A tense moment of confusion grips the air, a moment of interminable existence in which the Legionary curses his luck, his 'special' assignment, the slovenly raiders and every event that led up to this. Most of all he curses her. He's got about five seconds until he's hacked or shot to death.

What happens next is exactly why the man is Frumentarii.

In an impromptu act of self-preservation, Anatolius shifts into a nonthreatening stance and puts his gloved hands up into the air,

"Wait, wait! Don't shoot!" The Fiends stop to listen to the pleading, the man's voice shifted into a wastelander accent,

"I've got chems…"

Their collective demeanor is beguiled into a more benign state, a small sack tossed onto the floor. It's only healing powder- but they don't know that. Now they are expectant, as inquisitive as a group of drugged-out malcontents could be.

"Who the fuck sent you, rookie?" A severe looking woman with long, wiry hair spits at him with a harsh tongue.

"I- I'm a courier for the Great Khans, sent to deliver a package to Motor-Runner in Vault 3," not a single stutter. Good.

"Here- let me show you…" he reaches under his pack and fiddles around until his hand brushes against a frag grenade. As he slides his finger through the iron ring, Anatolius raises an eyebrow at the Fiends.

"The fuck you waiting for?"

Click.

"I'm not waiting for anything."

"Huh?"

Precious time slips through his fingers. It's time to make the move.

A sudden blur of motion precedes the room erupting into panic, wide eyes set on the object rolling towards them and the man who has disappeared. They scream in terror as they watch their grim fates materialize. Take one last life-or-death chance to escape, but all they accomplish is falling over each other.

The Frumentarius has already sprinted through the adjacent room and is out the window by the time the grenade goes off, its explosion oscillating, roaring through the residence. The entire second floor collapses. A shower of ash and cement billow out of the window above him, followed by a blood-curdling moan from inside. Relieved but all too aware of what lies ahead, he whips out his silenced 12.7mm submachine gun and charges through the smoke. He takes refuge inside a City Liner on the nearby road- waits for the right time to strike and carve a path.

That time takes a while to come, but in minutes a small group of Fiends show their faces. Three.. four. Others are probably behind the building judging by the faint screaming.

Easy.

Isolate. Eliminate. Anatolius racks a bullet into the well-oiled chamber and draws a bead on the raider closest to him through his retrofitted scope. Watching intently with piercing eyes and a chip on his shoulder. This one's high out of her wits, stumbling around with a pool cue as if she actually knows what's going on, horned helmet practically sideways on her head. He sucks in a deep breath, gives two firm tugs on the trigger.. the hollow-points go clean through her torso and drop her to the dirt. Not one of them catches on in the ensuing moments as he methodically calculates the patterns of his targets. Always easier with Fiends…

Then two others appear from inside, dragging a legless comrade around back. They end the screams.

Thwip!

Thwip-wip! The gentle sound marks their deaths.

Inevitable suspicion is aroused when the remaining thugs find the fresh pile of bodies. Three left. One of them wears an atypical set of painted metal armor spliced with spare parts, shouldering an incredibly beat up plasma caster, the others wear savage Fiend garb and tout petty small arms. He'd have to poke for weaknesses or land a direct headshot to take out the leader, but Anatolius knows this plan must be executed well or else he risks never walking out of the ruins.

While the three stand over the bodies trying to discern through their drug hazes what exactly is was that killed them, one of the 'normal' Fiends drops to the ground without a peep. Suppressed bullets then ding off the metal man's plates until one catches him in his forearm. That's when he sees his attacker,

"Ow! Motherfu- wait… there he is! The bus!" His perception is sharper than the rest; probably from a prolonged mentats addiction, "BURN HIM!"

There's no time to reload, just rearm. The bus gives him enough protection until he's able to come back up with his hunting revolver covered in non-reflective tape, but the Fiend lieutenant is firing wildly, at fixed position while the other rallies behind a chunk of cement. A volley of plasma zaps inaccurately around the man and melts the ancient paintjob into viscous drippings of chemicals. Discreetly he moves to the back. Draws back the hammer. Fires.

The other Fiend's duck-and-cover game is predictable- predictability gets you killed in a fight. A high caliber round cleans out his skull cavity as he lurches backwards. One left. The Legionary empties his clip into the last raider, knocking him back but not fazing him in the slightest. Quickly realizing his .44 is dry because of the ghoul incident, Anatolius feels for his final loaded weapon.

Plan B.

Finally he breaks cover and leaves the Liner- just as the entire back melts down into a mass of blue. Perfect timing; his adversary's weapon fizzes from lack of a power source and doesn't know how to reload it offhand (or is too high)… so he drops it, dives to his buddy's brain smeared cover and takes up his varmint rifle. The moment the profligate shows himself, his cover explodes into pieces. Sends him reeling feet backwards with a 40mm grenade.

Anatolius uses the moment to his advantage. He pumps his stockless launcher and fires again, making a beeline for a wrecked Corvega. Overshot. The grenade clears its target and blows out the left corner of the two-story building. The entire structure shakes at the foundation, then crumbles into a noisy plume of sand and dirt…

once the smoke clears he sees the small army closing in on their position.

"Valde…"

Meanwhile, the Fiend leader sucks down several doses of jet and stands up like he's fine. Instead of making him more careless in the firefight, the methamphetamine gives him exceptional accuracy and gunmanship on top of riling him up so he's able to pin his attacker with just a bolt-action.

The margin of error has shrunk to almost nothing. Distract, converge, escape. He must escape now.

That's when divine intervention sweeps down. In an amazing stroke of good fortune, a group of silhouetted figures appear on the small rise of buildings to the southeast. Entrenched, they let loose a tirade of gunshots on the dozens of Fiends, their choice of weapons saying it all. Scorpions. They must have followed the sounds of action all the way to their fringe territory. This being contested turf; they have every right to fight for it. Metal man and the rest of the raiders sloppily retaliate, while a hint of a smile crosses the hidden man's lips at the miraculous event,

almost like he planned it all along.

Crouched low he takes his main pack off and finds the Stealth Boy. He hurriedly straps it around his wrist, pulls it tight, and subtilizes into a barely visible blur.

Distract. Converge…

Escape. The sound of war follows him out of Fiend territory.

.

.

.

Since his stratagem was more than successful- Anatolius had free reign of the southwest Vegas ruins,

all the way to Westside. Partial invisibility helps him sneak by any stragglers he comes across as well as the infamous Monte Carlo suites. The sky lightens with the promise of morning, though it is still the dead of night, by the time the stealth device dies.

Westside's gate comes into view. Reaching into a pouch on his belt he stops and takes out a strange device- an inclinometer roughly resembling a pre-war astrolabe. A star-taker. He extends one side of it and aims at the heavens…

4 a.m. Impressive, even by a Legionary's standards.

The man walks unabated through the junk door and back into the thralls of civilization. Westside isn't nearly as bad as Freeside; a lower crime rate consequently brings a lower death rate at the hands of the local militia. It's still an aesthetic nightmare, but old buildings are old buildings. What Anatolius truly respects is the settlement's independent nature; a rare commodity amidst the NCR-Legion power grab and something noteworthy in his travels.

Since he wants to avoid suspicion by inquiring to every local in sight, he heads to the one place in town where every secret is kept to uphold the Old World adage of Las Vegas- a personal favorite bordello. The drab gray of the sagging Casa Madrid apartment complex is waiting for him, taking up most of the street as he approaches near. Marco isn't in his usual spot so he sits down in the chair outside the door, flips through his pack, and pulls out a few strips of dried meat and some water.

While he eats he notices his hands shaking. Then a lingering stinging sensation,

as adrenaline fades and reality fully sets in, he realizes he has shrapnel lodged in his neck. Plucking it out with thumb and index finger, he wipes the blood away, chews on a cactus leaf for the illusion of fresh breath, and walks in.

.

.

.

"Well if it isn't my best worst customer," the 'manager' Sarah quips, leaned up against the wall beside the stairs,

"Woah- what's got you in a rush?"

"I'm looking for someone, the girl with the platinum chip- can you help me?"

"Uhh… she came in earlier but the only person she talked to was..-"

A young woman trots down the stairs and interrupts. She's gorgeous, wearing just a tank-top and shorts, her short brown hair tied back in a messy bun.

"… Sweetie."

"Anato!" She runs and leaps onto him in a bear-hug that's strong for a woman, "You're back!"

"He's looking for your lady friend."

"Oh, you mean-"

"I really need to know where she is, Jane."

"Mm.. do you now?" Her comforting voice slips into hinted seduction.

"Yes. Can you tell me?" He's short tempered after the night's events, but her voice peels him apart like hard layers to a softer core.

"Sure I can…"

She takes a step closer,

"But that's no fun. What do you say we… uh…" Sweetie leans in on him, pressing her soft skin against his cold armor, "Trade?" She runs her hand along the inside of his leg.

Anatolius sighs, but quickly sees the upside,

"Deal."

She takes him by the hand and leads him upstairs.

"Just don't destroy the room like last time!" Pretty Sarah yells after them. She doesn't get a response.

"That armor is gonna be real fun to take off." A door slams shut behind them and locks.

Even if it is noble to resist carnal pleasures, Anatolius simply can't help it around her. He never could…

Cold hearts are warmed by lust.