In this chapter, we're going to have another meeting between Ulysses and Drake. Hopefully the Couriers can reach a solution to the tunnelers before the whole Mojave becomes a hunting ground. Well, it already is, but a hunting ground ONLY for mutated human/reptilian abominations.
It took some time for Drake to reach the entrance to the Divide canyons. The roads were full of traders looking to make a deal with new residents, and masses of trooper patrols. Drake figured these patrols were a bit of overcompensation for the hideous lack of security for wastelanders in the Hoover War. Now that marauding bands of skilled raiders weren't virtually roving free in the isolated areas of the Mojave, the only thing people needed protection from was themselves. Even then, with the patrols and added security only the brave or stupid attempted the broad daylight muggings of before. People still flinched when they saw the thugs that used to terrorize them, but quickly (and smugly) smiled when they realized the muggers couldn't touch them without being torn apart by volumes of rifle fire. It was also safe(ish) in the open wasteland, the Courier having wiped out many predator dens in his exploration. Still, it was a bit of a pain crossing the land as the Courier had always done. More people meant more settlements. More settlements meant less natural habitats, which pushed animals into tighter and tighter spaces. Drake was actually charged by bull bighorners despite not coming close to any herds. Apparently even the passive animals were becoming increasingly aggressive.
Eventually, he reached the canyon entrance he had so creatively named Canyon Entrance. He braced himself, perhaps expecting packs of tunnelers to be waiting right at the entrance. He was prepared though. He had armed himself thoroughly, being a believer in preparedness. He was dressed in the Courier Duster he had received from Ulysses, despite his abuse of it. After the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, the Courier had taken the jacket and sprayed a red X of paint over the Lucky 38 logo. To him, his cause was lost and it was an act of anger and shame. When gearing up for the trip, Drake had noticed the duster pinned to the wall above his bed, and remembered the cause. He never wanted to forget his failure, he decided it was something that needed to fuel him, to drive him on and never let something like that happen again. And so in this light of that decision, he put on the old jacket. He donned the faded dark jeans and banded shirt that it was paired with, along with the helmet he found being worn by the NCR soldier in the Divide. He recalled the sad state the body was in, slumped against a wall with a last drink in the dead man's grip. For weaponry, he stored his 12.7 millimeter rifle, a ranger sequoia, five throwing knives and Blood-Nap the bowie knife in his Pipboy's storage device. He also strapped a flare gun and a few flashbangs to his armor for quick access. All that, along with his usual assortment of healing items, chems, and about 10 MREs and water bottles. He was ready. Heading into the wastes alone, his companions made barely a noise about his solo journey. He had told them about his time in the Divide, and when he did he was met with an initial wave of frustration and vocal protests about his decision to head into such a dangerous place with a mere Eyebot for protection. He soothed their tempers with the assurance that if he had not entered alone, Ulysses would have killed them. He saw the masked man a few times on his journey, and noted the huge anti-material rifle he carried. Had he wanted to, he could have ended the Courier then and there. But his refusal for such cowardly acts was a godsend. They understood then, and also understood that Drake wanted no company now, when he was doing all he could not to attract much attention in the Divide. The last thing he wanted was to face a whole horde of the things.
As he navigated the nooks and crannies of the path to the Divide, he made sure to be as stealthy as he could be. He saw a few bodies of Marked Men, undoubtedly slain by his friend, making sure they a least wouldn't get through to the Mojave. He wondered how many of them there were. He had killed many of them on his way to Ulysses' Temple, and he didn't know how many of them the other Courier had taken down. Surely, one day there simply wouldn't…..be any more? He shook such thoughts of theories and maybes. He had to focus if he wanted to survive in a place as treacherous as the Divide. He finally arrived at the entrance to the actual canyons, lying under the brown, sandy sky. It was just as chaotic and torn as he remembered. He always thought of it as a rather odd coincidence that the main entrance happened to have a view of almost the entire place. But it wasn't the view that Drake was focused on. He gazed at the remains of the carnage in front of him. Over a dozen tunneler corpses lay strewn on the path to the missile bunker. And on the cliff that overlooked the Divide, stood a cross. The type that was used by the Legion. And on that cross, a man was bound. A man with a familiar duster, and straps around his ears to hold a mask.
He stepped out to the cross, and was horrified to see Ulysses on the cross. He was bound to the cross in the usual Legion way, so that any attempt to bring him down would result in a messy, painful death. "Ulysses, are...are you alive?" he ventured. A small groan came in return, then "Seems you found me, Courier. Didn't think you would, at least until I was gone. Probably wondering how I found the perch. The last-AH!" His speech was interrupted by a brief shout of pain. It appeared even the seemingly superhuman courier felt physical pain. He resumed his explanation. "Some of the last drops of the Bull's blood trickled down here, away from the Bear's thirst for them. Found me battling tunnelers, waited 'til I finished, then put me to sleep with the flat of a machete. Strung me up, waited for my sleep to end. Woke up, hearing them accuse me of betrayal. Coating Dry Wells in invisible fires, burning a brand of the Twisted Hairs into the Bull's flank. Then left." His stamina exhausted, his head slumped down. Drake looked on, then said to himself "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry Ulysses. Do you want me to, you know, end it?" He couldn't bear to see his friend in such pain, the nigh legendary warrior hung up with his body broken. He now noticed more of Ulysses' condition. He had been cut. His legs and arms bore burned slashes. They had tortured him, cutting him then sealing the wounds with an iron. Over and over again. His braids had been cut, leaving only dreadlock stumps. His tattered jacket was defaced, and he could see the Legion's mark painted on the back, over the Old World symbol. Drake looked at his face as he spoke again "Would be a welcome relief. But I see it in your face. Have your own worries that need relieving. What is it? Least a dying man can do." Drake responded "Well, it seems you were right about the tunnelers. They're attacking people at the edge of the Mojave. They apparently have grown some resistance to sunlight, they've been attacking just before dawn and dusk. They're here. I came to you for help, advice. But I'm also glad to be here to help you now." Shaking his head, the hanging man responded "Told you. Didn't believe me? Or concerned about the NCR? Heard about the Dam, Legion was killed; the Bull had its horns cut. Brotherhood, Khans, Enclave, too much for Lanius. Bull's rampaging trod over too many."
" As for the monsters, look around you. Warheads, scattered in the canyons. They could be the answer. Bombs made them, bombs can kill them." Finally, he was finished. Drake stared at the fellow courier. "Thank you Ulysses. I'm sorry but….I need to go. I'll need help for those nukes, and I know who to ask. It's been good knowing you Ulysses. You taught me a lot. I hope I can pass your lessons to others." He said. Ulysses took one last look at the courier, his breath ragged through the breathing mask. "Lived my life, Courier. Did things I regret, many things. Hope you can pass my lessons though, through word or blood. Save the Mojave, in more ways than you looked to do so when you came. Let the nation grow, don't let the Bear keep its paw on its throat. Goodbye Drake." The Courier backed away, took out his revolver, and with a sound of thunder, ended the saga of Ulysses.
Wow. Ulysses is dead. Who saw that coming? Raise your hand if you did. No hands? Oh wait, you in the back. Ok, just you. Yeah, look forward to that sort of thing. This is definitely showing signs of Anyone Can Die. Next time, after a funeral for a great warrior-poet, Drake will be talking to the NCR Senate for his…RADical plan.