"Number Nine"
Ch. 13: I was only nineteen.
Warning: sensitive material ahead. This chapter contains gratuitous racism, political controversy, military controversy, children indoctrination, child soldiers, and pretty much what you would NOT want your Government to inflict upon you.
Besides that, there's the usual Legion dickery, enslavement and, perhaps, some controversy about the LGTBI community.
Not trying to be offensive, just adjusting my writing to the Fallout Universe. Bear in mind that many opinions that I might write here do not reflect my actual opinions on all these matters.
"And can you tell me, doctor, why I still can't get to sleep?
And why the Channel Seven chopper chills me to my feet?
And what's this rash that comes and goes
Can you tell me what it means?
God help me
I was only nineteen."
- Redgum, "I was only nineteen"
"I am Gunnery Sgt. Miller, your senior drill instructor. From now on, you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words coming out of your filthy sewers will be 'Sir'. Do you maggots understand that?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
In the last decade, the age for entering the military infantry, most prominently the Marine Corps, had been drastically reduced. At first, it had been shortened by two years, making the initial candidates from sixteen years old on forward.
"Bullshit, I can't hear ya! Sound off like you've got a pair!"
"SIR, YES SIR!"
But then, war casualties had kept rising as the blood tide had drowned the North, painting it red with Communism strokes.
Since there were lots of T-45 Power Armor equipment - with the T-51 still in the developing stage - and every month fewer and fewer candidates in sight, a new program with part of the Engineers Corps team working on the due ergonomic adaptations had gotten the green lights.
Besides being a sort of recycling attempt for training purposes for the aging Power Armor units, unfit for current counterattacks on the landing enemy forces, said program had also been an experiment of sorts to test the mechanized strain against muscles still in a developing stage.
Then, the official enlisting age had lowered from sixteen to… ten.
"If ya bunch of crybabies leave my island and survive recruit training, you'll be a weapon! A fucking killing machine! You'll be a Minister of Death praying for war and Commie blood!"
Big Bro had done his training with the Marine Corps, and he had been promoted to Captain upon reaching his late twenties.
She had wanted to be like him.
"But, until that day, you're nothing but trash! The lowest form of life on Earth! To me, you're not even human, but an unorganized bunch of sorry-arsed, retarded, wailing pieces of shit not even worth the sole of my boot! You've got that clear, ya filthy maggots?!"
"SIR, YES SIR!"
Many of her companion recruits would hold their tears while attempting not to squirm under Miller's unforgiving stare. Mandy had been standing tersely by her left, holding her stomach so hard she had gotten red in the face.
Girls on the right side of the common room, boys on the left.
"And what we've got here?" – steely, malevolent eyes had caught on Mandy's effort, eyeing her clumsy stance and chubby form with disdain – "What's your name, fatgirl?"
A chorus of low snickers had ensued, most of them coming from the boys' side, but they had been quickly cut as soon as the Sergeant had turned around bellowing:
"Did I fucking order you to open your brainless traps, you motherfucking lot of assholes?!" – after that, he had turned to a trembling Mandy again – "Well, scumbag?"
"Sir, Amanda Balasubramanian, sir!"
Mandy's father had been of Indian ancestry.
"What the fuck is that supposed to be?! A goddamned load of Hindi shit?!
"Sir, I'm American-born, sir!"
"Bullshit! I bet you still conduct those pagan Booga Booga rituals and plunge onto that river everybody takes a dump at!"
"Sir, I do not, sir!"
"Sir, this recruit thinks that it is of common knowledge that, regardless of gender, ethnic or religious origins, the U.S. Army accepts all of us equally, sir!"
But her brother hadn't warned her about any xenophobic, sexist, or even antireligious behavior within the higher ranks.
"Well, no shit." – the instructor had said while turning his attention to her, violating her personal space – "And what have we got here? A fucking humanist!" – he scoffed – "Did I hurt your sensitivities, huh? I don't know what the fuck do you think you are, but this is not a goddamned tea party, and I'm no motherfucking Queen Elizabeth, recruit!" – he had boomed, small droplets of saliva landing on her face as she fought the urgent need of wiping them off – "However, maybe YOU are from the royalty, after all!" – and then, the beautiful pink hair clip she had been wearing had come loose between the Sergeant's hands – "And THIS is your sissy crown! Whaddya say, Private Princess?!"
She had wanted to be like a princess since forever… but this man had bastardized that very notion, turning it into an insult.
A title of mockery the rest of her companions would use to bully her.
She had cried that night in silence on her upper bunk bed while Mandy had kept on patting her hand, lulling her softly with a French song, 'Le temps de l'amour', from an old singer her mother had taught her at some point.
"Recruit Princess! Move that scrawny ass of yours and keep with the rest's timing! Those wall hangers ain't gonna do themselves!"
The training had been as hard for the girls as it had been for the boys. No exceptions, no slack-cutting.
No mercy.
"Present Arms!"
Rifles would be as heavy as an adult's. The recoil sending more than once a sloppy recruit to the infirmary with a broken nose or a black eye.
"Ready!"
Children used as cannon fodder.
"Aim!"
Children wielding guns.
"Fire!"
Children being taught how to kill.
"I love working for Uncle Sam,
Let's me know just who I am.
1, 2, 3, 4, 'S' for 'Stronger',
You brute warmonger!
1, 2, 3, 4, 'P' for 'Perceptive',
Quicker, wittier, deceptive!
1, 2, 3, 4, 'E' for 'Endure',
Commies won't call you down to a lure!
1, 2, 3, 4, 'C' for 'Charismatic',
You handsome bastard, you pretty bitch!
1, 2, 3, 4, 'I' for 'Intelligent',
You egghead, you nerd, got some talent!
1, 2, 3, 4, 'A' for 'Agile',
Red Menace is vile!
1, 2, 3, 4, 'L' for 'Lucky',
That's it, ya lucky son of a bitch!
We gotta win this war!
We gotta win this war!
WE GOTTA WIN THIS WAR!"
Bastardizing infancy, bastardizing childhood dreams, bastardizing the main pillars of their society.
Destroying innocence.
They had sold the American Cause even through comics and video games, encouraging the younger generations to become war heroes.
Boys and girls playing with loaded pistols.
But their mothers would mourn them when they returned in pieces in a box, their names engraved in a polished wall, their deaths engorging the statistics.
Big Bro hadn't been very happy when he had discovered it. He, aided by Big Sis' knowledge of Law, had fought with the Administration to get her custody back.
And then, he was sent away. Big Sis had been forced to take maternity leave when they had discovered she had been pregnant.
No demandant, no lawyer, no cause.
Then, out of the blue, some funds for another program.
Taking each of the most brilliant young minds into a new round of training, this time with the Engineers Corps, she had entered into a Programming Division.
Mandy had come with her.
And then… the Purge.
"You lil' Communist scumbag heathen! You will NOT leave, you will NOT cry, you will NOT speak without my fucking permission!"
They were hushed.
"Reds don't just wear motherfucking chinks' faces! But russkies, hadjis, niggers, kikes, kebabs, greasers, and even fucking wetbacks!"
White Supremacy. Again. The perfect excuse.
The perfect object lesson.
Stirring hatred amidst panic and chaos, an opportunity had arisen.
Maxson. Breckenridge. Spindel. Wellesley. Clifton. Retslaf. Babcock.
"That was the last straw. You know what's been stopping the Reds from pouring into downtown Juneau? American soldiers, that's what. And now we've got to worry about someone - Chinese, Alaskan, or otherwise - taking out the pipeline? I don't think so. Effectively immediately, United States troops are beginning a complete takeover of all Canadian assets and resources. Little America is ours. But let's face it - it always has been."
An entire chain of high-ranking officers supporting the military coup.
And their leader: Constantine Chase. His face and voice on the Anchorage VR Simulation, the perfect propaganda campaign.
All white men in a growing pro-white army secretly funded by a secret society where most of its members had been white: the Enclave.
A Government impoverished by the Vault-Tec 'Project Safehouse' since the '50s had led to embezzlement and corruption, taking junk bonds and allowing obscure CEOs from multimillionaire Corporations to step into Politics.
Robert House had been the only one intelligent enough to ally with the military when they had forcefully risen to power, effectively nulling any previous government indebtments. In Chase's own words, Martial Law had been 'the Good Guys shoving their cocks down the throat of the corrupted system'.
However, when there's a system so corrupted, gangrenous infection is to be expected.
So, the rot had expanded.
And then, the Enclave had given the thumbs up, giving a thorough cleansing amidst their own ranks, positioning themselves at the head of the Top Priority List when it came to shelter in the face of a possible holocaust. House's mathematical predictions coming to an answer.
Secret projects kept running, and the money kept pouring. The population was left in the dark, monitored from distant secret scientific facilities, and many young brilliant minds disappeared amidst chaos and paperwork.
So, the countdown had begun.
Names were put on several lists, places were reserved, seats were filled behind bulletproof walls. Popcorn and Nuka-Cola served to the spectators.
Trust the judgment of your Overseer. Submit to the Chain of Command. You have your orders, soldier.
A chorus of silent screams behind frozen tank walls.
And the show had started.
Six won't get out of bed.
Veronica would know. She had been trying for nearly an hour to coax her into having breakfast with the rest of the group.
Just like always. Just like before she had pointed a gun at Arcade, scared the shit out of everyone, and started whispering dangerous truths to Jimmy's ear.
She had refused to give them further explanations after the old doctor's shocking declarations – not that any of them have had the stomach to ask for them given the circumstances – and had remained anchored between the young man's arms, whose surprisingly tenderness at delivering silent comfort had, for once, shut Boone's trap as he had kept lending his shoulder while muttering shushing noises from time to time when the girl would start crying again.
She had passed out of exhaustion at some point. Then, he had put her on the bed again, taking care to blanket her down to a cocoon and dispose of the splinters the ruined headboard had left behind.
After that, still silent as a tomb, he had gone downstairs to the kitchen area and had, slowly but methodically, eaten for three people while Lily kept serving him, commending his appetite.
Didn't he eat well enough where he came from or was this his way to vent out stress? Nevertheless, Veronica had kept him silent company along with Raul, while Arcade had locked himself with Doctor Henry to, presumably, discuss some things related to the recent events. Calamity had been the one to deal with Marcus as the shooting had quickly raised suspicions amidst the supermutants, among them Keene, who had started his usual round of xenophobic bitchiness, saying humans cannot be trusted even with keeping peace among comrades. His complaints had rendered him nothing but Calamity rolling her milky eyes as she had endured the repetitive discourse once again.
Cass had decided to cook herself a large reserve of Moonshine she had quickly polished down to oblivion, and Boone had decided to pick up a chair and guard Six's door.
The day had passed filled with unresolved tensions, uncomfortable silences, and unsure glances between the members of their group. Down to this point, nobody knew what would happen given their leader's mental state and how it was rapidly getting at them one way or another.
Everybody feared this event would split their group's almost perfect cohesion, yet nobody was brave enough to say it out loud.
Less than twenty-four hours without direction, and Veronica was already feeling the strain: repetitive, depressing thoughts kept ringing over her mind in a loop as she started to face the harsh reality that would be to come back to the Hidden Valley bunker with her tail between her legs.
McNamara would surely gently scold her naivety and send her back again to her 'Procurement Specialist' role.
And she would start gathering supplies from the 188. Alone. Again.
And what about the rest? While she positively knew that Boone would never leave Six's side as the alternative, in his case, was likely suicide, the rest would share a more or less common depressing fate: Raul would likely return to his shack regarding himself as a failure, good-for-nothing old man nobody needed. Cass would return to the Mojave Outpost until she decided to head back to the West and figure out what to do with herself. Lily would simply remain in Jacobstown, likely eventually forgetting everything, given her dementia coupled with the heavy antipsychotic medication she took.
Arcade would likely return to his research with the Followers bearing all the fault on his conscience, whereas Jimmy… well, Veronica didn't know him very well but could bet that if he chose to remain by Six's side, he and Boone would end up killing each other eventually.
So… the prospects didn't look good at all, and Six's reiterated absence through the entire previous day and now, this following day, was getting the best of Veronica.
Eyeing anxiously every soul silently congregated around the breakfast table, she weighed their chances of getting Six up and operative again.
Doctor Henry had announced that Rex's recovery time would extend from three to four days as the intervention had been so invasive that getting him out of the anesthesia was out of the question until the new brain 'got acquainted' with its new case and started to send signals through the artificial nervous system to the rest of the canine's cybernetic body.
Veronica's nerves couldn't wait four days for an excuse to pick Six's attention amidst the general depressing state of things, so she evaluated one by one her comrades' capabilities to get through the teenager.
And the answer, while not ideal, was sitting next to her wolfing down yet another protein load under the guise of an enormous bighorner steak.
Feeling a bit sick in the stomach thinking about how half of such a banquet would have gotten her indigested already, Veronica disguised her almost-order as a desperate petition.
"Me?" – the alluded young man asked after swallowing a mouthful, eyeing her as if she had just sprouted wings – "What makes you think she would listen to me?"
"Just… try it!" – the Scribe pledged – "Please? Just to rule out a possibility in case it doesn't work?"
"And how, pray tell, Becky, do you suggest I should approach her?"
Coming from any other person, Veronica would have simply punched them in the face for giving her such apparent condescending crap. But coming from Jimmy… she didn't know why, but she felt that the young man, most of the time, didn't mean anything by talking in such an affected way; it was just his default way of speech. More or less.
Besides, she had to concede to him that their group was plain weird, to begin with, and neither Boone nor Cass were giving him an easy time. The young man was clearly reserved and not precisely the most cheerful of the lot.
But Six had invited him, and he had accepted. He forcibly should have some redeemable qualities regarding his hermetic personality that had made Six literally squeal like a schoolgirl when he had come back from his dilated excursion with Rex's new brain in hand.
Veronica wanted to believe it. She truly did.
"Hum…." – she debated, truly wanting for something inventive to come to her mind – "Do you… ehm… know any good jokes or something?"
The young man gave her a blank stare.
"Or…" – she tried again – "Maybe… you can teach her how to punch or something? I could help you with that one. Punching is my thing."
He blinked once, still giving her that blank expression.
"I don't know, okay?" – she sighed, her mood deflating – "She likes trash food. Maybe there's still some Fancy Lads and even a Nuka somewhere between our packed rations. Try to start with that."
That idea seemed to sit better with him as he nodded, finished his steak, and, after arming himself with the precious consumables after a quick search, he got upstairs, the Brotherhood Scribe following him just to ensure he managed to get past the door.
Boone was still guarding Six's doorstep, and, while he dedicated the usual nasty frown to Jimmy, the sniper's expression quickly shifted into bewilderment, then utter and complete puzzlement when the young man, instead of knocking on the door as all of them had been doing to usher the girl outside, he simply turned the handle, had his merry way inside the room, and slammed the door before the face of a very perplexed Boone.
"What the f…?!" – he said, so stunned that he wasn't capable of finishing the sentence – "Did you see that?! Did you?!" – he exclaimed, directing his angry but also confused gaze to Veronica, who grabbed him by the shoulder as soon as he attempted to follow the intruder and feed him his boot.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" – she exclaimed, patting him gently in the back – "Someone needs a coffee!" – she sing-sung while quite literally dragging the offended man by the arm so that he followed her – "C'mon, Boone. There's some meatloaf from yesterday downstairs with your name on it."
"I can't fucking believe it!" – he insisted – "The little piece of shit has just got in!"
"Yes, yes, Boone. I've seen it."
"I'm fucking gonna kill him!" – the man snarled, pulling from her grasp to drag their combined weights back to the door.
Veronica had enough.
"Craig Joseph Boone!" – she bellowed and, by the man's frozen expression, she knew she had his complete attention now – "Cross that threshold, and your face and my fist are getting intimately acquainted right here, right now!" – she warned, raising her pneumatic gauntlet with her hand curled into a fist to prove her point.
Frowning, the ex-sniper and her exchanged nasty glances until she gave up and sighed.
"Listen, I asked him to try to persuade her out of bed, okay?" – she explained, suddenly very tired – "She likes him, and he's willing to help. Anything is better than having her like that."
She sounded miserable, infuriatingly vulnerable… and she couldn't stand it.
However, the tension on Boone's bicep relaxed a bit even though his frown didn't diminish in the slightest.
"He tries anything funny; I'm skinning him alive and then dumping his sorry pale ass outside with the snow." – he grunted, retaking his position, sat by the bedroom's door, arms crossed and stubborn disposition in place.
Veronica tiredly pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing her eyelids with her thumb and index fingers. When it came to Six, Boone was unbelievably impossible.
"Coffee?" – she finally offered after a while, extending the providential olive branch.
Boone's tense jaw relaxed minimally.
"Yeah." – he acquiesced, his intonation much softer than a minute before.
Nodding, she made good on her word and went to pick them two coffees.
She was staying with him until Six popped her nose out of that door.
"Speak when I give you the signal, okay?" – fingers counting down. Tres. Duo. Unus – "Ire, Alex."
Nearing lips to the recording device, the Decanus began the discourse.
"This is a message to the NCR from the Legion." – Alexus said – "We are coming for you. Run, and we will catch you. Hide, and we will find you. No matter what you do, you are all going to die. We took one of the women alive."
Gabban pushed a button, the holodisk stopped, and then, after pushing another, Alex's voice repeated what had been said a moment ago. The Decanus felt satisfied at the gravelly cadence the recording gave to a voice many had dared to tease until a well-placed punch had silenced their stupid, dangerous waggling tongues.
"Well said." – the Frumentarius praised – "Short and to the point with just the right amount of menace behind. You can come with quite the inspiring words when you want."
"Yeah, fuck you too." – the interpellated replied dryly, shifting attention to one of the contubernium men – "Caliban, plant a few explosive mines under the corpses and inside one of the lockers. Rig that shotgun we found earlier under the bunk beds pointing to the fire extinguishers and plant a bottlecap mine under them. If those fuckers are so good, they'll see the trap a mile away. If not… more NCR notches on our belts." – the leader Decanus added with a grim smile the other man, Caliban, shared avidly after nodding and starting to do as ordered.
Gabban, sitting by the radio desk of Ranger Station Charlie, poked around the many First Aid containers placed over it.
"Catch." – Alexus heard him say before being tossed several intravenous bags – "You and your men need a good detox after Techatticup Mine and…" – he added as he put several syringes in front of his sibling – "Some medicine to nurse those broken bones and hematomas. The Rangers put up quite the fight."
"Screw the Rangers." – Alexus replied dismissively – "And also screw you. If it wasn't because three crippled men wouldn't do any good to my unit's reputation, I'd toss those drugs to the fire, where they belong."
"Your short-sighting can cost many lives." – Gabban scolded his twin lightly – "When there are resources at hand, it's a shame to waste them for the wrong reasons."
"Careful there, brother." – Alex warned – "For here, we're among friends, but those ideas might not sit well with other high-ranking officers. Most prominently, the Imperator himself and his Praetorians."
The Frumentarius snorted. When it came to defending Legion laws and prohibitions regarding Caesar's judgment, Alex would always get defensive.
Truly a shame, for Gabban knew that, deep inside that thick skull, his twin, as well as their older brother, didn't buy such a load of Legion crap meant for weak, easily-controlled minds. Vulpes was a firm defender of use – though not abuse – non-standard methods of healing if that meant more legionaries on their two feet and ready to keep fighting. It had been him the one who had developed his own recipe of Hydra after questioning, one by one, dozens of former tribal shamans to come up with a more reliable solution than the healing powder.
"You're still after that?" – he questioned – "Getting into the Praetorian Guard wouldn't get you any favors besides a temporary glory pedestal that, in due time, will get you back on the arena fighting against the next younger candidate going after your position and your neck."
The Decanus huffed.
"Like hell I would allow that to happen."
"Let's be realistic for a moment, Alex, and ask yourself this: why do you think nobody has gone after Lucius' position yet?" – but before the interpellated could answer, Gabban raised a hand – "I'll give you a clue: it has NOTHING to do with him being invictus up to this day."
"Respect is something you earn." – Alexus argued – "And Lucius has my respect for something."
Gabban sighed. His twin could be as stubborn and unreasonable as Vulpes on one of his bad days, when cold pragmatism would elude him and anger would settle things instead. Like it had happened in Nipton.
It was true that the lottery had been a great idea and its execution most impeccable.
However… that little detail of butchering the 'lucky losers' down to literal pieces and laying to waste a very strategic location where there may have been countless resources the fire had engulfed after the Master Frumentarius had given the order to burn everything…
That had spoken about Legion power, yes, but also about the Bull's Fox ruthlessness when it came to dealing with what he denominated 'human filth'.
Nipton had been entirely Vulpes' doing, for little did its destruction speak about how Caesar's conquest policies worked into 'civilized' territory.
With such prospects, Gabban felt, sometimes, that the only psychologically well-balanced out of the remaining siblings was him.
And that made him feel incredibly alone from time to time.
And alone he felt, once again, when Alexus' men dragged the Ranger woman outside the building with them.
Extraordinary measures had been taken with this one, for her wrestling technique coupled with her Ranger training could, literally, cripple a healthy adult man with a single blow.
Impressed by her unyielding spirit, even after being threatened to blow her subdued companions' heads off – which they had nonetheless – Alexus had decided, after facing her in combat, that this Ranger, in particular, deserved some further consideration.
"Your name, Ranger?" – Alexus asked once the men had the struggling woman on her knees.
It was the first time Gabban had heard his twin address an NCR soldier by any other name than 'Profligate scumbag'.
The woman spat at the Decanus' feet.
Unfazed by her insolent behavior, Alexus had grabbed her by the shirt, tearing up the dog tags from her neck.
"Ranger Stella Preziosi." – the Decanus read aloud – "Soft name for a tough warrior like you." (+) – pocketing the dog tags, Alexus started to round her like a Deathclaw smelling blood – "You fought well and valiantly, not giving up even when you faced us alone with your fists to do the talking part. I admire that and, for that sole reason, I have decided that you shall live."
"I don't need the pity of a disgusting Legion motherfucker like you, so shove it where you like it most." – the woman spat, her vocabulary clearly attempting to goad them into killing her – "And if you're thinking of turning me into a broodmare for your limp-dicked megalomaniac Warlord, just forget it. I will eviscerate him or any other who would dare lay a finger on me."
Unfaced again by her insolence, Alexus knelt down to her visual height.
"Oh, but neither I am showing you pity, nor you will become one of our meek slaves." – Alexus replied – "But I will give you a chance at survival. A survival you shall earn with these very fists." – the Decanus added, pointing to the woman's hands – "For you will fight against our men, showing them what strength and pride truly are."
Eyeing the obscured face of the legionnaire talking to her, the woman clearly weighed her options.
"I will never train your kind, if that's what you're getting at." – she defied – "For, if they would learn something, it will be with their swine blood soaking the sand under my feet."
However, contrary to what she may have expected, Alexus' electric blue eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Very well." – the Decanus sentenced, earning a grimace out of Gabban – "Then, I am taking you with me to The Fort, where you will issue that challenge of yours… in the arena."
The Frumentarius shook his head from side to side after they had set course for the East, dragging the still struggling woman with them.
For, even if the young Decanus didn't realize it, Alexus and Vulpes sometimes thought so alike that it was scary.
This, definitely, couldn't be classified as spy work at all.
Since his 'addition' to this extravagant group of crazed fools, Vulpes Inculta, Caesar's Master Frumentarius, had obtained more questions than actual answers that could resolve the mystery around Courier Six.
Sure yesterday had proven to be the first time the girl had opened up about certain issues regarding questionable pre-War policies when dealing with the population of the many Vaults scattered across the American Wasteland.
But that didn't answer why she had abandoned the relative security of her Vault. Or who was this obscure figure from her past, or why she seemed to fear said figure so much.
Also, that didn't answer what she wanted to do with him at all.
And, if there was something that got on Vulpes' nerves deeper than Lanius' insulting jabs, that was ignorance.
He didn't know what he had gotten himself into, and, by the looks of it, he wasn't getting answers any time soon.
Nevertheless, he knew he had arrived at a critical point where the Courier seemingly had taken her entire pick of as many different personalities as she could manage inside her group. And now it was showing just how precarious that balance was if her confrontation with the seemingly sanest follower was any indication.
Should Vulpes truly want to strain that balance a little further just to see the whole unit crumbling like a house of cards, he couldn't ask for a better moment than now. A few well-placed words on the girl's ear; some idle, apparently innocuous chatting with the right choices to stir doubts; a bit of sabotage to her companions' weapons until one or two got themselves killed, preferably the sniper... et voilà: her merry band of losers will be no more, and none would be the wiser.
It would be a child's play to get her vulnerable, confused, and sad to take advantage of the situation and offer her the safety she, he knew now, craved so much.
Such a perspective was tempting, he admitted. To have her at his whims' mercy, playing the savior part, reconducting her beliefs, putting her abilities to work under his command… and the two of them would hold hands at the edge of a conquered Hoover Dam, the world around them crumbling, agonizing, the blood of many warriors buying the promise of a new dawn, the Synthesis.
Or even better: the two of them alone amidst ashes, both Legion and NCR, the white of many anonymous skulls littering the earth reflecting a fresh wave of nuclear dusk as the two of them would share an embrace sweeter than any empty promises of a better future. No NCR, no profligacy, no Synthesis. No Legion, no more rules, no more marching.
No more responsibilities, no more memories.
It was a most beautiful fantasy.
However, he wasn't here to truncate neither the Courier's backup muscle nor destabilize her moral support.
No. He was here to observe her, learn her intentions, and, given the right circumstances, earn her favor for the Legion.
Which, if he was completely honest with himself, he wasn't working to his advantage very well.
She and her companions' dynamics… confused him. It compelled something in him that he wasn't sure he wanted to give into. At least for now.
First, he had to get acquainted with the rules, then feign that he was game.
He had been a fool thinking that she had to earn his trust by demonstrating that she meant no ill. She had nothing to prove, but he had. He hadn't to be persuaded at all, but she had.
His approach had been all wrong. Unbeknownstly, Becky had been right about sending him. He had to earn the Courier's trust.
So, the glorious instant when Vulpes closed the door in the stupid sniper's thunderstruck face had been an epiphany. A strategy already forming in his brain when he closed the distance to the bed, and, instead of addressing the lying form, he opted to sit on the mattress, reclining his back against the headboard.
The small bundle beneath three layers of thick cloth stirred a bit, black short spiky hair emerged from the vortex of mattresses, and a puffy face turned to assess the intruder briefly.
"I don't want to get up." – she mumbled, turning her head and body in the opposite direction of her visitor.
Vulpes' voice, soft as silk, answered in the same low tone.
"Then don't." – he replied.
A long lapse of time stretched between the two youngsters, and Vulpes was already getting himself more comfortable over the warm bed when her small voice reached his ears a second time.
"I don't want to talk either."
Oh, but she was talking.
"No need to fill your mouth with words when you can fill it better with breakfast." – he replied again with that low, caressing voice, bringing the coldness of the Nuka crystal bottle to her ear, then to her left temple, marked by the scarring shots, and, finally, to her forehead, trailing beautiful chills where crystal met flesh.
If hesitant, her dainty fingers pried from under the covers to grab the offering, her fingertips barely grazing his.
Slowly, softly, she turned to sit up and, while she was distracted uncorking the metal cap from the bottle with a salient part of the Pip-Boy's outer case, he slid the half-filled Fancy Lads' box onto her lap.
Her puffy, reddened lips distracted him when she drank a small gulp of bubbly soda from the bottle's neck. She drank with such delicacy that it appeared that, instead of downing it, she was kissing it.
Vulpes' mouth went dry, and he unconsciously accepted when she offered him the bottle in silence. The dark soft drink tasted pleasantly cool and exceptionally sweet today.
She also offered him the cakes in the box, but he held a hand, silently compelling her to finish them all.
She ate without uttering a word and avoided looking at him as Vulpes lounged on his side of the giant bed.
When she was done, she lay on her back, eyeing the ceiling absently as her hands drew circular patterns around her stomach to help digestion.
"What do you want?" – she finally asked, eyes stubbornly set on the ceiling, the hole her bullet had bored the previous day a small crater amidst roads of cracked, dusty paint.
Vulpes' lips remained as neutral as ever, but his electric blue eyes shone briefly with amusement. Now, she was the one demanding answers.
He would offer none.
"Shall we play a game?" – he asked instead, allowing himself to smile briefly when she turned her head, eyeing him suspiciously – "I would demand a rematch from the last time, but I suspect that strategy game is not the only one you have installed in my device, am I right?"
She gave him an indecipherable look, perhaps weighing his offer or pondering the hidden meaning of his slight accusation.
"Do you know what roleplaying is?" – she asked, unsure until his raised eyebrow made her laugh softly – "Silly question. Of course you do."
He caught on to the meaning of her words much later, when her body had moved closer to his with the pass of hours. Her hip had touched his as both played 'Grognak & the Ruby Ruins' in Multiplayer Mode, nestling amidst warm covers and shared body heat.
She played as a character named Maula – the only female option available, really – a presumably War-Maiden of (Ha!) Mars, and he had chosen to take on the role of a crazed shaman of sorts named Zaxtar. It was fun.
It was like an adventure novel with treasure hunting, exploration, and mathematical statistics-based fights. The more points you had in your favor, the more damage you did.
Odd games for odd people in an odd world.
They hadn't stepped out of that room until their stomachs had started protesting after so many hours going without a good resupply.
"So, this is the young Decanus who has aided Dead Sea in the taking of Nelson."
Knelt with a fist on the ground and a lowered head was Alexus, mouth firmly sealed as it was expected as Gabban had started giving the report to the Imperator himself, who had wanted to hear the confirmation from the very Decanus' lips.
"Get up and take that helmet off. I want to see your face."
Containing the trembling the treacherous hands were experiencing at the moment, Alexus did as told, suddenly too aware of too long hair grown from weeks staying at that damnable mine getting at the eyes' corners.
The Imperator squinted a bit in front of the Decanus, taking in the likeness between the two present twins. Gabban, by his right side, struggled to not let any emotion slip on his face.
"Very… interesting." – the older man declared after a few seconds that, in Alexus' mind, felt like eons – "Vulpes' Second-In-Command here tells me that you didn't waste breath in stepping out of a conquered Nelson to pursue a conquest of your own down Southwest. A Ranger Station, no less."
Alexus couldn't help but notice how the Imperator, quite deliberately, had left Gabban's name out of the sentence.
"Affirmative, meus Domine." – the Decanus answered respectfully, leaving aside the evident pride the deed evoked. Vulpes always said that, when dealing with Caesar directly, neutrality was preferred, for many stupid fools had managed to invoke his wrath by just pushing the wrong buttons – "By order of Vulpes Inculta himself, order that was transmitted to me through his most trusted Frumentarius, I led my men into Ranger Station Charlie, Southwest of the Profligate population called 'Novac', to teach the NCR a valuable lesson for, besides raiding the place, we left a holodisk with a warning and… several traps I'm sure Your Greatness would have approved to, should any more Republican dogs ought to attempt to reclaim their post."
Leaning forward over his quadriceps, the dictator rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Vulpes ordered this, you say…" – then, an icy smile spread throughout his features – "And gave you the opportunity." – assessing the young legionary from head to toe, taking in the slightly softer features and defined muscles of both arms and legs, he continued – "Humor me and answer this question, Decanus: do you intend to become a Frumentarius?"
Alexus reigned over the inhumane tension that came over every muscle under the armor.
"No, my Lord."
"Oh?"
"This legionary asks for permission to speak freely, my Lord."
"Go ahead."
Ignoring the warning look Gabban was sending to the Decanus' general direction, Alexus spoke.
"If only to amuse Your Greatness, I but dare to hope that one day, when the time comes, this legionary would be given a chance to become one of the many shields guarding the Son of Mars, who now deigns to bestow His presence to me."
Raising greying brows, the new smile the dictator directed to the Decanus was less cold this time.
"Ambitious, aren't you?" – he asked.
"Yes, meus Domine."
For a tense moment, Alexus feared having overstepped boundaries too soon and even experienced a slight breakdown when the Imperator roared in laughter. Shame making the Decanus' ears burn furiously behind dirty, overgrown blonde hair.
"I like you, boy." – Caesar said in good spirits, clearly pleased – "For ambition is a telltale symptom of intelligence, and I can see what Vulpes sees in you if your discourse, clearly influenced by him, is of any indication."
Alexus swallowed the wave of hurt pride that came after those words. Why would everybody always assume that Vulpes was the only one capable of giving his head further use than to headbutt enemies?!
"Thank you, my Lord." – the Decanus answered instead.
Nodding, Caesar crossed fingers under his chin.
"I am very pleased with the results Vulpes' campaign has delivered onto my lap today; thus, I am pleased with how both Dead Sea and you have played your part on it." – he declared, to the twins' much relief – "While the reward for the Veteran Decanus will be his new duty: to maintain his position at Nelson without the authority of a supervising Centurion while more troops will be reassigned to him to help in the harassment campaign against the NCR…" – he said this to Gabban, who acknowledged the order with a curt nod, to turn again to Alexus – "… Yours will be a well-deserved leisure time here, at The Fort, until I deem otherwise. And your men shall be rewarded in the same fashion. For they ought to be regarded by the rest as an example of what a contubernium must represent: unity and strength. For none of them were abated or injured neither at Nelson, nor when facing a whole group of Rangers."
Alexus resisted the impulse of raising eyes to Gabban, who surely was thinking the same at the moment about the three miraculously recovered legionaries in record time by the power of Profligate chems.
That game they had willingly played had rendered good… although dangerous results.
"And speaking of Rangers…" – the Imperator continued – "That wildcat you brought along with you will also become part of your reward…" – he added warningly – "… and your responsibility to bear, Decanus. For, should she manage to escape this encampment, I shall hold you, and only you, entirely responsible, with the due consequences that would come out of it. Did I express myself clearly?"
"Yes, my Lord." – Alexus replied eagerly, excited to have just acquired power over the prisoner's ownership. For a Decanus, that was no small feat – "Thank you, my Lord."
"Alright." – the older man expressed in an evidently tired tone, waving his hand to the twins – "You two may retire. I expect news from Vulpes' undercover operation with the Wild Card child in the next coming weeks." – he warned, pinning Gabban with a hardened stare, a subtle warning of what would await him should he wouldn't render any results – "And take care of that hair, Decanus!" – he exclaimed, a hint of laughter in his voice – "You wouldn't want to get mistaken for a goddamned woman, wouldn't you?"
Feeling his twin's tension beside him, Gabban held his breath until Alexus's answer was delivered.
"No, my Lord."
And, with that, the blonde siblings abandoned Caesar's tent with a knot forming in the pit of their respective stomachs.
"Goddamnit, Alex." – the Frumentarius hissed, low enough that just the two of them could hear the other – "If you are so keen on getting ourselves skinned alive, just fucking declare out loud that the motherfucking Burned Man still lives and let's be done with it! At least you will die knowing that Vulpes would worship your stupid crucified ass and profess undying love to you for all the Eternity."
"He already does that without further encouragement." – the Decanus growled, knowing very well just how incredibly overprotective their older brother would get in case Alexus would decide to take up his incessant offers to become a Frumentarius. The Decanus was sure that he very likely would go to absurdly ridiculous lengths to keep his favorite sibling by sight all the damn time. Since they were assimilated, Vulpes had done everything in his power to keep the masquerade for his only sister's benefit, even if it meant to slit some throats when nobody was looking… and Alexus was grateful for that… but, somehow, throughout the road of becoming adults… the Decanus had stopped feeling being a woman anymore despite what the body under the armor may say, and Vulpes didn't seem to grasp on that – "Besides, I don't think that went too bad, didn't it?"
Gabban facepalmed himself. It was that or throttling his reckless twin.
"Look, that man sitting on that throne has a towering intellect and has managed not to just create an entirely new nation out of scattered tribes, but also to stay on that same throne for more than three decades!" – he attempted to explain, helplessly – "The less you'll be around him, the safer you will be! Don't you see that in the unlikely case you will become part of the Praetorian Guard, he'll take very little time at guessing what's under your armor and, immediately, punishing you for that?!" – taking his stubborn sibling's shoulders with his hands, he added – "For fuck's sake, Alex! Do your best at rising in rank and become a Centurion or even stab goddamned Lanius in the back and take his place! I will support you! But cease this suicidal nonsense! You know very well that you'll be better off dead than enduring the fate our Sisters and Neighbors had been subjected to all these years!"
Gabban, despite being softer than a pillow dummy, could sometimes be hard to listen to. And this was one of such times.
And Alexus didn't want to face the truth. Should Caesar discover what was under the armor, it shouldn't matter if he was as intelligent as everybody said he was.
For a warrior is a warrior when they feel and act like a warrior, regardless of gender. The Ranger was living proof of that.
By that same principle, a man should be a man if they feel and act like a man.
"Decanus." – the twins heard several paces behind them and, upon turning around, both automatically saluted the person who owned the voice that had spoken up – "A word, if you may."
"Ave, Praefectus Praetor Lucius!" – Alexus greeted with no small amount of nervousness – "Of course, sir! Whatever you need."
Standing in front of the teenagers, despite being well into his forties, the Commander of the Praetorian Guard was quite the figure to behold: rippling muscles even on his prominent hardened jaw coated by a greying dark beard, bodybuilder back, and a stature that was remarkable even amidst his own men.
However, despite his intimidating aspect, the man's expression was amicable.
"I wanted to congratulate you personally for your victories." – Lucius said. His tone, despite remaining professional all the time, was unusually warm – "To see a young man showing such promise and even daring to be outspoken about his aspirations in front of the very Imperator tells me of the value you could provide to our Guard." - and, when the man's hand landed heavily upon the left shoulder plate of the Decanus' armor, the latter got immensely rigid, unsure of what to expect – "Don't get discouraged by the old man's antics." – he added in a lower tone – "He appreciates a challenge from time to time and you surely have made a hell of an impression in there." – then, heavily palming Alexus' back, where he likely had left a bruise, Lucius concluded – "Keep training, keep pulling all your weight into our army… and who knows how far you could get, Alexus." – with that, he saluted before taking his leave – "Vale, and do take care of each other, would you?" – he said, eyeing Gabban as well – "Family is important and you might need the support of the other when hard times would come knocking at your doorstep."
And, with that, he disappeared inside Caesar's tent once more, leaving a dazed Alexus, whose expression promptly mutated into a stupid grin, whereas Gabban cringed inwardly.
While he meant well, the last thing Alex needed was encouragement coming from the Praefectus Praetor to aim for a glory that, sooner or later, would render the Decanus at that dark place where Vulpes and he had tried all these years to avoid their sibling to be thrown at.
Days stretched at a languorous pace as the snow kept falling, forcing the resident supermutants to adopt measures against a possible blocking of the resort's main door and the few habitable bungalow cabins, where Arcade had decided to move during their stay at Jacobstown so his presence would be as scarce as possible to not to upset Six's already delicate mental state.
Vulpes had never seen so much white together.
Neither had he seen resilience that could compare to the perennial presence of crows perched under the lodge's roof eaves. The silent black birds of prey contrasting wildly with the almost blinding greyness reflecting from the sky.
It was like stepping into another entirely different dimension, where the cold was the only norm.
"Don't want to sound alarming." – Marcus, the appointed supermutant Mayor of the town, had said after a particularly worrisome blizzard, something that has been unheard of since the bombs fell two hundred years ago – "But the weather's not behaving normally. So, maybe you gotta postpone your departure a couple days more." – while he was explaining this, Rex's head had been resting over Six's lap, the animal still not at his highest peak after such an invasive surgery.
The girl had nodded in silence, scratching the dog's ears absently while his tail had been the only indication that he, indeed, had returned from the dead.
His awakening had been a tad traumatic for both the animal and the hopeful girl, who had found two important things about her canine companion's cranial surgery: first and foremost was that Rex sometimes didn't recognize her or any other member of their group, excluding Vulpes, whose interactions with the former owner of the brain had seemingly imprinted vague associations with gestures, voice tones and silent commands (the Frumentarius wasn't risking sputtering some Latin just to satiate his curiosity) he recognized from Lupa's Legion training.
The second was that… such a psychological strain, even coming from a dog whose brain processes were – presumably – much less complicated than an average human's, left the animal exhausted almost all of the time.
Six still recalled when she had approached the dog the moment Doctor Henry had retired the general anesthesia and, upon opening his eyes, Rex had started sniffing her hands as if he were seeing her for the first time, risking some lapping from time to time but still unsure about her.
However, when Boone had approached, the canine started to growl in a very unfriendly way.
"It's okay, pup, it's okay." – he had said in a very low voice, taking the red beret from his shaved head very slowly – "See?"
The animal had stopped growling, cocking the head to one side while wailing a confused 'Arooo?' as if not entirely sure what to expect from the bulky sniper.
Clearly used to having patrol dogs by his side, Boone had extended a hand, allowing the animal to familiarize again with his smell and presence. And Rex had calmed after that.
That single situation had told Six that maybe there was still something of the old Rex out there to salvage, given his earlier stated aversion to hats… or perhaps the animal's reaction had been due to recognizing a piece of garment from the NCR Army, thus awakening the Legion training.
Because she knew, without a doubt, that Zorro had brought a canine Legion brain with him.
Not that she complained, for the animal had been nothing but close to her since he had awakened. Perhaps due to disorientation or seeing her as the lesser threat in the room, the dog had stayed with her. Trusting her with the same pillow role he had adjudged previously to Zorro.
"Rex." – she muttered to the animal's ear, sat by a window, watching the snow fall and the dog's muzzle over her lap.
If delayed, Rex's response had been sniffing while lapping at her hand.
Definitely, he recognized his old name.
Which made her wonder…
"What was her name?" – she asked, not turning from the window – "The previous owner of Rex's new brain, I mean."
Zorro, who had been lying over an old dusty sofa while reading on the Pip-Boy, stirred a bit.
"Loba." – he replied in Spanish.
They weren't alone, so Six assumed she would have to rack her brain for the correct Latin addressing of 'She-wolf'.
Lowering her voice and her lips next to the dog's ear, she tried.
"Lupa."
This time, the response was quicker when the animal had raised its head, alert and questioning.
So, there was something of the old Legion mongrel personality there as well. How complicated.
"That's okay." – she muttered as she patted the canine's belly, allowing it to settle down her lap again, paws neatly folded against its chest and tongue lolling out, enjoying the attention – "That's okay."
In time, she dared to hope it would be okay anyway.
The instant Stella had found herself alone, gagged, and cuffed of both arms and legs to the tent pole she had been left to await her 'new master', a million strategies had started to form inside her head once she had been entirely sure that no amount of force on her part would break her binds from this damnable pole amidst of a damnable camp full of sadistic men that treated women as sex toys.
Replaying possible outcomes and conversations with this 'master' inside her head, her mental efforts went to waste as soon as that blue-eyed son of a bitch had stepped inside the tent, announcing that he was now the one holding the leash.
At first, she had mistaken him with the other blonde man with the deep voice, but this one, despite bearing a striking resemblance to the aforesaid, was the actual bastard who had captured her alive after besting her in a fistfight cowardly surrounded by his lackeys. She would recognize his juvenile, light voice in the middle of a crowd.
Any insult she could have thrown to him was effectively muffled by the gag between her teeth.
"So, here we are, Stella." – he said, much to the Ranger's disgust, as he sat on the ground in front of her. Her name filthy and devoid of its melodic cadences on his lips – "Are you still sure of that challenge of yours now that you have witnessed just how vast and heavily populated our encampment is?" – he asked, quickly removing the gag from her mouth to pry his fingers off her teeth's reach – "Well?"
She would have spat him in his face, but she had drunk very scarcely since her capture, and her throat felt like sandpaper.
"Keep coming, you Legion dogs, and I will keep breaking bones." – she replied defiantly.
However, much to her disappointment, the man in front of her - who was incredibly young, if she was totally honest - smiled.
"Good." – he said, almost appraisingly – "However, before throwing you into the arena, you will eat and train."
"I will never fucking train with you, bastard!" – she exclaimed, her dry throat breaking her voice painfully – "Go fuck yourself like all of your pals do with each other's here daily!"
"Your pathetic attempts at provoking me by throwing innuendoes about a crime Caesar punishes with an iron fist will get you nowhere." – he replied odiously calm as if the insults had nothing to do with his pride – "And I wasn't asking you, but rather ordering you to train with me." – he punctuated, shortening the distance between their faces – "And you will listen to what I have to say should you wish to survive around here."
"Do you think that I fear you?" – she spat back – "Try to force me into combat, and I will take with me you and all of the silly skirt-boys that would dare step in front of me." – then, her countenance darkened – "Try to force other things on my person, and you shall lose them. Gruesomely."
But he gave her a humorless laugh.
"Let's be perfectly clear about a few things before we engage in further discussion." – he stated – "Your situation here will depend either on your collaboration or your lack thereof. Your choice entirely." – he continued – "Agree to what I have to offer and, besides getting three meals a day - which is way more than any of the slaves gets here, should you want to know – you will also get the peace of spirit that nobody will force anything on your person should you keep training and surviving whatever matches I will allow on your behalf on the arena."
"Nobody except you, I assume." – she replied with utter disgust.
However, his face was serious now.
"Ranger." – he addressed her gravelly – "When I say 'nobody', I mean no-fucking-body will touch you in any other way than battling, as long as you behave."
Eyeing him with distrust, Stella squinted her dark eyes, searching for any lies or tricks this motherfucker might be holding from her to toy with her psyche. She had heard of the twisted games Legion torturers played with NCR prisoners before tearing them apart piece by piece until they either left behind corpses or worse: hollowed cases of what those people had been before, shadows of their previous selves.
"I don't trust you." – she declared.
"Neither do I trust you to behave around our encampment by the moment." – he conceded – "However, until we get acquainted with each other's intentions, you shall remain here. I'll send some of the women here to bathe you and bring you food. Attack them, and you shall be punished by ten lashes that I will immediately be sure the healers tend, should you want to use your punishment as a free pass to escape by dying." – he warned, cutting her already barely-formed plan to get out of this hell – "Behave, and your life, besides turning out much easier than you would expect, shall be preserved until the day everything around us would change for the better." – with this, he rose from his sitting position and went to the tent's entrance – "Don't die out of misplaced pride, but survive and live to tell." – he finished, exiting the tent and leaving a very dumbfounded Stella, whose views on the world would not sway so easily… although, if she was perfectly honest with herself, the world had changed too fast around her to even begin to grasp the new rules of the game.
More days passed in silence, memories threatening to take what remained of Six's sanity to hell as, one by one, the faces of her old unit kept appearing in her dreams as she had left them after pulling the trigger.
Most of them had been beyond recognition when she had reached their hiding places. Some, given their training, sometimes being able to bypass the code of the slave collars as some of them had studied how robotic engineering worked, had actually managed to escape Paradise Falls before Eulogy Jones had managed to get some profit out of their hides.
Others had been sold to masters crueler than the very Mr. Burke.
One way or another, upon leaving the Vault, she had already noticed that a small group among them didn't recognize their own names when called or disregarded her silent commands so they could escape the Talon mercs Burke had hired to plunder Vault 5.
Alone, without their support to devise an escaping plan, she had resorted to killing them as she had been instructed upon adverse circumstances would ensue.
And later, almost every last of them had lost their minds either from their traumatic awakening from cryostasis or due to all the misery they had to endure in their last years of life out in an irradiated Wasteland that had swallowed everything they once had ever loved and known.
One of the boys, she sadly didn't remember his name anymore, had run back to the Eastern Coast at the Commonwealth and had relentlessly searched for his parents' house. The ruined structure had been infested by bloatflies, and the critters had managed to injure him so badly that, when Six had arrived at the place, the bugs' larvae were eating his already gangrenous right arm from the inside.
A bullet between the brows had put an end to his suffering.
Pinching the inner corners of her eyes to prevent tears from coming for the umpteenth time, Courier Six of the Mojave Express, followed closely by her silent cyberdog - an old and a new companion at the same time - wandered absently the chilly corridors of the old resort tightly wrapped in an old airman bomber jacket Boone had lent her this morning.
As much as Vero kept insisting on cheering her up, Six wanted to be alone, unable to face her group and tell them that she… was a fraud. That she couldn't deal with them, the same way she had failed to deal with her old unit.
She didn't want to end up blowing each one of their heads the same way she had done the last three years with the others in case her stupid plan to keep her stupid ass safe ended up backfiring in the worst possible manner. She couldn't do it a second time.
She couldn't bear it anymore.
She should just tell them that… their little adventure… regrettably…
"Aha!" – she heard a voice at her back – "There you are!"
The girl tensed as a pair of gloved hands lay upon her shoulders.
"Put on these." – the voice, pertaining to none other than Veronica, instructed as another pair of patched-up gloves were deposited over her palms – "We're going outside!"
Six didn't really want to, but soon she forgot her depressed state when she turned around to see that, besides Veronica, by her side stood Cass, who looked the worse for wear as her red nose and glassy eyes spoke of more than two rounds of liquor were running down her blood system; Raul, who was sporting a helpless look of discomfort and… Zorro and Boone, whose copycat undaunted expressions felt entirely forced.
"What's this?" – Six asked, noticing the gloves everybody was wearing – "What are you saying about getting outside?"
"I've made these for us all." – Veronica replied, explaining the gloves – "So we don't freeze once we come out on the porch. I'm sick of being trapped here, and we all need some fresh air to clear up our minds. Right, guys?"
The answer she received was a general unenthusiastic groan.
Six bit her lower lip, very aware of the unwillingness everybody, minus Vero, presented.
But she meant so well… and it, likely, had been a tough job not just sewing the gloves for everyone but also getting all of them together for her…
"Please, Boss." – Raul rasped, directing her a pleading look – "Say yes so she stops from accosting everybody." – then, he produced a long-suffering sigh when Cass rounded him with her arms slurring 'abuelito'. (1)
"Yes, please." – Zorro echoed the ghoul, still bearing that default bored expression that seemed to mask weariness.
Boone, as always, said nothing, leaving the decision up to her. Always up to her.
Sighing, Six finally acquiesced.
And not ten minutes after, she found herself amidst a dense layer of snow that almost reached up to her knees while Lily, who had been outside all the time caring for the bighorners, rolled a giant ball of snow.
"I've always read about these customs humans had before the War, when there was a time, a celebration of sorts, once in a year they called 'Christmas'." – the Nightkin boomed cheerfully.
"How can you possibly know about that, Lily?" – Six asked, curious, as she rolled another snowball on the ground aided by Vero and Cass, whose hangover seemingly had gotten better with the cold.
"Well, you see, munchkin." – the supermutant answered – "I grew up in Vault 17. Pre-War knowledge was common there. You had to pass the G.O.A.T. exam on such things before you were assigned a job."
"Vault 17… where was that?"
"Aww, someone wants to hear grandma's stories!" – Lily exclaimed, delighted – "Well, cutie-pie, Vault 17 was located in New California! I never even saw the sun until I was 75 years old… that was when supermutants raided the Vault and carried a lot of us off." – after a pregnant pause, when Six was about to blurt out some apology for dwelling into such a painful moment for the old lady, Lily exclaimed – "Yes, Leo, I'm getting to that part!" – after that, she kept talking as if it had been nothing – "They made me one of them, and they put me to work in an army that was going to conquer California."
"Wait… you mean…" - upon looking the Nightkin in the goggles-obscured eyes, Six suddenly saw more than simply a mutated old lady who had happened to be the most tender… and scary soul she had ever met – "The Mariposa Military Base in California. There was where the research on the first strain of FEV created by West-Tek was continued. A research originally financed for, presumably, battle the Blue Flu in the '50s…"
A pair of hands found her shoulders again, and then, Veronica's voice spoke.
"Six…" – she started, unsure and terribly worried about the course the current conversation was taking – "Are you alright?"
The girl blinked twice as if emerging from deep reminiscence. Somehow, a stream of data she would have wished to forget started to load inside her brain.
Always the unwanted were the thoughts that ended up back in her system. Her curse, her punishment.
"Lily." – she asked, taking her eyes back to the supermutant – "When all of this happened?"
"Oh, more than a hundred years ago, peanut." – the interpellated replied nonchalantly, as if it was nothing – "The land was far more irradiated, and the first settlers turned out new species overnight, such as the ghouls and many other variants that, either the Brotherhood of Steel or any of the other important military factions at the time, have wiped off over the years."
Without saying anything, Six walked directly to the Nightkin and tightly embraced her muscular midsection. Rex, by their side, whined.
"Awww, someone misses grandma!" – Lily exclaimed with delight, totally unaware of the girl's glassy eyes or the ashamed expression the Brotherhood Scribe wore at that moment. The Brotherhood of Steel had been created the same year the bombs fell, and their first Elder, Roger Maxson, had been initially an Army deserter when he and his men had discovered what kind of experiments had been conducted, with the U.S.A. Government's blessing, at the Mariposa Military Base.
Seemingly, Six had been aware of this as well, for her misguided attempt at comfort an old woman whose transformation had been so traumatic that she was incapable of feeling grief anymore seemed to suggest so.
Eyeing the scene from the rounded platform at the right side of the lodge's entrance, Vulpes sat in one of the chipped wood benches rubbing his gloved hands while prodding at the layer of snow with the point of one of his boots as he received, from time to time, the disgusting smell of the cigarette the NCR dog was smoking a few paces away.
He heard steps crunching on the ice behind him, and before he could address the new arrival, they spoke.
"Seems the pre-War Government; thus, the faction my father belonged to, have much to answer for."
Unblinking, Vulpes did not turn to face the Followers doctor, although he replied:
"You have moved to the bungalows." – he observed – "Considering the weather, I wouldn't quite call it a smart move on your part, Dr. Gannon."
Arcade grimaced, eyeing the small girl from a distance, wishing to be able to join her and Veronica, and Lily, and Raul, and Cass… and even Rex once more as they had made a sort of a pineapple bunch while dissuading Six to keep on the gigantic snowman making.
"What else could I do?" – he asked – "She won't talk to me anymore, she won't look me in the eye, she…" – he sighed – "She's terrified of Henry and me."
"And with reason, won't you say?" – the young man replied with a flat intonation as if the current conversation bored him to no end – "However, I haven't seen you attempting to mend that rift."
"What… what are you saying?"
Vulpes inhaled a mouthful of cold air, his lungs feeling invigorated.
"That you are a coward." – he stated without any adornments, unwilling to play the psychoanalyst with this one – "A hysteric girl points a gun to your head, and your answer is to move to another building to avoid confrontations? Pathetic."
"Watch that tongue, tribal." – the odious voice of the sniper cut through their conversation like a knife – "You aren't precisely one to speak about courage here."
Vulpes gave him a curt laugh, still not turning around to face either of the men.
"Well now, didn't your elders teach you how rude it is to listen to conversations that are none of your business, sniper?" – the Frumentarius replied calmly, smoothly, slippery as a snake – "However, regarding your accusation… do you really think I would shy from a confrontation with you should you dare to provoke me beyond a few ill-placed words?"
Boone's visage darkened.
"Wanna test that?" – the man defied, taking a step toward the insolent brat, the revolting smoke of his cigarette grating on Vulpes' nerves as the young man turned his head and gave him an aggressive look.
"The real question is… would you want to?" – he hissed, a petulant half-smile gracing his lips.
But before anything could happen, Arcade slapped the bench's backrest.
"Oh, cut the crap, the two of you!" – he exclaimed with exasperation, turning first to the sniper – "Boone, I really appreciate the help, but let me choose my own battles, okay?" – then turned to Vulpes – "And you… fine, message received. Even if I don't like your tone, your words carry out some truth: I should try to approach her instead of cowering in my hole." – he frowned when he saw the approving nod the other gave him – "Any suggestions of where I should begin?"
Vulpes' attention turned back to the snow, testing how further he could sink his boots in it.
"Talk with Becky." – he replied without looking at him – "Maybe she can provide you with good advice and even some help mediating between you and the Courier."
"Veronica? But…"
"Asking advice from a soldier and a foreigner is not going to give you further insight on your problems." – he declared – "Talk to her or don't. But don't come here expecting consolation, because there's none to give. At least on my part."
Huffing, Arcade stomped before him and gave him a hurt look.
"Yes. Thank you, by the way, for saving poor-old-whining me the other day." - he expressed acidly before turning heel to the lodge.
Watching his sensitive comrade go away, Boone gave his back to the irritating lanky piece of crap.
"Asshole." - he muttered under his breath as he gave another drag to his cigar.
Nevertheless, he received a comeback.
"Likewise." - the albino shit replied with that disgusting oily voice everyone, but Boone seemed to find so charming.
The sniper repressed the growing desire to stomp over his stupid face until he spat, one by one, the teeth forming that self-sufficient wolfish grin of his.
Freeside received Gabban almost a week later after he departed from Fortification Hill to communicate Dead Sea, now stationed in Nelson, about his new duties as its conqueror and keeper.
Many NCR prisoners, all soldiers, had been taken, and the veteran Decanus had been sending them, slowly, one by one, to be crucified at the center of town.
In a very Vulpes-like fashion, Dead Sea was taking great pains to ensure that the prisoners remained alive on their crosses longer than necessary so their comrades from the neighboring Camp Forlorn Hope and Ranger Station Echo would witness how powerless they were against the Legion.
Gabban didn't question the veteran Decanus' tactical decisions and had departed as soon as he had delivered his orders and resupplied himself. After all, this had been Vulpes' plan, and Gabban wouldn't contradict his brother and immediate superior's orders for the life of him.
Before going straight to The Strip to assess Alerio's work on the Omertas, the Frumentarius had stopped at The Atomic Wrangler to wait for this safehouse keeper Vulpes had instructed him to keep an eye on.
Atticus, the aforesaid Custos, ended up being an Afro-American man well into his twenties with way too many pretenses for his own good and a minimal grasp on the situation he had gotten himself into.
"And you say… that Alan is paying you for… what? Reporting of any fuck ups the boss may or not do?" – he knew he sounded incredulous and a bit condescending when he had summed up the situation, warning the Custos to use fake names and vague descriptions to address the themes they were discussing amidst drinks, disapproving immensely when the other legionary had asked the bartender for a Rum & Nuka.
However, the man had kept with his unrefined cover, talking a tad too loud for Gabban's tastes, sipping on an alcoholic beverage while taking his attention out of the conversation from time to time to place his eyes on some hooker's ass.
"Yeah." – he nodded – "Doesn't the Fox have filled you up already with the details? He's your boss, after all."
"And now, he's yours as well." – the Frumentarius had warned, eyeing him with distaste. How Vulpes had failed to notice this rat following him through the desert escaped Gabban's comprehension entirely. It must have been the pressure of these last weeks – "And it would do you some good to remember it if you want to preserve not merely your position, but also your life." – after that, taking the alcoholic beverage from the other man's hands and emptying it discreetly on a vacant flower pot near their chairs, he added – "The first rule of this work is, unless extraordinary circumstances ensue, never partake in the consumption of any substance that could alter your senses, namely chems or alcohol. Cigarettes, up to some point, are allowed as long as they help you to blend in."
"So, I have to stick to… what? Fucking soft drinks and juices?" – Atticus replied, clearly annoyed at having spent his good twenty caps on a drink he barely had tasted. His business with the Frumentarii, minus Alerio himself, was proving not to be as profitable as he would have wished – "What about whores?"
Internally, Gabban counted to ten before answering.
"As long as they are ultimately used as a source of information, you may indulge in some innocuous intercourse." – he answered, recalling his first time as a Frumentarius on The Strip and how little he had made use of his training to his endless shame. Having been Anguis and not Vulpes in charge, his skeletal remains would have been decorating a cross long ago – "However, until you are formally accepted within our ranks, those expenses will be run on account of your own pockets."
"Wait…" – the other man said while holding up a hand as if he hadn't heard correctly – "I am becoming one of you?"
"Should you prove useful to the Fox AND don't screw up by talking about things you aren't supposed to with the wrong people, you may as well consider getting a promotion in the near future."
Atticus' face quickly shifted from surprise to grinning goofily.
"What does entail being one of you?" – of course it had to be his first question – "Tell me about the perks."
Gabban bit his tongue to prevent some obscenity from coming out of his mouth. Barely twenty minutes talking with this fool, and he was already regretting it.
"Besides better payment and a chance at educating yourself beyond the rigid doctrines you have been taught all your life?" – and then, leaning forwards to meet the other's look, he added – "Or would you rather remain on the same dull, dishonoring job you have been tossed to after failing to prove your worth as a soldier?"
Atticus writhed under the younger man's stare, uncomfortable at being reminded of his disgraceful position only elderly or inept legionaries got after all the other options ran off.
"Be aware of this." – Gabban sentenced, to his infinite pleasure at putting a rookie in his due place – "You have the extraordinary chance of proving yourself a second time." – and then, leaning over the other's ear, he added – "This is a mercy that the Fox, thus Caesar, would NOT extend again should you fail."
After that, earning the idiot's full attention as intended right from the start, Gabban filled him in on the details and the procedures he should observe before reporting, what was allowed and what was considered unacceptable by Frumentarii standards.
He left a very pensive Custos behind, taking the left side down Fremont Street to redirect his steps towards The Strip North Gate.
And he waited in the large line until it was his turn.
"Apologies sir, but your passport has gotten a permanent ban out of the Free Economic Zone of New Vegas." – the checking securitron chanted impassively – "Should you would disagree with the present status your passport is, please present your complaints through filling a reclamation form to our Main Office by the left or present a formal appeal at Camp McCarran should you wish to engage the Monorail services. Have a good day, sir."
Unable to produce any sound, Gabban submitted his passport to the checking again, only to get the same results.
"Move aside, asshole!" – one of the waiting gamblers several turns behind shouted at him – "The line's gotta move with or without you!"
Still unable to produce a sound, Gabban was incapable of making the daring fool swallow his words as he was conducted to the Main Office, a small hovel made in its entirety out of salvaged scrap rusty metal, where a bored-looking old woman rose her eyes from the unsurmountable pile of paperwork over her desk as the Frumentarius entered.
"Information, credit check, or complaint?" – she asked in a bored tone – "Other than that, the layout maps cost five caps per unit."
"My passport says I have been banned from The Strip." – the young man explained, rather desperate at this point, still unable to process what could have gone wrong – "It must be a mistake. I haven't…"
However, the old lady just extended him a pencil and a clipboard with an empty form over it.
"I only deal with complaints, hun." – she replied with the same bored inflection – "Either fill this or try at McCarran. The answer to your reclamation should be available in a month or so. So, either you write down here a postal address to get the answer through a courier, or you come over here in thirty days."
Gabban abandoned the office even more confused than before, but, with the coming days as many more agents were denied once submitted to either their passports or the due credit check, the Fox's Second-In-Command reached a quick conclusion.
Mr. House had banned the Legion from The Strip.
SPANISH:
(1) - grandpa
(+) - Italian name, meaning literally "Precious Star". I thought it cute that a Ranger would get a name Legion people could, more or less, understand, so I contributed by giving her a pretty surname ^^
A/N: ... don't hate me for borrowing Sgt. Hartman's "Full Metal Jacket" monologue, for I am very inept at coming up with good military-based dialogue.
Anyway, dense chapter (again) is dense. Sorry for not dwelling much into the group's dynamics and, instead, picking Vulpes' siblings as the protagonists of nearly half of the chapter.
Here you got some answers to Six's conundrum and also some of Alex's character development (I've found myself quite attached to this character, to be honest. I know the actual Alexus from the game is rather unimpressive, so here's a meatier character). Vulpes is also trying his hardest of not being too petulant... and failing miserably at it xD
Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: yes, the Anchorage bit was all about Charon's experience under Chase's command. I always found Charon's character (and Mr. Burke) a bit lacking, and both of them have a lot of potential that went to waste in F3. Think about it: a ghoul (thus, probably, a pre-War survivor) with military training that has been brainwashed on a contract of sorts that tells him who he ought to obey. Suspicious? Yes. The fact that he's the only companion competent with grenades further proves my point. He has seen a lot of fire and, while he retains some sort of sense of justice, he doesn't question orders. Like a true soldier would.
Yes, F3 was very annoying when it comes to your relationship as a protagonist with Amata. Does she care or she has been using you all the time? Frustrating to no end.
About the mods... I've tried VERY hard to not submit to their siren chants... to no avail. First, you start with unofficial patches... then restored cut-content... and you end up with polished missions, polished factions, polished texture maps... the possibilities are infinite (sighs blissfully).
Thank you so much for your words and your reviews. This is not the main site where I publish, but I always come back just to read your juicy insights 3
Cheers and thanks a lot for the new Fav!
