Chapter One: The Prophecy

(June 5th, 2268)

(2:31 pm)

On the bend of the Colorado River, Bullhead City's entirety was a sprawling suburban development with the occasional multistory building here or there. Within the bend of the river itself though, a sizable sand barge crested above the water. Spires of smoke drifted high into the clear blue, carried by a breeze that made the heat more comfortable. Tents formed streets along this mini island, and even more on the bank to its eastern side. These tents, or Gers, as their occupants called them were the homes of the Great Khans. Things had changed since the days of the New Khans.

Descending down the billowing pillars to its smoldering origins, fire pits were set up in order to spit roast the rewards of their daily hunts. Today's meal, an assortment of Gecko and chunks of Bighorner sat skewered, sizzling over the open flames that licked the flesh and charred with every lash. They sat - like all the others pits - unattended. In fact, it appeared as if not a single person was around.

Suddenly, from the east side of the Barge rode two men on horseback, adorned head-to-toe in stitched clothes and tanned studded leathers, Great Khans logo proudly emblazoned on the backs of their vests while helmets masked their identities. The men crossed the waist-high water easily on horseback and onto the sandy island, horses breaking for the center of the encampment.

The largest tent of the camp was soon in sight though hindered by tribals, it easily could fit the small crowd to sleep inside, but they only blocked their entrance. As the two men approached, the horses reared back as if a little disturbed, both catching a hint of something foul. Unnatural. It went ignored as they swiftly disembarked their horses, height was one of the only things you could discern from the men as they strode over to the tent; One stood half a head higher, though that wasn't unusual for him, being among the tallest in all of Bull Head.

The tallest spotted a raven flying overhead, prey caught within its talons and then lost sight of it as he and the shorter one waded through the others. A guard stood outside the entrance, "Sorry Naddok, by the time news broke, they came rushing." The man was ignored, and the shorter man cast open the flap to gain entry. Inside, more clansmen stood crowded and the two men pushed their way to the center. Through the mass, some of the tribewives were crouched and tending to an aged man, an Elder of the Khans. With pale sickly skin, his breath came in short heavy inhales, grayed beard hung in long scraggly knots with cloudy green eyes - unseeing to the outside world - darting this way and that.

This elder . . . had . . . a power, something none of them could explain. He called it 'Glimpsing', glimpses he could see into the past, the present, or even the future. Despite being met with skepticism, no one dared insult the Elder.
Removing their helmets, the men bent down to kneel before the Elder, their facial features close in resemblance, the shorter of the two men - Naddok - had dark cropped hair and light brown eyes, tanned skin from many hours out in the Mojave sun and clean-shave skin stretched over a strong angular jaw. The taller brother - Fergus - differed not only in that he was younger, but also that his features were slightly softer in the cheeks and jaw, not as gaunt and narrow, his hair was lighter with evidence it was starting to recede in the front from his widow's peak, scruff covered his entire jaw and bits of his neck coppery.

"Elder," Naddok started, taking the blind man's frail hand in his own, gently as to not cause further discomfort. They had arrived as fast as their horses could carry them after a runner had found them at their main village.

Fergus was quick to dismiss everyone except for the tribewives, who looked after the Elder. Visions from the Elder were rare, and often vague, sometimes not even having to deal with them, detailing events that were to come. The only problem was the timeline. . . or who was even involved. He wondered what it would be this time, often he had his doubts, but they were never enough to convince him he shouldn't heed the Elder's counsel.

"Naddok," he managed with a strained, raspy voice, "I-I see. . . A great two-headed Bear, its form dwarfing the tallest of the Rockies, claws sinking into all it can reach. One head, cast low, fixed upon its conquests with snarling teeth and the other hungry for the horizon. . . Far below, a young boy stands witness to the destruction beside me. . . and in his eyes, I can see his course...," he inhaled deeply, suddenly with eyes wide, startling some of the maidens listening too closely. "T-this boy. . . He will depart all he knows, driven by an outside force. His journey will. . . will be a long one, and he shall know no home for many a year, he will know m-many an ambition. . . with plenty of failure in between. A hard life." As he continued, his breathing became more labored, showing the mental drain on the old-timer, yet he pushed on, "He will attain skills that put him above his peers, find loyal comrades, and suffer many hard lessons. His journey will g-grant him wisdoms known only to a lucky few."

Coughing hard, the man freed his hand from Naddok to cup his open maw, interrupting his vision. Once he removed his hand, glistening the palm was the crimson of his blood. The images that flashed through his mind's eye blurred as he lost some focus; the images were too fast to make out everything, he could only understand bits and pieces.
"Elder, you should rest," Fergus advised. The Elder grew weaker every new moon, and these visions were of no help.

"No Fergus, not yet I'm afraid," the Elder paused to collect himself, one of the women cleaned his palm with a scrap rag, but as he continued it was clear the strain was beginning to take its toll. "And upon his return, a warrior. . . grew before my eyes, through his trials and tests. . . h-he will come to determine the fate of the Khan peoples across the Mojave. The Bear above retreats, stung by a Bull from the eastern lands. The Bull sizes up - seeking to gore the Bear - its hoof hovering high, shadowing us within its looming presence. . . The Bull lunges and the hoof descends, the Warrior's eyes shine ready. . . he is ready."

The Elder coughed hard again and fell into unconsciousness, the tribe-wives all fell into a fit of panic, but Naddok's gaze remained glued to the Elder, his face pensive. . . This couldn't be true, one of their own, a boy no less. Even then, who was this child he spoke of? Some of the man's visions had come true, in a sense. And sometimes, he spoke of things happening in places he'd never heard of, doing no more good than an incredible work of fiction for the children, and fueling his brother's paranoia. Never before had a vision been so clear, so evidently about them.

Naddok's attention was stolen when Fergus set a hand to rest on his shoulder. Sighing, he let his frustrations known, "What do you make of this Fergus?" he asked, standing to his full height. His brother was always one of the first to express his doubts, though always in private.

"Honestly?" he asked with a small smile and his hand dropped back to his side. Naddok rolled his eyes and Fergus spoke his mind while leading them both out of the tent, "Honestly, everything he's said goes against everything I know. This whole. . . "Glimpsing" thing he calls it. It's always been beyond me." Fergus stopped just outside the tent, sure his brother would like to keep this between them and the tribewives for now. . . he'd have to go back in and make sure the ladies understood that.

"And that's how I feel-"

"But," Fergus put his hand up to halt his brother, "when it's concerned the tribe, he hasn't been far off. Minor detail or two, and I know that you've realized that yourself. His visions lead us here and have kept us from costly battles. Even I cannot ignore that."

Naddok palmed his face, then started to lumber into the camp, now full of life compared to the deserted encampment they had arrived too. Hunting parties were assembling and packing. Others were back to attending to menial tasks and chores assigned earlier in the week. He watched as the youngest ones were back at play 'Mole Rat' or hide-and-seek. Too young to pull their own weight yet, the idea was to let them enjoy what childhood they could. But when not at play, they were expected to contribute to the well-being of the tribe by helping the tribewives, whatever tasks or chores that entailed.

The adolescent ones fought amongst themselves in mock bouts of 'Super mutant' which was basically King of the Hill. Some days it was Capture the Flag, among other games. Every game involved combat. Being adolescent, or at least ten years old, you were old enough to pull triggers; on animals and in desperate times on enemies, until the day of receiving their patch after the rite. Until then, they would assist the hunters and gatherers when requested, gaining experience in the meantime.

It wasn't long before he noticed his son wasn't among any of them, he hadn't been at the Glade either. He wasn't following that boy again, was he?

Naddok shook his head, things were back to normal, as it should be. "I guess I'm just afraid of what it could all mean, for us, our kinsmen in the north. Things are tough enough with the NCR, they're expanding."

"The NCR will grow bolder every year, yet so does Papa Khan. It can't be helped," Fergus commented, well aware of the growing bouts between his people and the growing nation-state. It'd been that way for years. All his life in-fact. "And I haven't heard you call them 'kinsmen' in a long while."

Naddok sent a short glance to his brother, but continued, "But how long before the NCR turns its attention on Bullhead? If Papa Khan wants to keep raiding the NCR, it'll bring war to us all. Any word on his runner?"

"Only that he should be expected within the next few days. It could be as soon as tomorrow or next week."

"Damn it, Fergus, I'm afraid this war won't be good for us." He confessed, no issue in confiding in his younger brother. The 'Great Bear' could only be one thing, and that was the NCR, the damned thing was printed on all their flags. As for the Bull, that was a new one and he didn't have a clue where to start other than that it would arrive from the east perhaps. All that aside, change was supposedly coming, and it looked as though it may be the bloody kind. Even with these thoughts racking his brain, their feet carried them further from the main ger, his eyes searching for Bren, his son, but the teenage boy was nowhere to be seen, not even his immediate friends. Eventually coming to a stop, he asked, "Say, Fergus, you haven't seen Bren have you?"

Fergus had made it a few more paces before stopping to glance around as well. He sighed, turning up to the croak of a raven as it flew eastward, prey still in its grasp. "Well. . ." he started, looking back at his brother, "I'll give you three guesses."

(Elsewhere)

Roaming in the rubble cluttered streets, a following of Gecko broke from their main throng; medium-sized dark scaled creatures with their prized indigo hides' shining in the afternoon sun, unaware of the predatory gaze scoping out their small congregation from a perch atop the roof of a faded red suburban home one hundred yards down the street. Protruding from the center of the roof was the brick chimney, a pair of pipes sitting at the top, a hungry raven dropping to land onto it. Its beak dug in through the guts and yanked the innards of the rodent, guzzling it down happily. Seemingly poking from the crook where brick met shingle, a small bundle of old brown burlap peeked, torn in strips and frayed at the edges that floated in the soft wind. A blind.

Only a small gap served to provide a clear view of the length of the broken road, leaving the heap of cloth as inconspicuous as possible. No human shape to draw any unwanted attention, a trick he'd learned from Ferguson. The burlap shifted, the sun catching a flash from the lens of the half pair of binoculars. More of a spy-glass, now, but it worked.

A small hand emerged slowly from under the brown wrap to pull it down, revealing the head of a boy with a mop of brown hair, not startling the dark bird. With one squinted eye on the bird, he left it be and continued to survey his quarry through the magnification device. The reptiles were lazing about, most were sunbathing, a few curious others investigating their surroundings. Looking for a juicy radroach, no doubt. One glanced up in his direction, but he knew so long as he remained slow in his motions, he'd be practically invisible from this distance.

The gecko's head twitched in jerky motions, tilting left and right, swiveling side to side in its constant search of food, tongue flicking out to wipe over its right orange-tinted eye.

Its head suddenly perked to its left, frills flaring to attention, its snout pointing into the hole of a collapsed wall of one of the houses lining the street. A couple of rusted cop cars and a toppled delivery truck were lined up in a perimeter around the gap. The noise grew louder, gaining the interest of the other geckos present, two more running over to join their kin.

The boy pulled away from the monocular, his stormy gray eyes gleaming with interest of his own. Even from here, he could hear the clattering echoes emanating from within the break in the wall. 'I wonder what that is,' he thought, returning to peek through the device.

Skittering out from the dark wound into the light of day came a Golden gecko, half a foot taller than the rest, and its hide color giving its namesake. Frills flared in warning, territorial of its abode.

This was interesting, he was told golden geckos needed a regular intake of toxic or radioactive material to become so, the color of their hide the by-product of such a diet, which made it sought after by tradesmen and leather workers. The hide was more resilient and as such, a more valuable trade or bargaining item than their common indigo cousins.

They were normally peaceful creatures, though he knew Golden Geckos to be a little more aggressive, but the whole group would turn hostile once provoked. It would be nice if he could snag that gecko. It would get the others off his back for a while, and at least he'd be able to eat well for a few days. Also, if there was one, then maybe there were more? He could tell Fergus, and then maybe. . .

'No,' the boy shook his head, setting the monocular down. 'I'm getting ahead of myself, no use in stringing myself along.'

Something knocked down some of the old metal trash cans in the backyard of the house he was nested on followed by harsh whispers, startling him with how close the noise had occurred and with how far it carried. The raven above took flight leaving behind the remains of its meal. Eyes widening, he ignored the distraction to turn back to the herd of geckos, but by the time his eyes were back on their position, they had all scurried back to the main herd.

Disappointment washed through his veins, a feeling he was accustomed too. Attaching the half-binocular to the strap across his chest, his eyes narrowed, cutting back to the edge of the roof as he yanked the burlap down like a scarf. Picking himself up into a crouch and stepping closer to the edge, he peered over down into the backyard. His nerves lessened, but only slightly so upon sighting his clansmen, four in fact; he stood to his full height of 5' 4''. He had on a dirty sleeveless army field jacket that hung lower than he liked, and underneath a black sun-faded flannel shirt, his drab green cargo pants, and brown hiker boots were a nice compliment to the outfit. Over his shoulder, a one-strap backpack, three extra pockets fastened onto the strap.

His eyes scanned the arrivals and he recognized each, finally landing on the one that many of the older members called a 'true heir' to Naddok, a boy named Bren. The thing about him though wasn't just the similarities he shared with his father but to himself. It was enough to draw his ire sometimes, or just annoy him on more sedate days.

Bren stood two inches taller than him and was fifteen years old, his status as Naddok's son ensured he was always well fed and was benefited with broad shoulders, built strong, dressed in dark leather Khan vest and chaps with metal plates covering his thighs and arms as armor. He kept his darker brown hair shaved close to the skull with a two-inch mohawk running the length, a hairstyle favored by three of the four Khans. There was one other deviation though, one he was proud of. While his gray eyes were on Bren, that boy's own brown leered back at him.

Jessup and McMurphy were the other two who shared similar haircuts, a caucasian boy of fourteen and the other a darker-skinned boy of fifteen. Both dressed in similar Khan garments, it was a trait shared by everyone present. Jessup was directly below him with an embarrassed smile stretched across his face as he shrugged back at McMurphy. So, Jessup had been the one that knocked down the ladder and frightened away the geckos. McMurphy was only a few paces behind and had a grin of his own, enjoying himself at Jessup's expense.

The last teen was the tallest among them, Chance, and the only one smiling up at him. The eldest at sixteen years old with long blonde hair that reached the middle of his shoulders and blue eyes, his features were heavily 'nordic'; His size and brawny frame meant he was also the strongest out of all of them. Built like a Bighorn, the boy had been described as a Viking from hundreds of years before the Great War, like the pictures from some books Fergus had shown him. He was bare-chested under the dark gecko hide vest he wore; most of the time choosing to go without a shirt due to the scorching heat. Other than that, he wore simple jean shorts, held up by a belt with a sheathed combat knife and brown boots.

Eyes darting back to Bren, and his ire rising, he asked, "Can I help you?" Bren was something of a leader to this merry band of khans, his little gang. So, he pretty much spoke for the rest of them.

Bren crossed his arms over his chest, a small sneer marring his face, "You know, just about everyone hightailed it back to the Barge, right?"

"Yet, here you are. . . ," he said, not giving Bren a straight-up answer. Unless the camp was under attack, it wasn't much of his business. The youngest turned to Chance, "How's it goin' Chance?"

"Good, little man. Thought we'd all go for a hunt. Then, we heard that the Elder was having another vision, it's why everybody took off." The tall blonde responded, then pointed through the building, "Seeing anything interesting?"

"Oh come the fuck on! Why are we sitting here, we don't need him." Jessup cut in. They'd spent an hour going out of their way from their hunting grounds. They were getting closer to the city center. Which meant more wildlife sure, but Bullhead had other creatures that roamed the city interior; Nightstalker and Mongrel packs, Radscorpions, and Ferals to name a few.

Not to mention raider gangs that managed to get by in the middle. And while they weren't likely to be encountered with such a high Khan presence, it wasn't impossible. Most raiders wouldn't think twice about wasting a fledgling group of khans for whatever they owned. Children be damned.

"Come on, you know what we're really doing."

"Chance," Bren interrupted, his voice a low monotone.

"What's the deal? You already agreed, enough already," Chance countered, "One day, he will be riding on a raid with us."

"Personally," McMurphy interjected, "I've got no problem. Chance ain't wrong. Let Petty tag along," he conceded, a little venom lacing the word.

The boy atop the roof cringed, he hated that name. It was the name his father gave him, more of an everlasting insult than a name. His father found it in a dictionary one day, and for whatever reason, the word stuck with him. He'd found it, too.

Petty: Small and insignificant. Naddok must've felt it was a perfect fit.

He preferred the name Nick, though unfortunately for him, not many recognized it as such. Fergus was one of the rare exceptions and he didn't use it often. Still, he couldn't stop the spiteful surge from coursing through him, venting in the one way he knew how, "Fuck you Mac! I don't need whatever crap your pushing. I've got my own score."

McMurphy's smile twisted, and Nick knew the prick was pleased with the predictable rise he got just from a name drop.

Bren scoffed, drawing everyone's attention back to him, "I highly doubt that."

Nick ground his teeth as he tried to reel in his growing anger, this was standard fare shit, and he got dragged in each time. Not this time, "Fuck if I care, I got a Golden Gecko with a .243 round to its name." Walking back to the chimney, Nick grabbed the scoped rifle he had nestled against its rough surface. Moving back to the edge, Nick carefully made the ten-foot drop, hanging from the ledge and landing next to Jessup. He was a rather athletic child for eleven years old, he probably could've gotten up there without the ladder.

'Probably would've kept them from finding me too', he thought.

"Bullshit," Jessup said, not convinced, staring down his nose at the shorter boy. "Where would they get the rads for that?"

"I don't need you to believe me, and I don't care if you don't," he replied evenly. Turning his back to the group, Nick made his way to the front of the house, throwing his hand up to wave bye to Chance before disappearing around the corner.

The soft footfalls of four sets of feet sounding behind him let him know he wouldn't be going alone, "Might as well see if he's bullshittin' or not," he heard McMurphy say, the comment barely drifting to his ears, making him smile. 'Just wait,' he thought in return.

In the front yard, Nick pulled his pack off to dig inside and pulled a journal out and a pen, flipping it open. The first page, a hand-drawn map of their section of Bullhead. They were on the corner of Rio Grande Road and Way, the golden gecko was further down Rio Grande Way. He could still see the destroyed wall, though without his device, the distance looked much greater down on the ground.

A hundred yards in the wasteland might as well be a mile.

Turning back to the group, "Well if you're all serious," he started to gather their attention before they went for with their horses, he pointed to the building down the street. "That's where I saw the lizard. Just don't screw this up on me again." Looking at his map, he determined the throng had thinned out, the majority having left down Del Norte, stragglers bringing up the rear at the opening of the street. They'd circle around again in a month or so, a large almost migratory route that took them down Harbor Drive and past Clear Water Drive, beyond what he's explored.

Bren and the other's had gathered back with their horses, distracted with their bags, Nick moved to the garage door just as he heard Bren ask, "So where's your horse, didn't get it killed did you?"

McMurphy and Jessup's chuckles followed. Instead of rising to the jab, the youngest bent down to slip his fingers underneath the large sliding door. He was sure the rattling of the door raising up on its tracks drew their attention. Inside, his horse neighed, blowing air through its lips in surprise, steadily stepping to its side. Stepping gingerly into the carport, Nick raised his hands high to comfortingly rest on the horse's muzzle. "There, there boy."

Horses were the most common method of travel for Khans; dependable, rugged, and capable of traversing large distances, horses were definitely worth twice their weight in caps. They were a khan's most valuable possession, native only to Bullhead.

His horse was Alban, with a black body and white splotches, a black mane and a white blaze down his face.

Spinning on his heel with a smart-ass grin, "Alban is doing fine," Bren leered at him, backpack in one hand and a 12-gauge shotgun in the other. Jessup was reloading his revolver, a .38 caliber with his own bag resting at his feet. McMurphy didn't seem to care, adjusting his own pack over his shoulder, a black pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Chance only shook his head, blonde locks softly waving with him, an aluminum bat resting over his shoulder; he knew well enough this would continue, regardless of how much he tried to stop it. He decided long ago the best he could do was keep things from going overboard. Otherwise, he wasn't doing jack. Reaching into the dirty blue satchel hanging off him, he found the wrap of dog jerky he'd brought and dug in.

"Bring your horses in here, safer that way."

They didn't argue, and the horses were shut within the safety of the garage. Actually, the trek over to the wall was permeated in silence while they crept close, not that it bothered anybody. This was a hunt after all, but Nick took comfort in the quiet. Finally grouped around the entrance, they peered into where the sun managed to light up the first few feet.

"In here," Jessup asked incredulously, no longer as enthusiastic as moments before, " Bullshit, there's no way a Golden gecko lives here."

Nick cocked his head towards Jessup in minor disdain, pulling ahead of his companions to enter the two-hundred-year-old dwelling. He ignored Chance's uttering for him to use caution, he didn't walk a hundred yards just for Jessup to get skittish.

The closer he got the more intense the musky scent wafting from within got. Well, it definitely smelt like a Gecko's lair. So with his rifle shouldered and at the ready, he took the lead.

Inside, his eyes began to adjust to the low light, allowing him to make out the furniture in the living room he stepped in. The chairs were chewed up and the couch which was turned over was as well, something had been teething on these for a few years. Behind the couch, sitting against the wall was a skeleton dressed in ragged scraps, about chest level above the corpse, the appearance of buckshot and faded blood spatter stained the wall. A coffee table was cracked in two, with table clutter and old magazines filling the break. The floor creaked softly with every step and to his left was the rest of the living room and to his right, an open walkway into the kitchen. A dining table leaned against a kitchen counter that was littered with empty food cans, chairs scattered across the open room, and slumped against that table was another grungy skeleton, bullet holes left behind in the wooden table, more old blood staining the tile floor. It was here he made a discovery. Not only had the wall collapsed, but the kitchen floor had sunk into the earth, leaving a ramp down, and conveniently, a metal door knocked off its hinges to reveal a dark narrow tunnel.

"Great. . . dark, spooky, tight spaces," Nick drew sarcastically, letting his arms droop a little from his firing stance. "Fantastic." He didn't have a flashlight, and as much as he didn't want too, it looked like this time he was going to have to rely on one of the others.

The sudden illumination of the space around him got him to turn up, arm rising to shield his eyes from the cringing blindness.

Bren descended the sloped floor, pointing the beam into Nick's face as he passed. He was followed by Jessup and McMurphy, then Chance who gestured for Nick to get moving.
Bren shined the light on the hinges, "This door had been blown off." Nick could only agree, the door looked just as mangled. "So," Bren started, he passed the light to Jessup in favor of his pump shotgun, "What's the odds this turns out a bullshit run?"

"Lower odds than one of you fucks saying 'bullshit' again," Nick growled lowly from near back of the group, he lurched forward when Chance gave him a shove, "Not you man, you're at least halfway decent! God damn."

The tunnel continued for about thirty feet, Jessup shining the light on a few more skeletons lining the way, some in body armor. Finally, the tunnel opened into one large room, and as the beam flashed from one spot to another, the various contents came into sight; the beam roamed over more skeletons and ammo boxes scattered across the floor while some ruined tables were tossed onto their sides as makeshift barricades. Bullet holes by the dozens dotted the cement walls and splintered tables. "Hey, shine the light on that wall," Bren said, and as Jessup did, everyone saw the crates lined up against it with more tables with components, more ammo boxes and tools, there was even a desk with an active terminal.

And towards the back, yet another wall had collapsed leading into an underground cavern shrouded in darkness.

The major sticking point, however, was that these bodies still had their armaments.

"Holy shit," and the ammo boxes, as Jessup and McMurphy were quick to dive into, did in fact contain more ammunition. "Fuck man, look at all this shit!"

Bren pulled out a spare flashlight, and he, Nick and Chance started piling up the assorted weapons on the floor; four MP5's, a MAC-10, and two AK-47 rifles. It was an impressive haul. As Bren and Chance turned to search around the tables, Nick decided to busy himself with the powered terminal.

Tapping a random key spurred the machine into action, lines of code running down and across the black screen before disappearing beyond the bottom. Setting his rifle against the desk, he took a seat in the green plastic chair to make himself more comfortable.

[Robco Systems]

[Welcome, Mr. Constance]

'Huh,' the computer wasn't password protected. Guess somebody thought it'd never be found. 'What do we have here, Mister Constance.' Pressing the enter key queued up the archives, though honestly, it wasn't much. Generator commands, a bunch of deleted entries, all except for the last three.

Before Nick could delve into the only available entries, the sound of wood breaking brought him back into the room. Turning, Chance was using a crowbar he'd found to wrench open one of the stacked crates, Bren standing by to provide light. With a forceful thrust, he successfully peeled back the lid and the plank of wood clattered loudly as it hit cement.

"Wow," Chance and Bren said together, a little loss for words. That coming from them was enough to pull everyone to their side.

More AK-47's, ten rifles in total.

"'Wow' is god damn right," said McMurphy, picking one up to appraise the weapon, turning it over in his hands. After, he passed it to Jessup, who handled it with awe. "There ain't a speck of rust on that fuckin' thing!"

"We hit the fuckin' mother load," Nick commented after, "You think there's more in the others?"

"I'll admit it. Not a bullshit run, fuck that Gecko, with all this-," Bren stopped, craning his neck as if he heard something, ". . . Anybody else hear that?"

"Hear what? Bro, I don't hear nothing-," the *Click* *Click* *Click* that echoed from the cavern made Jessup clamp shut, and everyone turned back to the cavern.

*Click*

*Click* *Click*

Hissing came soon after! Approaching far too quickly from the cavern, making everyone's hairs stand on end!

"Fuck!" yelled Bren swiveling quick, shotgun ready. When the gecko crested a moment later, golden in color, Bren unloaded a flash of buckshot into its scaly snout killing it on the spot, its body recoiling back down into the darkness in a bloody heap. The blast thundered unbearably, everyone's ears ringing as an effect.

When the sound of dead weight rolled to a halt, not even the ringing could drown out the hissing that began resounding from the dark crevice.

As everyone else drew their weapons, Nick dashed back over to the terminal. Accessing the Generator Commands, he punched in Main Power, only for the screen to flashback in an error code he couldn't even fathom the meaning of, backing out he tried the command to start up the Auxiliary Power.

Another thundering blast, followed by some smaller, but no less unbearable pops from handguns. When the lights above them started flickering to life, Nick grabbed his rifle and scurried back to make his stand among the other four. The room lit up bright, actually causing a brief moment of discomfort. The lights continued into the underground cave, lighting up the three golden geckos rushing to defend their territory.

Taking a knee, Nick scoped in on the gecko in between. As soon as the crosshairs touched the kill zone, he didn't hesitate. Bolt, re-bolt, breathe, he took aim again. This time the furthest, and when the crosshair landed on the creature's cranium, he squeezed the trigger. Two shots in five seconds.

Bren walked a few paces down the ramp, taking his time as he shouldered his shotgun, showing no concern for the advancing lone gecko.

One final blast ended its life. Smoke hung in the air and nobody's ears had stopped ringing yet, and nobody was quite ready to speak either.

Despite all this, Nick was now grinning like a loon. "Hell yeah," this place was a huge find, big enough he didn't care if the others took credit in it, so long as he wasn't forgotten. The gecko hide and meat were bonus points now. Those guns, the ammo, the salvage. . . that stuff was worth a small fortune.

"Ha ha ha, damn!" Jessup yelled, his blood pumping something fierce. That was more than he was expecting out of this trip. Hell, this whole 'underground tunnel to a hidden armory' deal was more than he could've imagined! McMurphy chuckled, patting his friend on the shoulder as they both descended down the slope and started hauling up the fresh carcasses one by one.

"Told you guys! I told you this wasn't no bullshit run," Nick cheered, still ecstatic. McMurphy tossed a hand in the air, calling back half-heartedly, "Yeah, yeah, Kid. You were right, this time."

"A cave, and yet there's another door. How big did they need it. . . I'm going to take a look," said Bren, already making his way down and allowing his friends to pass with the first kill, reloading his shotgun along the way.

"Hey, whoa, I'm going' too," Nick said immediately, only for Chance to grab him by the shoulder to stop him short. "What," he asked while simultaneously being disarmed, Chance slung the rifle over his own shoulder. Pulling out the 9mm he had tucked and then a spare clip, slapping them both into Nick's open palm. "Oh," it was an S&W MP9 Shield.

"Grabbed it off one of the bodies, didn't seem like he needed it anymore," he chuckled, reaching over and ruffling the shorter boy's hair, he pushed off a little to get Nick moving again, "Happy early Twelfth, bud. Now git, he's not waiting. I'll hold onto this for ya," he said, shrugging with his rifle shoulder.

Nick smiled down at the little gift. Granted, he probably would've lifted it sooner or later, it wasn't the gift he was thankful for. Smiling brightly, he sent Chance a mock salute, "Thanks Chance, you're the best!"

Watching Nick run down the ramp and disappear through the doorway to catch up with Bren, Jessup scoffed as he passed Chance, he and McMurphy making their second trip for another body. Chance just ignored him.

As Nick soon found, the door led to another long tunnel, the beaming orb of light ahead showing Bren's progress down the earthen channel. Once he was just a few paces behind, Nick spoke up, "I think this leads to the generator."

"I'd say you're right, the wires along the walls have to connect somewhere," he said, then flashed the beam to the left and right. A fork in the tunnel, one path lit with overhanging ceiling lights, the other a deep, dense, depressing black awaited at the edge of Bren's flashlight, daring anyone curious enough to enter its depths. "Shit. . . well, I can't in good conscience send you down there. That way looks like it leads to the generator. I saw you messing around on that terminal, thought you were going to run out on us." He said, a mocking smile stretching his lips, then turned back, trying to peer into the sea of shadow.

"Auxiliary actually. Main power must be that way, it wouldn't start up." Nick replied, he too, was staring into the black. He knew already Bren wasn't going to leave it alone. They were the same in that regard. He just felt like putting it out there, to get some kind of reaction. Always good to hear someone's intentions.

"I'll go down here, see if I can pop the lights on," he said, shouldering his shotgun, the pump resting against his forearm so that he could hold his flashlight. "If you hear shooting, don't think twice. Make for the exit. But with any luck, it'll just be a chewed up generator." He walked on, until his silhouette in the middle of that field of light vanished around a corner.

Nick looked down at the gun in his hand. He took a deep breath before he walked down the tunnel, taking note of a few bloody handprints along the wall. The tunnel stopped as it led him to a dead-end and one final door. Or, he hoped as much, "Main Power," he read aloud, which didn't make any sense. 'The shit,' his hand clutched the doorknob and gently pushed open the door. Inside sat a silent fusion generator with a lone light that blipped next to an open socket. . . Just strides away, the remains of a rotting body of a scavenger lay, his hand outstretched for the fusion core discarded next to him.

Tucking the gun away, the boy dropped to a crouch and looked over the body, old scratches and bite wounds, and he could distinguish one particularly nasty bite on the cadaver's neck which was probably what killed him, he guessed. The body looked to be a few months old.

Its other arm, it had a device on the wrist, like a bracer, but some kind of technology he hadn't seen before. In its clenched fist laying across its chest was one of those small orange rectangular holotapes; Nick plucked the tape from its death grip. Setting it onto the floor beside him, Nick picked up the limp, though rigor, appendage and felt around for a release for the bracelet. Finding the clasp allowed him to easily undo it and get a better look.

On the corner of the device it read 'Pipboy-3000,' and a slot atop was popped open, like the holotape could be inserted. Other than that, the screen remained black. Giving the device a quick flick along the various dials brought it to life, but did little else. He eyed it briefly before planting it onto his forearm and tried to clasp it tightly, only to find his arm wasn't quite big enough to do so. It was annoying, though rather than get frustrated, he picked the holotape up and pressed it in the slot for it to play.

The unmistakable sound of muffled screams and growls, in between the fast and repetitive bangs beating off the metal door came first, the only noise that came in clear was that of labored breathing, when its owner - a man - began to speak; his voice growing weaker with every word uttered, his life clearly waning.

"Found this place, a fucking treasure trove. Guns, and lots of ammo. Couldn't believe them fucking Khans been sitting on this shit and never even knew!

Guess the joke was on me though, the secondary generator powered up quickly, the main generator was offline, weird that the lights were wired the way they were. Went to check it out, and the door was locked. Pip-boy clicked with radiation, so I knew to be quick.

It was easy picking it open, never thought I'd get jumped by fuckin' feral ghouls once inside.

They got the jump on me, so I ran for the Main Power, shut myself in. But not before I managed to trip on a fusion core running outta the room.

One chomped my neck pretty good, too. It's getting hard just to keep my eyes open, breathing is painful.

I'm going to try and wait 'em out, use the core to get power and hopefully get back to the surface.

But honestly, I don't think I'm getting out of here. Outta this room.

If this is to be my last moments, played on tape. . . and if somebody manages to find this. . . if you ever run into a Frieda. Freida Van Graff, give her this tape.

Or at the very least. . . tell her 'J.D. says she can do better.'"

Nick stood stock still, for the first time today a real sense of fear racing up his spine. His eyes suddenly widened, 'Bren!' he yelled in his head, and as if the universe was in tune, the drum of buckshot blared again in its irregular beat.

The boy grabbed the fusion core, the small battery heavier than it appeared. It slid into its place in the generator, and the rest of the connected power grid fired up as the machine hummed to life. He threw the newly acquired Pipboy into his pack as he raced through the door and down the hall again, listening as Bren continued to touch off the trigger, each one closer. As he rounded the corner at the fork, Bren collided solidly against him, sending them both to the floor in a heap.

Growls and shrieks echoed behind them as Bren glanced back and Nick registered the fear that flashed over his face. Quickly, Bren pushed himself up and with a fist full of jacket, Bren hauled up the younger khan below him too, "GET UP! RUN!" he yelled, not waiting for the boy to follow.

Another shriek, Nick turned to see several ghouls bounding around into view, "Oh shit!" he bolted, running as fast as his legs could stride. Only for one of the ghouls to out leg him, it pounced forward, it's leathery fingers tripping him up at the ankle. Nick just barely caught himself from smashing his face into the ground. Whirling around, he scrambled back on his hands and heels, heart pounding, but the ghoul was faster and practically threw itself on top of him!

Nick leaned back with his heart now in his throat! He planted his heels as best he could in the feral's gut then pushed it off to keep a safe distance. His hands searched for the gun at his waist, grunting as the ghoul tried again, snarling down at him with its arms stretching just out of reach, wishing to dig its fingertips into flesh. Finally slipping the 9mm from his waist, he started squeezing the trigger and the ghoul fell limp in a disfigured, groaning mass.

More ghouls were on their way, another two almost about to overtake him, when a blast sent the feral recoiling back to slump against the wall. Chance lunged forward and clobbered the other across the head with his bat, he back-pedaled and spun on his heel, reaching his sturdy hand down for Nick's hand, yanking him to his feet roughly, and bringing the two face to face, Chance quickly looked him over. Bren, who'd doubled-back just in time, had shown up with the others with weapons at the ready.

Back on his feet, Nick ran down the hall, followed by Chance, Jessup, McMurphy, then Bren who all occasionally fired to keep the ghouls from swarming them. Their mad dash carried them back up the makeshift ramp and into the storeroom. Nick stopped, but the others hadn't stopped there, their goal instead was to get the hell out of the building. Nick fired a few rounds out to cover Bren's retreat until he was up the ramp as well and his gun was empty, and the two continued with the ghouls undeterred.

Through the kitchen and then there was their exit, light shining in like a beacon of deliverance. Breaking through its blinding shell back onto the street, they hit the ground as bursting cracks filled the air. Nick didn't lift his head until the gunfire ended. The pursuing ferals were turned into mince meat, automatic weapons having fired into the gap, exterminating the horde with deadly efficacy.

Some ghouls could be heard gurgling on their blood, but were otherwise no longer a threat. Flipping over onto his back, Nick breathed heavily as his eyes scanned over the pile of massacred ghouls lining the yard from the gap, the threat finally over. From his back, he heard the tell-tale noise of someone dismounting their horse, and looking over his shoulder, he almost wished the ghouls had succeeded. A group of his clansmen, a small party of ten men on horseback, one of whom he saw was Fergus. Chance, Jessup and McMurphy were standing with them, small standing beside such tall creatures.

Naddok was, of course, looking at him with something akin to disappointment, and his stomach sank. He grit his teeth, Nick turned his head away from the older man in defiance favoring the pile of dead ghouls as he got back to his feet like Bren beside him. He told himself this shit was pointless.

As the clan leader walked up to Bren, the other boy started walking over to Fergus.

"So what happened," Naddok began, looking at his son expectantly, "would you like to explain why you were all down there, getting chased by ferals, no less?"

"Yeah, well. . . There's this tunnel. It leads to a room with supplies. Weapons, ammo, some parts and other things." Bren sounded embarrassed, and even bothered, but Nick quickly ignored it, bracing himself for what was to come.

"And you were poking your heads in there to begin with, why?" Bren glanced at Nick's back, but Naddok caught the flicker easily enough. "So, Petty lured you down there."

Bren could see Nick's form come to a still for a passing moment, before finally reaching Ferguson. Nick chose to ignore it too, he'd have to this time. Instead, he turned to address his leader to try and explain himself. "I was hunting a Golden Gecko. They just followed me."

"So you are to blame for risking my son's life?"

Nick flinched, "What? They chose to follow-"

"Enough, did you lead them in there?" Naddok cut him off.

"Well, yeah. But they didn't-"

"I said enough," he said, this time firm in his tone. A tone that warned of consequences to come for his next outburst. "You. Lead them. That is all. How many times have you left to your own desires? How many times have you been told to stay and wait for a hunting party to take you on?"

Nick turned away from the man after that, his head low, fists tightened until his knuckles were drained white, his blood boiling in seething anger. Without even trying, he managed to stumble right back into the same bullshit again. And the worst of it all, was that no matter how angry he got, it could never stamp out the disappointment and sadness that gnawed at his chest.

"Dad, we weren't in any real danger. We're all fine, not a scratch, plus all that gear. It wasn't so bad," Bren tried, in a rare display of sympathy for him to take his side.

Naddok rounded back on his son, eyes narrowed in warning to Bren as well, "I'd advise you to use better judgment in the future. Had we not been here. . ." Not giving his son a chance to respond, he turned to his men and closed the distance to his steed, mounting the horse, he gauged the sun in the clear blue sky. "We'll gather your horses, then ride to camp. We have much to talk about, boy. Higgins, Samuel, Spencer, stay here and get things organized. I'll send more people with a wagon, and be careful."

Just like that it was over. Nick sighed, this day had turned into a shit show, and it started so well, eyes cutting back to Bren in brief jealousy. Fergus leaned down, offering his arm to hoist the young boy up, but had to snap his fingers in front of his face to awaken him from his daze. Fergus had a frown of his own now, though whether that was from sympathy or disappointment, Nick didn't wish to think of it.

Shaking his head back into the present, Nick took the hand and climbed onto the horse to sit behind Fergus. From there, the group continued talking amongst themselves, all except Nick, his face marred by a sad frown. 'It's going to be a long ride,' he thought, before another struck him.

"Ah, shit! My rifle!"

AN:
First Chapter revised and up for consumption: for any who read the original, it may not look like much, but I tried to fix up my grammar and spelling (probably still missed some things) and tried to trim what I thought wasn't really needed. I hope you enjoyed it, and as I've said before, I'd like this story to be an Epic. Sometimes I may go overboard with details and the like, but I feel it adds to the picture I'm trying to paint for you all, though I'll try not to overdo it. (3/7/2020)