.
January 23rd, 2281, 11:43 p.m.
At night, one could forget the dangers of the Mojave wasteland. The twinkling lights of New Vegas and the pale moonlight intermingled to form a unique glow that shone brightly across the night sky. On the world below, the wasteland itself seemed still and empty, the whispers of the wind only occasionally overshadowed by the lonesome cry of some animal. Peace and serenity lay over the land as a cloak, concealing the nightly battle of survival for the creatures of the desert.
Hunters and the hunted moved quickly and silently through the ever-present shadows. Smaller prey hid themselves in deep crevices while their pursuers followed methodically from hideaway to hideaway, patient but earnest in their hunt. In turn, larger carnivores stalked these lesser hunters. Secure in their place at the top of the Mojave's food chain, the apex predators walked unchallenged across the desert and brought fear and death wherever they went.
Concealed away in a rocky alcove, a small campfire burned warmly. Sunk a foot into the loose earth, the fire's ambient light was masked as it released its heat into the earth and air. A second, smaller hole dug into the wall of the fire pit allowed the fire to pull in oxygen and burn stronger while keeping the main pit as small as possible.
Two figures were huddled around the fire. One lay wrapped tightly in a sleeping bag fast asleep while the other sat with his back to a wall, sharpening an axe and singing softly. A deep resonance rose from the center of his chest and reverberated slightly in the cramped enclosure. Giving the axe-head one last stroke of his whetstone, the man examined his work and, satisfied with the result, placed it on the ground. Taking up the next weapon from beside him, he began his work again, once more filling the concealed campsite with his quite song and the sound of stone against metal.
For a few minutes, the man's song and work continued uninterrupted when seemingly without reason, he froze — the lyrics of his song dying quickly in his throat. Without moving the rest of his body, the man scoured the small campground with his eyes before relaxing and returning to his work.
"You enjoy music then?" he asked, smilingly slightly and raising his head to look up to the night sky. Another figure sat atop one of the rocks that made up the sanctuary's walls. Dropping down and grabbing the lip of his perch with one hand, the figure hung momentarily before completing the fall to the campsite below. The sleeping denizen of the camp rolled over once and mumbled incoherently when he landed, voicing her distress at almost being awoken.
"Yes," the new figure replied, moving to sit cross-legged next to the fire, directly across from the relaxed man who continued to sharpen his weapon. "That is, as long as the singer is as capable as you. Some people think they were given the gift of voice and do their best to make sure everybody knows it, when in actuality they were given the gift of listening and are too busy filling the air with the sound of their own voice to realize it."
The relaxed man glanced at the sitting figure, raising one eyebrow pointedly before replying, "One does not need a gift to use their voice well," he stated. "Every man is given a voice. That voice can be trained and taught, and when time comes, the voice will sing."
The figure nodded and looked at the fire between them, seeming to choose his next words carefully before asking the man, "Who taught you to sing, Ursus?"
Ursus stiffened at the question, looking towards the sleeping figure beside the fire before returning his gaze back to his seated companion. Sighing slightly, he continued his work, eyes lost in thought as the silence grew. "My mother," he replied finally, "before I was taken from her."
Looking up from the fire, Denn's eyes met those of his hulking companion causing the man to pause in his work. Not for the first time, the deep black of the Courier's irises unsettled Ursus, but he held Denn's gaze, refusing to look away.
"Who was she?" Denn asked.
"A healer," Ursus replied, returning to his work, "a fighter, a warrior, a savior to some, but most of all, she was a leader. When the Legion came, she would not yield. For weeks she led them in a desperate chase through the canyons of our home, laying traps and ambushes that devastated their numbers. There was too many of them, however, and eventually we were captured. Taken before Caesar, she was forced onto her knees, but refused to recognize him as her leader. She maintained her refusal as Caesar had my brothers killed. I was the youngest, and the last to be taken from her, but I was not killed. Cutting out her tongue, Caesar had her face disfigured and made her watch in chains as I was raised as a Legionary.
"As I grew, I did not know that she was still there. I was told she had been killed, and was too young to recognize her after Caesar scarred her face. Unable to tell me she was my mother, she lived in constant torture as I was molded into what she hated most. When I turned sixteen, I overheard a group of Praetorians speaking of my mother's fate. I would occasionally see her in passing as my training continued, but was unable to speak with her. Only once was I alone with her. She refused to look at me or acknowledge my questions. After that, I left the Legion with the defeat of the Malpais Legate at Boulder City. As far as I know, she is still serving Caesar. Someday she will return to me, in this life or the next."
A loud snore greeted the conclusion of Ursus' story. Glancing over as the third denizen of the camp moved fitfully in her sleep, Denn and Ursus smiled at one another. They spent the next few minutes in silence – Denn staring at the burning embers of the fire and Ursus continuing his work sharpening his collection of weapons.
Once again, Denn broke the silence. "I will see your mother freed," he stated, meeting Ursus' gaze. "I will break the chains that bind her and return what life Caesar has taken."
Ursus smiled. "I hope you will, my friend, but know no matter where she is, the memory of the woman she was is always within me."
Denn nodded once more and stood, bowing slightly to his seated companion before moving towards the exit of the campsite.
"Should get some rest," Ursus said, gesturing to a bedroll sitting unused at one side of the fire. "I will take next watch."
"I'll be fine," the Courier stated simply. "ED-E and I can handle it. Sleep, my friend, we reach Novac tomorrow." Looking back towards Ursus for a moment before turning away, the Courier strode quickly from the campsite.
Watching his companion leave, Ursus sighed and glanced at the third occupant of the campsite. "Optimist to a fault, no?" he asked, not expecting a response. The woman didn't surprise him as she continued to sleep deeply – and disruptively – as a cavernous snore rumbled through the campsite. Shaking his head, Ursus struck his whetstone against his knife one last time, his eyes dark and mournful as they inspected the tempered steel. Returning the blade to the ground beside him, he reached into his coat and pulled out an innocuous gold coin. Worn and dull, on one side the coin was marked with the silhouette of a proud man while the other carried the symbol of a charging bull. Holding the coin in his palm, Ursus stared at it, deep in thought.
"Ave, true to Caesar," Ursus said softly, his gaze once again moving to the entrance of the alcove. Slowly returning the coin back to his coat, Ursus settled himself against the wall and closed his eyes, humming softly for a few minutes before drifting off to sleep.
.
.
October 23rd, 2281, 7:43 a.m.
"Hold still."
Tugging slightly, the Courier disconnected Veronica's helmet and its heads-up display from the rest of her armor. Denn set the helmet to the side and pulled a cable from his Pip-Boy, inserting it into the HUD port in Veronica's armor. Veronica shifted uncomfortably causing Denn to lightly slap her on the head before he continued to analyze her armor's status.
Veronica stared at the doorway, Denn having turned her to face the other direction when he had begun to work on her armor. She coughed awkwardly, seeming unsure of how to proceed. "So, um, thanks for the save," she said finally.
"I won't always be there, you know," Denn replied. "You should've ran when you had the chance – stuck to the plan."
"I couldn't just abandon that man to – " Veronica started to reply before trailing off. They sat in silence for a few moments, the hum of the dam and the clicks of the Pip-Boy's dials filling the air.
"Are you ok?" Veronica asked finally, turning her head to look at the Courier and earning herself another tap on the head.
"I will be," Denn answered. He paused for a moment before continuing quietly, "He made his choice."
"Well yeah, but –" Veronica began.
"No more," Denn interrupted. "We're going to have to get you out of this armor – the left arm needs maintenance before it will be combat ready." He reached around and pulled the release on Veronica's armor. With a hiss, the chestplate pushed forward and separated in half, exposing Veronica's chest and waist. The former scribe wore only a thin jumpsuit under the heavy armor. Pulling her arms out one at a time, Veronica extracted herself from the bulky exoskeleton.
Holding the armor up with one knee until Veronica was free of it, Denn turned a dial on his Pip-Boy causing it to reseal itself. The Courier twisted a few more dials as Veronica stretched, locking up the armor completely. Unhooking his cable from the power armor, Denn rose and moved to the far doorway. Roughly, he pulled off the door's access panel and began work on locking it closed. "In the next room is a Legionary," he said. "Put on his armor."
"I'd probably be better sticking with this outfit," Veronica stated, throwing a few punches at the air, seeming to enjoy the weightlessness of her actions. "Football gear is too bulky and not enough power-y for my tastes. Without power I'd rather be fast than armored. Plus, it probably smells like Legionary."
"It's not for protection," Denn replied simply, focusing on his work. "Or smell, for that matter. Now go put it on."
"Fine," Veronica relented, jogging into the next room while running her fingers through her short raven colored hair. The Legionary in question lay sprawled out next to a duffle bag. Free of cuts, the Legionary seemed to be soundly asleep. She nudged the soldier with her foot uneasily as if expecting him to jump to his feet at any moment. Noticing that his chest was unmoving, Veronica sighed. "Forced to wear the armor of a recently deceased wannabe-Heisman," she deadpanned. "Everything's turning up Veronica."
She started to remove the Legionary's clothing, taking care to avoid touching his skin as much as possible. Pulling the shoulder pads over her head, Veronica was adjusting the armor awkwardly when Denn walked into the room.
"You have to take off your jumpsuit," Denn said, turning to close the door he had came out of and beginning the process of sealing it.
"I have to what?" Veronica asked, staring blankly at Denn's back.
"It won't be a good disguise if you have that jumpsuit underneath," Denn explained. "Don't worry, I won't look."
Sighing dejectedly for the second time in so many minutes, Veronica removed the armor she had already equipped and slipped out of her Jumpsuit. She glanced towards Denn to make sure he wasn't watching before slipping on the Legionary's undershirt and putting the armor back in place. It wasn't difficult to equip, and by the time she had finished tightening the final clasps, Denn had finished locking the door.
Turning to face her, Denn briefly examined her disguise. "You make a passable slave-soldier, Miss. Santangelo," he said. "Better put on the helmet and face-wrap through, your feature's are not exactly masculine enough to pass as a Legionary's."
"Thanks for the compliment, boss," Veronica replied, putting on the helmet and wrapping the bandana around her face, "Why am I wearing this getup anyway? If I say something, any Legionary worth his salt will be able to tell I'm not Legion."
"Well, I guess you'll have to keep your mouth shut then," Denn said, moving to open the duffle bag.
"Never heard that before," Veronica muttered sarcastically. Crossing her arms as Denn rummaged through the bag, she stared at him for a few moments in silence. "What are we doing anyway?" she finally asked.
Finding what he was searching for, Denn tossed a power fist up to Veronica. The former Scribe deftly caught it and slipped it onto her right hand. Punching her fist into the air, she activated the weapon's pneumatics, causing its hydraulic jack to leap forward.
"Sneak attack," Denn answered, standing and pulling the duffle bag's strap over his shoulder. Turning his back to Veronica, he began to trot out of the room.
Looking down at the filthy armor she was wearing, Veronica sighed for the third and final time. "After this battle I am going to wear the shit out of a dress," she said determinedly, "practicality be dammed." Resigning herself to her fate, Veronica jogged after the Courier.
.
.
June 22nd, 2281, 3:45 p.m.
"Was all of it a lie?"
Denn's knife was pressed tightly against Ursus' neck, the blade already red with blood from a cut across the man's chest. Holding Ursus' right arm above his head by wedging his own arm behind the Legion soldier's neck, Denn used his left leg to keep Ursus' remaining upper extremity immobile. The hulking figure was completely at the Courier's mercy.
"Yes." Ursus answered, his voice quiet and strained.
The combatants were still for a moment. Finally, Denn released Ursus from the chokehold and stood up, moving away from the prone Legionaire. "Go."
Rubbing his neck wearily, Ursus rose to his knees and looked up at Denn as the Courier moved away. "I am sorry, my friend," he said.
"Tell it to Gannon," Denn replied bitterly, stopping and turning to look back at Ursus. Staring at the crouched figure for a few more moments, the Courier opened the doorway to the Remnants bunker and limped through it, letting the door close behind him.
Ursus rose slowly, wincing as he unintentionally strained the cut on his chest. Turning away from the closed door, he began to walk slowly to the east. A frumentarii agent was stationed at an NCR outpost nearby and could relay the information he had to Caesar. Ursus had failed in his mission – the Courier had convinced the Remnants to side against the Legion in the coming battle.