Sean Combs: Independent Scout
After leaving the gates to Shady Sands, the sun was lowering, and I roamed the same trail west and past Camp Seth. The location on the southern California map was almost 50 miles away through mountainous terrain, predominantly through desert, and about half of the way to that, "San Fran" or "Frisco" place people often spoke of.
I hitched along with a caravan for a long while and slept with them for a few hours under their protection. As I fell asleep, I kept thinking about how strange it was for me to be so involved in a situation that I never would have dreamed of last November. I went from squatter at the gates of Klamath two hundred miles north; all the way to "NCR Independent Scout" (Whatever that was) in exactly one year. The next morning, I realized that I had almost $2,000 in the bottom of my pack and bought some new road gear from the merchants I was traveling with. After buying a scoped bolt action hunting rifle, 40 rounds of ammo, and more provisions, I was down to $650. Curious as to what the western NCR territory had in store, and impatient about reaching my objective, I ditched the caravan crew and headed westward by myself at a faster pace. Lying northwest of where I left the caravan were the mountains known for hiding a legendary old Vault or something. I had no interest in such matters and headed straight west into the vast cliffs and sands of unknown.
I walked along the caravan trail all alone into the sea of desert. The caravan I initially traveled with moved far too slow and I couldn't tell if my fast pace came from eagerness, or a foreign sense of duty. Throughout the endless walking, I passed several other caravans going to Shady Sands and occasionally did a bit of trading. Some of the traffic had recently suffered from attacks by either raiders or super mutants, but I still wasn't worried for some reason. After resting briefly during the next night, I made up the stretch by departing early and even caught up to a caravan that was said to have left Shady Sands the same day I got arrested. I traveled alone for years before 2241 and never covered the amount of ground I did during this particular mission. Maybe it was the objective at hand and my involvement, but I roamed all those years without a purpose, and this was different. This time, I walked straight into the unknown deserts, and reached the turning point marked on the map before I even knew it. At a spot many miles down the caravan road to Frisco, I found the nearly gone, sun beaten road to an old military facility, that marked my path north towards the mountains.
A hundred yards away and poking out of the sands was a nearly illegible old sign. The only letters I could make out spelled, "Mar-po, Mil, and Base" I knew I was on the right path. Captain McNeil couldn't give me the name of the place because it was lost to history, but there was no mistake that I was nearly there. I traveled on for several hours into the blistering heat, trying my best to follow the old road withered by time and buried in the sands. Far off to the northwest were the faint beginnings of rising hills and shrubbery hinted with green along the opposing route to Frisco.
Night soon fell, and I was alone in the desert many miles from the scarcely traveled road between Frisco and Shady Sands, so I was clearly on my own. At night, I endured the cold winds without a fire due to rumors of the region being a taboo for travelers. I made my log of all the locations I saw and scribbled messages into my notepad in order to have something to give to McNeil. As I drifted into sleep, I kept wondering exactly what Detective Paul and the Captain hoped I would uncover by seeking out the old base.
I awoke in the middle of the night or early morning to a rabid dust storm that hit me unlike anything I ever experienced. All I had was my pack and the sleeping bag I was wrapped in, but I had to hold a scarf over my face in order to even breath as the winds whipped all around me. Thankfully, I had the sense to put my papers and notes back in my pack before I passed out, so I simply held onto my bag and endured the force of the storm for a long time till the storm could pass. Wide awake and trying not to suffocate in the hurricane of sands, I wormed my way over to a nearby boulder to block the storm as it moved eastward. Not long after I managed to conceal myself, I inadvertently passed out again.
When I awoke again, I was greeted by the light of a morning sun shrouded in dust from the east moving storm. I quickly took inventory to see if I lost anything, but was happy to only see my legs buried in sand. I gathered myself and immediately readied for departure to the north again, unable to see the road I'd traveled the day before. When I brushed all the dirt off of myself, I stood up and saw many figures walking in a line far to the west. The figures were small, but there were a lot of them, and I wondered if they were an exploratory caravan but couldn't explain why they'd be moving south from the northern mountains. Pulling up my scoped rifle, I aimed at the train for a better look; what I saw were not people. The train was still too distant to make out any details, but far to the west were about 10-15 large greenish humanoids dressed in black attire. I immediately reflected back to the giant super mutant following that Chosen One guy and remembered the devastation they caused. Sure enough, the assumed super mutants all held large weapons and slowly continued their way south towards the caravan road. It was then that I wondered if Captain McNeil had me scoping out a hive of those monsters.
At that thought, I considered packing up and heading back, but again; something was different in me. At the beginning of this year, I had no obligations to anybody but myself. As little I knew about my current "mission" my old thoughts of self-preservation were disregarded as I slung my pack over my back, and continued forward. As I walked north, I reflected upon everything that I experienced and tried to pinpoint exactly where I changed from selfish scavenger/squatter to driven asset to a country that locked me up upon arrival.
Hours later, I reached it. I reached the target I was supposed to scout out for Detective Paul of the NCR Covert Operation Group, and Captain McNeil of the NCR Armed Forces Intel Community. The midday sun was looking straight down at me, still faintly blanketed by the previous night's dust storm. I wasn't quite sure what I was staring at. The "Sierra Army Depot" that killed my guard friends was a large and open facility with hundreds of decrepit military vehicles and artillery pieces half buried in the sand. This place was something else. Nestled into the foot of the northern mountains was a large concrete facility built into the rocks. Before the entrance was a decaying chain-link barbed wire fence and numerous uninhabited tents laying just before the gate. Remembering the long train of mutated warriors I saw a few hours earlier, I approached the facility ever more cautious.