Hank knew a lot of things.

As aforementioned, he loved reading. From Greek philosophies, to Ian Fleming and Joseph Heller. He knew he preferred capitalism from communism, and a republic over a democracy. Hank knew that two plus two equaled four, and two multiplied by two equaled four. He knew the difference between the Difference Principle and the Entitlement Theory. He knew that Clint Eastwood, back in the day, could play the piano, and sing about a Gran Torino. And Hank knew one other thing.

He had been made.

The air hung over him like a wet towel, beating downwards with what seemed over the standard atmostpheric pressure, which Hank knew to be one.

The silence was deafening. The crazed noise of the mob had dwindled, and the only thing he heard was the wind whisking through the houses and buffering off the rock wall to his left. Then feet shuffling. The feet of nearly fifty legionaries. Hank, still holding the smoking gun out from his body, looked around.

He couldn't climb. Even if he could, he would be shot from the cliffs at once. The feet drew closer.

Turning, Hank crouched with his back against the stone fence. He held the gun aloft in front of his face, both hands on the butt, and waited; listening.

The mob reached the space between both houses. Dead Sea stepped to the front. "Anyone down there?" he called. Hank closed both eyes and pictured the decanus, peering from behind his black goggles. He tried to pinpoint the sound and waves of the voice.

"Hello?" said Dead Sea. Hank squeezed his eyes, keeping them closed. He raised the gun over the fence, muzzle pointing behind him, and fired once. The hammer slammed back and forth quickly, and a bullet leaped from the end, traveling at a rate of three hundred and forty meters per second. It was a solid shot, but it still missed. It traveled six inches to the left of Dead Sea's head, flying into the cheek of the legionary behind him. The man grunted and fell to the ground, grasping his face. Dead Sea stared hard into the alley. "He's there!"

Hank readjusted and fired again. This time his bullet struck true, and Dead Sea crumpled with the bullet smashing the bones behind his nose. The cries of legionaries at the sight of their leader let him know that his shot had been successful, and that he only had about two seconds to move or he was dead. Hank stood, looked behind him for confirmation, and dove to his left. He cleared the corner of the house as the legionaries raised their weapons and fired. Chunks of house and rock splintered in every direction. Hank rolled out of his dive and continued down the row of houses, his legs pumping. He hadn't run far when, abruptly, the plateau wall closed in. Quickly, he turned left, and right again. Back on the main street, he ran faster. The mob, now running, followed with malicious intent. And Hank didn't want to die; it simply did not sound fun.

Up above, he noticed the figure atop bluff had moved. The figure appeared to be crouched, and it now fired the rifle it held. The bullets whizzed past Hank and into the mob. Thick slaps and grunts of hit legionaries resonated inside the din. All around Hank, the ground came alive with bullets. Sunlight had just begun seeping over the horizon in the east, painting the sky a multitude of colors; red, orange, and yellow. Hank never noticed.

He did notice the ditch that ran across the dirt road. It would give him a few seconds to stop and regain his composure; maybe even fire a few shots and reload. He figured that dying trying to fight back would be better than dying running away. But, staying alive altogether remained the best option.

Turning his body sideways, he slid down into the ditch. He spun and raised the pistol. A man, wearing a tan trench coat and a brown fedora. The stranger held two .44 magnum revolvers in each hand, and he dealt death. Both muzzles flashed one after the other, their echoes booming around the town. Twelve shots, and twelve dead legionaries. He dropped the two, and, in one swift moment, produced two more. Exact same make, model - nearly identical. The man raised the two and said a single word to Hank over his shoulder.

"Go,"

Hank didn't need any urging, although he sat in awe for a split second more. When the stranger began firing again towards the still pushing mob, Hank spun around, climbed from the ditch, and ran forward. The boom of the .44s could be heard once again, and Hank chanced a glance over his shoulder. The stranger in the trench coat stood rigid, with both arms extended. Twelve more shots were fired, and the man swiveled on his heels, turning to his right and to the opposite side of town. He ran quickly, scooping up the discarded weapons. In an instant, he was gone.

The legionaries continued down the street, running after Hank. Apparently, Hank was the bigger target; bigger than the man on the bluff who had killed six, or the mysterious stranger who had scored twenty-four. That reasoning made no sense to him, but nevertheless, he didn't question it.

Eighteen legionaries remained. More than enough to kill one man. Or so they thought.

The figure on the bluff had disappeared. However, Hank saw him again soon enough. He had begun to navigate the road leading down a hill to Nelson. He ran the road westward, and on emerging past the bluff, saw a road bloack ahead. Two sets of sandbags and small wooden shacks with large openings faced him. Inside, he saw NCR soldiers. And boy, did they look surprised. Hank didn't judge them; seeing a Legion member running from a mob legionaries caused some alarm. And when there are only four soldiers, major alarm. But, Hank still needed to make his case clear; he was a fugitive. So, he screamed.

Inside their wooden huts, the soldiers jumped. A figure wearing brown armor and the hat of a ranger, busy reloading his rifle, pointed franticly. Hank guessed this was the man from the bluff. The legionaries halted at the sight of the road block. The NCR soldiers had raised their rifles, and were shouting at the legionaries to halt. The legionaries were shouting at the NCR soldiers and Hank to die, die, NCR scum, for the Legion, for Caesar, and everything in between. Hank just stood in no-man's land, covering himself and waiting for the bullets that never came.

"Everybody stop talking!" he finally yelled. The noise ceased. Both sides held their weapons pointed at each other, but Hank relaxed. He looked at the legionaries, each huffing and puffing and sweating and clawing the ground for blood. He looked at the NCR soldiers, each shuffling nervously with sweaty fingers on the triggers. "Can I go?" he asked the troopers.

"You're one of them!" the Ranger yelled. Hank could barely make out his name badge: Milo.

"No he isn't!" a legionary yelled back. "He deserted! Said he hates Caesar!" the legionaries shushed him viciously.

Ranger Milo eyed Hank suspiciously. "That true, son?"

Hank nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Every word," he raised his hand in a funky salute.

"That why you're all wet?"

Hank looked down at his sopping clothes; the red linen shirt and brown pants. His goggles had been cleaned of all dirt, and now he realized that he had lost his revolver in the fall. His binoculars remained, however.

"Yes, sir," answered Hank nervously.

The legionaries had had enough. One screamed a blood-curdling war cry and charged. Hank, not waiting for Ranger Milo's approval, ran towards the road block. The NCR troopers opened fire. Bullets flew past Hank at an alarming rate in an alarming quantity.

But Hank continued running. He passed the road block and lit out west. The NCR soldiers proved more lethal than someone would have, at first, thought. Thirrteen legionaries were mowed down. The remaining five ran past the roadblock and continued after Hank, not bothering with the NCR. The soldiers, realizing the population of Nelson was just depleted, cheered as they ran down the hill to occupy Nelson.

The brass at McCarran were stumped.

Hank ran hard, and he ran fast. A bridge came into view, an overpass stretching over Highway 95. Then a town, with a giant dinosaur facing east, inside a fence that also encircled a motel. Behind the motel, houses. Movement flashed in the dino's mouth as Hank stepped onto the overpass. A light flashed in the mouth, a sound like thunder echoed, and a bullet flew by Hank's ear. He dove to the ground and lay flat. The legionaries were almost on him, but four more loud booms resonated, and the legionaries fell to the ground next to Hank. He looked up, amazed. Thinking he would see the stranger in the trench coat, he was surprised when he looked into the mouth of the dino and saw a man in a red beret, dirt white t-shirt and brown pants. The man was busy reloading a hunting rifle. Hank jumped up, and the man in the dinosaur pointed it at him.

"Don't shoot!" yelled Hank. The man didn't flinch. "I'm not Legion!"

"Sure, and I'm a politician," sneered the dinosaur man.

"Well, if you enjoy kissing babies and stealing their lollipops then you could be!"

This time, he did flinch. "What?" his eyebrows furrowed, even though Hank couldn't see. The dino dude had a raspy voice that reminded Hank of Clint Eastwood. But this guy was definitely not Clint Eastwood. At least, not as far as Hank could see. He had made his day by saving him.

"Don't worry about it," Hank told him. He slowly lowered his hands, and the man lowered his gun. "Mind if I grab some more clothes?" he asked.

As it turned out, a gift shop sat in the belly of the dinosaur. The mouth: a sniper's nest. Two snipers; one for the day shift, one the night watch. The fence guarded the entrance to the hotel rooms past the lobby. Three small bungalows also sat within the fence perimeter. He walked past, turning right inside the fence. He trudged up the stairs leading into the dino, and past the vacant counter. Silently, he trudged up the stairs.

Hank stood in front of the scowling man, whose name turned out to be Boone. Craig Boone, who happened to be the nighttime sniper for the town of Novac, aptly named after the motel sign that read "No Vacancy" without that "ancy."

"You shouldn't sneak up on me like that. Especially at the end of my shift," instructed Boone pessimistically.

Hank didn't hear him. He was busy breaking in a new pair of jean pants, a blue shirt and leather jacket, and hiking boots. "Yeah, uh, I'll remember that next time I'm running from the Legion."

Boone looked unamused. Hank figured he never smiled. Like, at all.

"Look, I'll be heading out soon. I'm making my way west," Hank told him. He turned to walk out of the bowels of the dinosaur, when Boone spoke.

"Wait. You're new in town. Maybe you shouldn't go. Not just yet," his voice had changed. It sounded in need of something.

"Need something?" asked Hank, turning back to face the stone-faced sniper.

"I need someone I can trust. You're a stranger, that's a start."

Hank had had his fair share of strangers today, but was confused nevertheless. "You only trust strangers?"

"It's a start," he spat. "Nobody in this town looks me straight in the eye anymore. I need someone that can fly under the radar," Boone spoke with a sort of depressed reserve that spurred Hank's soft side.

"What do you need?"

Boone looked him straight in the eye. "My wife and unborn child were taken from our home by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch. They knew when to come; what route to take; and they only took Carla. Someone set them up, and I want to find out who."

From the get-go, Hank's curiosity had been aroused. This sort of conflict he adored; a chance to do right, something he had not been able to do his entire life.

"You're trying to track down your wife?"

Boone shook his head gravely. "My wife is gone. For all I know, she could be dead. No, I'm looking for whoever sold her. Whenever you find this person, bring them out in front of the nest. I'll give you my beret. Slip it on so I'll know you're with them. I'll take care of the rest," Hank figured he knew what Boone implied by his last words. His deadly proficiency with the gun had been awe-inspiring.

"I'll see what I can do," agreed Hank.

Boone removed his beret and handed it over. "We shouldn't speak until this is over. Only one person in town knows what happened to Carla. If word gets out, the Legion will come for me."

"Understood," Hank placed the beret in the pocket of his pants, and turned to the door. He walked down the stairs of the dino and past the man who owned the gift shop inside. Opening the door, he exited to Novac, and came face to face with an old man who just looked like gossip.

The man wore a dirty shirt, cloth pants, and sported a thick white beard, and straggly white hair. His face held many scars which looked similar to radscorpion stings. He peered at Hank curiously, and folded his arms.

"Who sent you?" asked the old man. "They tried to get me to talk before, but I didn't say nothin'... and don't aim to now, by gum!"

Hank backed against the door in alarm. "I mean you no harm, sir,"

The man squinted hard. "Well, we'll see about that, won't we? If you come any closer I'll stick you with my stickin' knife! Ol' Sticky's feelin' mighty ornery this day!"

"I think I'd much prefer if Ol' Sticky didn't join our conversation," confessed Hank.

Suddenly, the man whipped something from behind his back: a plastic butter knife.

Ol' Sticky had joined the conversation.

Hank raised his hands in defense. "Um, I think we can talk from this distance," the man edged a bit closer and leaned his head towards Hank.

"You sure?" he asked, leaning his head forward. "It's kinda hard to hear you."

A bit frazzled, Hank just stared. Ol' Sticky went away, back into the man's waistband.

"Them quack doctors can say what they want about all the radscorpion things that done pierced my skull! I know what I seen! The town calls me No-Bark. No-Bark Noonan. Because they know when I talk, it's no bark, and all bite, cause it's the truth!

"Yeah..." Hank trailed off and yawned. He looked over to the lobby door, where an older lady was busy fumbling with keys to the door. Hank figured her as the motel receptionist. "Say, No-Bark, what's the word in town?"

No-Bark stepped closer, and Hank thought Ol' Sticky was about to return. Instead, No-Bark lowered his voice and issued forth the truth.

"There are things of peculiar nature goin' on at the McBride Corral. Every night, one of their herd meets a most unnatural death, and always there are holes all over the body. 'Work of the chupacabra,' I say, 'the livestock vampire!' But they don't pay no mind. 'Too many holes,' they say, 'and always there's bullets in them!' Well, that means we have a chupacabra with an automatic weapon. And that's when they get real quiet, because they see the predicament we're in."

"I see," Hank said. He figured that the man was crazy. But Hank was enjoying himself very much. "Anything else?"

"People will say they see ghouls up near the old rocket factory!" No-Bark's voice rose and fell with each noun. Hank had never seen ghouls up close; the poor souls who had encountered too much radiation and had their entire appearance changed never had really suited him. What, with their burnt skin and gooey insides coming out. No, he enjoyed being a "smoothskin."

"It's all sensationalist hooey, being cooked up by superstitious yokels seeing phantoms of their own imagining!"

Now Hank started to get restless. But this was so fun! "What do you think is at the factory, No-Bark?"

"Ghosts!" the man said gruffly. "Commie ghosts, what don't know they're dead!"

So this man was insane, paranoid, and a reincarnation of Senator Joseph McCarthy!

"They hope to steal our rockets so they can fly up and paint the moon pink and draw a Lenin face on it! I saw one of them disappear and reappear before my very eyes."

But then No-Bark digressed.

"Although," his shoulders slumped slightly, "being a scientist, I might have just blinked for longer than usual, what with the shock of seeing a communist ghost and all. And, I had seen a kidnapping!"

Hank stopped. The laughing inside of him faded away, and he pictured Boone, in need of answers. The man who was looking for his wife and unborn child.

"A kidnapping? Boone's wife?" he asked, taking a chance.

No-Bark nodded furiously. "I seen it all! Saw shadowy folk come to his room and leave again in the middle of the night. Thought one might've gone in the lobby too, for a spell. Could be that person went in to get something. Or use the john, maybe. Either way, mighty interesting if you ask me. I thought it was cannibals, come to eat us all. So I stayed out of sight. But now I know better."

"Who was it?" asked Hank excitedly.

"Molerat men, come from the Underneath to steal young women with promises of riches and fancy mud mansions with all the latest designer appliances! They covet our lady folk's long hair for wigs, it's said, being either bald or balding themselves," and he finished his speech.

For a moment, neither spoke. Hank eyed the strange man, and No-Bark eyed Hank. Finally, Hank waved goodbye, and walked past the man towards the lobby.

"If anybody asks, we never spoke," he heard No-Bark say as he walked off.

Hank walked past the curved tail of the dinosaur, and past the nearest bungalow. In the courtyard of the motel, he eyed people emerging into the early light of dawn. He figured it was around six in the morning. The sun peeked over the hills to the east, casting a warm glow on the chill November morning. The small town of Novac, almost on the front lines, had begun to wake up. People stepped out onto the two floors of the motel, yawning from their rooms. A man in full Ranger combat armor stepped out of one of the bungalows, and Hank was thankful he no longer wore Legion clothes. Another dark skinned, older man stepped from the other bungalow, and began walking towards the dinosaur. Hank pegged him as the store owner.

Walking into the Dino-Deelite Motel lobby, Hank noticed that it was pretty bland. Dirty white linoleum floor, with a few tables and chairs standing above carpet towards the back wall. A percolator stood next to a giant tin coffee pot, and thick porcelain mugs. The older, gray haired woman stood behind the counter pushing up thin wire framed glasses. Hank sauntered over.

"Hi there," greeted the woman. I'm Jeannie Mae Crawford, owner of the Dino-Deelite. Can I interest you in a room?"

"Sure," Hank smiled. "How much?"

"Just a hundred caps on checkout. You can get yourself some grub in the tent over yonder, and I just put some coffee on," she turned and opened a filing cabinet. Hank looked around the desk. A cash register sat in front of him. In the floor, he noticed, a safe had been built. No-Bark mentioned a man coming into the lobby, to get something. Or, maybe to leave something. Payment, perhaps? "Where are you in from?" Jeannie Mae asked.

Hank turned back to watch her back as she fished in the filing cabinet. "Oh, I'm from the east."

She stopped for a second. "The east? Don't you know the Legion comes from the east?"

After he had said it, he realized it was a mistake. Nobody could know about his acquaintance with the Legion. "Yeah, I'm from...Colorado."

Jeannie Mae resumed her fishing. "We don't get many people from the east anymore," and he didn't reply. She finally found what she had been looking for; a room key. Handing it over, she said, "I hope you find everything to your liking!"

Hank started to turn, but he stopped himself. "Can you tell me anything about Boone's wife?" he asked, hoping.

Jeannie grew solemn. "How should I put it? I guess you could say she was like a cactus flower. Real pretty to look at, but there was no getting close to her. She never did like living here. She preferred the bright lights and fast living of New Vegas. I got the feeling that she was trying to get Boone to leave with her, but I guess she got tired of waiting."

And that was what he had hoped for. Hank nodded his thanks and left for his room, taking a pot of steaming coffee with him. He saw Boone leaving his post when he exited, and asked if he would join him in the room.

Hank had found heaven.

He held the mug of coffee in both hands, savoring the sweet smell. In all his time with the Legion, never before had he indulged in coffee. And now, he regretted every second of it. Once more, he tasted the sweet and bitter taste, almost like brown gold. He had finally found purpose in life.

"Gee, this is really good. Exquisite," he told Boone, who looked at him curiously from behind dark sunglasses.

"It's coffee," Boone told him.

"I know."

Boone didn't pursue the subject. The two had situated themselves in Hank's room. Hank sat on the couch, and Boone was leaning on the door, keeping an ear open for anybody listening in. The radio next to the couch was turned on, playing softly the sweet sounds of Radio New Vegas, with Mr. New Vegas the host.

Hank had filled Boone in. He believed Jeannie Mae had sold his wife.

"How can you be sure?" Boone asked.

"I was first drawn to the safe in the floor. They're commonplace, stuff from the old world. But normally, they aren't used anymore. They collect dust and start to rust. But not this one; it has been cleaned lately."

"Yeah," Boone said, nodding. "Jeannie Mae always buys Abraxo Cleaner from traveling merchants."

"But why would she need to use that safe? Why put anything in it? She has the cash register, and all those filing cabinets. What is so important that she needs a safe with a lock?"

"I don't know," Boone's eyes narrowed. "I need more cause than just the safe."

"Then I told her I was from the east. She paused looking for my key, almost like she was surprised. Which she would be, cause I am from the east. But she halted with daunting suspense, like she wasn't planning on someone coming from the east, and like she didn't want to see anybody from there."

"Speculation; nobody comes from the east other than Legion."

"The final piece came when I asked about your wife. She said that your wife had tried to get you to leave, but then she 'got tired of waiting'."

"Carla did, she wanted to go back to Vegas. What does that matter?"

"You told me that only one person, the seller, knew what had happened."

At this, Boone paused. Hank saw his mind at work, reviewing the evidence. It seemed Boone had begun to believe himself.

"Carla never liked Jeannie Mae, and likewise Jeannie Mae never liked Carla..."

"So it's settled? I'll bring her out tonight?"

"No. I need concrete evidence."

"I could hit the safe tonight, I've had experience with locks."

Around midnight, Hank snuck from his room and crept down the motel stairs. He rounded the corner and slipped inside the lobby. One light shown over the coffee bar, and Hank was tempted to pour himself a mug. But he focused on the task at hand, and hopped over the counter and bent down at the safe.

He fished a bobby pin and screwdriver from his pocket, tools every scout must have at hand. He had picked many a lock in his days as a scout; looking for places to stay the night mostly. The safe proved no trouble, and after twisting the bobby pin into the correct slot, the screwdriver turned the lock with no problem.

Inside he found old pre-war dollars, some caps, and a slip of paper.

Upon reading it, he was disgusted. It was a bill of sale, describing the transaction of one female and one unborn child between the seller, one Jeannie Mae Crawford of Novac, to the Legion. The receipt listed some Legion officials whom Hank had never heard of, but he didn't care. He had solid evidence.

He found Jeannie Mae's house easy enough. It was the first in the long line behind the motel. He didn't bother banging on the door. He simply kicked his way in.

"What's the meaning of this?" Jeannie Mae demanded, after he aroused her from her slumber. Hank already wore Boone's beret.

"There's something you need to see, out in front of the dinosaur."

"Now?" she asked, irritated.

"Now," stated Hank edging towards the line of hostility.

Without another word, Jeannie Mae rose and slipped a small jacket over her nightgown. Hank led her out of the house and towards the dino. The beret felt nice on his head. He watched Jeannie Mae carefully. They were even with the motel door now, and still walking. Only a few more seconds. He could see the five legionaries on the overpass directly east. The mouth of the dinosaur hung over the fence, and he saw the dark figure of Boone. His rifle stuck out, ready. In two more steps, he would be in front of the dino-

That's when Jeannie Mae's head exploded. Blood flew onto Hank's face, and he hit the dirt, pulling the nine millimeter from his belt. When he hit the ground, he could still hear the echo of the boom. Jeannie Mae's body had fallen immediately, and above the neckline there was simply nothing.

Silence.

Hank wiped the blood from his face and crawled forward. Jeannie Mae's body lay perpendicular across the road, and he looked over it towards the road, thinking the Legion had sent bounty hunters for him. But slowly, realization hit him.

A few minutes later, he stood in front of Boone. "You didn't have to make her head explode. I already need new clothes again."

Boone seemed to not have heard. "How did you know?"

"I found the bill of sale," Hank produced the slip of paper.

"Yeah. It'd be like them to keep paperwork. Well, that's that."

"Are you an outlaw now?" Hank asked.

But Boone only shook his head, and crossed his arms. "No. People die out there, it's a way of life. It happens often enough that no one asks questions. It just happens. And besides," Boone smiled wickedly. "I was on break when it happened."

"So what will you do now?"

"I don't know. I can't stay here, that's for sure. All I want is to kill legionaries and track down my wife. Maybe I'll wander,"

"Why don't you come with me? A sniper needs a good spotter, and I know the workings of the Legion better than the common legionary."

Boone considered for a moment, and then nodded. "Sounds good. We'll leave first thing in the morning. Head west. I hear there is a nice town called Goodsprings to the northwest. We'll have to work down Highway 95 and through Nipton. The way south on the Long 15, from Vegas, is too dangerous. And here, I have an extra beret. You looked comfortable in it," he pulled an identical red beret from his pack.

In truth, Hank felt empowered in the beret. It made him feel at ease with the world, and like it belonged. The beret made him feel like anything could be accomplished. For the first time, he studied the beret. With a shocking realization, he saw Boone had been in the NCR military; First Recon to be exact, their elite sharpshooters. The logo of First Recon graced the front of the beret, a bear with two crossed rifles. To the side was the company slogan: 'The last thing you never see.'

Boone and Hank bid each other goodnight, and Hank turned and exited the dino's mouth. For the last time, Boone returned his cold eyes to the road east; to where the Legion lay, and, somewhere, his wife and child. Below him, a pool of blood had formed at where Jeannie Mae's head had once been.

Upon leaving the dino, Hank once again came face to face with No-Bark. The man looked wild in the moonlight. "Did you hear?" he asked.

"What?" asked Hank.

"The chupacabra killed Jeannie Mae! It came at her, invisible of course, and blew her head clean off with a blunderbuss that spins and shoots bullets out of a backpack! I seen it all, though it was quite hard; what with the chupacabra being invisible and so forth."

This time, and for the first time in a while, Hank laughed. He walked towards his room, No-Bark rambling on behind him. As he climbed the steps to his room, he faintly heard him call out:

"If anybody asks, we never spoke!"