth went for his throat-

And were countered by his right forearm, the armor giving little resistance to its bite. He could feel his arm getting a fracture as it happened.

'Think, Owen, think, think-'

The sword.

Owen took it from his thigh scabbard & thrusted it up into its neck, again, and again. The third time, he thrust it into what he assumed was its ribcage. Holding it like an pre-war movie serial killer, he got between the ribs & twisted. That did the trick, and the bear loosened its jaws to roar in pain.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH

To be just everything to~

Enough time for him to propel himself from the ground down the hill, not to say his descent was elegant. He rolled, cradling his arm. It was dark, and he felt the mud accumulate on his body, the stones dig into the soft parts of his armor, knocking a bit of the breath from his lungs whenever there was a particularly large rock.

He came to a stop by the riverbank. He was cold. Very cold. He gazed up at the stars, which were very pretty.

To be my own true love~

His mother held his hand, pointing at a particularly bright star.

"That one's the big dipper, Owie."

Owen looked up, one of his hands holding his mother's hand, the other holding a popsicle in his mouth.

"Thuh bih dippuh?" He took the popsicle out. "Why's it called that, ma-ma?"

She smiled at the sky, "Why, because it's bigger than the little dipper, of course. But it goes by another name, too." She looked at her son. "What's that?" She smiled even wider. "The Great Bear." Owen looked at the dipper, then back at her like she was crazy. "That's not a bear." He pouted.

His mother laughed. "Of course it's not. It's a constellation. But we can call it whatever we like, can't we?" Owen put his popsicle back into his mouth, grumbling "I still think it looks more like a dipper."

His female guardian looked up at the sky.

"You know, your father had a story about the Great Bear. Many years ago, there was a small village, east of here. And one day, some hunters saw bear footprints, big as a house! They circled around the village. The hunting got slimmer and slimmer each season, and the villagers knew it was because of the bear. Because the bear was so large, it needed much to eat, and because it needed much, it wouldn't let even a small amount of game be eaten by the village. It became bad. Really bad." It was gradual, but by this point the smile was completely gone from her face, and it no longer seemed like she was looking at the stars. "Many people starved. Eventually, the chief of the village said that enough was enough, that they needed to kill the bear so the village could prosper again. Some rangers found tracks, and trekked through the snow, to follow the bear, and slay it. They found it, but none of their bullets could pierce its skin. The angry bear turned, and faced the rangers, who fled, but were soon eaten whole.

Only two escaped, to come back and tell the village the tale. The village sent more hunters, and more rangers, to kill the bear, many times, but it never worked. The Great Bear refused to die. Time would go on. The land, as well as the people, became thinner, and fewer. Many starved, or froze, too scared to light a fire, for fear the bear would see it. Once they were almost mighty enough to kill the bear, but they soon became fearful, and scattered, from the bear that would circle their town each day. Then, one night, three hunters had the same dream, that they had killed the bear. They told each other their dream, and knew it must be true. So they set out, and for many days & nights, they tracked the bear. Eventually, they saw it at a cliff. It jumped into the heavens, and the three followed it. So whenever you see those three stars, and those four ones, you can see the three hunters, still trying to slay the great bear."

Owen was wide eyed. "Whooaaaahhh…. That's so cool! I wanna be a hunter! I wanna be a ranger! I'll get you a bear easy, I'd get everyone a bear!"

His mother crouched and rustled his hair. "It's just a story, Owen. It's not real. And hunting bears is dangerous, I forbid you from it until you're much, much older!"

"Awww… Will you take me bear hunting one day, though?"

His mom smiled. "We'll see, Owen. We'll see."

*GASP*

If this is a dream~

He woke up. The river was dragging him downstream. He could see the flaming bear swimming after him.

"Fucking-" He reached into his bandolier and pulled out a grenade, twisting & pulling the pin out, holding the trigger in.

"SUCK-"

He threw it, landing in the water about twenty feet behind the bear. It barely made a splash at the top.

'Fuck this is so dangerously stupid'

Not that he had any other option but running. Even that wasn't looking great, bears are fast. It was catching up on him, swimming and going downstream. It didn't have any gear to weigh its buoyancy down, Owen had about sixty pounds doing that.

Let me keep on dreaming~

The bear was dog-pedalling towards him at an alarming speed.

He got another grenade out, hoping to throw it a bit better. The rain didn't make it easier to aim.

"SHIT!"

He threw it again towards the seemingly-napalm-bear, which again missed by about twenty feet, this time a bit to the left behind the bear.

'This isn't working out.'

Owen swam/hopped downstream, which was not an easy task in his armor. He thought about using land markers to count his and the bears speed, using the seconds between landmarks as a gauge, but realized he couldn't see anything because it was night & the sky was still crying like mother nature just had a divorce.

Just then, lightning struck.

Literally.

And thunder echoed not even a second afterward.

'! Fucking great. If this lightning doesn't strike me, maybe I can use the light to measure my distance!'

Owen decided to just prime and drop a grenade, which would still leave him three, for good measure.

GHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH

It was pissed off. Its burning red eyes stared hatefully at him. He saw the shrapnel enter its body. Success. It thrashes even more, making frothy waves like a tidal pool, diving like a bullet towards him. Owen grabs a knife, and swims, sometimes hops, when his feet find purchase, further and further towards the camp of the sorrows. His vigor barely maintains the distance of the bears renewed efforts. He goes further and further towards the sorrows camp, rain pelts him, thunder and lightning wage war over the earth, the bear roars at him, and he knows this is what he was born to do. The water gets slightly shallower, enough to find a reliable foothold in the sand below, and though it is not even a foot shallower, it is enough now. He takes his pistol out from its prison, and shakes it victoriously in the air, and racks the slide, a perfect ejection shunting an unused bullet into the river below. He continues hopping back, aiming his pistol at the flaming beast. He takes his shots without warning, and each one leaving not enough time to think in between them. Only a few hit, but he knows he only needs to get lucky once.

The bear skull is tough, and it roars, Owen taking a few teeth but not doing any real damage. He doesn't waste any time reloading, unzipping velcro and taking a magazine out. He shakes it before firing, trying to get excess water out of the chamber or mechanisms. He empties another magazine, and another, while it bleeds and becomes angrier, fiercer, closer. He keeps hopping back-

CHUNK

Blinding pain floods his vision. His leg hurts dearly.

Only one thought goes through his head-

'Bear trap.'

He drops his pistol into the water, and takes another bowie knife out. The bear is bleeding, and roaring, and diving. As shit as he feels, the irony isn't lost on him. He's about to face a twelve foot flaming bear with two knives. He knows he will die.

"COME HAVE A FUCKING TASTE, YOU FUCKING UGLY BASTARD!"

The bear comes closer. It becomes hotter and hotter, until Owen feels like he himself is on fire. The bear stands up right before it meets him, then pounces down. He weaves to the right, and stab both knives into its right forearm, twisting them around a bit, trying to find the joint. The bear roars and rolls around, trying to pin him between the ground and the bear. It works. Owen is tackled underwater, but he doesn't stop stabbing its arm. He goes for the shoulder now, making cuts in between stabs, trying to make each stab part of a larger cut. The bear keeps him there, trying to drown him. A mistake. With the sudden lack of as much movement, Owen shoves the bowie knife into its elbow as deep as it goes, ignoring the fire with all his grit, and feels a connection with something solid. He pulls. The bear roars, the scalding knife follows, and an arm goes loose. The bear stands up, and Owen does the same, pulling against the bear trap as he rolls, and stands leaning on his newly bum leg, digging his other into the gravelly sand. The bear pounces again, and Owen jumps forward into it. He drags his knives into the belly of the beast, feels the incredible force of the bears kick, as it does it with both legs, freeing him of the bear trap, as the leg armor gives him just enough slippage to fit his whole ankle and foot through the thigh armor, though the kick took his boot and helmet.

The bear rolls in pain twice, getting its bearings, before it locks eyes with Owen, seeing the face of its prey for the first time. They glare in blind, burning hatred to each others eyes. They stare at each other, breathing heavily, before Owen grabs something on his bandolier. That sets it off. Owen puts the object into his mouth.

GHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH

"RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

They charge towards each other. The bear no longer stand up, rushing madly at him on all threes. Owen sprints towards the great bear, kicking himself off a small log the bear trap was anchored to, giving him just enough air to grab the top of the beast with his knives. He digs both into the back of its throat, the bear roars, and tries to roll over again. Owen lets go of the knives, and lets it do this. As soon as the bear finishes rolling over, it goes to bite him, and Owen crushes one of its eyes with his fist and thumb. He puts his left armguard for the bear to chew on, which turns out to be a mistake. The bear stands up again, taking Owen almost twelve feet into the air. Owen wraps himself tightly around the bear's head, embracing the pain as it wildly shakes its fiery head, and claws out its other eye. The bear doesn't let go, and though it's not good for him, Owen doesn't want it to. He lets the bear dislocate his arm, and hangs by it. He blinks back tears, and swings by it to grab his other knife, which he uses to make a cut a foot long. It lets go, finally, and he crashes into the earth. The bear thrashes around, blindly, before sniffing, and charging at him. Owen twists the grenade in his mouth, and grabs it from his mouth. He runs towards the bear, and chucks it into the mouth of the beast before rolling out of its way. He lets himself drop into the water, and goes into a fetal position, covering his head with the bear leg he cut off earlier.

3…

2…

POOOF.

He feels the shockwave of the blast, but thankfully not the shrapnel. He stands up, wearily, and breathes fast, shallow breaths.

The front half of the bear is torn to shreds, with open cuts all over, both by his knife, and grenade shrapnel from the inside of the bear.

"I...I...Did…"

He sees that he is at the front of the Sorrow's camp now, and they are all staring at him in fear, awe, and whispering amongst themselves. He looks around, breathing heavily.

He shouts. "THEY CAN BE BEATEN!"

He bends over, grabs the bear arm at his feet, and raises it over his head with his one working right arm.

"I… WILL SHOW YOU… HOW VICTORY WORKS!"

They began to shout, and applaud, and whisper excitedly amongst themselves.

"MY NAME IS COURIER! COURIER SIX!"

He felt very tired all of a sudden.

"And I… gotta..."

He passed out.

"...nnn...Bearclaw..."

"Say 'Aaaaa'."

"Aaaaaaa…."

A lady of the sorrows scooped some bear stew into his mouth. He had a cast on and many, many bandages, not so dissimilar from another warrior they knew.

The lady got off the log near his animal skin bed, and carried the bowl & spoon with her.

"Healthy appetite. That is gut."

He waved his right fingers at her.

"Feel free to bring some more over anytime. I can eat whatever, whenever. I'm not picky."

The lady grinned. "Yes, I could see that. See you in a few hours, Courier."

"See ya."

The lady went out, and Joshua Graham came in, holding a dufflebag.

"It's good to see you're as talkative as ever, courier. The tribes are going to need your help sooner, rather than later. They're nearly over-eager to train and battle, kudos of your brainless handling of that bear."

"It's a gift, really. What brings you over to my side of the medical cave?"

"Assurance, and Insurance."

Owen snorted. "I thought money was unholy to you people."

"Not that sort of insurance, I'm afraid. I want your assurance that the aid your promised before you collapsed of one part blood loss and two parts narcolepsy wasn't just some tribute to your own vain glory."

Owen shrugged, then winced in pain. "Ow. Yeah, I figure I got nothing better to do. Besides, I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't follow up on my own advice, wouldn't I? I don't want to see you guys wiped out to a man. It'd put a big stain on my conscience."

Joshua stared at him for a few seconds. "You're a good kid. Odd, but good. Very well."

He dropped the duffle bag next to Owen.

Owen waited a few seconds. Neither made a move.

"...And this is…?"

"Insurance. That you don't die before your appointed time."

"...Can you open it?"

Joshua shook his bandaged head. "I'm afraid that's something for you to do, later. I must go now. Other things require my attention. Get some rest, you'll be needing it. Daniel will stop by later and heal your injuries. He already worked a bit on you when you passed out. Be sure to thank him. He may be a healer, but he's not obligated to save people from themselves. That's the Lord's work."

Owen closed his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks Joshua."

"God's will be done."

After Daniel applied some pre-war stimpacks, hydra, medicine powder, and a few splints in the right places, as well as a stern talking-to his bones were good as new. The courier took a six hour sleep, and was awoken by a bird.

"Zzzzz...Snkt? Wassa? What?"

A raven was flocked over his head.

"Aaah! Shoo, shoo!" It did, and flew out of his cave.

"Weird thing..."

The Courier stretched his arms, and looked at the duffle bag that was left.

He unzipped it, and found a note.

Courier,

This is a customary armor the dead horses have reserved for their most important customs, functions, and holy rituals. And, unfortunately, though I know it holds importance to you as well, it belongs to the Dead Horses, not you. Although, after I have explained the origins of it, and who wears it, the Dead Horses said they were willing to part with it, should you help lead them to victory. I wish for you to wear it, as it did, after all, belong to the Desert Rangers, your tribe, of which there are few left.

If you are reading this, then I hope you have accepted to play a role in the destiny of their fate, to be a protector, a guardian, and a Ranger. If not, simply return it, and I will think no lesser of you.

I hope whatever choice you make, that it is the right one.

From,

Joshua Graham.

Owen lifted the helmet from the brown duffle bag, and couldn't believe his eyes. Armor of the Desert Rangers. Not painted in the colors of turncoats to the NCR, or desecrated by Legion, but true, unmodified, unchanged armor.

Well, not totally unmodified. Looking at the back of the helmet, there was a tour of duty calender, showing that it'd seen service during the great war, in Nanjing, and Shanghai.

He had to mark it. He had to put a message on it, to tell others how he'd earned it. But how…?

He thought, and thought, and thought. Eventually, he knew what it'd say.

Forgive me, mama bear.

"...But I kinda spaced out and wrote mama too big, so I just thought, eh, screw it, I'll keep it as is."

The three of them were sitting around the campfire, jaws slacked.

"...No fuckin' way." Mitch said.

"I swear, it's the truth. Swear it on my mother's grave, God rest her soul."

"I don't give a shit who you are, bears don't come that big, and they don't stay on fire. You were on drugs, you said it yourself."

The Courier shrugged, eating some beef on a stick. "Everyone else saw it too. If you're ever in the area, you can ask them."

ED-E beeped.

"What is it, ED-E?"

ED-E beeped very fast.

"...We gotta leave, guys. Right about now."

"What? Why? What the fuck's going on?"

Owen scarfed down the rest of the beef.

"Legion."