The lights of the Aces Theatre that had once filled the hall with colour and flare now gathered dust. A simple lamp rested on one of the tables, barely holding back the shadows that lingered in the edges of its glow. Legate Lanius, the Monster of the East paced around the room, his armoured fists curled into balls at his side. Two Legionaries stood a respectful distance away, knowing those fists could crush their throats if angered enough.
"How many dead?" Lanius demanded, his deep threatening voice echoing through the hall.
"Fifty-two, sir." One Legionary answered almost instantly, whatever fear he held being beaten by discipline. The Legate roared and kicked over a table. First he had been made to simply watch the campaign against the Fiends, unable to give a single command or kill a single enemy. Then a messenger from Caesar had arrived, hundreds of tribals had been spotted in the north. Lanius had hurried towards Nova Roma, eager to unleash his blade. But no, by the time he arrived it had been established that they were allies, applicants to the Legion. He had isolated himself to the recently abandoned Tops Casino, ready to take his anger out on anyone or anything that crossed him. And now, to top it all off, The Kings had made a break for freedom. They had failed of course, none escaped the Legion under Lanius' watch, and those who lived were going to regret it.
"Caesar commands you to take control of the situation." The Legionary relayed the orders. Lanius grinned beneath his helmet, at least one good thing was coming from this.
"Come." Lanius growled at the two soldiers, who fell in behind him. They marched through the front of the Casino, the rooms feeling strangely empty now all the gambling machines and tables had been torn up and removed. Several men of the Legion sat around, Praetorians in the main, with Caesar's temporary quarters being found upstairs. A few Legionaries were in attendance, Lanius' unofficial bodyguard. He had Praetorians to follow him into battle but he preferred to have his own men at hand.
"Naevius." The Legate barked, getting the attention of a powerful shouldered Legionary who's shaved skull barely reached Lanius' shoulders. Naevius snapped to attention and jogged over. The short, hard faced man had been with Lanius for his entire time in the Legion, a fellow Hidebark warrior, the two shared many memories of their time in the tribe though what their names were during that time evaded both men. With his oldest comrade at his side the Legate marched onto the Strip. The hour was early with the sun only just cresting the horizon. A few Legionaries moved about, probably on errands from their Centurion. The doors to the Omerta and White Glove Strongholds remained locked, a few guards standing by the doors. Their time would come, Lanius knew. It would be as it always was, once the Legion had secured the Mojave the tribals would be integrated, forcibly Lanius hoped. They marched through the Strip, past Freeside, where the Legionaries were already setting about the task of rebuilding the run down neighbourhood. On the outskirts of the Camp was a large fence cage. Dozens of bruised and bloody men sat inside, Chairmen who had been too resistant and now the survivors of the King's breakout. The tribals who had arrived from the north had set up their camp beyond that, Caesar would meet with them once Vulpes had gathered all he could. A group of men in suits stood by the fence, talking to those inside from the looks of it. Omertas, Lanius seethed at the sight of them. They were cowards, dishonourable and would be a stain upon the Legion if they were allowed to live for much longer.
"You're going to die now." One of the Omertas was mocking the prisoners. It was the one who called himself Nero. He did not deserve that name, Lanius thought, It was one carried by many in the Legion and it was one that was brought shame by allowing this worm to carry it. "You're going up on one of those fucking crosses, you too Benny if we're lucky enough." Nero grinned to a dishevelled looking man in the remains of a black and white plaid suit.
"Fuck you." Benny retorted. Lanius smiled under his mask, still defiant despite the hardships, he could respect that. A half dozen Legionaries stood by the door to the cage, they paid the Omertas no mind, Nero and his gang posed to threat to them or their charges. Lanius drew up before the guards, who saluted instantly. Nero strolled up to the Legate as the taller man stared at the King intently. The old ruler of Freeside met the malevolent balls of fury beneath the mask before turning away. Lanius enjoyed letting them stew for a while before starting their punishment. Nero was right in a way, they would be crucified, just not right away, that would be too merciful.
"Hey, Lanius." Nero said, his way of talking, his swagger, almost everything about him was the epitome of what was wrong with New Vegas. The Legate growled at him, making the gangster frown. "You haven't got rabies have you?". Lanius ignored Nero, he must resist killing the fool, he told himself.
"Take the strongest." He ordered the guards. "Break their spirit." Knowing the routine, two of the Legionaries opened the gate and grabbed a tough looking King, dragged him out and began to beat him. At first the man tried to resist but a sharp left hook from one Legionary took the fight out of him. Once he was bleeding from the nose, lips and cheeks the men threw him back in with the others. Nero watched the affair with a smile.
"You sure you can't do the King next?" He asked. "I've wanted to see him beaten to a pulp for a long time." Lanius continued to ignore him. "Aww come on, Lanni." Nero grinned. "I thought we got past the silent treatment by the second date."
"Only Caesar's orders stop me from tearing out your throat, Profligate." Lanius barked. Nero pouted and tutted, shaking his head from side to side.
"Aww, is someone on their period?" Nero chuckled to himself, his cronies joining in. Lanius' hand swept out, backhanding Nero and grasping the gangster around the throat. One of the Omertas went for his pistol, he was fast, unfortunately for him Naevius was faster. The Legionary moved like a blur, his fist forming into a blade and striking at the Omerta's throat. Before Lanius had even lifted Nero off the ground one of his men was on his knees, coughing violently, and the rest moved their hands away from their weapons.
"Caesar said I may not kill you." Lanius' growl was deep and threatening. "He said nothing about your condition." Nero blanched as Lanius tightened his grip. As the Legate squeezed harder, Nero's face changed colour until it was a deep purple and he was slamming against Lanius' arm, futilely.
"Sir." Naevius gave Lanius a slight tap. "No killing." Lanius relented, dropping the spluttering gangster to the dirt. If not for the mask Lanius would have spat on the man. The whole situation had put the Legate in a foul mood, and that rarely boded well, for anyone. His dark eyes swept back onto the cage.
"Take them all." He ordered. "Crucifixion for every second man." The Legionaries opened the door and began selecting some of the Kings.
"The rest?" The Decanus in charge of the prisoners spoke up. Lanius smiled under his mask.
"The hounds need practice."
Boone cleaned his rifle with the efficiency of a veteran, the now grey cloth finding every nook and cranny of the disassembled gun. Leaning back and admiring his handiwork, Boone could not help but notice grime and dust that covered everything, from the small, wonky desk he sat behind to the patchy sofa in the corner. In a dirty room in a dirty building guns were the only clean thing, well guns, their food and their medical supplies. All three of which they now had in relative abundance.
It turned out they had not been the only ones who had sought to use the old factory near Novac as a hideout. They had been greeted by a huge, thick bearded blond man, who as many of Boone's comrades in the army would have said, was built like a brick shit house. The man, with a grenade launcher in hand had demanded to know if they were Legion or raiders. After answering no to both the man had lowered his gun and welcomed him in. The giant, who went by the name of Blueballs, had introduced them to the others. There was a merchant called Cross and his guards; a group of NCR soldiers, half of whom were wounded; a bunch of well armed men and woman, who answered to Blueballs and a few refugees from New Vegas. The southern roads had been blocked by the Legion, meaning they were all stranded until the conquerors' patrols became less frequent. There were thirty one in total, thirty three with Boone and Manny. Cross, as the source of the food and medicine seemed to share de facto leadership with Captain Marcinko, the commander of the NCR troops. They agreed to let Boone and Manny stay on the condition that they made sure to cover their tracks after each foray, with Marcinko even offering to join them once his leg was better. Boone reassembled his rifle as he had done a thousand times before, finding a small amount of satisfaction in the awed face of Jess, one of the refugees from Vegas. She sat on the sofa on the other side of the room, listening to the slow lilting music drifting from the radio.
"And now for the news." The voice of Mr. New Vegas said. "Error, no new updates." Said a crackly robotic voice. Music came back on. "I've got spurs that jingle jangle jingle..." Blueballs switched off the radio, muttering something about wishing they would get new songs. Boone liked having music in the background but he did not want to get into an argument about it. He knew he could beat Blueballs if it came to a fight but the man was a mercenary, a dangerous looking one and would doubtless have a few tricks up his sleeves.
"Can I come with you next time?" Jess asked, she was a young woman, barely into her teens. Boone laid down his rifle and looked at her over his glasses.
"Have you ever fired a gun before?" He demanded. He shook her head. "Then the answer is no." He said simply, ignoring the look of indignation on the youth's face. Jess looked as if she was about to complain but Blueballs tapped her with his booted foot.
"Go and help Marr with the cooking." He ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. Jess nodded and left the room. Boone was left alone with the big man, well one of Cross' guards, a rather plump and lazy man was sleeping on one of the armchairs. Silence dragged between the two men as Blueballs read a magazine and Boone continued to check his weapon.
"Why d'you do it?" Grunted Blueballs, still not looking up from his magazine.
"Do what?" Boone asked, wiping the final spots of dirt from his rifle.
"Kill the Legion, all it's going to do is piss them off." Blueballs' eyes stayed on his magazine.
"Some battles need to be fought." The Sniper said, Blueballs hawked and spat in a waste bin in response. Boone sighed and picked up the rifle, walking past the merc and out to a corridor. Blueballs was a true mercenary, the kind Boone had seen a thousand times before. Profit and self-preservation were his only motivations, he would probably even sign up with the Legion if they had a habit of hiring.
Several people were walking around the corridors; one of Cross' guards was running an errand for him, or so Boone assumed; a few the refugees were exploring the factory, mostly the young ones who had never been away from their neighbourhood before and to whom everything new was an adventure. Two of Blueball's people, a gaunt faced skeleton of man who reminded Boone overly much of a corpse and a short woman with arms like tree trunks and a large 'M' shaped scar carved into her forehead were wandering seemingly aimlessly with a clipboard. Their names were Sunshine and Drip, respectively and over the past few days they had become a common sight in the halls. They were almost constantly wandering around with that clipboard and scribbling away at it. Boone had wanted to ask them about it but Sunshine's pale, dead eyes and Drip's thick arms were enough to give even the ex sniper pause. Boone almost bumped into Cross as he made his way into the supply room, the way the trader hung around that room was to Boone, not all that different from a deathclaw and its lair.
"What do you want then?" Drawled the short, hawk faced merchant. The man had been polite and welcoming at first, however as time dragged on it seemed as if Cross was getting tired of giving his goods away for free to a bunch of refugees and soldiers. "At least the Legion pay." Manny had overheard the merchant complaining bitterly to one of his guards on their second day there.
"Just enough to keep us going if we end up staying out overnight." Boone answered in the cold, even tone he hoped would make Cross wary of him. It was Boone's preferred tactic when dealing with merchants and worked on most of them. "We wouldn't want to lead the Legion back here would we?"
"Oh, you'll not frighten me." Cross wagged a finger at him. "I've escaped worse than the Legion before and I'll do it again." The merchant cracked a smile at him, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth. "However, it would be such as shame to see you strung up on one of their crosses." With that Cross stepped to the side, his small, beady eyes following Boone as he walked into the supply room. Boone quickly rummaged through the closest box for some snacks and stuffed them into his pack before leaving.
Sunshine was leaning against the wall outside the store room, a grin that stretched the skin tight against his head graced his lips.
"Do you take trophies?" The corpse faced merc asked as Boone warily skirted around him, his grin vanishing.
"What?" Boone asked, more concerned with dull, dead monotone than the words.
"Legion." Sunshine clarified. "I ran with another bunch of mercs a few years back, we took tongues and made them into necklaces." Boone frowned at the man. "I had a big necklace." Sunshine said fondly. After a moment of what Boone assumed to be day-dreaming Sunshine's eyes snapped back round. "Well?" He prompted.
"No." Boone answered concisely as per usual.
"Well you should." Sunshine muttered as he pushed himself away from the wall. "We could turn it into a competition or something." Boone could only shake his head as the merc wandered off. Hoping that no one else was going to try and strike up a conversation with him on his way out Craig set off again.
The twilight hours were coming, which for Boone and Manny meant hunting time. Vargas was already waiting for him, sitting on a small box outside the old factory, rifle, binoculars and ammo in hand. They needed no words, Boone simply nodded to his old friend and the two men began to walk into the hills.
They returned in the early hours of the morning, only slightly worse for wear. Boone had a bandaged wound on his left arm while Manny was covered in scratches and scrapes. They had stumbled across a patrol in their escape and though they had managed to kill them in the end it had taken an hour of pursuit before they found a good choke point. They passed one of the Cross' men on sentry duty in the toll booth on the road to the factory. Boone noticed at least two more watching from crow's nests atop the ridge, rifles in hand and hawk eyes following them every step of the way. Marcinko was sitting by a table in the courtyard, playing cards with Blueballs and an assorted group of soldiers and mercs. The group seemed so intently focused on their game that they failed no even notice Boone and Manny's approach. A pile of luxuries lay next to each player; cigarettes, jewellery, alcohol and a various assortment of useful tools. An NCR corporal won the round, three packs of cigarettes, a deathclaw horn and a spanner were his takings.
"Good hunting?" Marcinko enquired as he shuffled the pack for the next round.
"Had better." Boone answered as he laid down his gear and settled down on an empty chair. Manny wandered off, muttering something about a wash, leaving Boone to watch the card game as he leafed his way through a magazine on the table, it was hardly an enlightening read but it was entertaining enough.
"So right, I'm in the Tops, playing the slots..." One of the NCR continued with a story that he had began before Boone's arrival. "Next thing I know, this girl with one of the biggest racks I've ever seen comes up and starts talking to me." A few of the other soldiers began to grin, knowing where this story was going. "Next thing I know I'm running through the strip naked being chased by an angry husband and brother." He stopped while the others chuckled. The soldier was about to start again when his jaw dropped open and he stared past Boone.
"What the fuck?" One of the players said. Boone turned in his seat and it took him a moment to realise what the horrible sight behind him even was. Sunshine and Drip stood about ten feet behind him, coated in blood. Some was flowing from cuts upon their arms, though most of it must have belonged to someone else. Upon their necks were a hideous ring of trophies. Ears, Boone thought, or at least that was what they looked like at a distance. Sunshine and Drip dumped their gear on the ground and took two spare seats at a separate table. Each had at least half a dozen ears around their necks. Drip pulled a cloth from her pocket and began to wipe the blood off her face with sharp, precise swipes. Sunshine's dead eyes studied Boone.
"We're winning." He grinned, showing his yellow teeth.