Chapter 21

Web of Connection

A blast of blistering cold air rushed out of the cooler as Sandra pulled the door open.

She and Niner leaned inside, surveying the misty interior—the shelves inside containing frozen meats, and the person hunched in the corner, his arms folded, his eyes closed, and his body entirely motionless.

Sandra felt as if her heart might've stopped.

"Ah hell," Niner sighed grimly.

Sandra leaped inside and skidded across the cooler's icy floor, landing on her knees and hovering over Arcade worriedly.

"Hey—hey—wake up!" Sandra hollered at him, clasping his freezing face and giving him a few light smacks. "Arcade!"

"Get him outta there," Niner urged, stepping out of the doorway.

Sandra nodded and hoisted Arcade by the front of his suit jacket, dragging him out of the cooler and placing him against the wall of the pantry. Niner shut the cooler door, then closed the pantry door as well, locking it just to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted or discovered.

"Arcade—look at me," Sandra gasped, clasping his face and lifting his head. "Look at me!"

Arcade's brows moved, his eyes attempting to open. "Hnn…?"

Sandra hung her head, releasing a massively relieved cloud of breath.

"What happened?" Arcade mumbled weakly, his throat hoarse and dry. "I don't… I'm cold…"

"They tossed you in a deep freeze, mate," Niner remarked.

Arcade drearily rolled his head to the side, staring down at his pale hand and trying to enclose a fist, his fingers aching terribly.

"Hypothermic…" he moaned faintly.

Sandra yanked him forward and trapped him in a smothering hug.

Arcade blinked, his glasses crooked, though he instantly found himself savoring the sudden burst of warmth.

Sandra held him close with one arm, placing her hand over his and warming each of his hands through several long, patient seconds. Arcade let out a deep breath, meeting Niner's eyes from over her shoulder.

"Cannibals," Niner explained with a shrug.

"Oh," Arcade uttered with a nod. "Fun…"

While Sandra lingered with Arcade and tried to warm him, Niner hunched against the door, pressing his ear to it and listening intently for any alarming sounds. So far, he heard nothing.

"We need to figure out what we're gonna do, here," Niner mumbled. "From what that Chauncey bloke said, it sounds like only a few of the White Gloves are people-eaters. It's like a secret society within their society. We gotta tell someone…"

"The… the rancher," Arcade exhaled, his chin resting on Sandra's shoulder. "The rancher I met in the lobby, he… he was looking for his son who went missing here… we could tell him…"

"I think his son got switched out for you, doctor man," Niner determined. "We saw some kid in a rancher's hat raising hell before he stormed off. Said he was locked in a deep freeze for the longest time."

"Well… good that he's alive, then," Arcade muttered. "I'm not sure who we can tell, though… without presenting proof…"

"Proof," Sandra breathed, leaning back and meeting Arcade's eyes. "I have… I have proof."

"You do?" Arcade replied. "How could you possibly h…"

He suddenly stopped, squinting at Sandra's eyes, both of them shining with tears.

"Oh… don't cry," Arcade exhaled, smirking and shaking his head. "Don't cry, Sandra, I'm fine. We're all good here."

Sandra wiped her eyes, only just realizing that her eyes were watering. Instantly, she scoffed and flushed, and then she punched him, making Arcade wince and clasp his arm.

"It's your fault," Sandra choked. "You fucking made me worry…"

Arcade let out a laugh, Sandra flicking him in the forehead.

"Six," Niner said. "You have proof?"

"Yeah, um…" Sandra knelt beside Arcade, turning and holding up her nuka-themed pip-boy. "I just realized… I never stopped the recording, Niner."

Niner stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening. "Oooh… you got that whole conversation with Chauncey recorded! Oh, we got 'em now!"

Arcade's eyes shifted between them both. "I have a feeling I've missed a lot…"

"Hell yeah," Niner laughed, flicking the white mask hanging around his neck. "We pulled some undercover detective shit to get down here."

Arcade's brows raised. "I have to admit… I'm impressed you two managed to pull all this off by yourselves. No offense."

"None taken… I am too," Sandra smirked. "Especially with Niner. He did all the talking. Had everyone believing he was some big shot businessman from Cali."

"Hey… you need someone to talk out their ass, I'm your guy," Niner bragged.

"I suppose that explains why you're dressed like the ghost of a cult leader," Arcade chuckled.

"You're goddamn right it does," Niner affirmed.

"I think we oughta go," Arcade said, planting a hand to the wall.

"Yeah… are you okay, though?" Sandra asked him. "You good to walk outta here?"

"Oh, absolutely… might need seventeen blankets tonight, but I'm good to go," Arcade agreed, reaching his feet and straightening out. "Let's get out of here."

"There's an express elevator right outside the kitchen," Niner informed, drawing the silenced 22 and slowly unlocking the door. "But be prepared anyhow."

The three of them grouped up, and Niner easefully pushed the door open, propping his gun on his wrist and keeping it held upright as he led Sandra and Arcade out of the pantry. Aside from the unconscious chef on the floor, there was nobody around.

So, they all stepped past the unconscious man and slipped out of the kitchen, hurrying into the elevator and pressing the button. The doors slid shut and carried them upward, opening directly beside the metal hallway where Sandra and Niner originally came from. They all rushed out the door, emerging in the public dining area and surveying the crowd, which hadn't changed at all. People were going about their business as usual, most of them blissfully unaware of the things that had transpired in the UltraLuxe this evening.

Sandra took the lead, Niner and Arcade following as she headed toward Majorie's counter. But, to her disappointment, she was gone. They all marched off and headed for Mortimer's counter, which was also abandoned.

The three of them eventually ended up in the main lobby—and right away, their attention was drawn to the center of the crowd.

Heck and Ted Gunderson, Majorie, and several White Gloves and Gunderson guards were all encircled around one another. Heck and Ted were taking turns yelling and cursing at Majorie, who was frowning and repeatedly twirling her hair, fighting a losing battle to defend the White Glove Society.

Sandra stared at the altercation, raising her pip-boy and navigating her recent recording. Once she found the right spot, she paused the recording, stepped forward, and waved to gather everyone's attention.

"HEY!" Sandra bellowed, making the crowd fall silent. "I know exactly what happened—I can clear it up for you all right now."

She hit play, and everyone in the main lobby went quiet as they listened to the entire conversation between Sandra and Chauncey. Heck and Ted Gunderson glared at the pip-boy, Majorie staring at it with a stony visage, her lip trembling as she began to shake her head. Once the recording was finished, Sandra lowered her arm, Niner and Arcade on either side of her, and she gave them all a conclusive nod.

"There you go—straight from the horse's mouth," Sandra announced. "Mortimer and a select few elites were snatching people up and trying to force the other White Gloves into cannibalism. But not all the White Gloves are to blame. Mortimer and his buddies are the bad guys, here."

Heck and Ted both shot another searing glare at Majorie, but this time, neither of them yelled.

"We haven't been able to find Mortimer," Majorie murmured regretfully. "I suppose this explains why he and his closest sponsors disappeared so suddenly…"

"I don't like this place," Heck snarled at her. "I'd burn it and blockade it all if I could… whole damn strip's a goddamn monument to inhumanity."

Majorie stared at him, her lip quivering again.

Heck let out a long, angry sigh. "But… I'll be damned if I'm gonna drive this whole damn cesspool to eating each other. You can expect the Brahmin deal to carry on like we planned… if you swear to be careful who you hire in this place from now on."

"Of course, Mr. Gunderson," Majorie muttered wispily. "Thank you."

Heck grumbled and cursed under his breath, turning away and shaking his head.

The massive crowd fell silent for a moment, and suddenly, hundreds of eyes were venturing over to Sandra and her friends, making her heart skip.

Heck and Majorie were both staring at her and her friends intently, approaching them with looks of curiosity.

"I reckon I have y'all to thank," Heck figured. "You got me my boy back. I got no words…"

"Well… we… it's a long story," Arcade sighed. "But at least it's all resolved now."

"You," Majorie mumbled, narrowing her eyes. "Who are you people? How did you get involved in the first place?"

Sandra, Niner, and Arcade all exchanged glances as an endless crowd of people stared at them, awaiting an answer. Then, Sandra smirked and folded her arms.

"My name's Sandra—Courier Six," she told them all. "I've been working with Mr. House until his recent passing. But now, I'm working as his heir to make Vegas a better place. We all are."

Majorie stared at her in shock, Heck and Ted trading awestricken expressions. Everyone else in the crowd looked similarly surprised, several of them erupting in frantic whispers of gossip.

"Does that mean you… you're in charge of the Lucky 38?" Majorie gasped.

Sandra gave a confirming nod. "Yeah. And unlike Mr. House, my health doesn't keep me from doing the ground work. We intend to weed out all the people like Mortimer in Vegas… which is gonna keep us all safer in the long run."

"Absolutely," Arcade agreed. "Rest assured, we have no problem with the White Glove Society in general. We just wanna make sure everyone in the Mojave is safe from the criminal elements hiding in the shadows."

"And I'm Major Tom Young!" Niner declared. "I'm a former major who founded—"

"No—his name's Niner," Sandra corrected, shooting him a look. "This is Niner and Arcade, and they're both extremely important to my job, here. We're just trying to make things better. Simple as that."

Everyone stared at them once again, and the waves of gossip rippled over the ocean of people at breakneck speed. Majorie let out an astonished breath, giving Sandra and her friends a smile.

"I don't know how to thank you," Majorie stuttered.

"You don't need to," Sandra said, sliding her sunglasses back on. "It's just our job now. C'mon, you guys."

At that, Niner and Arcade followed Sandra past the crowd, marching up the stairs and strolling out the elegant double-doors, leaving an excited crowd in their wake, spreading all the new fantastical information across the casino at light-speed.

Once the three of them were outside, Sandra released a huge breath. "God, that was crazy…"

"And we didn't even get plastered," Niner snarked, pocketing his hands and sauntering down the light-up stairs. "Fuckin' waste of a night."

Sandra laughed, turning and meeting Arcade's gaze, only just realizing he was giving her a long, surveying stare.

"What?" Sandra uttered.

Arcade flashed a faint smirk. "You sounded pretty worried in that recording, there."

Sandra sighed and shook her head, beginning her trek down the stairs. "Shut the hell up…"

They all marched off together, heading down the strip and approaching the Lucky 38 in the near distance—and as they did, far above them, Mr. Burke watched from the grandest window of his suite in the Tops casino, placing a hand to the glass and observing from afar as the crimson-haired wanderer ventured away with her new friends.

"There you are," Mr. Burke murmured ominously. "And the new game begins."

The next day, late in the morning—after sleeping in an abandoned campsite—Boone and Vulpes collected their belongings and marched onward, treading close to Vegas's doorstep.

Due to the route they took, they were now approaching the south gate of Freeside in the far distance, Gun Runners just barely visible off to the left. For the majority of the walk, both of them were silent. Boone didn't choose to speak until Gun Runners was in eyeshot.

"So…" Boone uttered. "What can we expect when we get to Vegas? From this courier…"

"Well… quite honestly, I don't know the details," Vulpes replied. "All I know for certain is that she and her allies have some level of influence there, and they have plans to improve upon things."

Boone squinted questioningly at him. "And she knows you're a Legion defector?"

Vulpes glared ahead with a stony visage. "She knows far more than that. Or she used to…"

"Okay… I'm gonna state the obvious, here," Boone decided. "You probably have the most valuable Legion information in the Mojave. Why not take it to someone who can use it?"

Vulpes's eyes flickered over to him. "Like who, your tribe of bear soldiers?"

"Yes," Boone griped. "Or anyone else who's willing to fight the Legion."

Vulpes shot him a look, then nodded in the general direction of the 38. "Why do you think I'm going to the courier?"

Boone made a strange, skeptical face. "This girl is just a courier. She can't take on the entire Legion. The NCR could barely do that during the first fight for Hoover Dam."

"That girl is not just a courier… and she's certainly not alone, either," Vulpes mumbled. "Sandra and her friends have a knack for pulling off the impossible. They slew Lord Caesar inside his own fortress."

Boone slowed to a stop, staring at Vulpes uncertainly. "Seriously?"

Vulpes halted as well, sighing and nodding. "Yes. Seriously."

Boone surveyed him. "And you… being who you are… you're okay with that?"

Vulpes was silent for several long seconds, glancing aside and pondering deeply on the question. Moments later, he merely sighed again and gave him a shrug.

"If it was anyone else, I wouldn't be," Vulpes resolved, facing Freeside and resuming his pace. "But it had to be her."

Boone shot him an odd look before following suit.

"When we arrive… we'll visit the casinos and look for her," Vulpes disclosed. "If we can't find her, one of her companions will do. So long as we find sanctuary in Vegas, then our goal is a success for the time being."

"You said they'd be working against the Legion, not just giving us a hiding spot."

"They are. But I imagine they're managing plenty more than just that."

"Fair point. But—"

Vulpes skidded to a stop—his arm jutting out and halting Boone in his tracks.

Boone stared at him, seeing that Vulpes was glaring fixedly at a group of three suited strangers outside of Freeside's gate, all of them leaning on the wall and casually trading conversation.

"What?" Boone asked, eyeing the suited strangers. "You know them?"

"Unfortunately," Vulpes growled darkly. "Those men are frumentarii."

"Oh, well—that's all I need to hear." Boone reached for his rifle, but Vulpes grasped his arm and gave him a severe glare.

"You do that, and you'll have a price on your head for defending a deserter," Vulpes snarled through gritted teeth. "Back off. Go take the north entrance. They're mine."

"What are you, stupid?" Boone snapped in response. "You're busted all to hell and fucking outnumbered—not to mention, I've already killed a gaggle of these jagoffs right outside Novac."

"None of them survived, which means none of them can ID you," Vulpes growled. "But if any of these frumentarii manage to survive just by chance, they'll inform the rest of the Legion and they'll all come after you. Not to mention, the frumentarii like to keep scouts nearby to survey their missions. If any of them see you get involved—"

"Don't care." Boone grabbed the butt of his rifle. "It's worth the risk to me."

"Look at me, you damn fool," Vulpes glowered irritably, smacking his arm. "You want me to atone? Then let me do so now."

The two of them shared a heated glare, Boone reading every inch of Vulpes's determined visage. After what felt like hours, Boone's shoulders relaxed, and he let out a reluctant exhalation.

"You're seriously not what I expected," Boone muttered. "For a Legionary."

Vulpes's jaw twitched. He adjusted his collar and turned to face the gates once again. "I'm not a Legionary anymore."

"Apparently not," Boone determined, giving him a somewhat conflicted stare. "Look… if you run inside and go straight to the Mormon Fort, I'm sure the Kings and the bodyguards would give you backup."

"Don't mind me," Vulpes murmured with serpentine rasp, his eyes locked on the enemies afar. "I'll take care of them."

"Don't play it stupid," Boone instructed. "If you go where there're numbers, you'll be fine."

"I don't need the assistance of these Freemont reprobates," Vulpes grumbled.

"They're not reprobates—they're just people like you," Boone told him firmly. "You don't get to talk like that if you're not a Legionary anymore. And I know all about pride, too—pride will fuck you up on the battlefield. You better keep that in mind."

"A battlefield without pride," Vulpes muttered. "I can't imagine such a thing."

Boone spared him a thoughtful stare, turning and beginning to make his departure.

"Seeya in Vegas sometime," Boone called out with a sense of finality.

Vulpes nodded, cracked his neck, and glared at the frumentarii afar, not taking a single step forward until Boone was entirely out of sight.

The moment Vulpes began his stride toward the enemies, Boone had just vanished around the corner of Freeside's massive wall—and suddenly, he slowed to a stop. For a moment, the sniper stood stock still, not knowing why he felt such a sudden burst of hesitance. He planned to leave the ex-Legionary just as Vulpes had requested.

Still, something compelled him to double back.

Boone sighed with agitation, pulled out his rifle, double-checked it, and peeked around the corner—he watched from a distance as Vulpes stopped a few feet away from the three disguised frumentarii.

The suited frumentarii all fell silent, eyeing Vulpes intensely. The largest one—a bulking man in a hat—stepped forward, he and Vulpes locking heated glares.

"I'm surprised they sent you, Sanctus," Vulpes sneered. "Ordinarily, you can't manage unless you're pulling a sneak attack. How do you plan to fare in a head-on fight, I wonder?"

"That's pretty ambitious talk coming from the man who used those very same tactics in Nipton and Searchlight," the man named Sanctus snarled in response. "Look around, Vulpes. You're outnumbered. It won't be much of a fight."

"Fair point," Vulpes glowered, sliding out his machete gladius from the back of his suit. "I'd sooner call it pest control."

Sanctus scoffed out a laugh—he and his two followers lunged forward.

Vulpes and Sanctus slashed and swung as their blades bounded off of each other—the two followers whipping out their own weapons—one diving at Vulpes with a ripper—

Boone pulled the lever back and fired.

The man with the ripper jerked in his stance—a bullet penetrating his torso and making him crumble to the ground.

Vulpes grasped Sanctus by the collar and whipped him around—Sanctus broke away and raised his blade—Vulpes ducking down and soaring forward, bringing his blade up with a wide slash—

"Agh!" Sanctus hollered, staggering back as the blade sliced the side of his stomach.

Vulpes smirked devilishly and fought through every ache and pain—he charged forward again—but before he could strike, the second Legionary kicked him squarely in the back, mounting him and slashing into Vulpes's side—

BANG.

Boone felled the second Legionary, forcing him to collapse on the pavement.

Vulpes and Sanctus blinked—Sanctus glancing around in alarm—Vulpes looking up and seeing he was distracted—

With one final burst of energy, Vulpes rocketed toward Sanctus and thrust his blade through the man's stomach with all the power he could muster.

Sanctus gaped and choked—just barely managing to swing his blade once more.

Vulpes quickly jerked back—narrowly dodging a lethal blow to the throat. The blade instead slit his upper arm.

Sanctus's face twisted up in fury, Vulpes's blade still protruding out of him—and with the last of his strength, he barreled at Vulpes and smashed his thick knuckles into his face.

The punch landed squarely in the middle of Vulpes's forehead—snapping his head back and making him hit the ground hard.

Sanctus stood over him, panting and red-faced, crimson pouring out of his stomach where the machete still protruded. His energy quickly abandoning him, Sanctus raised his blade, vowing to take Vulpes with him to the afterlife.

"A-aah!" Sanctus grunted horribly, as someone had ripped Vulpes's machete out of him with a swift abrupt motion.

Shakily turning his head, Sanctus met eyes with Boone, who was smirking coldly and twirling the bloody machete at his eye level, wordlessly taunting him. Then—Boone whipped the blade aside, slashing Sanctus's throat in a blunt, powerful movement, making him sputter before collapsing awkwardly to the ground.

There was a long, tense silence, Vulpes lying pained on his back, Boone wiping the spot of blood splatter from the side of his cheek. The rifle and machete hanging at either of his sides, he slid the gun back into its sling before sighing and leaning over Vulpes, surveying him closely.

Vulpes was bleeding from several places yet again, glaring up at Boone with eyes narrowed into icy, pensive slits.

"I told you not to," he groaned.

"And I don't take orders from you," Boone stated in response, offering his free hand.

Vulpes stared up at him in a tired, pained glare. He didn't take the sniper's hand, but slowly sat upright by himself, inhaling deeply and forcing himself to his feet—nearly every part of him screaming in pain, his head spinning, but he managed to remain standing.

"I am… so… tired," Vulpes rasped angrily, wiping his face. "Of this…"

Boone scanned him up and down. "Yeah… you need a medic. Otherwise, you're not making it to Vegas. I've seen soldiers with lesser wounds die on the battlefield."

"Soldiers of the bear, perhaps," Vulpes rasped, slowly facing Freeside's gate. "But not… me…"

"Yeah, okay… you're a big billy-badass," Boone said sarcastically. "But you still bleed and die like everyone else. We're gonna stop off at the Mormon Fort before we head to the strip."

"No," Vulpes refused, placing a hand to the gate, partly for support. "I will not… resort… to…"

Boone frowned irritably at him. He then sighed, dug into his side bag, and pulled out a small injector, cautiously approaching Vulpes from behind and quickly stabbing it into his neck.

Vulpes clasped his neck and whirled around, pressing his back to the gate and giving Boone a wild look.

Boone held up the injector. "Anethetic med-x. Special little cocktail cooked up for treating wounded soldiers, courtesy of the NCR."

"What?" Vulpes hissed, rounding on him—and instantly, his eyes lost their focus and his legs buckled. Boone coiled his hand around the front of his suit, holding him upright just before he could fall to the ground.

Sighing and shaking his head, Boone dragged Vulpes one-handed into Freeside, approaching the entrance of the Mormon Fort and pulling the downed frumentarius along the whole way.

The moment Julie Farkus spotted them, her jaw dropped. She hurried over to Boone and helped him to escort Vulpes into the nearest medical tent, placing him on a bed as Julie and a nurse quickly began ripping his suit up, prepping him to be treated.

"God… who is he? How'd he get in this condition?" Julie asked breathlessly, shooting Boone a glance as she began treating the worst of Vulpes's many injuries.

Boone stared down at the unconscious Vulpes with an unreadable visage.

"His past just caught up with him," Boone disclosed. "That's all."

Julie gave him an odd glance before taking a needle from her nurse, preparing to stick Vulpes in the arm.

"I already dosed him with anesthetic med-x," Boone informed. "You might not wanna do that."

Julie gave him a hesitant look, then placed the syringe on the table and continued working.

"When he wakes up… tell him I went to Vegas," Boone instructed.

Without waiting for a reply, he marched out of the tent without another word.

His walk across Vegas was a long one, and relatively uneventful, as few wastelanders liked to pick a fight with an NCR sniper, even the freeside locals who didn't much care for the NCR. Boone let out a cloud of breath and pocketed his hands, approaching the Strip in the near distance as his thoughts began to weigh on him.

He could've never imagined showing mercy to any Legionary, much less helping one to survive. In fact, Vulpes wasn't just a Legionary—he was one of the most manipulative Legion soldiers in existence, a frumentarius, an ex-spy who did God knows how many horrible actions under the guidance of the red flag.

Still, he couldn't deny what he'd seen. Boone knew for certain that Vulpes was exactly who he said—a Legion defector, someone who chose to walk away from the Legion despite the heavy penalties attached. The Legion sent numerous assassins after him in the short time Boone had known him. It seemed clear that, for all Vulpes's faults, he certainly was no ally of the Legion anymore.

Who knew—maybe even the people who'd made the worst mistakes imaginable could become more than simple pawns in a game of unjust warfare.

Boone himself had, after all. He and his unit slaughtered various innocent people during the tragedy of Bitter Springs—and all because they were told to.

In retrospect, the NCR almost seemed similar to the Legion, at least in this one particular way. Everyone serving under both flags was expected to do whatever they were told without question. The only difference was the penalties for disobeying this rule. The NCR utilized courts and legality to punish their free-acting soldiers—but the Legion simply tortured, killed, and crucified them all. True, both of them expected obedience without question—but the Legion's punishments were far more severe than the NCR's.

"Fuck," Boone murmured to himself. "No wonder I pity the little piece of shit."

As much as he detested the Legion—and as much as he found himself doubting Vulpes's true intentions for the past day or two—he had to admit one thing for sure.

Vulpes must've been damn brave to defy the Legion.

Of all people, he knew full well what horrific consequences would come from such an action—but nevertheless, Vulpes rebelled the war tribe without fear. Perhaps it was due to stupidity in foolhardiness, but it was still impressive nonetheless.

Not to mention, he also chose to fight three frumentarii without Boone's help, despite being wounded and outnumbered. It was Vulpes's way of atoning, in his own words.

Redemption and forgiveness weren't the types of ideas that Boone usually entertained. Most times, everything was clear to him, black and white and easy to understand—the Legion were evil, and everyone else was just trying to survive, simple as that. But now, strangely enough, he found himself thinking in a grayer area, thinking of a Legionary as an actual human being. Granted, it was an ex-Legionary, but still…

He never could've expected to think of any type of Legionary as an equal—and he certainly never thought he'd consider that one might even change their ways. He couldn't know for sure if Vulpes would really choose a decent path, but it was a nice thought regardless. It wasn't often Boone could entertain the idea of a small miracle like that…

He snapped out of his thoughts and pulled out his sack of caps, presenting it to the securitrons for the credit check. Once he was permitted entry, Boone marched onto the strip with pocketed hands and a distant expression, his eyes scanning over every inch of the environment, the streets cleaner than anywhere else in Nevada, the people both happier and far more intoxicated than anywhere else Boone ever visited in the Mojave.

As he walked, Boone glanced at the Lucky 38, considering approaching it and instantly dismissing the idea. He knew nobody was allowed in the 38. Finding this courier, or her companions, would likely take some time—he'd have to wander around the other casinos and wait to run into her. The more he thought it over, the more he realized that he had no clue where to start.

Boone stared at the NCR embassy on the edge of the strip, then glimpsed over at the Tops, sparking an idea. Perhaps if he spoke to the employees of the casinos, he could instruct them to keep an eye out for the courier and her friends.

So, Boone marched into the Tops and pushed the doors open—and instantly, he was greeted by Swank behind the counter.

"He-hey, baby, welcome to the Tops hotel and cas—"

"Save all that," Boone said, holding up a hand. "I just needed to talk to the manager, or… whoever else is in charge here."

Swank nodded and leaned on the counter—and then, another man appeared from behind the gigantic pillar that separated the front counter from the staircase.

Adjusting his hat, Mr. Burke strolled up to Swank and leaned on the counter beside him.

"I may have to leave town soon," Mr. Burke told Swank. "It's a long story, but my friends haven't answered my letter—and frankly, I don't have time to wait for them to. I plan to go find them on my own."

"Oh come on," Swank whined, turning to Mr. Burke and seeming to forget Boone's presence entirely. "I need you here. You're the new head hancho!"

"Yes—but there's something urgent I need to deal with," Mr. Burke growled in a hushed tone. "And it would help if I had someone here to assist me."

"What's so urgent?"

"I can't tell you—it involves the courier."

"Who, Sandra? Ah, I haven't seen her in forever…"

"Hey," Boone barked loudly, yelling over them and approaching the counter. "You talking about Courier Six?"

Swank and Mr. Burke exchanged faces.

"Who wants to know?" Mr. Burke replied.

"A friend of a friend," Boone replied. "I was traveling with someone who knows her personally… and I was told that she planned to work on improving the state of things. If that's true, then I might offer up my services to help out. Do you know her?"

"I do," Mr. Burke affirmed.

"Can you vouch for her?" Boone asked seriously, placing a hand on the countertop.

Mr. Burke squinted at him. "What do you mean, vouch for her?"

"I mean… do you know her well enough to trust whatever she's doing?" Boone clarified. "Is she actually capable? Does she actually plan to help the state of things, or not? Because if not, I'd rather not waste my time. I can go somewhere else to find productive work. The embassy's right down the road."

Mr. Burke met his serious stare, returning it in full as his memories began rushing back to him.

"You wouldn't believe the things I've seen her do," Mr. Burke said moments later. "Her and her companions. You might even call it a legacy."

Boone narrowed his eyes skeptically. "That sounds like a wasteland messiah myth."

"Well… it certainly is messianic in a way," Mr. Burke smirked. "But it's hardly a myth."

"I'm gonna need an actual straight answer, here," Boone stated.

"All right, my good man. From my own personal experiences to all the stories that have been spreading about her since she left the UltraLuxe—believe me, I have plenty to tell you," Mr. Burke promised. "In fact, you and I may be able to help each other with a little problem in the near future, and we'd all be working toward the same goal."

"I'm listening," Boone said.

Mr. Burke nodded, straightened up, and motioned to the rest of the casino.

"Right this way… we have much to discuss."