HI GUYS WHAT'S GOIN ON
Oh god I'm so so so sorry it's taken me like a billion years to update this. D: Figures that when I'd finally get around to uploading it the site would crap itself.
III. ARBITER
The moon shone as a faint sliver in the sky by the time I situated myself near Primm, like a slice of pale gray cut into the abyss, all the better for an unnoticed approach. My plan was neatly laid out in my mind, the result of days spent mulling in Novac. Such a small town proved suitable as a resting spot, as nobody bothered to talk to me but the dark-skinned shopkeeper whose name I didn't care to remember. But even he had his uses, supplying me with items of value – food, rope, matches, gauze, alcohol – and mentioning the situation in Primm. The vague summary he gave was built upon by the radio in my rented room. Details filtered in slowly, of the prison riots, of the town turning to ruin, of the NCR stationed there, waiting, idle, negligent.
They deserved a visit.
And so I crouched behind one of the ruined walls, form cloaked by the dark, fingers tensed around my knife. The shifts would change soon, providing the soldiers maintained the pattern they established throughout the day, when I had watched from farther off. No surprise if they didn't. Their commanding officer clearly didn't hold responsibility in high regard if he did nothing to push the convicts from the town. From that I drew inspiration. Charlie was quick, improvised, effective but dirty. It lacked the beauty of Nipton. I would have to improve to truly capture the attention of the Legion, of Caesar, and of – perhaps most exciting to consider – the wolf-headed warrior whose work I so passionately admired.
The camp was understaffed and overworked. Perfect, really. The guards switched on time and I moved in closer, behind a small pile of rubble, before the new batch got into place. The two fresh ones swayed on their feet, weary; I recognized them from a watch earlier in the day and they likely hadn't slept since then. One stayed nearby while the other walked to the slanted road, and the near one turned to watch him go.
I moved quickly. Before he could turn again, my free hand was around his face, over his mouth, silencing his last gasp for breath as the blade cut a deep line across his neck. His body shook and I held him until he went still. It didn't take long. I lowered him gently to the dirt to avoid sound, then followed the trail of the other guard down to the underpass, where the dark was thickest. I could see decently enough in it but he apparently could not, and he tilted his head and spoke a quiet greeting, and the bloody knife in my hand caught light for a split second and flashed and only then did he tense and draw his rifle up. I ducked and lunged, slamming his legs out from under him as a shot rang out in the dark. He clutched to the gun until his head cracked against the pavement, then his grip loosened, but still he struggled against me. I drove the metal deep into his chest and he clawed at my hands in desperation and gurgled near silent protests but it was done.
The gun had gone off, though.
I crouched over the body, as still as could be, and listened for any sign of movement from the camp. It would be easy enough to run away now, to avoid capture. No. A coward's retreat. I waited in the dark, hovering over my kill, but nothing came to my ears. Another side effect of the soldiers' long shifts, I assumed – once they were asleep, they were very much asleep. Or perhaps they were used to random nighttime outbursts from the convicts on the other side. Either way worked out in my favor. Once sufficient time had passed, I yanked the dogtag's from the man's still-warm neck and rose to my feet.
No more guards stood in my path. I moved carefully to the tents, hunched, knife at ready, tensed for any sign of danger, but as I crept closer it was clear that there was none. Through the cloth wall of the first, larger tent I could hear heavy breathing, snoring, the sounds of peaceful slumber. Good to know where the bulk of the troops slept, but I wasn't interested in them. I had eyes on higher-ranked prey.
The interior of the officer's tent felt stuffy, closed off to the cool airflow of the desert night, warmed by two sleeping forms. Too dark to see well but I could hear their breathing and I followed it. I only wanted one of them, and I didn't want to kill the wrong one. I needed their leader to make this work.
Important men always took the prime position. I took my chance with the man further into the tent. He seemed peaceful in his sleep and even in the first few seconds of consciousness, but then he bristled with the realization that a knife was at his throat and a hand was over his mouth. He stirred, attempting to move away, and I pressed the blade down harder so it indented his skin and he went still again. I leaned in close, so close I could feel his shallow, rapid breath on my cheek, and the whispered questioning began.
By the time I left the tent, he and his subordinate were bound and gagged on the ground inside, helpless, at my misery. The fear I sensed from them was exhilarating. I had power, something so rare to me. I had told them that it would be up to their soldiers to save them now, that they would have to rely on the response of their underlings, just as the people of Primm had relied on them, only to be let down, dragged from their homes, now hiding in fear like mice fleeing from a hungry cat. The riots should have been quelled, I told them. The convicts should have been dealt with long before they arrived in town. They couldn't have, he had said, his forehead slick with sweat.
I judged them negligent.
The gauze lit up bright, illuminating the bottle of whiskey that it was stuffed into. A moment to admire the flame and the terror it revealed on their faces, and then I flung it forward at them, dropped the flap, and ran back to watch.
It went up so fast, encompassed in beautiful orange and red and yellow before anyone so much as poked their head out of the other tent. I couldn't help but grin underneath the scarf wrapped around my face. But I couldn't linger too long before making my mark. I couldn't risk capture. They'd beat me, kill me, unwilling to heed my reasoning. Of course they'd deserved it, deserved death, even more than the too-carefree rangers at the station. These ones had sat idle while the townsfolk cried out for help a hundred yards away, and then while the escaped prisoners set up grand fortifications. Best to pull the tick out immediately. Wait too long and its head will get embedded.
The flame was spreading elsewhere. Smoke rose overhead, a great grey beast in the sky, a cloud that smelled like death. Not so much as Nipton. Frantic, half-awake cries pulled me back to reality, away from the fantasies I longed for, and I shook my head and bolted to the guard by the edge of the camp, my first kill of the night. Knife against his skin and the blood flowed free, and with my crimson hand I pressed against one of the old concrete walls. A few seconds to admire the shape and then I hurried to the bridge across to Primm. The leader had said that he wasn't responsible for what had happened there, that the convicts were the ones I really wanted, that I should take their lives, not his own. I reassured him that the NCR would not be the only ones suffering casualties this night.
I turned one last time to glance at the fire and the smoke and the wonderful chaos of it all before moving onto the dark overpass. A click. My blood stopped cold and every muscle in my body went taut when I spotted the faint orange dot of light by my feet. Of course it would be trapped, to keep the enemy from sneaking in at night. Of course it would be. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I dove for cover.