So, before you all dive into this chapter - be aware that it jumps back and forth a little bit. Hopefully it doesn't confuse you, but I did it for a dramatic effect. If anyone has questions feel free to shoot me a message. If too many people seem confused, I'll give the chapter a revamp.

I kind of went crazy with some creative liberties here...but I think this chapter is one of my more interesting ones. It's pretty far out there, but I like the way it turned out.

Enjoy.

"Six…"

She stared up at him – her vibrant eyes glimmering in the mid-day light. Those eyes that he had grown so accustomed to seeing each morning. Her voice was soothing – he'd missed its sound. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it until now.

He swallowed, his mouth fumbling for words to say. His mind grasping at straws – some type of explanation. She wasn't here…she couldn't be. She was in the Mojave…and he was…somewhere. The sky grew dark around him. The world lapsed into effervescent shades of red and blue. They'd blend together – creating a purple aura that swallowed the world whole, but only momentarily. Then the colors would bleed through, one overtaking the other. He was nauseous. His stomach curled and cramped – his head throbbed and his eyes watered. Before him the world began to grow dim, the colors fading and pulsating.

He struggled to stand…

"Cass…"

Then he was falling. Dark waves of liquid light surrounding him. He couldn't breathe…suddenly aware he was drowning, he commanded his body to fight. To stand. To move. But it was fruitless…he was paralyzed. He could do nothing as he felt himself slipping from reality into a world not his own.

The campfire was reduced to embers. Boone sat quietly next to it – cleaning his rifle. He could feel her eyes on him.

She didn't say much – she just watched him intently. Some part of him felt indebted to her…but another part of him wanted her to leave him be.

Across the camp, Six stifled a yawn as he sat up – rubbing his tired eyes. Sleeping on this makeshift bedding was disagreeable to say the least. His neck was stiff, his back was sore, and he still felt exhausted. He flipped through the dials on his pip-boy. Almost 8am…the latest he'd slept since he left for Zion. He scratched his head, stretched, and gave in to the yawn that had perched itself in his throat. He stumbled to his feet, twisting his neck once to the side – it cracked loudly in protest – and made his way across the encampment, leaving his duster over a peaceful, slumbering Cloud.

He sat next to Boone – immediately he felt an uncomfortable wave of tension.

"Sleep well?" He asked, trying to ignore the awkward position he'd found himself in.

Boone grunted in response.

"Where's Graham?"

"Talking with the White Legs at Three Marys."

"Didn't he and Kurisu have the negotiations yesterday?"

"Yeah."

Six waited for Boone to bring clarity to the situation, but received none.

"Then…why'd he go back?"

Boone shrugged.

Six twisted his lips into a ball. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Across the camp, Six could see a group of tribals gathered around an ornately dressed man. The man stood before them – preaching in a language mostly foreign to Six. He could understand bits and pieces of it anyway.

Six watched the man contently as he preached – speaking of the Father in the Caves, visions of truth, and the Ghost of She.

Movement at his side startled him from his thoughts – he jerked his head around to see Waking Cloud nestling at his side.

"White Bird," she said, motioning towards the man, "our shaman."

"I gathered as much. What's this 'Ghost of She'?"

With a smile, Waking Cloud laid Six's duster across her lap, hugging it gently. "You are eager to learn the ways of our tribe, yes?"

Six shrugged. "I'm curious, I'll admit."

"Curious? It is fitting then. It is a sad story – that of the Ghost of She. But since it is you that is asking…I will tell you. Long ago a girl lived among this tribe…a curious child," Waking Cloud's soft eyes examined Six. "Much like yourself…and a clever one as well. Her mother had a devil's time watching over her…she would always slip away to explore the valley and play in the nearby caves. The caves – as you know – are forbidden to us. And for good reason – for the creatures of Zion do the work of the Father. The girl did not know that a yao guai slept in the cave. A protector…guarding it from the prying eyes and inquisitive hands of those who might trespass against Him. Much like the she bears that – at the will of the Father – defended Elisha in the New Canaanite's sacred books…so too did the yao guai defend the sacred caves. The girl died and the tribe wept – for she had died before her naming day. The girl's spirit would remain…and it would bond with the spirit of the bear. As it had consumed her – so the two would become one. So we call the beast the Ghost of She – for the child had no name to be called."

Six's brow raised of its own accord – it was met with laughter.

"The story has significant meaning for our tribe," Waking Cloud explained. "Inside of us all there is two beasts. The hungry bear, Strife – a curiosity that cannot be satiated. And a wise bighorner, Peace – content with the life and knowledge the Father has bestowed upon us. We must learn to give dominion to the bighorner over this curiosity – over our own ghosts – and learn to obey the will of the Father in the Caves."

"Sounds pretty morbid to me," Six confessed. "What if there are no good beasts inside you? Only War and Death?"

Waking Cloud smiled at him. "There is always good inside of us. Come, I will introduce you to our shaman." She stood, clasping Six's hand in her own and practically dragged him to his feet. Before he had time to protest, he stood before White Bird.

The shaman was surprisingly young...Six had to wonder if his duties had fallen upon him prematurely; perhaps due to some unfortunate circumstance. Namely the White Legs.

As they approached, the shaman locked his gaze on Six immediately. His eyes made Six feel wary. Uncomfortable.

"Hola, outsider. You come to receive visions of truth?"

The tribal's voice was droll...his words strung together poorly. Six could tell he was not quite comfortable with the tongue he was attempting to speak.

"Visions of truth?" Six repeated.

The tribal eyed him meticulously before continuing. "…you quest for love. For self. For God. But you know not where to look. You must seek guidance from the Father. You must seek visions of truth."

Six's mouth twisted into a grin.

"You do not speak…wise man knows when to speak and when to shut mouth. You maybe wise…maybe not." White Bird sat upon the damp ground. He beckoned Six to join him. Still smirking, Six did so.

The shaman reached into his pouch – he removed a handful of stones, shells, and small bones. He cast them out in front of him and studied them carefully.

"Spirits have spoken…" White Bird looked at Six, his eyes full of sympathy. "You have lost past…the Father sympathizes with you. He too lost great deal. The Father does not wish for you to lose more than you have…the wild rose, she waits for you, yes?"

Six's smile faded.

"But you fear for safety…for the rose. For friends and family. You deny truths…live in deception. Deny the path the spirits have laid out before you."

Six began pushing himself to his feet.

"Sit," White Bird commanded.

Six stood above the Shaman. He found himself immobilized – but he did not sit.

"Spirits guide you whether you listen or not. Smarter to listen, no?"

His eyes found their way to Waking Cloud – she silently beckoned him to remain. Begrudgingly, he sat back down.

"The Father does not teach in words," the Shaman continued. "The Father teaches in action and in consequence. In water and in flame. For you to find the answers you seek – you must conquer the ghosts that haunt you – you must slake the hunger of the bear and soothe the angry bull. Or never find the peace you desire so and find the rose withered to dust."

Heart racing, head spinning. Six found himself dumbfounded – staring at the shaman, mouth agape.

The shaman turned to a nearby tribal – the tribal provided him with a splintered mug, stained yellow from age and whatever drink now filled it to the brim.

"Sacred datura tea…bestow upon you visions of truth. Tea is strong. Tea is bitter. Wisdom is strong. Wisdom is bitter. You see?"

Six's head began to nod, of its own accord.

"Drink. Depart into cave of mind. Find ghosts…lay them to rest. This is your quest. Bring peace where there is strife."

Six was beside himself…watching as hands, hands that were of his body but not his own, grasped the cup. Those hands lifted the tea to his mouth and he drank.

He felt nothing.

White Bird smiled. "Visions of truth shall reveal themselves in time."

"Six…" Waking Cloud lay on the stone – skin exposed to the warm air around them. Six was on his knees, looking down at her. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

He struggled to his feet.

"Cass…"

He stumbled backwards – falling off the stone pass. She was on her feet in an instant, both hands wrapped around his wrist. He dangled above the camp. Below them the sermon had come to an abrupt end. She could see Raul making his way up the hill as fast as his legs would carry him – Daniel on his heels.

At the center of the camp, Graham's words had come to an end. The tribals stared up in disbelief as the small woman held on for dear life.

But she could feel Six slipping. Her grip getting weaker. Her fingers losing their hold. Then her hands were empty. He was gone. Free falling. Parting the water below.

But there were two splashes. Waking Cloud's eyes frantically searched the water's surface. Crescent shaped ripples extended in all directions. Time seemed to crawl to a stop – across the encampment, she could see terrified expressions spreading like wildfire.

A minute passed. Two?

Then someone emerged…Graham, dragging Six by his collar.

"Get Daniel," He barked at a nearby Kurisu. "Daniel, por favor – prisa!"

Snapping back to reality, Kurisu nodded and began up the hill. Waking Cloud watched Graham drag Six's limp body to the shore. He lay Six flat on the ground and put his ear to Six's mouth, listening for breath. Then to his chest…listening for a heartbeat. Graham turned his gaze towards Waking Cloud – his eyes piercing her very being. Finally, he turned to a nearby tribal. He barked more orders – then he placed his hands on Six's chest and began to pump.

The air was thick. Sour. Six could smell the stench of blood and vomit. He couldn't see…it was dark.

Where was he?

He tried to focus – pushed his eyes to adjust. The world around him began to form – taking shape. The dust began to settle…a strange sense of familiarity crept over him. Towers began to stand erect around him, people began to take shape…ruined streets, burning buildings.

He recognized this. He'd been here before.

The Strip set ablaze.

People darting up and down the streets – running precariously in every direction. The crackle of gunfire filling the air…and he saw it again.

The beast. The minotaur – emerging from the south gate. Slung over its shoulder was the woman he loved. The woman that loved him.

Cass.

But this time it was different. It wasn't striding away from him…it was charging him. Its massive arms toppling buildings – casting people aside. Its eyes burned crimson and its horns left a trail of bloody, broken bodies.

Then from the north…the bear. The creature was on fire – charging headlong into battle. They were on each other in seconds – tearing each other apart at the seams. Locked in a seemingly eternal struggle. War and Death.

The streets ran red with blood.

Six scoured the battlefield, searching for Cass.

The bodies began to fade – the fires began to die. The desert began to creep back in; reclaiming the vestiges of New Vegas.

A lone flag – billowing in the wind.

The mark of the bull?

No. Not this time…

Ivory and crimson.

The two-headed bear.

And he could see it.

The flaming beast, War, seated atop the broken frame of the Lucky 38.

"I smell your fear," The beast told him. "I hear your cries. I know your ways."

He swallowed, staring the beast down. He fumbled for his weapons…none were to be found.

"I see your fate," The creature bellowed.

"And what fate is that?!" He cried back, voice full of despair.

"The only certainty is death. Death of those you hold dear. Wherever you go. For everyone you love."

"No."

"Do you wonder why you push her away? Why you betray her time and time again?"

Six didn't respond.

"You push her away…not to protect her, but to live the way you are meant to live. Free. Unconfined. Do not fool yourself into believing you betray her for her own good."

"She's better off without me…for now."

"Forever. This much is certain. You know what you are. What you've done."

"When this is over…when it's safe for her to come back…"

"Times may change. Circumstances change. People do not," The creature growled, low and vicious.

"You're wrong! I'm not the man I used to be!"

"You aren't? And still, you've found your ways back into your old ties…back to the arms of Caesar."

"I've only just met the man."

"You needn't meet him to serve him. You serve him still."

"I serve no man."

"And yet you are here at his request."

"To bring about his downfall."

The creature laughed, leaping from its position and landing into the sandy street below. It stalked around Six. "Give in to your fate."

"There is no fate," Six's shouted, his voice thunderous. "Only choice."

The sound of laughter filled the air around him again. The flaming beast charged, pinning him to the ground. It leaned in close. He could feel its breath – hot and thick against his skin. A putrid odor emanating from the depths of its being. It leaned in close – the foul stench of its breath was enough to make his stomach churn.

"His breathing is shallow," Daniel held one of Six's eyes open, examining it closely. "Pupils dilated, hyperthermia, increased heart rate...this is the strongest reaction to datura that I've ever seen."

They were in Graham's chamber – a soft breeze whipped through the cave, whistling softly. Six lay motionlessly in a bedding of hay and pine needles, cool rags spread out across his skin. Across the corridor, a small fire cast shadows across the room – its embers smoldering lightly. The smell of burning cedar swathed the air around them.

"How was he poisoned?" Boone asked flatly, pulling the slide back on his pistol.

"No external wounds. At least…not recent enough to be the source of the contaminant. My guess, it was ingested."

"He wouldn't intentionally eat anything toxic," Boone's voice was resolute.

"Unless he was unaware," Graham interjected.

"So we're looking at what? An assassination attempt?"

Daniel shook his head. "We can't know that for certain. The Sorrows, the Dead Horses…the datura root is sacred to them. It's used for a variety of traditions."

"Shit…" Boone shook his head. The others looked at him expectantly. "This morning, before we broke camp. Waking Cloud told Six about a girl that was killed by a bear."

"The Ghost of She," Daniel clarified.

"That's the one. Anyway, after the story she took him to meet the shaman."

"One of the rites of passage for any Sorrow is slaying their 'ghosts' – their inner demons," Daniel was nodding at this point. "In order to do that, they drink a tea brewed from the datura root. On its own, the datura root is highly toxic. But in the tea, it acts as a hallucinogen. And a strong one at that." He curled his lower lip. "It can produce a variety of effects…delirium, hallucinations, violent behaviors, the inability to distinguish what's imagined and what's real…even amnesia."

"Amnesia?" Boone scowled. "Great."

"I haven't seen a reaction this pronounced though…to cause a comatose state."

"Yesterday," Graham stroked his chin. "When we were infiltrating the camp, the cazador."

"Yeah," Boone nodded.

Daniel let his eyes wander a moment, chewing his lower lip. "Maybe…" he retrieved a black leather book from the breast pocket of his black flannel shirt. He flipped through the pages. "Cazador stings have been known to cause paralysis, but only if the venom is administered in a high dose…what if the toxins pronounce the effects of one another. Synergizing in a way that intensifies otherwise lesser affects."

Graham shook his head, "I gave him antivenom for the sting."

"What kind?" Raul's raspy voice called out.

Graham turned towards the source of the voice. "The same type the tribal's use…a combination of Xander root, broc flower, the datura root, and spore plant pods."

"It uses the same plant that's poisoned him?" Boone narrowed his eyes.

"The plant on its own is toxic…but when blended with the other herbs, it has a restorative effect. It acts as an antivenom."

"When I was a little boy back before the war – one of my brothers was bitten by a snake. Back then, wild venomous snakes consisted primarily of rattlers and vipers. At least in New Mexico. The antivenom they administrated didn't work though. It turned out the venom had mostly deprived his brain of oxygen. He was in pain, despite his protests. He just didn't know it. See, he had tried to buy a cobra. The man told him the glands had been removed…needless to say, the man had lied. My brother didn't want to say anything because it wasn't exactly legal. He didn't want to get into trouble. Or to get the seller into trouble. Luckily, the man came forward in time. My mother's brother."

"You're suggesting the antivenom had no affect on the cazador sting?" Graham asked. "The tribals have been using it for decades."

"Maybe," Raul shrugged. "Or maybe they built up a tolerance over time."

Daniel laughed to himself. "Of course…and the datura antivenom uses the root. And just like the tea…my bet is it had a euphoric affect. The toxin was still in his system. Six wasn't cured…he was intoxicated."

"So we just need to administer an antivenom that has an affect on cazador stings," Graham pressed his hand to brow. "But finding here isn't going to be easy."

"We don't need to," Raul spread a dry smile across his weathered face, he tossed a small vial to Daniel. "Always be prepared."

The creature began to dissipate. Still, Six found himself pinned by an unknown foe. He couldn't move despite his struggling. "Get the hell off me!" Six yelled, his voice full of fury.

He could see eyes, burning in darkness. A red beret…dark duster and riot gear. A crude, unshaven face. A mirror…only living. Himself in the flesh.

The Faux-Six grinned viciously. "Liar. Womanizer. Murderer. You see what you are now. I am everything you have become." The doppelganger pressed a blade – Six's own machete – to his throat. "I am everything you've already become."

Six swallowed, pushing himself forward. He could feel the blade piercing his flesh – the blood trickling across his skin. He drove his knee into the doppelganger's abdomen. Then he was on his feet, charging headlong into battle with himself. The doppelganger drove the machete forward, narrowly missing his mark – it doubled back with the flat of his blade, clouting Six's arm.

Wailing in pain, Six leapt back, clutching his shoulder. The doppelganger didn't let up – quickly arcing around again, sweeping Six's legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud – and again, the doppelganger was over top of him. It swung sporadically, crashing into the ground with thunderous blows. Six rolled out of the way, quickly regaining composure. But he didn't have time to breathe; that bastard was on him again, spinning the machete around wildly. Six stepped forward, catching his doppelganger's arm at the elbow, he snapped the replica's arm back - knocking the machete from its grasp – then drove the sole of his foot into his opponent's knee. With lightning speed he scooped up the machete and pushed the Faux-Six to the ground. The tides had turned – and now Six held the machete to its throat.

"Do it," The replica grinned. And suddenly he was on top of the beast – its fire consuming them both. The bear's lifeless eyes staring up at him. It growled low and fierce. "I will forever be a part of you. You cannot defea…"

The beast's voice was cut out by the distinct sound of metal piercing flesh. Six pressed the blade deep into its throat – pinning it to the ground. Around him, its fire began to extinguish. Then the world began to die away – fading to black. He heard voices surrounding him. A bighorner stood before him.

"Six! Six are you with me?" The bighorner asked.

A sharp pain in his face. A slap.

"He's coming to."

The world began to brighten – for a minute he could see it. A rose, shining bright. Then, was staring up into the face of Daniel.

"What the fuck happened?" Six asked, eyes adjusting to the light.

Daniel smiled. "You gave us quite a scare."

So, the beginning is from Six's perspective...followed by a flashback sequence explaining why he's hallucinating. Then it picks back up in the present from Waking Cloud's perspective. I hope that was clear - I think it was, but my thoughts are biased. If that wasn't clear enough, please let me know.

I'm working on the epilogue for THAS now. It should be posted by tomorrow night (maybe sooner). I wrote this chapter and the first part of the epilogue in one sitting. I'm going to revise the epilogue and add a good conclusion and try to get it posted for you soon. This chapter was difficult to write...I did a little bit of research on antivenom, and synergy (which is two or more things - drugs, governments, people, etc. - working together). So I learned a bit today too. I know in the game, the datura antivenom works for all poison...but I decided to deviate a bit for dramatic effect. Originally I had Daniel suggest developing an antivenom from the antibodies in the Sorrow's blood. But apparently making antivenom takes a long time...and I didn't want Six to die waiting for an antivenom. So yeah, I decided to have Raul be prepared. Which makes sense, cause he's awesome.

We'll be back in the Mojave soon...and I've got some great ideas planned. At least, I hope they're great. As always, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I like it...it's not my usual type, so it was a lot of fun (albeit difficult) to write.

Until next time.