Achilles swept into the room, Cass beside him. Calmly, he lowered the 9mm submachine gun to his side as he walked toward the man slumped in front of them; Cass slowly moving forward next to him, shotgun at the ready, scanning for any more Chairmen that may be hiding in the room. Achilles stopped walking as he reached where Benny now sat; back to the wall, head lolling as blood stained the front of his suit. Cass's shotgun had caught him in the abdomen; with a short burst from Achilles' weapon slamming into his upper torso. The force of the shotgun blast had thrown Benny back against the wall, his blood streaking down it to where he now sat, desperately trying to maintain a hold on his consciousness. On some level, Benny had to know that the next time he lost consciousness would be the end of his life; and the erstwhile head of the Chairmen was nothing if not a relentless survivor.
"We're clear," Cass said, lowering her shotgun and turning to face Achilles. Traveling with the stranger had seemed better than sitting around drinking at the Mojave Outpost where she had been stranded by the NCR closing travel on the Long 15; but the man had said nothing about storming across the Mojave hunting down the people he claimed had tried to kill him. She and Boone, the other member of their party, had been run into exhaustion trying to keep up with the former Courier. Now that they had reached New Vegas she was only looking forward to getting a drink and, she hoped, the chance to sleep.
"Alright," he replied. "Mind giving me a minute alone in here so I can finish things?" Cass nodded at him in response; having no desire to see how Achilles planned on ending things with Benny after seeing what he had done outside Boulder City to Jessup and the other Great Khans.
"I'll be waiting with Boone in the hallway," she responded, turning and striding from the room. Gods, she knows how to move, he thought to himself, appreciatively watching her leave before turning to look at the dying man at his feet. His eyes alit upon the very distinctive handgun that Benny had tried to draw as he and Cass had raised their weapons on him. Achilles remembered looking down the barrel of the weapon, the night that Benny had tried to kill him. Dropping into a crouch at Benny's feet, he picked the handgun up; turning it over appreciatively in his hands as he did. The polished nickel pistol appeared to be a 9mm, with a pearl inlaid grip; a woman's portrait painted on the pearl. Ivy and floral patterns traced their way up the silver barrel of the weapon. Rather ostentatious for Achilles' tastes; but it was in unquestionably better condition than the 9mm that he carried, the one that Mitchell had given to him back in Goodsprings after he regained consciousness.
"This is the pistol you shot me with, right?" he asked, catching Benny by surprise.
"Yeah…" the dying man rasped back, blood forming a thin trickle from his mouth as he did.
"I don't blame you for it, so you know. If I had been in your position I'd have done the same," Achilles responded. "You just happened to fuck with the wrong guy. I'm not even mad. But I made a promise, you see," he continued, voice dropping to a whisper as he looked at Benny. "I promised the Red King that I'd kill you and everyone you ambushed me with if he protected me when you shot me. He did, and here we are. Don't worry, though. I don't plan on drawing out your death. You're lucky, really. Jessup and his crew died screaming," he rambled on, his words making little sense to Benny. The only thing that made sense to Benny was the smile plastered across Achilles' face as he looked at him; the same kind he'd seen on people who'd taken too much Jet for their own good. Still smiling, Achilles reached inside Benny's suit, pulling the Platinum Chip from where he had it stored in a pocket, holding it up between the two of them and turning it in his fingers.
"You hold the cards now, kid…" Benny faintly whispered, looking to Achilles from where his head now rested on his chest; his breathing growing increasingly shallow.
"You know House is paying me 1,000 caps to deliver this thing to him? I can't remember off the top of my head how much the original delivery fee was, but it wasn't that high. Side effect of being shot in the head, you see," Achilles replied, pulling off the maroon beret worn by members of the NCR's 1st Recon as he did; revealing a series of scars on the left side of his head. Benny's eyes widened slightly at the sight. "This I am mad about, Benny," Achilles continued, pointing to the circular scars that had formed where he had been shot; still bright pink and puckered looking. The man's head had obviously been shaved after being shot; Benny remembering him having long hair that fell passed his chin. "You fucked up my good looks," Achilles stated with an air of finality.
"Sorry…" Benny weakly replied. His life was beginning to slip away quickly now, Achilles knew.
"It's alright. You know, in a way you did me a favor. Those bullets kind of scrambled my memory. That and the fever that took me while I was recovering in Goodsprings and my past is a jumble now. I remember strange things, like people on crosses and a city exploding around me…I think that was the Battle of Hoover Dam," Achilles explained, smiling at Benny again. "Boone was there too, he and I have swapped some war stories. But shh!" he continued, holding up his finger to his lip as if shushing Benny, who had made no noise. "Boone doesn't know, but I was in the Legion. I remember wearing red armor and taking the head off an NCR trooper with a machete there," he said, his voice dropped to a dramatic whisper.
"Just fucking end it, kid," Benny replied weakly, imploring the Courier to put him out of his misery. Achilles silently looked at him for a moment before nodding in acquiescence.
"Really, you are quite lucky. In my past life I would have had you crucified. Just know that the ending of your pain here is only the beginning of your torment. An eternity of suffering awaits you in the afterlife at the hands of the Red King," Achilles said, standing back up as he did. Placing the 1st Recon beret back on his head, Achilles pulled back the slide on Benny's pistol, chambering a round in it. Benny mustered the last of his strength to look up at the man he had tried to kill. He may have been many things, but he was no coward. He would meet his death with his eyes open. Taking a step back, Achilles trained the handgun on the middle of Benny's forehead. "Vale, Benny," he said, before pulling the trigger. The sound of the weapon echoed through the room, the wall Benny was leaned against splattered with bone fragments and his brains as they emptied out the back of his ruined skull; the corpse slipping onto its side as the life escaped it. Achilles looked at his dead enemy, a feeling of finality overcoming him. Holstering the pistol, he lifted his palms into the air, eyes closed and head bowed as he prayed.
Mars, hear me. I sacrifice this man's life to you, in repayment of the gift that you granted me. Accept this sacrifice and I will conquer in your name; I will vanquish every enemy placed in front of me and offer you their blood and their souls.
Finishing his prayer, Achilles dropped his hands back to his side; sparing a moment to look at the dead man one last time. A distinct smell had filled the room, the smell of Benny's bowels having voided in death. Grimacing in disgust, Achilles turned and walked from the room; finding Cass and Boone waiting at the end of the hallway. They turned to face him as he approached; the smile on his face at odds with the blood that had sprayed onto the front of his black, leather armor. Cass looked vaguely dismayed at his expression; while Boone, as ever, betrayed no emotion.
"It's done," Achilles said, leading the way as his two companions fell in behind him. "Let's get back to the Lucky 38. I think we could all use a break after this," he finished. Boone merely grunted, while Cass snickered.
"Yeah, you could say that. I need a God damn drink," she responded, the elevator doors closing as she spoke.
"The Lucky 38 has a well-stocked bar, Cass. Mr. House has been most generous in his accommodations," Achilles replied. I shall have to be sure to repay his…generosity, the former frumentarius thought.
Goodsprings has fended off a mob of escaped convicts after organizing an impromptu militia…
Primm formally swore in a new sheriff today…
Several unidentified aircraft were spotted flying over the REPCONN test site…
A hostage crisis between the NCR and the Great Khans was resolved peacefully…
With every news update that Mr. New Vegas aired, Smith became more convinced that someone else like them; someone in the beginning stages of their own transformation into a legend, was at large in the Mojave. John, for his part, had simply welcomed the news segments as further information about where they were heading; giving him insight into the daily happenings in the Mojave Wasteland. After four months on the road, the last two days of their trip to New Vegas had passed excruciatingly slowly; the lights of New Vegas and eventually the sight of a tower soaring into the sky serving as a beacon; reminding the caravan how close and yet very far away they still were to their final destination. They had arrived, though, and John looked around the lot of the Crimson Caravans yard, Bonzo having left to speak to Alice McLafferty, the recently appointed head of Crimson Caravans in the Mojave. For the first time in years, John had put on power armor; drawing stares and sideways looks from those around him. With the power armor donned, he had been able to walk alongside the caravan and help unload it; the armor's hydraulics compensating for his damaged knee. Bonzo returned with McLafferty as he, Smith, Fawkes, and Gale finished unloading the caravan; their contracts in hand. Bonzo and Smith had talked the Crimson Caravan office in Kansas City into giving Gale a contract, ensuring her some sort of payment when they reached New Vegas.
"Let's see what we have here…" McLafferty began, looking over the merchandise. John noticed the way her eyes lingered on his power armor as well; Smith having explained to him that Crimson Caravans had deep roots in the NCR and the war the NCR had fought with the Brotherhood; the only faction in the region that remained and wore power armor following the destruction of the Enclave. Finishing her count, McLafferty beckoned them to follow her into the office to receive payment.
"Bonzo, Smith; 2,500 caps a piece," she began, sliding purses filled with caps toward the two men. "Fawkes, Thompson; 2,000 a piece," she continued, looking at John and Fawkes as she handed them their payment. "And Ms. Campbell…1,000 caps," she concluded, handing Gale her money. Gale's contract had been an entry level one; the only kind Smith and Bonzo had been able to secure, carrying with it a significantly less pay guarantee. Gale, for her part, didn't complain; between the money John had given her in Kansas City and this she had more than enough to enter the Strip. Bidding farewell to McLafferty, the group left the office; assembling in a circle outside as they did. It was evening, and in the background the lights of New Vegas were coming on, shining their light across the land and into the sky in a way both John and Gale had never seen before.
"So what's our next move?" John asked, deferring to the more experienced members of the party.
"We get a place to stay first, on the Strip. The Followers of the Apocalypse are based at the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside, so tomorrow morning we can go over there and get you checked out," Bonzo replied.
"What're the places to stay?" Gale asked, eyes looking at the skyline of New Vegas with excitement.
"There's the Tops, the Ultra-Luxe, and the Gomorrah as far as casinos go. There's also Vault 21, which is a bit cheaper but isn't as nice as the big resorts," Bonzo explained. John perked up at the mention of the Vault.
"What's the deal with Vault 21?" he asked, drawing a sigh and an eye roll from Bonzo as Smith suppressed a laugh.
"It was a Vault, like the one you grew up in. Except when House came out and started rebuilding the Strip, he won control of the Vault in a blackjack game and forced everyone out. The lady who runs it now convinced him to keep it open as a hotel, so that's what it is."
"A Vault hotel?" John asked, already disliking House for having taken over the Vault. Twisted societal experiments or not, John couldn't help but sympathize with those who had grown up in Vaults and knew nothing of the outside; their naïveté regarding the Wasteland triggering his instinct to protect them.
"Yeah, like I said, it's cheap but low end. I'd recommend the Tops; the Gomorrah is run by a bunch of two-bit thugs and the Ultra-Luxe gives me the fuckin' creeps," Bonzo responded.
"If it's all the same, I think I'd like to go check out Vault 21," John responded. There was a moment of silence as Bonzo stared at him in disbelief; a smirk playing across Smith's face as he waited for Bonzo to explode.
"Seriously kid? You spend 19 years growing up in a Vault, travel across the Wasteland to New Vegas, and the first thing you want to do is go back down into a Vault?" he asked, still incredulous. John felt his cheeks burn slightly at that line of questioning, shrugging in response to it.
"I guess?" he replied, drawing another frustrated look from Bonzo. Gale spoke up on John's behalf.
"I wouldn't mind seeing what the inside of a Vault is like," she said, Bonzo staring at her in outrage.
"What it's like?! Dark and cramped. There, now you know, and I just saved you some money," Bonzo replied, his voice rising as he did. Seeing the looks of determination on John's and Gale's faces, he threw his hands up in the air. "You know what? Fine. You two go have a lovely little Vault adventure. The rest of us are going to be at the Tops. When you get checked in and settled into a room, meet us there," he said, before turning and taking off towards the exit of the Crimson Caravan's compound. Smith and Fawkes remained, looking at John and Gale.
"So you can take the kid out of the Vault, but not the Vault out of the kid; huh John?" Smith began, chuckling. "I'd recommend taking off that armor, though. There's NCR MPs down by Vault 21; you're in for trouble if they see Brotherhood power armor," he explained. John nodded at him, grateful for the warning.
"Mind helping me get out of this thing?" he asked, Smith moving to begin removing the plates of armor from John's body. The two men became the subject of finger pointing and whispers as John stripped out of the armor and down to his underwear, before redressing in clothes more appropriate for civilian wear. After storing the power armor in the trunk he and Smith had loaded in New Reno, he turned to face Fawkes and the Chosen One.
"Meet you guys at the Tops in a bit?" he asked.
"Yeah, we'll probably be in the Aces Theater. The Tops is at the other end of the Strip from Vault 21, you can't miss the sign," Smith replied. Satisfied that he'd be able to find his companions, he grabbed the bag he had packed in the Capital Wasteland and set off with Gale toward Freeside and the entrance to the New Vegas strip.
Clover watched the Brotherhood patrol from where she lay in wait, hand resting on the detonator for the improvised explosive device she had planted along their patrol route. She had spent the week observing the Brotherhood, taking note of their patrol routes, the times of their patrols, the normal amount of Knights on a patrol and the time it took for reinforcements to arrive in support of their comrades when they made contact. There had only been three firefights she had witnessed that week between the Brotherhood and the raiders in the area; most of the raiders opting to hide rather than attempt to shoot it out with the better armed Knights. Only one firefight had seemed difficult for the Brotherhood; and as Clover watched, she realized what the cause of their difficulties was. She estimated, watching the movements of the Brotherhood squad in the firefight, that at least half of the patrol consisted of more inexperienced junior Knights who had not been in the Brotherhood at the height of the war and lacked actual combat experience. It seemed to her that they had partnered experienced Knights and Paladins with newer members of the Brotherhood to give them on the job training, as it were. This would be of benefit to her, she knew; the hesitation of the inexperienced soldiers providing all the delay she would need after springing the trap she had prepared.
Clover looked down through the scope of her rifle, perched in a blasted out window on the second floor of a ruined apartment complex; the stealth field of her apparel making her invisible in the shadows. Below lay the kill zone she had prepared; an IED composed of a fusion battery salvaged from a car's engine strapped to a block of C4 waiting under a shallow layer of debris along the Brotherhood's patrol route. It was a simplistic design; one the Wanderer had taught her to improvise based on the availability of materials. There were a reasonably large number of fusion batteries that were still functional in the wreckage of many of the cars in the area, and the design of them was inherently unstable. They were prone to overloading and exploding after sustaining damage; she had seen it happen several times from stray gunfire during firefights alongside the Lone Wanderer. The force of the C4 going off would destabilize the reactor and resulted in an explosion comparable to that of a Mini-Nuke, killing everything in the immediate vicinity of the blast and releasing a brief spike of radiation. Looking down the street from her kill zone, she spied the Brotherhood patrol approaching; the same time as they did every night. They've gotten sloppy since the war ended. Victory has defeated them, she thought to herself, the anticipation of the killing she was about to do building. Sliding back the charging handle on her rifle and chambering a round, she rested the rifle on the windowsill for added support while waiting for the Brotherhood to enter the kill zone. The Knights advanced in a loose formation; albeit one that was still rather tight due to the narrow street they found themselves upon. She waited, impatiently, as the main body of the patrol entered the blast radius of the explosion before depressing the detonator in her hand; the response, a moment later, being a blinding flash of light and an explosion that sent no less than four of the Knights into the air, missing limbs as they were caught in the explosion. She swiveled her rifle, spotting a Knight at the rear of the formation attempting to regain his footing, and opened fire; the burst from it tearing through the weakened armor and cutting the Knight down. Bullets began impacting the façade of the building around her; the two knights at the front of the formation having seen the distinct muzzle flash of her rifle and opened fire on the building. Sinking back into the building, she ran down the hallway she was in; drawing her shocksword as she leapt through the window at the end of the hallway.
Her stealth field had served her well as she rolled with the impact of her landing; the Knights unaware that she had escaped their fire and had outflanked them. Clover knew she had to act quickly; in all the firefights she had witnessed that week it had never taken more than five minutes for reinforcements to arrive from the outpost the Brotherhood had established. Racing forward, she came around behind the Knight that had been walking point and brought her shocksword down on the weaker armor around his neck; cleaving through it and severing his spinal cord. The lone surviving Knight turned toward the shadow that had just killed his comrade; Clover noticing the sigil of the Lyons Pride on his armor as she swung her sword down in an arc. The blow landed squarely on the chest plate of the armor and discharged an electric current through the armor; paralyzing the Knight as his body went rigid and he fell to the ground. Seizing on her opportunity, Clover leapt forward; turning her sword downward as she did and driving all her weight into it as it pierced through the chest plate of the Knight's armor and punched through his sternum. The electricity on the sword discharged again; the shock stopping the beating of the man's heart. Pulling her sword from his body, Clover swung it in an arc; wicking the blood off of it and splattering it on the gray pavement before she sheathed it in one smooth motion. Dropping into a crouch over the man's body she listened; the wind whistling through the canyons of the ruins, carrying with it the shouts of the Brotherhood reinforcements approaching in the distance. Without so much as a backwards glance Clover turned and fled into the night, heading for one of the safe houses she had established in the ruins over the course of the week.
Freeside was a slum the likes of which John had never seen; and he had been in some serious shitholes in his day. He and Gale made their way through the streets quickly, his hand never far from his where his pistol rested on his hip as they made their way to the north entrance of the Strip. In his peripheral vision he could tell some of the people on the streets were eyeing him and Gale; trying to determine if the outsiders would be easy marks. The assault rifle Gale held at the low ready, mixed with John's apparent readiness to draw his sidearm, deterred any would-be assailants as they rounded the corner and began to make their way down the road that led to the Strip. In the distance John could see a large, multicolored gate with a high fence and wall running alongside it; the entry control point to the Strip, neon letters flashing across the top of it, welcoming them to New Vegas. As they approached, Frank Sinatra's unmistakable voice began to croon out from his Pip-Boy; set to Radio New Vegas. The song slowly built up as they approached; John recognizing the tune as he reached the massive robot that guarded the entrance, a make of robot that he had never before seen.
"Submit to a credit check or present your passport before proceeding to the gate. Trespassers will be shot," the robot said; in a voice unlike any John had heard from a machine before. Reaching into his bag, he pulled forth the lockbox containing his caps, presenting it to the robot.
"Here you go," he said in reply to the robot's demand. The robot paused for a moment before offering the box back to John.
"Thank you, sir. You may proceed," it replied. John returned the lockbox to his bag and walked past the robot, turning to watch as it repeated the process with Gale. Her credit check approved, she rejoined him; walking toward the gate as the brass section of the band on his radio came alive, blaring their noise out into the neon-soaked evening. As the gate swung open before them, bringing the Strip into view in all its glory, Frank Sinatra began belting out the tune.
Luck, be a lady tonight!
Looking at Gale with amazement in his eyes, he smiled quickly; before stepping through the gate and into New Vegas with her. He hoped that, as Sinatra sang, luck would be a lady to him over the coming days.
Emily had known that going to the Four-Horned Bull would be a mistake; and yet she had been unable to turn down the invite from Julie Moore when she had asked her to come out with their other friends. As soon as they had walked through the door her eyes had gone to the bar, to the seat that Achilles had sat in the night she met him, all those months ago; as if hoping that everything that had happened in the previous month would be proven to be a huge misunderstanding and he would be waiting there for her, smile on his face the way it always had been. She had begun pounding through the drinks as the night went along; her eyes continuing to go to the bar and her mind going back to that hot summer night. You promised me. You promised me you'd come home. That you'd made that run 100 times before and always been fine. Her thoughts kept being drawn away, yelling at Achilles in her head as she remembered everything; allowed herself to properly feel for the first time in a month. Aside from the day that she'd received the news she'd not allowed herself to cry; attempting to force the thoughts from her mind by burying herself in her work. Julie and Dan Parker had attempted to encourage her to grieve normally, to consider talking to a counselor; but she had met them with refusal. For the first time in 19 years she remembered her Brotherhood training; grateful for it as she remembered how she had learned to compartmentalize pain and loss, to put it away somewhere so that she could remain functional. The alcohol was breaking down those doors; and as the night progressed she became more detached from the conversation and her friends, her mind finally processing everything that had happened. Julie continued to glance her way as the night went along, her concern mounting; until finally, seeing a single, silent tear rolling down Emily's cheek, she excused herself and escorted her friend out into the night to walk her home.
"You can't keep all of this bottled up, Emily. I know you loved him, and I don't think Achilles would have wanted you to hurt so badly," Julie said.
"Cause you knew him so well, right Jules?" Emily replied, the alcohol making her snider than she'd normally be to her friend.
"Of course not, Em. But from when I did meet him he seemed like he really loved you. And I think he'd want you to be happy," she said, putting an arm around Emily's shoulder as she did. Emily leaned into it, letting her friend help support her as they made their way back to the Followers' facility.
"I think I just need to get out of here, Julie. This entire place is…haunted now," Emily said as she opened the door to her room; kicking her shoes off as she entered before collapsing face down on her bed. A moment later, as Julie looked on, Emily's body began to shake; the sobs muffled by her pillow. Julie's heart sank watching it. Emily was one of her best friends; one of the only people in the Followers who knew that Emily had grown up in the Brotherhood of Steel. Wordlessly, she made her way to the bed and sat alongside her friend, running her hand over Emily's hair as she tried to ease her friend's heartache.
Liam McPherson led his quick reaction force to where the ambushed patrol had said they were encountering enemy fire. The entire message had been garbled, the sounds of gunfire in the background clear over the line; and before Sarah had to say anything he had stormed out of their compound with the squad he'd been detailed too, racing to help his comrades. As they approached he could see they were too late. There was a huge crater in the middle of the road; and strewn around it were the bodies of the seven Knights who had been on the patrol. He scanned the bodies, desperately trying to find Knight Roberts; the most junior member of the Lyons Pride and the only one to have not been in the Brotherhood during the war. He had been a promising soldier and excelled throughout his basic training as an Initiate, eventually being recommended to Sarah for the Lyons Pride by no less than Star Paladin Gunny himself. Liam had taken Roberts under his wing once he got over his resistance to a Wastelander in his squad; trying to mentor the younger man and make him true-blue Brotherhood, as the old saying went. At the front of where the ambush had occurred, he spotted his friend; the sigil of the Lyons Pride emblazoned on his armor, the body lying motionless on its back. He approached it quickly; kneeling down next to it as the QRF that he had led fanned out and began checking for any signs of life. McPherson was surprised, looking at Roberts' body, that there was only one visible wound; a puncture wound that went through his chest plate. God dammit, he swore to himself; rising back to his considerable height and turning to face the rest of the squad.
"Anything?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nothing, sir. They're all dead," one of the men responded. Nodding at him, McPherson turned and opened a radio channel to the command post.
"Pride 6, this is QRF, do you copy?" he queried.
"QRF, this is Pride 6. What'd you got, McPherson?" Sarah's voice replied. Normally the sound of her voice lifted his spirits; but the sight he beheld before him negated that. This had obviously been a well-coordinated and overwhelming attack on the Brotherhood.
"We were too late, Sarah. They're all dead, Roberts included," he responded; dropping his radio discipline as he spoke. There was a moment of silence on the line before she responded.
"How is that possible?" she asked, the shock evident over the radio.
"It looks like it was well coordinated. Someone set up an ambush; set off an explosion and then finished off the survivors," he replied.
"Any signs of what kind of explosives were used?" she asked, suppressing her grief at the loss of comrades and attempting to glean any sort of information that could save lives in the future.
"Best guess, going by the size of the crater and how badly damaged some of the bodies are? Looks almost like they got hit by a Fat Man," he replied. "I'll brief you when I get back to the CP. We need a CASEVAC right now for the bodies."
"Roger, McPherson. I'll get on the line with the Citadel and send up a report. I'll let you know when the CASEVAC is en route. Out," she responded, the line closing as she did. Turning back to the squad, McPherson resumed his command presence; suppressing the anger and sadness he felt and locking it away, the way that he had been trained to.
"Start getting the bodies together. Our casualty collection point is going to be here. CASEVAC is inbound," he said; the Knights under his command responding by beginning to collect the bodies of their fallen brothers.
Achilles sat alone at the dining room table, turning over the Mark of Caesar in his hands. No less than Vulpes Inculta himself had given it to him, as he had exited the Tops after killing Benny. He had never met Vulpes before, and had only known him by reputation; but if Vulpes was to be believed Caesar himself had taken note of the frantic trek across the desert Achilles had undertaken in the pursuit of vengeance. Sighing to himself, he places the Mark around his neck, tucking it inside his armor before rising to his feet. Cass and Boone had both gone back to the Tops to get a drink and relax in the Aces Theater; and he couldn't begrudge them that. He knew, on a logical level, that the past week or two had been extremely hard on them. They had slept little, stopped only when absolutely necessary, and essentially blasted their way across the Mojave on the way to New Vegas. It was only right that he give them some time to relax as he pondered his next move. He had been informed, entering the Strip, that the NCR's ambassador wanted to meet with him; and he had figured that would be a good place to start the evening, if only for a laugh. He would welcome anything to take away from the burning rage he still felt at Benny for stealing from him. Not so much the Platinum Chip; Achilles had no particular attachment to that trinket, but rather to the life that was taken from him. While he was unconscious in Goodsprings, and in his dreams over the course of the weeks he had been awake, a face had come to him. A woman's face, distant and yet familiar; and yet he had no name for it, no recollection of who it was other than that the face was important to him. The same was true for other aspects of his life. He knew he was a Legionary; he remembered aspects of his training, battles and raids he had participated in. But the details of it were lost to him, as were the emotions associated with it. Had he liked being a Legionary? Did he feel loyal to Caesar? He couldn't remember, and it drove him mad. He hoped that visiting Fortification Hill and meeting Caesar would at the least refresh his memory; perhaps cause a connection to be formed between memories that were lost to him and the present. Heading for the elevator, Achilles pushed the thoughts from his mind; focusing instead on what was immediately in front of him. Meet Crocker, the NCR ambassador, and then join Cass and Boone at the Tops. Everything else would wait.
Entering the visitor center of Vault 21, it took a moment for John's eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Sitting behind a desk, wearing what was immediately recognizable as a Vault suit, was a pretty blonde woman. Looking up at the visitors that had entered her hotel, the woman spoke.
"Hi there! I'm Sarah, Sarah Weintraub, welcome to Vault 21! What can I do for you?" she asked in a welcoming voice; stepping out from behind her desk as she did. John took the woman in as she approached; with it occurring to him, not for the first time, that Vault-Tec had perhaps designed the Vault suits for aesthetics rather than practicality. He had yet to see one that didn't hug the wearer's frame; Amata's had always shown exactly how well shaped she was.
"I heard this was a hotel now and just wanted to check it out," John replied, extending his hand to the woman. "I'm from a Vault too, but I haven't been back in years," he explained as she shook his hand. Sarah's eyes lit up at his explanation.
"Oh, no way! What Vault are you from?" she excitedly asked, the Pip-Boy on his forearm verifying the story he had told.
"I'm from Vault 101; it's a Vault that was built right outside of Washington, D.C.," he explained, smiling at his fellow Vaultie as he did.
"Wow! So what brings you all the way out here from there?" she asked.
"Well, D.C. is kind of a mess after the war; so I came out here after my friend told me about it," he began, giving her the most cursory explanation he could think of. "But my friend and I need a place to stay tonight. Do you have any rooms available?" he asked.
"I sure do! Let me just ring you up and you can go drop your stuff off," she replied, making her way to the cash register. One of the beauties of the Vaults was that, regardless of location, he was confident in his ability to find his way around. He needed no tour, no explanation of where anything was; most Vaults that he had been in followed a common design scheme. Handing Sarah the necessary caps for the room, he received a key in return.
"Your room's down in the old living quarters. Everything through there and the atrium is open, but a lot of the corridors are filled in with concrete now," she explained, somewhat apologetically.
"How'd that happen?" he asked.
"When Mr. House won the Vault he wanted to force us all out and fill the Vault with concrete. I nearly went ape on him and convinced him to let me keep the place open as a hotel. But all the lower levels are filled with concrete now," she explained. A brief flash of anger went through John at that explanation.
"He forced all the dwellers out into the Wastes?" he asked; his anger rising at this man's complete disregard for human life. He knew, from experience, that most Vault dwellers had a small chance of surviving the Wasteland.
"Yeah, a lot settled on the Strip or in Freeside. My brother actually lives in the warehouse next store," she replied.
"I see. Well, Sarah, thank you for your help. It's been a long trip though, so we're going to get down to our room. It was great to meet you, though. I always like talking to another Vault dweller," he said, flashing a smile and receiving a slight blush in response. Taking the lead, Gale followed him down into the Vault; her eyes looking around the narrow corridors as they made their way to the room.
"You lived in this small a space for 19 years?" she asked, the surprise in her voice evident.
"Yeah. It's not hard when it's the only thing you know," he replied, sliding the key to their room as they reached it. With a hiss, the door lifted up; revealing a well-furnished, maintained room with two twin beds in it. Secretly, John was relieved by that; he was afraid that Gale would misinterpret things if they had to share a bed. Throwing his bags onto the bed, he turned back to Gale, who had plopped onto the free bed. "Want to get cleaned up and then go meet everyone?" he asked; already feeling slightly claustrophobic being back in a Vault. It was bringing back far more memories than he'd care to face.
"Sure…if I knew where the showers were," she replied, laughing. Gale was still giddy at being in New Vegas. Just escaping Coalseam had been enough for her; she was still having a hard time believing that she, the daughter of a coal miner, had made it out of the valley and into the real world.
"Grab some fresh clothes out of your bag and I'll show you where the showers are," he replied, smiling at her as he did. She felt a brief flash of excitement at his response; before realizing that he hadn't meant they'd shower together. Of course not. He's still hooked on that Vault girl that doesn't deserve him, she thought, following John out into the corridor and towards the women's showers. The conflict inside Gale continued; part of her wanting to respect that he loved someone else, and part of her desperately hoping she could win him over. As they walked, Gale remembered the song that had played when they first entered the Strip. Luck, be a lady with me…
So New Vegas is going to take a few chapters to cover. There's just too damn much going on there and what not to cover in one chapter.
Also, although he's going to factor in a bit while they're in New Vegas, the Courier isn't actually going to be a main character here. His story, the story of New Vegas, is just too much to cover while also trying to tell the story of the Wanderer's journey. I'm actually considering trying to write a novelization of New Vegas which would tell Achilles' full story arc; so if there'd be interest in that, let me here it.
I'm going to try to get this story finished relatively quickly, I want to have it all written and this story completed by September 3rd.
Anyway, thoughts, feedback, let me hear it. Thanks for reading, everyone!