It was a long walk, but Connor could see a building out in the distance. He picked up the pace. There was a storm picking up. The dust flickered about his face and he pulled up a part of his shirt to cover his face. He tripped over a portion of the highway but managed to plant a hand that kept him from falling full to the ground. He had his 10mm pistol in the other hand, keeping it in a solid grip ever since he left Primm. He couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching him.
He heard the crack of a gunshot over the whistling of the wind and he felt his right arm spasm. He went into a roll, using his left shoulder to absorb some of the impact. His back stuck something hard before he sat himself up, leaving his duffle bag beside him. Another pair of shots rung out above him and he peered around the edge of his cover. He could see three vague humanoid shapes moving towards him. He edged around to the other side of his cover and spotted another one, moving quickly. He preferred not to be shot in the back and rose out of cover, firing three shots. The figure hit the ground with a groan.
He made his way to where the other three were approaching and emptied the rest of his clip into the center mass. He saw one of the outlined figured hit the ground hard but the other two ran forward. A part of Connor was relieved that they were raiders and not innocent wastelanders. They both wore their hair in two Mohawks and wore a mixture of patched leather. One of them had a switchblade out and the other took cover behind another metallic husk gripping a sawed-off shotgun. The melee combatant swung the switchblade out at him and Connor weaved to the side. The raider stumbled and Connor kneed him in the back and used him as a human shield as the gunman fired. A bulk of the shot took his comrade in the chest but more ripped along his side. He spun and hit the ground, coughing violently as the wind was knocked out of him.
"Oh looks like I'm eating well tonight…" he heard the other saw with a hissing laughter.
Connor kept still and waited until the raider came around the trunk of the car as he pulled out his magnum, reloading it quickly and with shaking hands. He fired two shots into him as he came around. The first took him in the crotch while the other buried into his chest and flung him back several feet. Connor rolled over and managed to stand, his side and arm on fire as he pushed into the building.
"Who in the hell are you?" a voice snapped.
There were two more, armed with a lead pipe and tire iron. Connor cursed and fired two more shots at the one armed with the pipe. Both shots took her in the face, turning her head into a twisted mass. The lead pipe swung around but Connor leaned down, slammed the grip of his pistol into the side of his head and stumbled back, firing the last two bullets. One connected into his neck and the other rebounded off the wall. Connor found himself on his back again.
He sat up, shuffling through his back and removing his now torn up duster. He inspected the wounds the best he could and with a quick, painful trace of his finger injected stimpack into each area and injected himself with a Med-X to dull the pain. He then managed to get to his feet, leaving his bag on the table and starting to gather up what he could off the corpses, namely the sawed off shotgun and the small box of shells the particular raider had.
He tossed them all outside a fair distance away from the building, letting gravity do its work and leaving the raiders in a ditch. They deserved no better. He was back inside and closed the door, using a desk to block off the entrance. He ignored his burning side and leg as he shoved another Med-X needle into him dulling his senses once more.
The exploration took only a little time. The building had two bathrooms, some cabinets and desks with caps and cigarettes mostly intact in their cartons and what appeared to be old worn badges within a couple of them. It also had a coffee machine and a small collection of intact cups with the letters of LAPD worn into them. It was what, more specifically who, he found in the neighboring room hat he found interesting.
The body was fresh, and by the look of the other raider corpse just across from it he seemed he put up a fight. He wore a set of rodeo jeans in well worn condition with a long duster with what appeared to be pre-war riot armor beneath. He saw the NCR logo on one of the flaps of the duster. The three letters meant only a bit to him. He knew what the NewCaliforniaRepublic was, considering he did see their soldiers about including the ones in Primm, but what was he doing in this place? Captured? It seemed a likely scenario. The man was killed by a single gunshot wound to the back of the head, seeing the nasty caved in skull beneath the helm. He slid it off with a grunt. The face was a bloody mess, barely recognizable under the shards of bone and brain matter. He would pin it on the man with the sawed off shotgun if he ever could guess.
He went about removing the rest of the armor and taking stock of what else the man had. It wasn't what he wanted to truly be doing this far out, but the wasteland wouldn't give him an opportunity like this again. Such a sturdy armor could come in handy. He undressed himself and winced at his pained side and dressed the corpse up in his worn clothing. He kept the duster though and placed it into one of the desk drawers as well as his 9mm pistol with spare ammo. He placed the helm on the desk and put the armor on.
It was a snug fit, mostly due to the outfit's weight, but he strapped his weapons on and with a few experimental strides and waves of his arms was satisfied with it. He then dragged both corpses out into the wilderness again, pilfering the ammo off the raider and using a broken off piece of a car door dug the man a shallow grave and placed him behind the building. He stood there, silent for a moment as he paid what little respect he knew to the man.
Back inside he discovered the NCR man's service rifle. It was a well made weapon and with some cleaning and maintenance was quickly returned to working order. He had three clips shoved into the duster plus the one already in the gun. There were also two beds, albeit folded down from the wall. He strapped the rifle to his back and went through all the cabinets and desks for useful items having just gave a quick glance and grab the first time. When he closed the door to the holding cell he spotted a reloading bench. He saw the first one at Goodsprings outside of Chet's store. If what he heard from Chet was true he could make ammo or convert some bullets into other types should he need to. He wasn't an expert at that, and left it alone for now. He got another carton of cigarettes from the garbage can by it and from the ammo box hidden under it another dozen shells for his sawed off shotgun. All in all a good haul.
That's when he heard the first quiet, alien clicking sounds.
It shocked him at first, having nearly dozed off while sitting down to rest his legs, but he was up in an instant, rifle butt against his shoulder. It seemed to be coming from the bathrooms. He approached quietly and with an uncertain hand opened the men's bathroom up. Half a dozen green shapes with beady red eyes sprung forth, jumping at him. He used his rifle to splatter one against the wall before quickly firing a pair of bullets into each one. The clicking still continued from the women's bathroom. He knew what to expect now as he opened the door and stepped back, more of the mutated insects came forth and Connor emptied his clip on them. He reloaded as his boots crushed the tiny twitching bodies. He placed the empty magazine on the reloading bench and went about cleaning up.
He tossed the small slimy corpses outside on the road and using some of the water that the building had washed them clean. He secured the desk back in front of the door again and made his way back to the beds. The Mojave Outpost can wait for a little while longer. He removed the duster and used it as a makeshift pillow and it wasn't long before Connor fell asleep with a hand gripping his 10mm pistol. One could never be too careful.