Pyhrrus walked with his men, their leather strapped boots crunching on the thick, unforgiving sheets of sand characteristic of the Mojave Wasteland. They were eight in number, none any higher than a legionary in rank. They had all been promised something by the late Legate - glory, rewards, slaves. They were promised, when the campaign to take Hoover Dam and the city of New Vegas from the foolish twin-headed bear, that they would gain wealth, legacy and pride. But here they were, only a few days worth of rations and water left. He commanded his squad with dignity and wisdom, yet with Lanius and even Caesar dead, the men behind him did not work for any degree of morals.
They worked for food, for water, for caps. Mercenaries, in the face of the death of loyalty. Pyhrrus thought about this. Heresy, maybe? To act the profligate was to be the profligate. But if profligates killed Caesar, the son of Mars, then why not be a profligate? It was a dilemma, a paradox he struggled with. In front of Pyhrrus was a great hill, their arrival returning him to the present. It overlooked one of the NCR's favored routes, from their blasphemous California to the den of sin. Patrolled by the steel knights of the Brotherhood of Steel, it was well-defended for sure. Yet with NCR's current deployment of troops, it would be far easier than assaulting any worthwhile caravan.
As he and his men watched and watched, one began to grow irritated with Pyhrrus. "This is foolishness," he began. "They utilize power armor, and even if they fall and we loot all we can from their brahmin packs, we would simply have to risk ourselves later."
"And what would you suggest, Bocca Verità?" Pyhrrus asked with as much calmness as he could muster, evidently not much. Bocca leaned in, as if to stop eavesdroppers from hearing what he had to say. "There is rumor, Pyhrrus...that the remnants of the Cohort are banding together in what remains of Henderson, to reunite with Caesar's Empire and-"
"And what?" Pyhrrus asked. "Take Vegas, take the Dam? Our best, Caesar himself, tried to conquer this land. They failed. If we want to destroy the NCR, we cannot charge in with an army and strike - we will need time. Patience. And we will need to kill the twin-headed bear's champion. Their...Courier."
Bocca grinned. "Well now, my friend. Our quest is clear. But shall we try to hunt the champion first, or shall we try our hand at raiding?"
Pyrhrrus retrieved an EMP grenade from his belt, and a plasma pistol from his holster. "The profligates won't know what struck them."
The Paladins of the Hidden Valley Chapter strode across the broken pavement of the I-15 interstate. Behind them was a travelling merchant, a pair of hired guns and a small pack of three brahmin. He was headed to New Vegas, in an effort to sell his goods to those settled there. The merchant was tense, for he had more than just food and water, but he had guns and ammunition as well. Something not appreciated much by the New California Republic, who were intending to tame New Vegas, not participate in the growth of crime. Of course, the Gun Runners working adjacent to the city likely didn't help much either.
"You know," began Paladin Cameron, on his squad's communications frequency. He was one of the three steel knights of the Brotherhood within the patrol, and he carried a laser rifle and pistol. On his hip was a cleaver, stolen off a legionary at Hoover Damn. The bull sigil remained on the sheathe as well, taken right off the corpse. It was a simple, unadvanced weapon used by brutes and ignorant savages - but it was a memory, a good one too as the Brotherhood took its first steps into the new world and its way of things at the second battle of Hoover Damn. "I am surprised how much I enjoy traversing the wasteland. Everyone's happy to finally be outside the bunker, but walking with the people topside and getting them where they want...its a nice feeling. Something you don't get much in Hidden Valley."
"I can't agree, Cameron," responded Paladin Hills. "Working with the NCR...its wrong. After HELIOS, after New California. We were in that bunker because we feared the NCR, and now we're working for them. We've been annexed, that's what happened, just like Vegas."
"You want to talk annexed, think about the poor fools in Yuma," Paladin Bryan spoke, with grim laughter backing his jest. "NCR's too afraid to spark another war against the Empire in Arizona, and too blind to see them building another cohort in Bullhead. I keep telling Elder McNamara and Head Paladin Hardin that we need to mount some offensive, for the sake of our brothers over there, but they're listening to Hsu and their Courier more than their own people. Its tragic, but its how alliances work."
Hills shook her head. "And that's why working for NCR isn't gonna do us good in the long run. Our Chapter is going to become just another branch of the NCR's military if we keep this up."
Cameron shrugged. "If you feel so bad about it, head for D.C. Last I heard, the only group that could call itself a nation there is Elder Lyons' chapter, and I'm sure he'd be willing to accept in just about anybody if you believe the rumors."
Bryan managed to get out, "I thought he died?" before Hills just about yelled at Cameron. She stopped, and kept the caravan still for a moment. "Owen Lyons betrayed the cause, Cameron! Heading there would be just as bad as enlisting in the Rangers, or leaving for Yuma."
Before Cameron could reply, an orb of sorts rolled in from the hill, onto the broken black surface of the I-15. Suddenly, the area was filled with distorting electromagnetic waves, grabbing hold of their T-51b Power Armor and causing it to momentarily fail. From the hills came warriors - bearing the armor of Legion soldiers, added onto with cloth, extra straps and whatever pieces of armor they could find. Like the Fiends before them, the Legion survivors had gone feral it seemed, becoming little more than raiders. Even the Khans had a little class compared to the assumptions Cameron made of what the remnants of the cohort had turned into.
The mercenaries rushed forward with their submachine guns, trying to befall the ruthless legionaries before they could close on their client, but the legionaries were quicker with their pistols and rifles. They were slain just as Hills' armor reactivated, and she withdrew her plasma rifle, firing as she did. The bolts flew past the swift legionaries, yet one was struck; screaming as he disintegrated into but green, glowing dust, wargear and all. Another legionary charged her, throwing a frag grenade before the Paladin as it exploded. Fire and smoke engulfed her armored frame, yet as she left the cloud of dust and flame she saw no legionary.
As Cameron and Bryan's armors reactivated, Hills found another explosive was planted behind her as she stepped back, and a mine detonated behind her, blowing back both the merchant and severely damaging her leg. Her pained groaning filled their comm-channel, and Cameron's laser rifle fired back, bright red bolts of revenge flying and striking another legionary. This one collapsed, his shoulder struck and completely pierced. Bryan's rifle fired as well, killing a legionary as it hit and passed his head, regardless of the helmet and scarf he had managed to find.
The legionaries had moved across the road and to the opposite hill from their approach. Soon after, both sides had gunfire coming from them, bullets pelting the armored warriors. Cameron and Bryan flanked the caravan, the brahmin already dead, and fired back with their rifles. Finally, with their armor only being damaged and the gunfire not stopping, both warriors charged their respective hills. Cameron put away his rifle, and drew his pistol and the cleaver. If the savages wanted to play bandit, then he was going to play cowboy. He was always fond of those old comic books as an initiate, anyway.
He leaped over the hill with gun and blade and then was suddenly blown back, his chestplate struggling. Kneeling on the hill was Pyhrrus, with a tesla cannon in hand. He ran over to the hill edge and fired a second salvo at Cameron, crippling his armor but not killing him. If he could move his head, he could've seen Bryan's corpse beside him, killed in the same manner. Pyhrrus emerged from the hill, leaving behind the heavy weapon as he approached him. He stopped to pick up the cleaver Cameron had dropped, and he tested its balance before approaching the nearly dead Paladin. "Your kind slaughtered mine at Hoover Dam, siding with the Bear..." he said through gritted, spiteful teeth.
Cameron spoke through the damaged, open helmet. "...and yours...would've mine."
Pyhrrus nodded. "Of course. But you and your friends from California lack the strength to finish the job started at Lanius' camp and the Fort. The NCR has left so many of us alone, free to wander back across the Colorado, or charge suicidality at their camps. But the fools forgot about the Empire left a state across. So here we are...us the vengeful and rebuilding, you the pleased warriors of paper and pen." He stabbed his cleaver at the softer armor at the neck. It didn't break at the first swing. Yet Cameron couldn't move to stop him. So Pyhrrus went again, and again, and even heard the Paladin beg before finally the rubber connector yielded and Cameron's throat was slit.
His men grouped around him. "What do we do with the other ones?" asked Bocca. "The woman is unconscious, but the armor is mostly good - if such profligate technology is to be tolerated. The merchant is whimpering behind his slaughtered cattle."
Pyhrrus did not grin like a prideful soldier after victory. He looked on, to the glistening visible lights of Vegas. "Kill the merchant, take all the useful wares on him and his brahmin. Leave the armor, the leg is too damaged for us to repair, but take their laser and plasma weapons...oh, and take its pilot in chains. If that rumor is true, the cohort camp...then we will be paid well for our goods."
The glistening yellow sun made for a good backdrop as the Courier's Highwayman drove from Shady Sands, the capital of the New California Republic, to Jacobstown. The car had been given to him, partially as a gift and partially through paying for it, as well as scavenging for parts around the Vegas area. He was in the driver seat, with Cass next to him and Arcade in the back. In the trunk was Arcade's set of power armor, as wearing Enclave gear around NCR territory was 'about as signaling you were as death-inclined as running into the Boneyard shouting ave, true to Caesar.' They also had Ambassador Crocker in the backseat with Arcade, who was to be NCR's voice in the matter. Between Arcade and Crocker was Veronica, who was just amazed by the car itself more than anything. The town they were headed for was run by a Super Mutant named Marcus, a well-mannered and smart leader who saw a bit of the best in both Humanity and Super Mutants. Jacobstown was becoming ever more popular, and its existence was becoming a hot topic within the Escalon of NCR leadership.
Here was a self-governed town of superhuman warriors just up the road from New Vegas, entirely independent but willing to talk. Was it time to make it allowed for Super Mutants to join the NCR as citizens? Would they have to be citizens of Jacobstown first? Would the law even be upheld under the Kimball Administration? Nevertheless, the Courier was coming to figure out those problems, backed by two of the best people he could think of to do it.
Arcade was an obvious pick, for he was a scientist, philosopher and overall good guidance for the group. Crocker was an NCR ambassador who helped to get New Vegas under NCR control. Veronica was a crafty engineer like Arcade, and he could tell she could keep him under control if something pressed his ethics buttons too hard. Cass was an...unorthodox pick, but besides Boone - who was busy finishing up the raider problem with the troops given to him by Colonel Hsu - she was the best fighter he had on hand, and also she was just an entertaining partner. Also he didn't want her to drink herself to death, or get jumped and killed, or worse, by former legionaries hoping to settle scores with a key veteran of the second battle for Hoover Dam, who participated in the death of Legate Lanius.
The dust and sand flew past the car as it sped across the wasteland, passing walking caravans as it did. Everyone in the car had a grin, Crocker especially. "Can't believe I got to ride in one of these things," he said with a joyful tone. "I always saw the wrecks, especially in Freeside. None of this model...hell, this is what they used to call a sports car, ain't it?"
Arcade laughed. "Yeah, just about. These sorts of things, older models anyway, drained up a lot of the United States gasoline reserves and didn't help to much with the energy crisis that ended with the whole 'nuclear war' thing, but its fun to ride around in some classic pre-war American engineering."
Cass gave a curt, annoyed chuckle. "Dammit 'Cade, you really know how to make a ride fun." Arcade's face went a little pale and he stopped talking, and Crocker didn't seem to want to either fight Cass or talk to Gannon further, so he simply turned his head out the window. Veronica nudged Arcade's side, and she said to him quietly (as to avoid catching Cass's hearing), "Well, I found it interesting."
The Courier's attention peaked as static turned to music on the radio, and he heard the excellently charismatic voice of Mister New Vegas. "-come, friends, to New Vegas Radio - This is your host, Mr. New Vegas, broadcasting live from - where else? - New Vegas. Now, I'm a friend of all Nevada, and the teleprompter says California too, but I gotta say, it's hard to beat the Strip when you want your kicks. Which is a lovely time to mention the sponsor of this noon broadcast, Fantastic's Fantastic Wares! 'Here, you don't need a degree or anything so unnecessary to have fantastic hardware at your fingertips.' Welp, I guess I better stop boring you, because I know what you're here for. The tunes. Well I got one for you now, Old Blue Eyes' rendition of My Way - because in New Vegas, the only way to live, is yours."
The grey horizons of the frozen wastes held many secrets, or so the old prospectors used to say. The farther north one got, the farther away from nuclear folly you got. Yet the darkness never ceased, no matter how far anyone went. The darkness around the ruins of the old world had become something of urban myth, and those wise enough avoided old structures all together.
Yet not every resident of old Canada was privy to such wisdom. Especially those who had come from the faraway lands of the American west. They came in thick steel sets of armor like knights of yore, with large rifles that shot red flame and which reduced unarmored raiders to sludge and ash. Their number had begun as seventy-five, and though they were impossibly durable, the trek had cost them.
Whenever someone mustered enough bravery or courage to ask them just where they were headed, they always answered simply; "to the Joint Base." Joint base? They all pondered. What was a joint base? Something old world, but…where?
It was Elder Garcia who had led them from Broken Hills to their destination, over the course of nearly three years. The reason behind such a vast journey was not as glorious as the result, for this was an exodus, not just a quest for knowledge. Yet this location, no matter how long or far, was chosen to have a fresh start. Far away from the rampage of the NCR and the cohorts of foolish Caesar…
Though they had expected Elmendorf-Richardson Joint Base to have been occupied already, be it a settlement of wastelanders like Sandy Shores, New Reno or something a little smaller-scale like a raider camp or a nest of creatures, what they weren't expecting was a veritable army of power armor-clad soldiers patrolling the area, painted in the proper camouflage for snow deployments and with weapons equally as dangerous as theirs.
Whatever hopes they had of taking the base were squashed as a flight of Vertibird gunships flew overhead, and finally the Elder decided on a surprising tactic – cooperation. All remaining fifty of his Knights and those who were recruited during the exodus approached the base, guns holstered. Though patrols of soldiers halted and noticed the Brotherhood force approaching, only a team of five met them at the gates of the former American military base.
"Well well," a gruff, old voice came from the lead power armored soldier. He wore a different type of armor, one that Garcia just couldn't place. "Name's Arch Dornan, commander of the Army. I gotta say, I wasn't expecting to see a small force of Brotherhood troops show up on the front lawn of my little camp here, but your sense of cooperation has me struck, so I'll cut to the chase – what exactly are you doing here?"
Garcia himself was 'struck', this Dornan figure was more official than he had expected, even with all the heavy armor and vehicles. "...I come from the Brotherhood of Steel, like you said. We came from Broken Hills, the NCR more or less annexed us. I was hoping to find somewhere far away enough to rebuild the Brotherhood as it should be."
Dornan took a moment, standing still. He seemed to turn his head, as if listening to a voice in his ear. After a moment, he turned his head back to the Brotherhood Elder. "If that's all…President Granite has allowed me to offer you a deal. You can settle this base, as long as you help us secure the local technology and the local's trust. The US Army brought a lot of hardware up here, and we'd like to reclaim it. Our policies and practices aren't too dissimilar to the Brotherhood's, and you'll get a good position within our organization."
"And what exactly is your organization?" Garcia had grown suspicious of Dornan, and his well-equipped forces. They seemed too knowledgeable, their choice of words curious, their structure surprisingly formal.
Dornan had a slight laugh. "Why, we're the United States of America."