"Number Nine"


Ch. 06: Nuclear.


Warning: sensitive material ahead. This chapter contains non-descriptive passages that make references to a child's murder, slavery, pedophilia, near-rape experience, and psychological abuse. It isn't remotely near as bad as it sounds, but some people are sensitive towards these topics so, either don't read, or proceed with caution.


"Standing on the edge of the crater
Like the prophets once said
And the ashes are all cold now
No more bullets and the embers are dead
Whispers in the air tell the tales
Of the brothers gone
Desolation, devastation
What a mess we made, when it all went wrong?

Watching from the edge of the circus
For the games to begin
Gladiators draw their swords
Form their ranks for Armageddon."

- Mike Oldfield, "Nuclear"


"¡Hermano! ¡Hermano, espera!" (1)

He wasn't listening.

"¡Papá ha dicho que está prohibido acercarse ahí!" (2)

He simply hadn't cared about the white-and-red handprints or the familiar three perpendicular slashes.

"¡Déjalo! ¡Tenemos que irnos ya!" (3)

He had taken a handful of red sand in his tiny, clay-smeared fist and had allowed the warm, raspy, thin grains to slide between his bony fingers.

Once the last grain had abandoned his dirty palm, getting back to the earth, where it belonged, he had taken a deep breath as well as courage and, in a swift motion, he had disappeared inside the forbidden place: a medium-sized wooden house with half of the roof gone. Many metallic signs with faded numbers stood twisted and rusty in front of the entrance. A big chunk of metal that, Back When, would have been a vehicle with a trailer of sorts.

He had braved the metallic carapace before. Now he wanted to see what the ruined house had in store for him.

The door had been closed, but that hadn't made any difference for him. He was slim and agile, his sense of equilibrium carefully honed after more falls from rocks and trees that he had cared to acknowledge, his palms, elbows, and knees calloused from his frequent escapades around his tribe's valley with his siblings. Sometimes daring enough to reach where the neighboring Hispanic tribe inhabited to call their kids 'pendejos' and, immediately, scurry away laughing raucously. There was some pretty girl with long ebony hair and warm, brown skin that always smiled at him and called him 'rubio bonito'. (4)

She was a little older than him, and she had given him a kiss on the cheek once, and he had been boasting about it an entire Moon Cycle with his male siblings, his gruffy sister really not understanding the appeal of being kissed or to kiss a boy. You asked her for a kiss; you better be prepared to receive a punch instead.

At the tender age of ten, he was the tallest and thinnest of the boys of his age in the tribe. His older brother, being almost five years older than him, was only half a head taller.

He hadn't been thick and broad like him or their father, like the twins, Coyote and Hiena, or little Dingo, who had been seven and one hell of a sturdy kid.

No. His mother, unlike theirs, had been a thin woman, too frail to bear robust children, too proud to let her English mother tongue disappear amidst almost exclusively Spanish speakers… too bitter to mingle with the rest of the tribe.

She had taught him how to speak the English language 'properly' with her fastidious accent… and she always addressed him in English, seeking conversation with him, forcing him to think and develop his intellect so he would be at her discursive level. She had wanted to have him around ALWAYS, saying that the sun would burn his sensitive skin and, eventually, would render him blind.

However, his father didn't share in her opinions, and, with a thick layer of clay and mud smeared all over his exposed skin and wearing some eye protection he called 'shaded crystals' around his head, he allowed the kid roam free and wild under scorching days in the South. And he had been grateful for that.

The more his mother and the tribal women had wanted to keep him protected indoors, the more he had rebelled against it, willing to endure headaches, blisters, and sometimes even burns just for the sake of proving that he could do it, that he wasn't a reptile who slide in the sand, but another cub from the pack, all claws and teeth.

So, he had climbed his way to the ruined rooftop of the house… and said roof had sustained his lithe form as he had descended into semi-darkness.

He hadn't paid attention to his siblings' insistent calls and, after a quick inspection of the place that had rendered delightful fruits, he had managed to unlock the old door from the inside, allowing it to open ominously slowly to reveal his cocky smiling form, all teeth and childish pride. The smoky crystals in front of his blue eyes reflecting the light.

In his tiny, chalky hands, a faded issue of 'Grognak the Barbarian'.

"¿Qué es eso?" (5) – had asked Hiena, brave enough to approach first.

"Un libro con dibujos." (6) – had been his own answer, allowing the twins to have a better view of his treasure – "Está en inglés."

"¿Cómo lo sabes?" (7) – had asked Coyote while giving an uneasy look towards the ruined wooden house.

"Reconozco algunas palabras." – he had admitted – "Todavía no sé leer muy bien, pero mi madre sí que sabe. Le preguntaré a ella a ver qué dice el libro." (8)

"No deberías haber entrado." (9) – Coyote had said solemnly.

Despite being just a year younger than him, the boy twin had always been… way too cautious. On the other hand, his twin sister had a more adventurous spirit. And a fist to be reckoned for. Not for nothing, Hiena was feared and respected among the other children, as none of them had been able to best her in a fight.

Not that the older albino had ever picked a fight with her. She was his secret favorite amongst the other siblings.

"Cobarde, gallina, Capitán de las Sardinas." (10) – he had sung mockingly, earning a frown from the younger kid.

"¿Podemos verlo?" (11) – Hiena had asked, eagerness set in her bright blue eyes as she had eyed the comic between her older sibling's hands.

And the three of them had ended up inside the rusty trailer carapace, the oldest between the twins, the three of them watching in wonder and amazement how a long-haired blonde man with far more muscles than any of them had ever seen in a grown-up male hunter tribesman was, to no avail, trying to fight against a goat-man dressed in a ridiculous costume that hid both his masculine parts and half his face. Apparently, this non-human creature was managing to trick the muscled, half-naked man into traps every time the other got himself free to unleash a counter-offensive.

Later, his mother would read the comic for him, helping him with the most challenging words as the Trickster, the half-human's alias, tended to speak in very formal English (presumably both to make himself seem more intelligent and to bring out the fact that the hero, Grognak, relied too much on his strength and hadn't bothered to fill his mind with ideas more sophisticated than war and blood).

The comic had carried a heavy implication that a man wasn't just strength, endurance, and good intentions, but that intelligence and cunning were indispensable to thrive. The Trickster's only fault had been pride, thus why the hero, in the end, had won.

The little fox had learned this, and, in time, he had developed more respect towards the villainous figure of the Trickster than the single-minded, good-looking but boring Grognak.

Because not all the victors were examples to follow… while every single loser was a lesson to learn from.


Vulpes' eyelids fluttered open, momentarily disoriented of his whereabouts, but soon grasping onto the situation: he was inside the only and one Lucky 38 after the two possibly most bizarre evenings in the company of the most chameleonic girl he had ever met.

For some unfathomable reason, after nearly nine hours of watching this pre-War film trilogy while gulping down as much trash food and Nuka-Cola as his stomach had allowed him, his brain, and, thus, his self-preservation instincts had decided to disconnect. He had ended up snuggling amidst all the cushions and fresh sheets, the cyberdog taking place by his side, warming him and licking his knuckles while the Courier had made herself a tiny ball under the sheets and had gone asleep while scratching the animal's ears, sometimes the tips of her cold fingers sweeping accidentally over Vulpes' phalanges.

He had thought at first that she was making some sort of subtle innuendo, and he had been ready to whisper an invitation to get the two of them alone in another room… until he had caught sight of her lips half-opened and the ocular nervous tics behind the curtain of her closed eyelids and lashes.

She had fallen asleep, and Vulpes simply couldn't bring himself to believe it.

So, that had been how, while his thoughts had run wild with pros and cons, sense and reason, cause and consequence… his body had decided to take a vacation on its own account, and he had fallen deeply asleep.

And now, he had the most urgency to go to the privy.

He slid from the amalgam of conjoined beds and sheets, the dog raising his pointy ears briefly, eyeing him lazily and returning his head between his paws.

Vulpes felt… strangely warm despite knowing that it was the middle of the night and he should be experiencing at least some degree of body heat loss. While passing under one of the ventilation grills, he raised one long hand and felt, puzzled, how dry, mildly warm air was coming in silent, soft waves inside the room.

He had never experienced anything like that, not even inside one of the casinos' rooms, where conditioning air was fairly common.

It was… comforting, truly making the ambiance cozy and relaxing, like having a soft blanket over your shoulders in front of a creaking bonfire while sipping warm coffee.

No matter, he thought, shaking his head slowly; these were luxuries not meant for him but rather for Caesar and his slaves - soon-to-be-just-servants, hopefully - if everything went according to plan. Of course his Lord would keep the Beacon of the Mojave for his personal use. Vulpes would consider himself lucky if he managed to get a hold of one of the other main casinos and use it as his private home and the Frumentarii's Headquarters.

Their lives would improve soon. And, if the Courier would bring herself to collaborate with them, he would ensure that she got decent lodging.

Speaking of the Courier, now that he had gotten a full view of the padded rectangle full of bodies from a short distance, hers wasn't among them.

His brief concern was promptly answered the more he came close to the bathroom as he heard water running to hide the retching sounds a tiny female voice was producing.

Did she have yet another migraine? Were those frequent for her? Could it have been that the two bullets…?

Popping his head out very slightly in the thin aperture she had left on the bathroom's door, he found two of the three sinks running water furiously while she was crouched over one of the toilets, gripping its sides viciously as she threw up. Her pajama trousers were discarded at a side on the floor as she, apparently, had puked herself a bit during the process.

Because this was a process, as she would stop, tremble, sob at irregular intervals and proceed to vomit again.

She kept on for another ten minutes until her stomach gave nothing beyond bile, and she, still trembling, propped herself off the toilet and rose slowly, giving Vulpes a full view of her long slender legs and small feet. She had, surprisingly, dainty feet and wiry muscles that ascended from her knees to hidden buttocks and hips below the pajamas' upper piece's shadow.

She was sweating, and the greenish gleam that reflected both on her puffy, tear-filled eyes and her forehead as her Pip-Boy was the only source of light in the entire room was strangely… mesmerizing.

Biting down her now plumped lip, her face gave away a gesture of profound despair as she fumbled with her device, her reddened eyes reading something desperately as more tears came down her face.

So, this wasn't a migraine, after all, but a tantrum. A very dangerous tantrum if it had made her empty all of her stomach contents and gave her such a helpless, frightened look.

What was she reading? What had made her so distressed?

His questions went unanswered as she took a small towel, got inside one of the bathtubs, put the folded towel on her mouth so she could bite on it, turned the cold-water plug on, and flashed a direct stream towards her head, half pajama and underclothes still on.

While his eyes traveled the silvery paths that the water was casting down her legs, panties, and upper pajama, soaking and sticking to her small back while her entire form shivered violently, Vulpes understood what she was doing. When they wanted to contain unwelcome emotions or clear their heads, many legionaries tended either to pick a fight with another legionary or submerge themselves, if available, into the nearest pond or river until they calmed down. Vulpes had done that himself in his first years of training under the Legion instructors' tutelage, still a child, still on his way to adapting to his new situation.

Any other girl her age would have opted for a relaxing warm shower to calm her nerves, but she didn't. This was a soldier's answer in the face of distress.

So, her technical knowledge of robotics and electronics, First Aid training, and the many languages she spoke weren't incidental or consequences of a hyperactive, inquisitive mind. She had been trained.

He had been wrong by judging her so lightly and, even worse, so quickly.

A courier, a tech repairwoman, and, possibly, a soldier? This smelled NCR through and through. Many couriers all over the western territory were either Frumentarii or NCR agents. Vulpes himself would likely have ended up posing as one if Anguis hadn't seen his tendency to stand out not just because he had an odd discoloration but because his extensive vocabulary of the common tongue, English, and his clipped accent, his mother's handiwork, were meant for more diplomatic-oriented jobs than just delivering parcels.

So why, then, she hadn't reported him yet? Why had she sought his help to deal with Benny? Why didn't even the very NCR consider her a citizen but a prospect of an ally? Where did her true allegiances rest?

And more importantly: why didn't she seem revulsed in the slightest knowing he was Legion? Why did she even bother making him feel at home as if he were welcomed to be part of her odd little group?

Who was she?

Vulpes used the surrounding darkness to crouch and camouflage himself when she emerged from the bathroom, leaving a small trail of water and wet footprints as she went to the Master Bedroom. Curiosity got the best of the young man as he peeked again inside the bedroom to be received by the shocking sight of a naked back that was all bones and skin.

She looked… malnourished, as the slaves on The Fort at the other side of the Dam. Only that her malnutrition didn't look haggard or ill… just plain extreme slimness.

No wonder she didn't sport curves at all.

Now that he thought about it… could the vomiting incident have something to do with her bodily state?

Who in their right mind would force a whole meal, something that many people strived for and even sell themselves for on a daily basis, out of their stomach just to be as thin as a junkie?

Vulpes had lots of questions popping out of his head, and none were answered just by looking at her and her long legs that, despite her slimness, were her only attribute pleasing to look at.

Banishing the thought as soon as it had passed through his head, he took his eyes elsewhere until she changed on a comfy oversized green shirt and a pair of yoga pants and directed her steps to the main corridor again, making Vulpes quickly retrace his own steps to get inside another room, watching her from the dark.

He wasn't surprised when he found that she wasn't coming back to the guest room but, instead, she was directing her naked steps to the elevator, where she whispered something to the apparent inactive securitron, Victor; Vulpes had learned how it was called this morning.

The machine's screen came to life briefly, scintillated a couple of times, showing the cheery cowboy interface to open the elevator's door immediately.

Vulpes didn't know where she was going, but he had an inkling; so, when he tried to activate Victor's interface once the securitron went on standby mode again, he received no answer even when he asked to be transported to the Casino Floor.

Not liking one bit that he was temporarily imprisoned on the same level with six strangers - a supermutant and a ghoul amongst them - Vulpes waited for half an hour, growing tired with every second passing, until his bladder protested in retaliation.

Sighing, he decided he could very well wait in the bathroom while relieving himself. After all, at the moment, he wasn't going anywhere.

However, after the deed was done and finding it hard to wait in such a closed space where he wasn't supposed to look like he was monitoring the Courier's moves, he raised his left wrist, still occupied with his new electronic toy, opened the small compartment he had seen the girl taking a pair of earphones from the previous night back on the rooftop, and adjusted them around his ears. After that, he fumbled with the Pip-Boy's menus and databases he hadn't had the time to check until now and selected a random music track. The title and alleged singer he didn't recognize.

And soon, he found himself wondering what kind of message the Courier meant to convey by sharing with him songs with lyrics that managed to speak, in just one round, about war, orders shifts, genocide, and cold, sacred lines that weren't meant to be crossed.


Eyes fixed upon the line of silvery buttons that depicted more floors that should be allowed in a building pertaining to a long-dead Era in a world of crumbled, bitter old remains covered in dust and radioactivity, Six resisted the impulse of checking her old messages data yet again.

She had forgotten how it felt reading them. Burke's cold threats were nothing compared to what those old messages and audio recordings could do to her.

To make her remember.

She hadn't anticipated the full impact, after four months of wandering in the dark, holding onto dispersed pieces of random information and memories, that the returning of her old Pip-Boy could do to her damaged psyche.

She had craved so badly having the answers that, for so long, had escaped her that, unknowingly, she had gotten on her plate way more than she could chew.

Over the last hour, since she had awakened just to innocently take a pee and had decided that checking on her old registries would be an okay distraction while she relieved herself, her brains had gotten such an amount of overload that she felt they would explode in a minute.

But the only thing that had exploded had been her stomach, recalling the old routines she kept back on that Babel Tower, where their inhabitants bitched with one another for petty disputes while the residents of the superior levels feathered their nests at their expense and plotted far more sinister plans.

She recalled the old man. Impeccably shaved, with a soft wrinkled tanned complexion, too soft for such an old man; complete snowed coiffure styled in the gentleman fashion, big flaccid ears, thin grey eyebrows, and small milky blue eyes.

Such small eyes, they could convey such an amount of indifference.

She recalled that, despite literally drowning himself in expensive men's cologne, the old fellow had exhaled a distinct smell of dusty, long-unopened wardrobe. That, coupled with his ridiculous démodé red and white English gentleman outfit combined with brown high hunting boots, gave him an air of a living relic, so out of his time that he didn't even feel real.

"And who is this, Mister Burke? Another of your dolls? A tad too young for my tastes, I must admit. But I am not a judgmental man."

Not even his voice had felt real. His high-pitched tenor tonality and the exaggerated posh English accent spoke of deception, of untrue appearances, of fake aristocracy.

The old man had been a big lie, all of him.

She recalled answering him very formally but secretly outraged to be cataloged as a 'doll'. Dolls were meant to play with, and she wasn't a plaything.

"Sir, I'm not a doll. I'm a soldier, sir."

Her martial-yet-daring answer had momentarily taken aback the fake old man until he had started to laugh.

"And she speaks!" – he had exclaimed while taking hold of her small chin between his long bony soft hands, amused – "Still so young. Pity. Her unblemished skin and brattish charm are something I myself might enjoy having around from time to time. Maybe five more years, a dainty dress, and a shower would do wonders to this one. Where did you acquire her, Mister Burke?"

Then, the weight of a bigger hand over her tiny left shoulder had sent waves of sticky heat and dread all over said joint, neck, and cheeks. She hated when that happened, getting heated and flustered when she felt either embarrassed or apprehensive. It sent the wrong signals to the wrong people.

And the owner of that cumbersome red hand was the last person she had wanted to witness her feeling vulnerable. He was the kind who knew how to fully exploit that.

Shuddering with fear and repulse at the memory of his hand on her shoulder, Six's ears didn't even register the soft ding that announced the end of the haul until Victor's rather inappropriate cheery voice awakened her from her reverie.

"Sorry for getting in the middle of ye and yer dilly-dallying date with the air, pardner, but Boss is waiting for ya already, so get a move on!" – it exclaimed amicably. Still, Six could already hear the order behind the artificially animated tone, so she inhaled deeply, combed her unruly short hair with her shaking fingers and emerged from the elevator, turning to the stairs on the left.

"Well, hello again, sugar!" – the also robotic voice of Jane, House's interactive 'entertainer', greeted her as if they were intimate friends – "Mr. House is waiting for you in his office." – however, as Six's deflated posture got in its sensors' Field Of View, the feminine interface added – "Aw… Feeling low today, darling? How about a nice hot bath and a shoulder massage after your business with Mr. House has concluded? You know that you have relaxing perfumed bath salts at your disposal and, as for the massage… I bet the white-haired young man waiting for you downstairs would gladly provide if you simply ask him, you know what I mean?" – it added, a hint of a suggestive tone no machine without a copy of a real human woman's neuro-computational matrix would be able to recreate – "I know that from experience. A true lady knows best in these matters, trust me." – it concluded conspiratorially.

Halting briefly to give the feminine securitron a bewildered look, Six quickly descended the stairs, wondering what Zorro would be doing awake downstairs at this hour.

Did he hear her? Did he see…?

"So, the prodigal daughter returns." – House's refined, mildly condescending artificial voice reached her before she had the giant screen entirely in front of her – "You have been a busy Courier, haven't you? And yet you do not bear all the fruits of your success with you."

"Benny was more resourceful than I anticipated." – Six answered straightly. After barely two previous conversations with this… sort of Orwellian 1984's half-human, half neuro-computational machine of a Big Brother, and Six already knew he detested inane conversation to beat around the bush – "I managed to get him alone in a secluded place out of earshot by pretending I bought his game. He insinuated that I could 'help' him rule New Vegas, but it seems that either he already knew I was going to kill him no matter what, or that his intentions had been to betray me right from the start."

"I surmised that much." – the immobile portrait on the screen contemplated her with cold eyes while the speakers at both sides replied – "Events have transpired in a... less-than-optimal fashion. Benny has fled The Strip, and the Platinum Chip has not been recovered."

"Not everything is lost. I managed to recover vital information Benny had erased from one of his… databases." – said Six, detesting herself immensely, first for hiding information from the only entity that could interpose between her and Burke, and also for, unconsciously, feeling more at ease in front of a screen than in front of an actual human being. That was mainly why she totally disregarded House's permanent dispassionate and haughty voice tone as a mere programmed audio interface. She didn't have any delusions, though. She knew the man was human and very much real behind that screen… but she couldn't bring herself to think of him as more than a lonely old man who had been surrounded by copies of human neuro-computational matrixes and artificial personalities he probably had developed through years and years with a lot of time between his hands… Providing that he still retained anything more of his physical person than his brain submerged in a prepared tank full of Bio-Med Gel. She knew that such an option was possible. She had studied it. It was the same principle with the robobrains – "He expected to gain control over your securitrons through reprogramming them once he managed to upgrade their software through an underground facility beneath Fortification Hill that has, as you probably already know, the special hardware capable of reading the Chip."

House's screen remained silent for a short while.

"Very well." – he finally answered – "I see you are a very diligent investigator and a loyal employee, as you have shown your cards. Both qualities that I find very desirable in a human agent and, thus, why I am going to… reformulate the terms of our business contract." – his voice, even artificial, betrayed a slight cautious undertone that hadn't been there before. Six liked that, for it showed how much vital this information was that the man wanted to win her over any other powerful forces, namely the NCR or even the Legion, who could offer her a sweeter deal than being just a mere courier doing her job – "Benny must be pursued, and the Platinum Chip, recovered; there's no room for negotiation in that." – he stated – "However, as we have more pressing matters that affect directly The Strip, I am willing to wait until your… new ally from Caesar's Legion acts according to his rank and informs his Lord of your 'willing' adherence to their cause." – he concluded severely while Six visibly paled – "Of course, I expect nothing but loyalty from you when it comes to persuade the young man that you are Legion material." – then, following his words, a smaller screen from the many that surrounded the big one where House represented himself, turned on, showing a camera perspective focusing on the main corridor of the Presidential Suite where, sitting on the carpeted floor, his features illuminated by the amberish light emitting from his Pip-Boy (a customization she had implemented while he had been unconscious, having in mind to simply spare his sensitive retinas from hurting), Zorro was fumbling with the device while having the earphones on.

Six, whose body had started perspiring the moment House had announced his knowledge about the nature of Zorro's allegiance, found herself shivering as cold sweat trailed down her back.

The camera zoomed, and only Zorro's harmonic features and white waves remained in sight. He was evidently enjoying himself with the music if the pensive yet relaxed countenance he sported was of any indication.

Same as when she had seen him asleep, he looked incredibly young and soft, a ghost of the child he still was, that strange innocence she could glimpse in the depths of his blue eyes from time to time when he was awake, not an ounce of the reserved, moody, Machiavellian guy she had gotten used to in the last twenty-four hours.

"Please, don't kill him." – she found herself saying, her eyes still fixated upon Zorro's face – "He might prove useful. He helped me already when I confronted Benny. Were it not for his intervention, I might be dead."

"Have you not been listening, young lady?" – replied House's voice with slight impatience – "I said that, as long as he serves his purpose, which is granting you access to Fortification Hill, where his Lord's encampment has established, I have no qualms over you two fraternizing… in the way you deem best to gain his trust. The rest regarding entrapping Benny and recovering the Platinum Chip from his person… Caesar himself will provide, I'm sure."

Then, Six suddenly understood.

"Y… you mean…" – she stuttered, switching from shivering cold to awkwardly flustered within a second. Her cheeks already aflame – "That's… not my intention towards him…"

"Oh?" – inquired the man's synthetic voice with a mildly bored tone – "And what, pray tell, was your intention when you decided to invite a Legion spy to my casino, little Miss?" – however, he went on a pause, as if he were weighing some other possibilities – "Nevertheless… I forgot how teenagers tend to romanticize things, and you are, by all means, an irritating, hormonal teenager. So, what will it be, my dear? Plain girlish infatuation, or more on the 'Romeo and Juliet' side, hmmm? Do you really think you can dissuade him into defecting for, what, love or such adolescent nonsense?"

"No!" – she exclaimed, frustrated. Why did everyone have to link their association to the same damn thing?! – "I… I just…" – she stammered – "There's not… many young people around… And my friends behave more like… guardians than friends sometimes…" – she steeled herself, knowing very well how silly it was going to sound her following choice words – "So… I just wanted… a friend…"

"Preposterous." – the man scoffed – "Would you truly believe that a boy that pertains to a backward culture that has been feeding on conquering savages, raiders, and tribals to support their military force; a boy who has grown into beliefs such as worshipping a man as a Roman god and looking at women and seeing little more than breeding cattle, would want to befriend a non-Legion girl of all people?" – he gave a polite, although curt laugh – "Really, my young and misguided Courier, you're so brilliant at some things… while at others a mere simpleton would act far more sensible than you." – he spat disdainfully, making the image of the albino boy disappear from the side screen – "No matter. Do as I say, and everything shall present in due time as a shiny future for you and your allies. However, I have not yet finished with the terms I want to stipulate on our business contract." – he added, now his voice firm yet entirely business-like – "Besides dealing with Benny and the Legion in their respective ways, I want you to go back to The Tops to wipe all the sensitive data Benny stole. For that, you will use this USB device that you will insert into the terminal where you acquired the information." – a tiny compartment similar to the apertures old banks ATM's sported when you extracted money from your bank account opened on the lower right side of the enormous terminal that House used to communicate with her. Inside, a tiny USB with the RobCo Logo printed on it awaited her – "Inside, you will find a standard Executable File that you, either by direct insertion onto said terminal or through wireless connection from your Pip-Boy, will open while inside the computer's OS. It is a virus that would only recognize your device as friendly, for it distinguishes between any terminal-related OS and our unique coding for the Pip-OS, so you shouldn't fear for your archives." – he knew. He knew what she was capable of, which was why he was bothering to give her so much information. She took the offering wordlessly – "Besides this, you will act as my human representative in front of the Three Families, starting with the Chairmen. I want you to extend this contract…" – he carried on while a last-generation industrial printer by the right side vomited a long wordy paper after another, completing a total of forty folios – "A copy for me and a copy for Swank, to whom I now bestow the charge of President of The Tops, that you are going to read in a loud voice to his person, so he understands the points that are absolutely not debatable after Benny's treason. I expect this contract and its due copy to be signed by Swank right after you finish reading it to him. Should he not give a straightforward positive answer before your departure, it will be considered treason, and he will be swiftly punished right after you abandon their casino. No more, no less."

Once the printer finished its work, Six took the papers and put them inside a plastic white RobCo folder in pristine condition that she found over a nearby desk.

"Once this work is finished, with satisfactory results, I hope; your next objectives would be the White Glove Society and the Omertas. In that order." – House kept speaking – "For the details of how you should operate with each Family, I will provide them once your deals with Swank are resolved. Prove me that you are capable of dealing with these 'domestic problems' along with the recovery of the Platinum Chip… and you would be assigned far more important and lucrative tasks."

Six sighed, aware that her and her friends' economy wasn't precisely stellar. And they needed the money to buy Rex an adequate brand-new brain from the Old Lady Gibson's Scrap Yard, near Novac.

Funny how the King had entrusted her with finding Rex's cure… but wouldn't entrust her with a single cap of his. She supposed that it was only caution from a possible scam, and she didn't resent the King for that… however, once Rex would be intervened, she would keep him. Her money, her dog.

"Now, to the clauses on your contract that would benefit you." – House suddenly said, which did wonders in helping her to concentrate on what he was saying. Since the bullets, she had some trouble keeping her concentration, even to the most basic task – "Of course, your efforts will be rewarded in the common currency any Wastelander would negotiate with: caps. From hundreds to thousands if you keep proving me a useful asset." – he added, deliberately leaving the numbers unprecise so she would keep wondering, piquing her greed and curiosity – "But here lies a sweeter end of the deal: free and very comfortable lodging that could be extended indefinitely if you serve me well, free supplies of both consumables and ammunition for you and your allies' content and…" – he allowed a few seconds of dramatic tension impregnating the air as his next words laid down her ears – "… An even sweeter proposition that I think you will find the more interesting of all." - following his words immediately, another small side screen scintillated a bit until it showed a written record.

A written record that was about her.

There was an old photo, taken when she still had her beautiful hair long enough to plait it in a cute braid that cascaded over her right shoulder, her visage bony and somber, intense shadows under intense black sunken eyes; her skin two or three tones paler than now, her nose freckles absent and her smile non-existent. She had been profoundly unhappy when that photo had been taken.

And there had been the suit. Synthetic but made to aid the skin to breathe, blue with some brushstrokes of intense yellow, a number painted over where her left breast should have been… if there wasn't for the extreme slimness that sported in that photo.

She looked sad and ill. It was like meeting a foreign part of herself that, somehow, two bullets had made her forget.

She wished she could forget that again.


"Vault 5, outside the Cambridge District of the Commonwealth." – had been the placid answer the person behind her had delivered with that gravelly voice of his, rich, warm, and poisonous as a snake's bite. His big, red right hand heavy over her tiny shoulder – "She and the other twenty-eight youngsters we found inside were intact. All vent systems and electricity were functioning at a minimum energy cost, so the condensers may endure the pass of time. Full securitron security awakened once we managed to get inside, though. These darlings have been pampered by their Old-World Government through and through." – he had added, putting a stray long black strand of hair behind her ear – "All healthy and well-fed, untouched by radiation, no deformities or medical conditions, and with their reproductive systems fully operational. The medical report we found at their clinic was very... comprehensive."

They talked as if she had been merchandise, and she had felt disgusted by how the fake old gentleman's eyes lit when he had mentioned the part of the reproductive system.

Later, she would find that fertility was a rather expensive and rare quality for 'commodities' like them that would substantially increase their value on the market.

The old man and her 'new guardian', as he had put it with that ability of his, making the appropriation of her person look like he was sort of adopting her, had kept discussing numbers and transactional business. They had mentioned a place called 'Paradise Falls', how many they should keep, how many they sold, and how much they should ask for each one of them.

And she had remained quiet, thinking of a way of getting herself a weapon again to dispose of as many of her comrades as she could before they would be sold.

That was how she had been raised. That had been part of her training.

Those had been her orders.

And she had tried… she had tried so hard to fulfill them…

The first time had been awful when the mercs had lowered their guard and had left a rifle barely twenty feet from where she had been. A quick sprint, safety mechanism off, and then, V.A.T.S.

She had only managed to detonate a single bomb collar. The lucky one had been a boy, the youngest of them all. Eleven years old.

An exploded bomb collar had been mercy compared to being sold to some pervert who would abuse him and rob him of his childhood.

She had cried when they had reduced her and had taken the gun from her hands.

And then him… the god, the man, the ghost, the guru… Had taken an interest in her.

She hadn't even been thirteen, and he had been forty.

Many of the other girls a couple or three years older than her that the fake old gentleman had kept for his own amusement had hated her, saying that she was fortunate, that Burke seemed nice, that he was handsome and way younger than Alistair Tenpenny.

They hadn't even known the half of it.

Burke's interest hadn't been sexual at all… but rather an experiment of his.

Every single one of them had been deprived of their Pip-Boy devices… except her.

At first, she had been grateful for that… but later, she had discovered that, besides being a tool meant to be used under Burke's orders, the man would use every opportunity to remind her how easily he could deprive her of all of her music, books, videogames, and movies. How easily he could erase all of her world by making a thorough wiping and resetting the device to Factory Settings, how easily those photos, those recordings, those messages sent by those she had loved once… could disappear within a snap of his fingers.

The first time he had punished her, she had been deprived of her SD card for a whole week. Next time, when she had tried to escape, she was deprived of the entire device for a month while he had made her believe that he had erased all of her data. The way she had cried out of happiness and gratefulness the moment Burke had returned her old device intact to her had been the first tangible outcome of his incessant, although subtle, psychological mistreatment towards her.

All his punishments would never be physical… but mental lashing also leaves its due scarring.

However, either through reading her medical record back in the Vault, or out of pure good instinct, Burke had known from minute one that the girl he had managed to get a hold of was not just the smarter of her whole former squadron, but a gifted child that suited him just fine for his own hidden agenda.

First, more of a test than anything, he had made her rewire and configure the entire inner web installation of the building, repair all the terminals and computers, and re-conditioning them for the tower residents' not-so-private-as-they-were-induced-to-believe use.

That had been alright, so she could exercise her knowledge on the field she loved most and ignore the looks of sadness, shame, envy, and hatred from the other girls she couldn't save.

The next thing had been helping to repair some old motorcycles and an all-terrain Corvega Highwayman for Burke's personal use. Her instructor had been the local mechanic, an old man whose name she didn't remember but whose breath stinking of cheap alcohol she recalled as if it had been yesterday. He had tried to touch her once while being severely inebriated. V.A.T.S. and sturdy military boots with an excellent aiming to the crotch had been her saviors.

Later, Burke had begun bringing her books. Chemistry and robotic engineering-oriented books. He had been asking if a fusion pulse charge could be made and what kind of materials she would require for such a thing.

She was thirteen when Burke decided to bring her with him on a very particular excursion of his own.

The town's name now escaped her memory, but she recalled that it had been constructed around an old nuclear head that, presumably, was inoperative. The local sheriff had given Burke the eye, warning him about what they thought about strangers attempting to make trouble, and asking her if she was indeed his daughter.

That had been the first real opportunity she had gotten to get rid of her jailor for good.

But Burke had been lately really nice to her, feeding her almost non-existing self-esteem (also, the result of his relentless one-whole-year-doing) about how useful and unique she was and how vital her contribution to Tenpenny Tower and, soon enough, to the world, was.

He called her 'Birdie', and she was happy to feel, at last, any appreciation towards her very existence. For being useful since, apparently, she owed being alive to that.

So, she had lied to the good sheriff, and Burke had purchased a house in the town.

In the following weeks, while keeping appearances in front of the rest of the community acting as father and daughter, they operated by night by means of sizing, scanning, and evaluating the bomb's inner mechanisms, contrasting all the pre-War data they had about these models, searching for diplomatic outcomes to make the civilians reconsider their choice of home around a bomb.

However, Alistair Tenpenny wasn't, by any means, a charity founder, so dissuading people from abandoning their homes without an alternative choice to turn to was… an unpleasant experience that got them more glares and warnings about being ditched out of the town than they had bothered to count.

But, despite their less-than-ideal situation in a town made of metal scrap constructed around a bomb that, they later discovered, was still very much alive, Six had felt genuinely happy and safe. Even if it had been amidst the dirty water local pumping system, the stench of brahmin depositions, and unwashed people… and Burke's constant bitching about what a cesspool they had gotten into. She had felt how the one-year tension she had been accumulating at the Tower quickly vanished by simply socializing with other human beings that didn't regard her as some cockroach under Burke's heel. She had enjoyed having Sugar Bombs for breakfast and noodles for lunch every single day at the local cafeteria while prematurely aged people kept smiling at her with dirty, crooked teeth, asking her simple questions like where her mom was, how long she had been traveling with her dad on the desert, and what they did for a living.

Normal people treating her like a normal kid. She had forgotten how that felt.

She always answered with half-truths Burke had essayed with her so they would strike as true. She had been fine with that. Even if this charade of theirs was an entirely fabricated lie, she had enjoyed being normal for once in a while. She had forgotten how much she missed her Big Bro, his sweet wife that she had once called 'Big Sis', mommy, daddy, and her bestie, the one she kept the most messages from.

Lately, Burke had spent way too much time in the local Saloon, where her admission was out of the question being underage and all. However, his interest had died within a week and, as they had gotten all the data they had needed, the man had taken them back to Tenpenny Tower, where he had prepared her a small workshop where she had spent the next three months building the desired customized fusion pulse charge.

Once she was done, she had handed it to Burke with an eager look that had been looking for the approval he, quite delighted, had provided her with.

Then, he was gone the next day.

She was sure that, with the conversations they had had with the locals of that distant city, Burke was attempting to bring up some negotiation that would 'dissuade' the people residing there about changing their home location so he could own the place and make it a profitable… whatever he had planned for. Using the fusion pulse charge as leverage was the logical option. Tenpenny was always bitching about what a stain on the landscape the town in question supposed, and Burke, always the loyal employer, had come up with a solution. After all, were they not always talking about "burgeoning urban landscapes" and business? Perhaps, by emptying the town and taking ahold of it, Burke would order to construct another private business! One that would, hopefully, take her away from the prissy, haughty residents of Tenpenny Tower, the accusing looks of her remaining old comrades, and Alistair Tenpenny himself, who was starting to look at her with greedy eyes after two of the four girls he had kept for himself had committed double suicide one night.

They had been braver than her.

Nonetheless, Burke did not make an act of appearance until almost a whole month had passed. And, when he had returned, he hadn't been alone.

A young blonde woman dressed militarily had her slender but also muscled arm linked with Burke's while a silent, giant redhead ghoul trailed behind them with a pistol in each hand, ready to start shooting should anyone dare to provoke him.

Burke's expression had been one Six had never seen since she had known him: while he had kept his mask of elegant nonchalance firmly set on his features, on the other hand, his eyes, which were usually steely, reserved, and unrepentant, had held at that moment behind dark tortoiseshell glasses a look… of pure dreamily haze.

That sole detail had made Six wary immediately. If this young lady was capable of putting such a look in the eyes of a man like Burke, there was no telling how incredibly manipulative she could be and how far she could get having such a powerful man as him eating from the palm of her hand that way.

She had held herself very firmly, her body a testament of constant physical prowess; her long, beautiful sunny hair tied up in a high neat ponytail, combed and smooth as honey, a veiled confession of both vanity and excellent upbringing.

And her green eyes, cold and feral like a starved predator, a bold declaration of her less-than-honorable intentions.

That young woman had been a ruthless opportunist, and Burke had been charmed.

She had been gorgeous and sophisticated, everything that none of the available ladies residing on Tenpenny Tower was, and she could string a complete sentence without cursing and/or repeating a single word of her polished, very colorful vocabulary.

The slightly outdated version of the Pip-Boy she had been wearing on her left wrist had given Six an idea of where she might hail from.

However, this woman hadn't been invited just because her cold beauty had managed to breach through Burke's defenses, but rather because she and the aforesaid man had had business.

Business that Six, horrified, had seen unfolding before her very own eyes.

Laura, for that had been her name, Six recalled with bone-chilling intensity, had been immediately assigned a luxurious suite where she had taken a long bath and had changed into a formal, although flattering pre-War feminine business suit. Her long hair, prim-and-proper styled in a sultry way that reminded more on the Jessica Rabbit side, had been subtly scented the moment she had respectfully approached Alistair Tenpenny on his balcony, eliciting an envious look from the old man towards his younger employee as she kept sticking to the latter's firm arm that had guided her to the detonator of the fusion pulse charge that Six had constructed a month ago.

The titan ghoul had been left behind, just beside the small bony thirteen-year-old as Burke had requested her presence when 'The Event', as he had called it, would unfold.

She had been in denial of what had been about to happen, but the moment Laura's index finger had pressed the button, then a sudden brightness that had covered all and the ghoul's hands were over both her eyes and mouth, for she hadn't noticed the piercing scream that had escaped from her lips.

For, before her eyes, had passed her whole life a second time, just like that day when…

She had lost consciousness when the light had extinguished, and Tenpenny had been applauding at the show while Laura's eyes had been shielded from the light as her lithe form had melted between Burke's broad shoulders while the man murmured softly into her hair about inspiration.

And she, while playing the damsel part against Burke's chest, had flaunted a cruel smile with those rouge lips of hers.


Silent tears were streaming down Six's eyes while she kept observing that old photo that reminded her of unhappy days of fear and self-loathing as she kept vomiting her meals, both to prevent Alistair Tenpenny from looking twice at her and to punish herself for all of her many sins.

Because that bomb hadn't been the last Burke had detonated using her as an intermediate errand girl. That was how she had gotten the courier job in the first place.

"You see." – Robert House's synthetic voice awakened her from her looping state of unwanted reminiscences – "I am a man of resources and, by the moment, I have managed to unearth your surname accompanied of bits and pieces of information about your past that, I am sure, will be growing substantially in the upcoming months as my hand reaches far within the New California Republic's inner politics." – this, he stated proudly, as if flaunting his power, his ability to influence far beyond many would suspect from a man that nobody had seen his true face – "Information that I will gladly share with you as long as you keep your good work and your loyalties in place." – suddenly, the printer that had previously vomited the renewed contract with the new leader of the Chairmen started working again, filling its outbox with several papers – "These are mere formalities, you understand, but I must ask of you the same I ask from my other employees: to sign a contract that will establish our business relationship as official, Miss Sullivan."

Startled by the unfamiliar sensation of being called by any other name than 'Courier Six' and the suddenly familiar surname, Six displaced her eyes from her sad portrait to the left side of the report.

It read 'J. L. Sullivan'.

And she remembered.

"Hey, Sulli! Wanna play 'Grognak & the Ruby Ruins'? It's an RPG we can reproduce on our Pip-Boys, and I happen to own a brand-new copy, gurl!"

Her bestie. She used to call her 'Sulli'.

"Is this your lost rascal, Lieutenant Sullivan?"

Her Big Bro… he had been Lieutenant Sullivan.

"Well, Mrs. Sullivan, what amazing news do we have for this sister of mine who has kept pestering us about her favorite topic of late? Maybe that in eight months, that very topic will become a reality?"

"You two preggy, Big Bro?! For real?!"

And her smiling 'Big Sis'.

"Well, I am certainly not the one who will be sporting a swollen belly in the future, that's for sure."

"No, Mr. Sullivan, but you will certainly be sporting a swollen black eye if you keep the jokes in that direction."

"Awwwww… You're a No Fun Mom for sure, hon."

She had been Mrs. Sullivan.

Raising a hand to cover her mouth, Six… Sulli didn't know whether laughing or crying… or both simultaneously.

In just one night, even with her nightmares renovated, her also most treasured memories were slowly resurfacing, filling holes in that complicated, incomplete puzzle that her mind had become in the last months since her awakening.

She was Courier Six, a new girl with new friends and allies who was going to become House's new human agent on the Mojave… but she was also Birdie, Burke's slave that would both fear and blindly adore him…

And now, she was this J. L. Sullivan who had been buried within her for so long… and still was. Was she Jane, like Jane Eyre? Janis, like Janis Joplin? Jennifer, like… a lot of pre-War movie actresses? Jolene, like Dolly Parton's song? Josephine, like Napoleon Bonaparte's wife? Or was she, indeed, a Juliet waiting for a Romeo to sweep her off her feet out of this desert? No, she wasn't them. Their names were recollections of her indecently extensive knowledge of geeky, useless stuff.

Sulli was all she could hope for now. Sulli was okay.

But she wasn't prepared to be Sulli… just yet. Not in front of anybody, not with her new friends.

So, she went, hand still covering her mouth, to gather the contract and its due copy from the printer, read it while House's voice rambled in the background of her mind and, after she revised everything and felt pleasantly satisfied with what her eyes gathered, signed.

And the signature came out so easily… so fluent and quick.

It read 'Sullivan' again. Sullivan. Her surname was Sullivan.

"I gather my terms seem fair enough?" – the Orwellian man-machine asked, evidently pleased with her prompt favorable reaction – "As you see, I can be perfectly reasonable despite how the NCR or even my other employees might depict me as a 'dictator' while my only and true aim is to elevate the human race to its former glory… and even beyond!" – he exclaimed – "You see, Miss Sullivan, New Vegas is more than a city: it's the remedy to mankind's derailment. The city's economy is a blast furnace in which can be forged the steel of a new rail line, running straight to a new horizon." – he argued, noticing through his visual sensors how his discourse was slowly winning the girl's attention – "What is the NCR? A society of people desperate to experience comfort, ease, luxury... A society of customers. With all that money pouring in? Give me 20 years, and I'll reignite the high technology development sectors. 50 years, and I'll have people in orbit." – the bigger the girl's eyes got, the bolder his statements became – "100 years, and my colony ships will be heading for the stars, to search for planets unpolluted by the wrath and folly of a bygone generation." – when he noticed the girl briefly bristling at that, he pressed – "Nothing to impede progress. If you want to see the fate of democracies, look out the windows." – he added contemptuously.

She didn't need to do such a thing to evoke the images she had seen day after day since she was twelve. She knew that this unnatural Orwellian entity said was nothing… but the raw truth.

She did want, in fact, technological progress. She did want humankind to stop fighting amongst themselves to unite for a brighter future. She did want a Promised Land where to pour her hopes, expectations, and aspirations since she was twelve…

A hardened part of herself, the cynical one that came as soon as you start hitting adulthood, whispered that everything could very well turn out to be smoke and shadows, the tricks of a seasoned cheater more used to hide his cards than dealing a fair hand to the rest of players.

But she was still young, and the renewed hope her recently-activated memories had left in her was hard to squish beneath the boot of logic.

So, she had pledged herself to House, to his vision, to his promises.

She had kept one copy of her contract, House the other, both signed. The moment she had departed, a smile upon her young, tired face and words of gratitude upon her lips, she had gazed up at the enormous face one more time. Four months of mixed signals and points of view had taken her to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark mustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two salty tears trickled down the sides of her nose as she embarked again on the elevator. But it was alright, everything was alright, the struggle was finished. She had won the victory over herself. She loved Big Brother.

Just like she had loved the god, the man, the ghost, the guru hidden behind tortoiseshell dark glasses.

Because, when the rats come chomping, we are all capable of loving Big Brother.


Vulpes' sleepy eyes blinked slowly while the letters of the electronic book he had chosen to distract himself while he waited danced mockingly in front of him.

Now that he thought about it, throwing himself with almost blind confidence that he could endure, in the long hours of the night, a book called 'I, Claudius', even written by the agile prose of an English pre-War writer… had been way too presumptuous. Even coming from him, who had the privilege of being one of the few allowed by Caesar himself to read titles such as 'The Twelve Caesars' by Suetonius, a book far older and more challenging to read than this one.

But Vulpes' body today wasn't synchronized with his agile mind, and fatigue was winning the war against his stubbornness a tad too fast for his liking.

He should have stuck to just listening to music.

However, his foggy mind soon got the necessary stimulation to almost jump from his sitting spot to immediately stand up as soon as the elevator's lights twinkled. A soft ding following ensued, opening the metallic doors to reveal the also weary figure of the Courier, who remained inside the lift's small quadrangle for a moment, her lowered head lifting slowly, puffy reddened eyes crowning a sad smile that accompanied her while she abandoned the elevator and the doors closed behind her back.

Darkness poured around them while they exchanged tired looks in the gloom, Vulpes gazing at her petite form, recalling out of the blue the tingling sensation her small hand had left on his long fingers when she had risen from the conjoined beds to take a break from the first part of the movie trilogy everyone had swallowed without complaints the previous day.

He dismissed the thought as a mere consequence of his current fatigue.


While the silent quadrangle of the lift enclosed her during her traveling down to the Presidential Suite, the girl also known as Courier Six, formerly named Birdie by a bad, bad man, now toying with the idea of becoming Sulli again… decided to put the RobCo folder under her shirt while she activated her Pip-Boy interface again, and tapped a few menus until she found her backup message load data despite knowing very well how low on battery the device was.

Fumbling a bit with the application without alerting Burke, Laura, or any other device ID on the other end of her current Online status line, she went on Hidden Mode and checked the old messages.

Not the ones written from the unyielding red right hand or the ones composed with the cold detachment of the panther-eyed woman, but the ones full of typos and cute emoticons belonging to a twelve-year-old.

The last entry read as follows:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

PD: luv ya, stupid ^^

Then, ASCII text art. Shaped in the form of a birthday cake. They had been such a pair of geeks, the two of them…

She had recalled her bestie's name the moment she had opened the messages while she had been in the bathroom. She found that they didn't affect her as negatively as they had done a couple of hours ago.

MANDY, surrounded by multiple heart emojis, had been her Online nickname.

"I miss you so much, Amanda…" – she whispered – "I miss you so, so damn much…"

Nevertheless, once the elevator arrived at its intended destination and the doors opened before her, she didn't know what she was expecting, but Zorro was still there.

She gave him a tired look coupled with an insincere smile. What else should she do? What was she supposed to say when he gave her that serene, sleepy, very blue look?

She took a few unsure steps towards the main corridor, and a gloomy atmosphere enveloped them as soon as the elevator closed its doors and deprived them of a source of light.

They looked at each other in the dark, her suddenly aware that they were just the two of them and that she craved a hug so much.

But then, she thought about all the commentaries everyone had been making about the two of them. A girl and a boy.

She suddenly realized that he wasn't Amanda, that he could never substitute her as she wished. Nobody could fill the emptiness sweet Mandy had left inside of her.

He was a boy. Just like the one Mandy and she had secretly crushed on while in the academy.

He had been of Arabic ancestry. Warm dark skin and pretty green eyes. His name had been something soft and pleasant to the ear, his smile bright and charmingly boyish.

He had been one of the first to be subjected to the Purge.

And then more… many, many more had soon followed…

A soft panting broke the spell as the muffled pitter-patter sounds of Rexie's metallic paws entered the scene to direct his comforting presence to her, who immediately dropped to her knees and gave the cybernetic canine a much-needed hug.

She poured all of her sadness, her misery, her longing, and the love that overflowed her at that very moment, in seek of a chalice that could hold such a torrent of emotions, both good and bad in equal measures, on that hug, allowing the dog's healing aura to cocoon her, soothing her aching heart.

The animal gave her all the comfort, muzzling and soft, tender licking she wanted until she felt better, and she slowly released him, grateful for such a loving companion. She then raised her head and saw Zorro's chalky hand extended towards her.


Not knowing what came over him and too tired to ponder on his clearly altered brain processes, Vulpes' naked feet moved on their own accord until he was in front of the girl and the dog, waited until she felt satisfied with the affection she was claiming from the animal and extended his hand to her, his fingers already tingling in anticipation.

She slowly raised her face, looking first at his hand, then at him with an astonished look that slowly melted into something much softer.

She lifted her hand. Her chilly, tiny fingers met his calloused phalanges tentatively, and soon, an unsure contact became a firm connection that lifted her from the ground. And it did not end there.

For they silently walked hand in hand towards the guest dorm area, Rex happily following in tow, so they could resume their much-needed rest.

They ended up with the dog between them again, but their hands, not giving much thought to the question, remained linked through the night over the canine's fur.

With that, even unknowingly and despite his reservations regarding her intentions - implicitly demonstrated by him staying late until she had returned - and the RobCo folder under her shirt that she had kept hidden from him now getting her chest sweaty and sticky, they had sealed their mutual sympathy.


SPANISH:

(1) - "Brother! Brother, wait!"
(2) - "Dad says that getting near that place is forbidden!"
(3) - "Leave it alone! We have to go!"
(4) - "stupids" / "pretty blondie"
(5) - "What is that?"
(6) - "A book with illustrations. It's in English."
(7) - "How do you know?"
(8) - "I recognize some of the words. I still don't know how to read well, but my mother knows. I'll ask her about what the book says."
(9) - "You shouldn't have entered."
(10) - "Coward, chicken-shit. Captain of the Sardines art thee!" (typical Spanish children's rhyme to mock someone for their lack of courage).
(11) - "Can we see it?"

(Side Note: I know that the animal "Hyena" is written with a "Y"... but that's in English. In Spanish, it is written as "Hiena". Yep, in Vulpes' tribe were keen on canine-derivated names :P)


A/N: wordy chapter is wordy. This one in particular, as emotionally fucked up as it has unfolded, was written with a bit of frustration since the previous version I had nearly half of it written went erased when... certain someone borrowed without permission the pendrive where I had it and... decided that some Word docs weren't much of a loss and... used it to mount a Windows 10 image.

So, yes, I threw on a silent tantrum and neglected this fic until said tantrum would be appeased with time and inspiration.

I'm still whining about how much better the previous attempt was (like I fucking remember all the stupid details) but what's done, it's done. I hope the waiting had been worth the result. Thank you for putting up with me and my ramblings T_T

I took into consideration what one of the readers said to me via private message about giving the Legion some serious improvements. It's true that they have a broken howitzer on The Fort and Caesar himself has a broken AutoDoc inside his tent. That coupled with Van Buren Lore tells me that Caesar, while reviling pre-War drugs and tech, is not so against using war tech as we are induced to believe while playing F:NV. I mean: the NCR has guns and bombs and Caesar's Legion is still there. I cannot believe that they kept holding their position for FIVE WHOLE YEARS since the First Battle of Hoover Dam armed with... like... spears, arrows, blades, chainsaws, and the like...

I clarify that this is NOT a war-themed fic, but war holds great significance here, so the Legion, despite being composed mainly by reconditioned tribals, will have several war-oriented improvements. If raider junkies can hold a flamethrower, these guys can as well.

Also: kudos for guessing which song from a very famous video game saga Vulpes was listening :D

Also too, yeah, I totally copied the last paragraph from Orwell's 1984 book. So? :P