Thanks for the reviews! Sorry if her name came off as cheesy. Don't worry, there's a reason for it, and it's not "it sounds cool" or any variation thereof.
II. MANU PROPRIA
I held onto the ranger's neck just long enough to feel the blood drip down it, hot over my fingers. I lowered his body gently to the ground and fished under his shirt for the dog tags. The other corpse was outside, already picked clean of anything worthwhile, which wasn't much, not to me: tags and caps. I had decided to begin a collection of their identifying necklaces, as I planned to kill a great deal of NCR soldiers. This was only the start.
And what a small start it was. Almost unsatisfying, really. I had hoped for more of a challenge at Charlie but only two rangers occupied the station and neither even raised a finger before I dispatched them. I pursed my lips and tapped my foot on the floor, twirling my knife in my hand. Out of boredom and vague curiosity I searched the rooms, looking for nothing in particular. A few more caps in a desk drawer, two cases of ammunition and grenades – useless to me, but worth pawning – and some clothes that could further hide my sex. The long dark scarf could serve as a head wrap or a facemask. Perfect. It was fully on when I heard noise past the ajar door to the outside world. Talking. Approaching troops. Two, maybe three? And they hadn't yet noticed anything amiss, either too far off or too oblivious.
Running out the front door would be a stupid choice, so I opted to use the far desk as cover. The corpses would send the soldiers into a frenzy, and if they were untrained, as most were, their emotions could get the better of them. If I got lucky, they would split up. And then I could strike. Their voices were louder now, and suddenly frantic. So they had spotted the first body, the one I had left by the gate. She had smiled and waved at me but had not turned to watch me walk by, and I couldn't pass up an exposed back. A few swift jabs and she had dropped, gurgling on blood and spit.
I could hear their footsteps now, cautious, by the entrance to the building. Four pairs. I had misjudged. One kicked the door wide open and the sunlight drifted in, and there was a pause before a series of expletives shot out in the air. The rustle of cloth as one crouched by the dead man. More obscenities. But they didn't seem intent on going off one by one as I had hoped. If I jumped out now I'd be dead within seconds. I could pretend, say I was a terrified visitor caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no, that would be lying, and I would never stoop to a lie. I shifted slightly under the desk and felt a weight in my pocket, one of the grenades that I had just acquired. Perhaps they weren't so useless. I pulled the pin and lobbed it over the table, then curled tightly and drew my head between my knees.
I heard the sharp clang as it hit the floor some yards away.
I heard their collective intake of breath.
And then the blast, so loud, and then I could hear nothing else but the ringing in my ears. I straightened myself and peered around the corner of the desk. Dust and bits of various objects and bodies were still settling. I shook my head vigorously in an attempt to mute the high-pitched humming that filled my head but it didn't help. I stood, uneasy on my feet at first before I got my bearings. The explosion hadn't reached me, not behind the solid metal, but it left my hands shaking. I gripped them together to calm them and surveyed the destruction.
Three of the four lay motionless, no longer intact. The fourth was in the next room, likely coughing by the way his head was positioned, but I couldn't hear it. I walked to him and he looked up, fear and pain in his eyes, face and body mangled by shrapnel. His lips moved but the buzzing in my ears drowned out whatever words he spoke. I tilted my head, considering him for a moment, then drew the knife from my belt, bent down, grabbed his collar, and slit his throat. I stood. He died at my feet.
I didn't linger any longer than necessary in the station, only taking the time to pull the dog tags from the new corpses. I didn't want to be caught off guard with my sense of hearing so skewed. I left after wiping my blade on one of their uniforms and made my way to the front gate. Then I paused. What had I forgotten? Oh. I frowned. There was nothing to show that I had done this. Anyone could take credit for it. I had to leave a sign, something to show the Legion. And they would be along soon enough to see it – I had spotted a camp some distance out of Nipton, by an old farm. Writing my name would be ridiculous, especially considering that it was hardly a name at all, more of a title, a placeholder for something my mother never gave me. Nothing in my pack was particularly outstanding for a symbol.
Then it struck me: I would improvise with my own being. I stepped into the building again, the smell of the blast still harsh in the air, and went to the man in the other room. His blood was freshest. I knelt and widened the cut in his neck until there was sufficient redness to coat the whole of my right hand, then returned outside. I pressed my hand to the concrete wall. When I pulled it back, the print glistened a bold, deep red. Soon it would dry into a rusty crimson but the sign would remain. I only hoped they would notice it. They had to.
Knife cleaned and hands washed, I climbed up a rocky hillside near the compound and found a perch to rest on. It was hidden well from view and gave me a decent field of vision over the station. Charlie, its name. Strange name for something inhuman, I thought. Sound was returning to my ears now as the ringing faded. The gentle flow of the wind. The cawing of crows picking at the dead. I sat back and relaxed and waited. And waited some more. But I had to stay until they came. I had to know that they would see.
Dusk came and turned the sky a furious red, and soon they followed. I saw them crouched, creeping down the hill on the other side of the road, their armor marking them as Legion. Two dogs, a handful of Legionaries, and then one with a distinct helmet. Was it him, the mind behind that masterpiece at Nipton? I couldn't see his headgear from this far off but my heartbeat quickened. They continued their approach, slow and cautious, but they stood straight and looked around when they spotted the first body, the one outside. The crows flew away. They walked past the walls, and yes, yes, the helm was a wolf's head. Was it the same man? I could only hope.
They searched the station. They talked, too, but I was much too far to hear what they were saying. One of the men pointed to the handprint, my symbol, and the one with the dog helm examined it. Of course I couldn't gauge his reaction from here, but his posturing seemed curious enough. Confident and strong, too. A man I could grow fond of. I smiled. I had piqued his interest. My plan was working.