31st of March, 2289
"Good morning, and welcome to Boneyard Public Radio. I'm your host, Glenn Howards, and we'll get into your Sunday news. Last Thursday at around noon, a train heading to the Hub from Boulder City was attacked north of the old Necropolis. In total, there seems to be five casualties caused by fighting, with ten deaths in total - Including an NCR soldier found dead of a rifle shot. Rumors are circulating that the NCR was transporting military intelligence aboard the train, some believing that it is the location of a Brotherhood base in central Nevada in the Bald Mountains, containing looted gold. The NCR, as of now, is refusing to either confirm or deny these rumors, though prospectors are beginning to flood to the region based on these rumors alone. Some fear that this influx could cause strife in the region, as the Legion has increased their presence along the bor-"
Roland turned the radio off, slamming his fist into it as he rolled over. He was snubbed of pay and berated by a Major in the Hub when the trio had hobbled in, clutching their sides. He had called it an 'informational nightmare' and a 'national embarrassment'. Roland called it piss poor management. He was threatened with MPs before he left, scraping together enough caps for a dingy room in New Adytum. The entire place smelled like sulfur, and gunshots rung out in the industrial sector at all hours of the night, but Roland wasn't exactly rolling in caps right now.
As of now, Roland had enough caps to get back to the Mojave and likely join another mercenary outfit for a contract of a few months. He'd need to, given that this contract was null and the NCR wasn't going to look favorably on him.
He laid for a moment, his mind dazed as it wandered. The Mojave was bloating up again, all because of that gold that no one even knows if it's really even there. It -
Roland sat up, hand darting to his uzi as he rushed down the stairs of the motel. If he could link up to a mercenary outfit heading for the gold, he could leverage that little fated trip - There were plenty of outfits in the Boneyard flocking to the Mojave. His ticket out of here was the city.
The merc flew into a bar, uzi hung around his neck as he swung around, darting up for a shot from the bar first. New Adytum was a hotbed of activity. High crime low wage tends to do that, the Gun Runners held a strangle grip on the neck of the place. New Adytum was full to bursting with union workers, scabs, prospectors, mercenaries, and gangs - Some saw New Adytum as a gateway along the Long 15 to Vegas and beyond, others saw Adytum as the cradle and the grave.
The moment his drink was guzzled down and gone, Roland spun in his chair, eyes scanning the place before they locked onto a man sat at a table, crowded by others, signing contract after contract. Roland pushed off his chair, pushing toward the line of mercs and prospectors looking to run out into the Mojave on a wild chase.
Sat before him, a stack of contracts beside him, was a mercenary captain dressed plain in beaten and battered combat armor with a fistful of tarnished silver and brass crosses hung loose around his neck. He was a man square in his fifties, holding an air of superiority that even Roland found himself falling into.
"Spit it out." He barked, pulling another contract from the stack, laying it on the table, smoothing it out and pulling the corners taught for Roland.
"I'd like to join this group. You're going to the Mojave, right?"
His face pulled into the slightest disdain, muttering "Yes, we are. We're taking three month contracts." A finger tapped the typed header of the contract. "You'll find terms of payment here. You'd be under my command."
Roland gave a cursory look over the paper. Pay wasn't exactly great, but it'd be stable for three months spent on a wild goose chase. He'd be joining, let's see, the 'Frontier Protection Company' under a 'Captain Faulkner' - Straightforward, clear cut for bottom pay… But -
"I'd like higher pay."
"Then you can leave," snorted Faulkner.
"I have an idea of where that gold is," Roland spat out, "It-"
"You and half of California know, it's in the Bald Mountains. If you seem to think that hearing the radio makes you entitled to more pay, then there's a line of men who'd like to negotiate their contract."
A mercenary placed their hand on Roland's shoulder, causing him to shrug it off as he leaned forward, Faulkner responding by pulling back, he's chair leaning with a croak.
"I was on that train." Roland rushed out, hushing himself.
Faulkner's eyes narrowed in, boring into Roland. "Bullshit."
"I was paid as a guard, I can lead you to that gold - I know the other men, the two survivors."
Silence grew between the two of them, broken by the captain. "How much?"
"Double."
