Chapter 30
Demons We Carry
"Wow. There's… pretty much nothing here."
The Vegas Machine sat farther down the empty road of north Vegas, Sandra and her friends standing beneath the sunset and observing the scene of the waylaid caravan—which consisted only of an overturned wagon, a few piles of ash and greenish goo, and nothing else.
"No evidence, no bodies… no nothing," Sandra sighed. "Ugh. What a waste of time…"
"Well… we can toss ideas around," Niner shrugged, hunching over one of the ash piles and messing with the ash. "First off… we know for sure whoever did this was using plasma or lasers. Now, who do we know in the Mojave that uses energy weapons?"
"Van Graffs," Sandra muttered. "But this shipment was full of their supplies, so… I really doubt they'd rob themselves. Then there's the Brotherhood… but they wouldn't attack the caravan if they didn't know what was inside it. And I can't imagine they knew, since they're hidden better than any other Brotherhood I've seen. The Brotherhood out here is completely absent from the rest of the societies… so I doubt it was them…"
"What other Brotherhood sects have you seen before?" Niner asked curiously.
Sandra paused for a moment, sighing and shaking her head. "I don't remember…"
The two of them continued trading ideas, Vulpes listening silently with folded arms—and as they spoke, Arcade glimpsed to the side, seeing that Scar had wandered off the road, scuttling along the dirt and poking his head at a small lump of cloth on the ground.
Arcade squinted at the small deathclaw, quietly stepping away from the ground and approaching the creature. Upon closer inspection, he was able to see that Scar was sniffing a hat, poking his nose under it repeatedly and pawing at it with his tony clawed hands.
Arcade bent down over the creature, grasping the hat and observing it closely—feeling another wave of dread inside. The hat was a grayish silver with a black rim, decorated on the front with a patch depicting the symbol of the Enclave.
This confirmed Arcade's suspicions entirely—whoever attacked this caravan was an Enclave remnant, a high-ranking officer, from the looks of his hat.
Gulping and clutching the hat close, he sighed and patted Scar on the head.
"Good find," Arcade said quietly. "You're like a little hound dog."
Scar squeaked in response, licking Arcade's hand with his long dry tongue. Arcade then stood upright, stuffing the hat away inside his coat before facing the others again, feeling his stomach turn with an uncomfortable sense of regret. He chose to remain silent, not revealing his findings to the others.
"Well… we, uh… haven't found much here," Arcade told the others. "I say we head back to Novac and get some rest. We can toss more ideas around after we take a little break."
Sandra agreed, and they all climbed back into the bus. After cautiously negotiating the large vehicle over the bumpy roads in the darkness, Sandra finally managed to park along the side of the main road in Novac. By the time they arrived, it was nearly midnight, and everyone was exhausted. They all wandered toward the motel quietly and followed Sandra into her room—a room with a queen-sized bed, a couch along the wall, and a small cot set up just beside the far table. The empty jet inhaler and syringes from Niner's Denver Triple-Dog recipe were still sitting idly on the table where he'd left them months ago, the radio playing softly from the nightstand as everyone settled into their sleeping spots. Sandra decided to share the bed with Arcade, Niner snoozing on the cot while Vulpes slept on the couch. The radio continued to play gently as everyone drifted to sleep—and Sandra was the last to drift into a slumber, staring thoughtfully up at the darkened ceiling as numerous ponderings invaded her mind.
She couldn't put her finger on it—as her mind refused to pinpoint the problem amidst the deep fog of her memories—but for whatever reason, this job with the waylaid caravan disturbed her to no end, and she couldn't know why. It was a simple job, after all—and it hardly proved dangerous so far. In fact, it was the tamest job she'd ever gotten from Randall—so then, why did it trouble her so deeply?
The energy remains, the attacker using lasers and plasma—it all sank into her, making her feel a perturbed churning in the pit of her gut, as if an unknowable danger was looming steadily near. But that didn't make sense; this person was clearly a lone attacker, not an army seeking to destroy her and her loved ones. And yet, the evidence forced her to relive the very sensation that had taken over her the last time she crossed paths with such energy-wielding attackers—a feeling of horrific dread and thick, fervent anger, her heart pounding with a hard and vengeful rhythm, her hands coiling into fists as she stewed in the lust for revenge.
Revenge?
Why on earth did she feel so deeply that she had to exterminate whoever was responsible? It was her job to terminate the target, of course—but this was something more, something much deeper than a simple need to complete a task. This random stranger, who had no connection to her whatsoever—she utterly and thoroughly despised him.
The energy-wielding attackers were responsible, after all.
The fall of everyone—everyone she loved and every society she'd befriended—everything would've been all right if those energy-wielding monsters hadn't evoked a grand war for a simple water purifier.
Sandra's head began to ache as she faded into a restless sleep.
Before she could fall fully asleep, her head pulsated harder, brief and vivid memories flashing through her mind as her consciousness slowly sank to darkness. She felt the rush—the overwhelming fury and sorrow colliding inside her the moment the doctor fell behind the thick pane glass, wincing in pain as he died, swatting his hand and urging her to run. The rest was a blur, a fantastic adrenaline-fueled montage of storming through the building and slaughtering any energy-wielding metal men in her path, ducking behind corners, ambushing, grasping their thick metal helmets and shoving her 44 magnum underneath, hammering the trigger and sending bullets wildly into the helmet, ricocheting around inside as they tore the soldier's head to pieces…
That journey of rage ended when she found herself outside the Citadel—Charon grabbing her and shaking her almost violently, snapping her out of her vengeful spree of murder at last. But that face—that red, ghoulish face with the wide milky eyes—that face was forever gone from the world, all because of the traumatized, devastated, and war-torn Capital left in the wake of the invading Enclave.
Sandra hadn't the faintest idea who they were or how she knew them—but one thing was for certain. There was a time when she loved these random people flashing through her mind—and somehow, in ways she couldn't yet recall, the Enclave was responsible for their demise.
Oh how she hated the Enclave.
Sandra tossed and turned in her sleep—and Arcade stirred awake on the other side of the huge bed, glimpsing over and observing her somberly. He'd seen her nightmares before, and the worst of them always looked like this—a deep grimace on her face as she slept, sweat spotting her brow as she gently jerked her head, seeming to relive the most unpleasant experiences of her mysterious past endeavors.
Sighing heavily, Arcade slowly arose from the bed, sliding his glasses onto his face and silently stepping out of the motel room. He stood at the balcony overlooking Novac, watching the night sky as he clutched his chest—the lump beneath his coat where the Enclave hat resided. He stood alone outside for a long while, grimly pondering on the issues at hand and wondering how he should handle them.
And as he did—inside the motel room, Vulpes jolted awake rather suddenly.
He sat up on the couch, inhaling a deep, calming breath and wiping a string of sweat from his forehead. Unlike Sandra, the others in the group weren't aware of Vulpes's nightmares—in fact, he did his best to ignore them completely. Such a hindering weakness, these nightmares were.
Frowning, Vulpes placed his hat on his head and marched outside, hoping to get some fresh air before attempting to sleep again—but he slowed to a stop as he stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him and spotting the doctor standing at the balcony mere feet away.
Arcade glimpsed at him over his shoulder, then quickly turned away.
Vulpes narrowed his eyes at the doctor, leaning on the balcony beside him.
"Not that I particularly care about your wellbeing," Arcade said, seeming to speak to the scenery more than Vulpes. "But I've noticed your sleep habits becoming… unpredictably eclectic. You've been nodding off a lot lately during the day, too. And, again, not that I care about you in particular… but you are part of this team, and you need to be functioning at full capacity when we're out doing these dangerous jobs. So, I feel inclined to ask… what's keeping you up at night?"
Vulpes glared into the night. He remained silent for nearly a full minute.
"Nothing that concerns you," he finally replied.
Arcade turned his head, giving Vulpes a disapproving stare.
"I'm not a people person, but I've been told I'm adept at the science of psychology," Arcade stated. "In a purely professional manner—I can help you manage whatever's plaguing you, just in the interest of keeping our little team afloat."
"Then practice your skills on her," Vulpes retorted. "She has the same problem—but I fully believe I can handle it far better than she can."
Arcade sighed at the starry sky. "Her situation is different. It involves memory loss… which makes it a lot harder to mend and dissect. Trust me, I've tried. It's a slow process with her. But, with you… you don't have amnesia weighing you down. You can just tell me the problem clearly and concisely."
"I don't need your help," Vulpes snapped.
Arcade turned and glared at him again. "What you need is to prioritize our basic necessities here—and I don't know if you actually give a damn about our ordeal, or if you're just tagging along for your own survival. But whichever it is, it would still behoove you to take all the most important factors of our survival into consideration—and that includes your mental state. Do you wanna get caught off-guard? Do you wanna die because you were too damn sleepy to think straight on a battlefield? Is that what you want?"
Vulpes fell silent again, a disturbing memory suddenly returning to him—the moment he reached the Strip's gates, wounded and weary, facing Sanctus the frumentarius and all the assassins he'd brought with him. In a fog of anger and exhaustion, Vulpes chose to fight them rather than fleeing—and he'd nearly died in that encounter. If not for the intervention of Boone the sniper, he most assuredly would've been killed by the Legion spies that attacked him that day.
Then, his mind wandered back to the memory of Boone, of Novac and his other near-death experience, the one that took place just a short distance from the towering dinosaur directly across from the motel, sitting in his eyeshot now.
The face of the young Legion initiate appeared in his thoughts, making his frown deepen into a hard grimace. During his time attacking the Mojave under Lord Caesar's orders, he was training a young initiate named Lupis—a loyal and skilled little soul, a boy who looked to him for guidance and leadership, one who seemed to care greatly for his trainer and the Legionaries by his side.
That same young boy was sent to kill his old Imperator once Vulpes Inculta became a deserter.
He'd never forget the twisted expression on Lupis's face that day, the loyalty having vanished from his once hopeful gaze, his visage distorted with fury as if Vulpes had betrayed him in the worst manner imaginable. That boy's face—perhaps more than any other memory or experience—was the strongest determining factor of Vulpes's choices now.
He'd never realized the depth of total brainwashing that infected the Legion to its very core—not until he saw Lupis that day, his face unrecognizable from the boy he once knew, his old sense of hope and loyalty replaced with a single, absolute hatred directed solely at Vulpes Inculta. He had no reason to despise Vulpes, to hate him, to attack him and try to kill him—except for the fact that the Legion had cleansed his mind thoroughly of self-thought. Lupis believed—just as Vulpes once did, just as everyone else in the Leigon did—that anyone and everyone outside of the cult of Mars was wrong, their very existence wrong, their lives standing as a testament against the glorious, cleansing purity brought to the world by Caesar's Legion. Everyone in the Legion believed without a doubt that their cause was noble, that they were cleaning the world in the name of Mars, and that anyone who chose to leave or act against them was utterly, undeniably evil.
That belief had completely cleansed the young Lupis of any loyalty he might've had to Vulpes.
And that—that fact alone—ensured that Vulpes would never fall under their spell again. Not after seeing Lupis acting on their disturbed beliefs, attempting to kill someone he once cherished. If their beliefs were capable of distorting a young man's thoughts so deeply, then Vulpes simply couldn't indulge their ideology any longer. It was detestable, tossing aside all the Legion's ideas of honor and loyalty to one another simply because someone had broken the rules.
In fact, Vulpes himself was once as deeply under their spell as Lupis had been.
He truly believed that pacifying Nipton and destroying Camp Searchlight were completely honorable accomplishments, that he had brought the Legion one step closer to purifying the world of all the pre-war ideals that had resulted in the broken wasteland of the modern day. The religion of Mars dictated that they were saving the world, not destroying it. During all those wicked endeavors, he honestly believed he was doing the right thing—but seeing Lupis acting as monstrous as Vulpes himself once did gave him a sense of perspective he'd never had before.
Caesar was supposed to be the Son of Mars, a God in man's attire, someone who would always lead and never die—but a simple assassination attempt in the Fort had killed him, just as it would kill any ordinary man. That day marked the darkest realization that Vulpes had ever experienced—that his world of pure honor and holy glory was a grand tribal façade, that Caesar was no more powerful or important than any other man who walked the earth. They were simply brainwashed, guided under the guise of total control and domination—and Lupis fell to their dangerous ideals just as many other Legionaries had.
That realization was what kept him up at night—and some of his nightmares were dominated by the crazed young Lupis who met his end just outside this very town.
Vulpes slowly nodded, grasping the balcony and beginning to understand the weight of his mental baggage. Of course it bothered him—he was lucky enough to break away and realize that his actions were merely devastating, not purifying or rescuing. But people like Lupis didn't have that same luck. They were doomed to die for a lie of a cause, as were all the other people who once lived and fought alongside Vulpes. And—for all the terrible things Vulpes had done—he had one deep, core value that never changed. An undying loyalty for the warriors by his side.
But that connection was severed, and his loyalty now rested with an unlikely group of profligates. Sure, it might've been the right thing to do—to break away from the Legion and open his mind to the rest of the world—but he couldn't shake the lingering regret leftover from his abandonment. He once lived and breathed only for the Legion, and now, he was gone from them—and all the young initiates like Lupis would be doomed to a similar fate, fighting for a cause that was dreamed up by a single conniving liar. It disturbed him to no end. They would all meet the same pointless end as Lupis, and there was nothing he could do.
Still, he couldn't begin to explain it all to the doctor—and he surely didn't want to. Arcade Gannon stepped on his every last nerve, and it was clear the doctor didn't want him around.
But despite that, Arcade seemed oddly insistent on assisting Vulpes with his issues now.
Vulpes turned and glared into him, searching every inch of his expression for any hint of deception. He couldn't understand it; this doctor—this spineless reprobate of a man—was expressing some kind of concern for him, for a man he hated, and it boggled the mind.
In fact, it reminded him of Sandra—the girl who was just as willing to kill as she was to save. Expressing care for people they didn't know, for people they didn't trust, or for people they clearly didn't like—what on earth made them act in such a way?
Such strange people, they were.
"I truly doubt if you'd understand it all," Vulpes resolved, gazing across the town again. "You've never lived the way I have. You've never been blinded by an all-consuming sense of honor and passion for a purely noble cause… only to find out it was all a lie, and everything you've done was the exact opposite of what you sought to accomplish."
Arcade paused for a moment, staring up at the moon and nodding sideways. "Well, I can't understand all the Legion's been through… but I do know what it's like to work every day for something that turns out to be fruitless. I did that every day at the Mormon Fort. It was maddeningly frustrating. You sign on to help people, to try and fix the world… and you end up unable to accomplish a single thing. In fact, it…"
Arcade sighed deeply, grasping the lump in his coat where the Enclave hat was tucked away out of sight.
"It reminds me of the Enclave," he murmured gravely.
Vulpes eyed him strangely. "Enclave… the pre-war government?"
Arcade nodded grimly. "They were the same… well, similar, anyway. Utterly brainwashed by the idea of restoring the country and perpetrating all their 'Merica propaganda. They thought they were doing the right thing… but everything they did was terrible. Burning towns, invading societies, destroying every sect of the NCR they came across… it was all just… horrible. But see… that's the trouble. That's the conflict. Because there were good people in the Enclave—a lot of them really thought they were doing the right thing. But they were acting on all their patriotic brainwashing… and it clouded their minds so much, they couldn't see any of their actions as wrong anymore. There were good people there… good people who did very, very bad things. It's unbelievably frustrating to think about…"
"It truly is," Vulpes agreed, his voice softening as he gazed into the night.
The two were silent for a few seconds, Vulpes reflecting deeply on everything the doctor had said. His synopsis of the Enclave was strangely similar to Vulpes's feelings regarding the Legion—and to his surprise, he found himself thinking that the doctor might understand his plight after all.
Pondering on this, Vulpes turned and gave Arcade a long, serious stare.
"Considering that frustration you have toward the Enclave," Vulpes said intently. "Is it not possible for you to consider… that the Legion is the same?"
Arcade stared at him, then slowly turned away, pausing to think. Quite honestly, he rarely saw the Legion as human beings; most times, Arcade thought of the Legion purely as an enemy, one large sect of monsters who sought to destroy simply for the sake of destroying. He'd never considered that any of them might've been similar to the Enclave—that the Legion warriors were fighting for a cause they truly believed in, simply brainwashed into believing that they were doing the right thing. Usually, Arcade prided himself on his ability to see things objectively, to give people the benefit of the doubt and see the value in all people's lives—but it seemed the Legion was his only exception. His views on the tribe of Mars were always much stricter than his views on any other faction, and he always believed they were simply evil, nothing more or less.
But if the most cunning and ruthless of the Legion's frumentarri was capable of breaking away and questioning his ideals, then perhaps Arcade had been viewing the Legion a bit too one-sidedly.
It was understandable, of course—Caesar's Legion was a horrific faction based upon ruthlessness and murder, and nearly everyone in the wasteland despised them for good reason—but many of the people in the tribe were probably the same as the Enclave remnants. People who were fighting—not for evil—but for the sake of a righteous cause they truly believed in. Those people had no clue how horrendous their cause truly was, how terrible their actions really were. Such a sad and conflicting reality, it was.
"You're right," Arcade admitted, nodding at the town. "You're absolutely right…"
Vulpes observed him again before turning away.
"There was a boy," Vulpes muttered. "Lupis… my latest initiate. I was training him just before… before Caesar was killed. He was… fifteen years old, I believe."
Arcade shot him an investigative look, waiting for him to continue.
"I was his Imperator for a long while," Vulpes said.
"His commander," Arcade mumbled, Vulpes nodding in agreement.
"I trained him well. The boy had a lot of potential… and he was loyal as a Legion hound," Vulpes added. "The boy was with me so often, it seemed like he was family, in a way. But, after I vanished… Lucius labeled me as a deserter, and they began to send assassins and frumentarii after me. And the Legion… they never pass by the opportunity to test their warriors' loyalty. They sent Lupis after me. I suppose they wanted to make sure Lupis was entirely loyal to the Legion rather than me. And… they… succeeded."
Arcade's expression slowly darkened. "What happened to him?"
Vulpes made a subtle nod toward the dinosaur. "He perished… just outside of town, right over there. I imagine his corpse is a rotting feast for the geckos by now."
Arcade grimaced, swallowing and feeling a sense of nausea creeping up on him.
"How did… he die? What killed him?" Arcade uttered, suspecting he knew the answer.
Vulpes turned slowly, his blue eyes burning with anger. "I did."
Arcade nodded and sighed. "I figured…"
Vulpes went quiet, his stare now perturbed as he dwelled on the grave experience. He leaned on the balcony and glared past the dinosaur, toward the area where Lupis's decayed corpse presumably still lie.
"And there are so many others," Vulpes hissed. "So many others like him out there… children living beneath the spell of Caesar, doomed to die a pointless death just like Lupis did."
Arcade squinted at him, feeling a sudden spark of surprise.
"Are you… worried about them?" Arcade muttered in astonishment.
"I'm angry for them," Vulpes corrected, his tone strengthening. "So much potential, and so much loyalty… all of it wasted on the lies of Mars."
Arcade took a moment to let this sink in, feeling utterly bewildered by Vulpes's words. He never imagined that Vulpes Inculta was capable of feeling any real emotions—much less concern. Then again, the frumentarius spent the majority of his life alongside the Legion—perhaps it made sense that he felt some sense of loyalty toward his old comrades, especially the innocent ones who were simply engulfed in the cloud of lies that Caesar had entrapped them under.
"Moral sickness… disloyalty… dissolution," Vulpes growled. "I sought for so long to exterminate those wicked routines from the world… but as it turns out, my very Legion was made of them."
"Well… hey," Arcade said, his tone lightening in a way it usually never did when he spoke to Vulpes. "We're on a slow road to success now… taking down criminals and slowly moving up in the world. Once we're on top, we'll be able to do a lot more for the Mojave—including organizing the rescuing of slaves and the expunging of Legion slavers. We're gonna be able to help those kids eventually, y'know."
Vulpes stared at him, then faced the dinosaur once more. "I hadn't thought of that…"
Arcade smirked and followed his gaze to the dinosaur. He couldn't know if Vulpes was truly trustworthy at all, and he couldn't know for sure whether or not Vulpes was putting on an act right now—but he felt as if the ex-frumentarius was being entirely sincere tonight, and he hoped dearly that he was right. It would be a nice change of pace for such an infamous Legionary to change his ways and shift his alliance to the right side.
He'd still keep a close eye on Vulpes, of course—but he couldn't help but hope that Vulpes's newfound attitude was genuine. He suddenly felt as if he understood Sandra's strange faith in him now—there were rare times, times like this, when Vulpes seemed like a sincere and even half-decent human being, and God willing, he would stay that way.
"Just for the record," Arcade said. "It wasn't your fault."
Vulpes blinked. "Beg pardon…?"
"The incident with Lupis… and all the other brainwashed Legionaries out there," Arcade clarified. "Caesar ran a tight ship, and any and all resistance was met with fire and crucifixion. Therefore… there was no way you could reasonably do anything about the problems the Legion faced. You're not the one who caused the problems, and you would've been killed if you tried to solve them. Thus… it's not your fault. Simple as that."
Vulpes stared into him for a few long seconds, then glanced away again and scoffed.
"It hardly matters," Vulpes determined. "What matters is solving the problems now."
"And that," Arcade said with a half-smile. "Is something you and I can finally agree on."
The two were quiet again for a moment, the wind gusting gently by as they observed the peaceful Nevada night.
Then, a peculiar thought occurred to Vulpes, and he turned and gave Arcade a questioning sort of look.
"I'm curious to know… how do you know so much about the Enclave?" Vulpes wondered.
Arcade's visage suddenly hardened into an unreadable one. He stared across the town, grasping the lump in his coat.
"Speaking of Enclave," he mumbled, swiftly dodging the question. "I think it was some lone Enclave remnant who attacked that caravan up north."
Vulpes's eyes narrowed pensively. "And you know this how?"
Arcade released a stressed cloud of breath, slowly pulling the Enclave hat from his coat and handing it off to Vulpes.
"I found it out there. That's a general's hat," Arcade informed. "So… this attacker's likely in his fifties or sixties. Old guy with a lot of experience."
Vulpes stared down at the hat, then met Arcade's eyes. "Again, I must ask. How do you know all of this about the Enclave?"
Arcade was silent for several seconds, glaring at Vulpes and reading over his intense expression. Truly, he didn't trust Vulpes with such information—but just as well, Arcade knew of Vulpes's dark past, and he could turn the banished Legionary in to the NCR if he ever got the notion to. Perhaps the two of them could reach a mutual understanding—Arcade wouldn't speak of Vulpes's Legion past, and in return, Vulpes wouldn't speak of Arcade's Enclave connections. After all, Arcade was certain Vulpes wouldn't risk being tossed to the NCR. He'd certainly be inclined to keep the secret.
So, the doctor took a deep breath and forced the words out.
"My father was Enclave," Arcade said with some difficulty. "And… a lot of my family's friends were, too."
Vulpes observed him, showing no reaction.
"Interesting," he said moments later, giving the hat a once-over. "And… you've kept this a secret for what reason?"
"For obvious reasons," Arcade grumped. "The same reason you don't go around spouting Legion nonsense anymore—you can't risk being discovered."
"No… I'm not referring to the world," Vulpes clarified. "I'm talking about the other two. Sandra and her junkie friend."
"You don't understand," Arcade murmured distantly, gazing away again. "I've been getting… closer… to her. Observing her and trying to help her. But she's… I don't know what it is, but she's got some really deep distaste for the Enclave. Something happened between her and them—I don't know what—but I do know it was traumatic. The brain reaches for amnesic barriers when it can't handle the reality of what's around them—her mind blocked out the horrors she faced with the Enclave in the past. But her hate for them is still there. I can see it. And I don't want to…"
Arcade let out a solemn sigh, frowning and shaking his head.
"I don't wanna bring all that horrible trauma back to life in her," he sighed. "It's already starting to arise, and it… it clearly hurts her. I don't want…"
"No, no… that's not the whole of it," Vulpes deducted. "Be honest."
Arcade squinted at him. "What do you mean, be honest…?"
"I can see right through you," Vulpes stated. "You're a jumbled mess of weakness and cluttered emotions, and it's all on your face, Doctor."
Arcade stared at him. "Thanks. That's very helpful."
"Part of you doesn't want to hurt her—but the other part of you is the part you avoid speaking of," Vulpes deduced. "Because it's clearly selfish."
Arcade gaped at him wordlessly.
Vulpes turned and faced him more fully, propping his arm on the railing and eyeing Arcade closely. "She scares you, doesn't she?"
Arcade remained silent.
"Because you can see… in her eyes… that demon that sleeps inside," Vulpes continued, his voice low and ominous. "And if she finds out about your past… you're afraid that demon will awaken, and she'll suddenly utterly despise you. That's what you're really afraid of."
The two of them stared at one another through a long, tense silence.
Arcade's expression seemed to harden again, this time stricken with a hint of conflict.
"Fine," he eventually said. "Fine… I don't want her to snap and start seeing me as her enemy. I really don't want that to happen. Is that so wrong? Is it really that selfish?"
"Of course," Vulpes said simply, smirking and shrugging. "But that doesn't make it wrong, Doctor. It's very human to feel such a way, especially when one's survival is on the line. You just wallow in your sentimentality too much. Accept the feeling and move on. Manage it and own it."
"Oh… don't start playing 'life coach' with me," Arcade quipped sarcastically. "I just… I really don't wanna force the Enclave into her head. Her memories need to come back slowly and naturally. Otherwise, it might become too much for her…"
Vulpes stared downward in thought, crossing his arms and slowly nodding.
"Tell me," Vulpes uttered. "Do you have any idea of where a rogue Enclave remnant might go after attacking a Van Graff's caravan?"
Arcade pondered on this for a moment.
"A safe house, I imagine," Arcade shrugged. "Or another place where they could loot energy weapons again…"
Vulpes gnawed his bottom lip. "The Brotherhood safe house is up north."
Arcade turned and gave him a look. "How do you know that?"
"Because Lupis and I attempted to breach it once… unsuccessfully," Vulpes informed. "But, if an Enclave remnant knows about a Van Graff shipment being moved… then perhaps they have enough intel to locate the Brotherhood safe house, too. It's the perfect target for a man like him… and it's only about a mile from the remains of the caravan."
The two of them locked eyes with a severe stare.
They both glanced back at the motel door—then turned and eyed the large bus parked just in front of the gas station down the way.
"We could just do it for her," Arcade mumbled. "She wouldn't have to deal with the Enclave if we just…"
"If we do it ourselves," Vulpes nodded in agreement. "I don't tend to agree with hiding her from her own realities… but, perhaps she deserves a rest from it all, albeit a brief one."
"My thoughts exactly," Arcade smirked, fixing his glasses. "We can drive up there and be back by morning tomorrow. You think we can handle it?"
"Of course we can," Vulpes told him flatly, brandishing his own sinister smirk. "Just who the hell do you think I am?"
They both nodded and headed for the door—then Arcade stopped, hesitating and yanking Vulpes back by the shoulder.
"Vulpes," Arcade said seriously. "I know we're not… I know we're not the best of friends, here. But I'd really appreciate it if you kept this a secret… just until the time's right. I do plan to tell her the whole truth, just… just not right now."
Vulpes glared at him for a moment, then scoffed out a dry laugh. "Rest assured… I don't care about your existence nearly enough to blackmail you, Doctor."
Arcade chuckled. "Well, good. Let's keep our mutual apathy toward each other in check, then. Seems to be working for us so far."
Vulpes opened the door, and the two of them crept inside—but they both froze on a dime when they saw that Sandra was sitting upright in her bed, eerily still, her hairs askew and her expression gaunt with dark perturbation.
Arcade and Vulpes paused, staring at her in silence.
Sandra's vacant gaze slowly wandered up to them.
"Erm… Sandra," Arcade said gently, taking a step toward her. "You all right…?"
Sandra glared at them with the emptiest visage either of them had ever seen on her.
"I saw them," she murmured in a dark, distant rasp.
Arcade and Vulpes traded eyes.
"Saw who?" Arcade asked.
"Them," Sandra hissed angrily. "Metal people all over… killing everyone. They killed everyone… everyone I ever…"
She hung her head, biting her lip as hot, furious tears formed in her eyes. A grim tension spread across the dimly-lit room as Arcade and Vulpes watched her closely, Sandra clasping her skull and shaking her head at her lap. The memories refused to return to her in full, only visiting her in brief flashes throughout her dreams—but she felt certain of one thing for sure.
The Enclave was the sole reason for all the pain in her past.
"I did so much," she glowered through clenched teeth, her heart pounding with a fervent, vengeful beat. "I blasted them… ripped them apart. I shattered skulls with bullets in their helmets… I killed… so many… so many…"
Vulpes listened to her silently and expressionlessly, though Arcade's face grew heavier with a dark, disturbed empathy with every word she spoke.
"It was all so fast," Sandra breathed. "It all went by so fast, I… couldn't even process what was going on… I just… killed. I killed. I killed so many… and I blew up their fucking government. Colonial Autumn. The president. But it still wasn't… it still wasn't enough… because they're still out there now."
Arcade said nothing at first, absorbing her impossible statements and feeling a slow rising dread inside. And in this moment, he realized Vulpes was right—Arcade certainly was afraid of the demon in Sandra, because that demon seemed to be resurfacing now, and it unsettled him to his very core.
"You… couldn't have," Arcade muttered without thinking.
Sandra jerked her head up, her eyes locking onto his. "What?"
Arcade gulped and took a deep breath. "You… just… you couldn't have. The president of the Enclave? Someone that high up, and that mysterious? Even the highest-ranking members of the Enclave never saw him face-to-face, and he was hundreds of miles away, from what I heard…"
"Arcade," Sandra fumed at him severely, leering into him with a sense of incensed absolutism that he rarely ever saw in her. "Don't you dare…"
She slowly shook her head, her piercing blue glare suddenly predatory.
"Don't you dare…"
Sandra gritted her teeth again, her mind oddly blank, though the rest of her was filled with a white hot rage for reasons unknown.
"Don't… you… dare," she rumbled wickedly. "Don't you ever… call me… a not about the fucking goddamned Enclave."
Arcade frowned, he and Vulpes gazing into the demon amidst Sandra's glare, the tension in the room seeming to thicken like one of the dark clouds of the Capital.
"Randall told me about the worst… the worst bastard in the region, a guy named Marko," Sandra told them gravely. "You know what they call him… because of all the fucked-up things he's done, you know what they call him? They call him Demon of the West."
Arcade and Vulpes said nothing.
Sandra straightened up, her eyes seeming to burn like two cerulean flames, sparkling hatefully in the room's dim light.
"But me," Sandra growled lowly, sliding off the bed and standing before them. "I'm the Demon of the East."
Yet still, Arcade and Vulpes chose not to respond yet. Both of them were feeling the same strange darkness, the same looming uncertainty from Sandra's sudden change of mood; absorbing everything she said and mulling over it silently, neither of them could be certain that she was telling the truth. They never thought of her as a liar, but it was entirely possible that her fractured state of mind had resulted in some bizarre delusions of grandur. After all, it was very difficult to believe the things coming out of her mouth now—that she was some type of legacy back east, that she'd killed the president of the mysterious Enclave and single-handedly brought down their entire eastern government.
But beyond that—their doubts of her claims wasn't what had them so deeply unsettled.
It was the firm, fiery look in her eyes, the aura of absolute certainty radiating off her now—the powerful expression etched across Sandra's face, the searing glare and the hands tightened into fists, the demeanor of a person who was truly, positively certain of their words. Despite all her confusion regarding her past, she seemed unwaveringly convinced of everything she said—and that aura of hers made Arcade and Vulpes feel a hard conflict growing inside.
Because—if Sandra was so very convinced of what she was saying, then perhaps she truly did bring down the entire eastern Enclave.
And, if that was the case, then she was far more than the simple and carefree courier they'd gotten to know; if Sandra was telling the truth, then she truly was a legacy of the east, and that possibility made both of them feel as if they were no longer standing before their friend, the courier.
The person glaring at them through Sandra's eyes now—it was another being entirely, a stronger, angrier, and far less merciful person, a completely different side of her that was born of battle and bloodshed.
It was no wonder that Vulpes felt such a connection with her straight off, such a fascination with her wicked and bizarre personality—because if she truly was what she claimed, then she was far more like Vulpes than he ever thought before.
And it was no wonder why Arcade felt such a deep anxiety whenever he was faced with this darker side of Sandra—because if she was the legacy of the east as she claimed to be, then he was right to be afraid, and he was right to be wary of her reactions. As of now, he felt as if he'd never tell her the whole truth of his past—because telling her that truth might bring about the demon in full.
"I'm sorry," Arcade exhaled thoughtlessly.
Sandra narrowed her eyes at him. "You're sorry for what…?"
Vulpes glanced over at Arcade—Niner listening to them quietly from his cot, facing the wall and wearing a grim expression as he eavesdropped on the tense conversation.
"No… reason," Arcade murmured regretfully, all the pain and anger in Sandra's eyes bleeding into him, making him feel a terrible surge of guilt. "Just… sorry."
Sandra looked down, combing her hairs back with her fingers and sighing deeply. She met their eyes again and gave them a flat, determined stare.
"If I ever… ever see the Enclave in the Mojave," Sandra glowered evilly. "I swear to God, you guys… I'm gonna kill every last one of 'em."
Yet another grave silence fell, Arcade gazing into her with a visage riddled with conflicted remorse. He inhaled a deep cloud of breath, forcing himself calm with every ounce of his willpower—then, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, giving her a smooth, pleasant smile.
"Sandra… we're all with you," Arcade assured in a soft, kind voice. "No matter what, I… I mean, we… we're with you. We're with you, and no one else. I promise you."
Sandra returned his profound stare, now looking slightly confused. "I… I know that, Arcade."
"I just… want you to remember that," Arcade told her sincerely, his voice giving a slight shake. "I'm on your side… no matter what, I'm always on your side, and no one else's."
"I know," Sandra said again, giving him an odd squint. "Arcade, what… what's wrong…?"
"No… nothing," Arcade managed, biting his lip and shaking his head. "I'm just worried about you. You need sleep. Here—I'll tell you what. I'll whip up some of my special sleeping juice. It's like cough syrup, but without the painkillers. Here, lie down… get some rest…"
Arcade gently guided her back to her bedside, Sandra climbing into the covers and gazing up at him thoughtfully. Arcade offered her another smile, draping the blankets over her and tucking her in like a father tending to a child.
"You're being weird," Sandra mumbled tiredly.
"You started it," Arcade snarked in response, both of them sharing a laugh. "Just right? Just, please… try to get some rest."
"Arcade," Sandra said softly, resting on her pillow and staring up at him sleepily. "Why're you so worried…?"
Arcade hovered over her bedside, watching as the demon faded away, and the charming, beautiful glimmer of Sandra the courier returned to her translucent blue eyes. He smiled again, a calm and reassuring smile, releasing a cloud of breath and straightening up.
"Because you're my… best friend," Arcade uttered. "And I don't want… anything to change that. All right?"
Sandra narrowed her eyes up at him, now even more bewildered. Arcade marched away before she could respond, quickly getting to work in the kitchen and mixing various things together in a small glass cup—between his medications and the small amount of cough syrup he found in the back of the fridge, he managed to fashion a glass of his homemade sleeping solution, an old remedy of his that he once often used in the Old Mormon Fort when med-x was in short supply. It often helped the patients to sleep through whatever pain they were experiencing, and even some surgeries. It could most assuredly help Sandra to sleep free of nightmares.
Arcade returned to her bedside, placing the blue medicine on the nightstand beside a cold glass of water. "You'll wanna chase it with water after you take a sip. It tastes foul… but it works like a charm."
Sandra shot him another strange look before taking a small drink of the medicine, Vulpes still watching quietly from across the room, leaning on the wall with folded arms. Sandra's face scrunched up after tasting the acidic medicine, and she quickly chugged the water straight after, making Arcade chuckle.
There was a long silence following, this time a less tense one, a sleepy serenity looming over them all as Sandra curled up in her covers, patiently waiting for the medicine to kick in. As she did, Arcade sat by her side, gently stroking her arm in a warm, comforting way.
Sandra's eyes flickered up to him again, her expression even heavier with sleepiness than before. "Arcade…"
"Hm?" Arcade mumbled.
"I love you," Sandra said in a soft, sweet voice, managing a weak little smile.
Arcade stared at her, his heart skipping and his breath momentarily cut thin. Then, his smile began to return, and he patted her tenderly on the arm.
"I love you too," he told her. "But where'd that come from…?"
Sandra tried to smile again, her eyelids growing heavy. "Because you're stupid…"
Arcade's expression fell blank. "Oh. Well… thanks."
"You think any…" Sandra murmured almost incomprehensibly, as her consciousness was beginning to abandon her. "You think anything… is gonna change… that we're best friends…?"
Arcade gazed down at her profoundly.
Sandra's mouth twitched, a final attempt at a smile. "Then you're stupid…"
Another silence fell, Sandra fading into a deep and undisturbed slumber. Arcade sat still, grasping her arm and staring down at her, looking and feeling torn. He believed her, and he knew she was thoroughly compassionate beneath her aloof exterior… but he couldn't shake the unsettled sensation he felt the moment she awoke from her Enclave nightmare, the darkness she expressed and the hateful resolve she revealed. Yes, perhaps she did love him, and perhaps she truly believed that they would always be best friends…
But all of that might change whenever she eventually learned the truth.
With a final troubled smile, Arcade stood from the bedside, sighing distressfully and turning to Vulpes. The two of them shared a serious stare, and then, they returned to their task—Arcade quietly grabbing the keys from the nightstand, Vulpes stealthily lifting the Ferguson Rifle from its propped-up spot in the corner of the room. They slipped out of the motel as quietly as a shadow, and Niner peered over his shoulder in the moments after their departure, sighing somberly and returning to sleep.
When Arcade sank into the driver seat of the bus, Vulpes settling in the passenger seat, the doctor started the engine up and hesitated before shifting gears, grasping the steering wheel and gazing downward with a troubled visage.
"Maybe I won't tell her," he murmured.
Vulpes spared him a glance, choosing not to reply.
Both of them were silent for the majority of the drive after Arcade revved the engine, cruising out of Novac and vanishing into the night.