The man took a long drag of his cigarette. He enjoyed the addictive chemicals that started to course through his body, a cigarette a day made the doctor stay away. The filter no longer worked due to the hundreds of years since it had been packaged by the tobacco companies before the Great War.
He looked over the highway, seeing the vast stretch of territory that was soon to be his. The caravans were to pay protection fees to him, so that he could pay Eddie to be in control of this stretch. Eddie was the overall leader of the Powder Gangers; he was the leader of the crew that was just outside of Goodsprings.
Goodsprings.
For the past week, they had been rebuffing his attempts to get a trader that had managed to escape them, a guy by the name of Ringo. He had shot two of his men dead and he wanted vengeance. He loosened up his Kevlar vest that covered his blue button up shirt. He was sweating from the heat, but the cigarette made it a little more bearable. He looked at his holster which housed his magnum, which was currently shining from the glare from the afternoon sun.
Lucky.
He had found it when he and a few of his guys went to Primm to look for easy pickings, only to be driven off by another group of convicts from the same prison. They had managed to escape, but in their escape from the Bison Steve Hotel, he had managed to pick up a new .357 magnum. He looked at the cool metal while he looked at the little town of Goodsprings. He saw the stupid robot that looked like one of those fancy from before the war wheeling around, while Sunny, the little bitch with the varmint rifle and the local "ranger", was sitting on top of the roof of the saloon where she was enjoying a cool Nuka-Cola under the shade of an umbrella. But he saw something that caught his eye.
It was someone walking out of the house of the Doc that lived there, wearing a vault suit that was armored in different areas with tough hardened leather plates. A 9mm pistol rested on his hip, in the holster that was attached to his pistol belt. A large black leather scabbard hung from his back while an armored glove was holding a bottle of fresh water. He licked his lips at the sight of the water. He whistled to his boys; they looked at him with savage looks, some of the dressed with nothing but shorts and a bandolier on. Two of those boys stood up when he passed a glance at them.
"Go to the Springs. Get some water. If that Sunny bitch goes there for her daily gecko cleansing, I give you my blessing to cleanse her," he said with a savage grin.
Zephyr walked along the dusty road that intersected into Goodsprings. It was a cloudless sky; the burning sun was torching the desert. He looked at his newly acquired Pip-Boy before setting on his destination; the Prospector Saloon. He saw a man tilling his fields, wearing a cowboy vest shirt along with a wide brimmed hat. Passing him, he yelled a friendly hello, only to hear the man mutter," Too many people passing into town if you ask me."
The general store was a two story building with the sign, GOODSPRINGS GENERAL STORE, in bold letters on a rickety piece of wood that hung over the rotting wooden door. Passing by, Zephyr looked into his satchel that he had with him. In it were fifty-five caps, six clips of 9mm ammunition for his pistol that he had christened Headshot, two bottles of purified water,(asking the Doc for it when he realized that the land was shit), some gecko jerky that the Doc had kindly given him, and a few changes of underwear.
Yep. This is going to be fun.
He was going to track down the bastard that had shot point blank for something that he thought was a tacky piece of shit. There had been a note in his satchel, detailing that he was to deliver a platinum chip to New Vegas for two hundred and fifty caps. After being shot in the head, Zephyr wanted to five times as many caps. After all, he had been shot in the head.
What troubled him the most was that all he knew was his first name. When he tried to conjure up something from his past, it was a muddy puzzle, like a pool of water that kept being rippled. He couldn't remember anything.
A tumbleweed jarred from his thoughts. The Prospector Saloon, where the Doc had told him to meet Sunny, the local ranger and a tough son of a bitch, if the Doc was to believed. He looked at the saloon, two desolate motorcycles, gutted with only the outer shell there, being in front of it, and a man playing guitar as he sung with a rough but nice voice.
To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day.
Zephyr continued to walk on by, going up the steps to the front of the Prospector Saloon, the bright lights from the sign mixing with the rays from the afternoon sun. He opened the door, letting a wave of alcohol, vomit, and crushed childhood dreams rush over him. He heard a growl and looked up, to see a massive German Shepard, or what he thought to be a German Shepard, growling at him, teeth bared. Spittle landed on the floor as the dog continued to growl, its rear starting to go up, as if it was going to pounce on the poor man that had just woken up from his funeral.
"Cheyenne stay," a voice came from the shifting darkness on the other side of the room. He squinted, only to see a short blonde woman, with darkened bronze skin, high and sharp cheekbones, and was wearing armor made of toughened gecko leather. A rifle was seen strapped to her back, as well as two pistols in holsters on her hip. She was a ranger.
"Hi, my name is Sunny, the local ranger. Cheyenne won't bite unless I tell her so. What can I do for you stranger?" she asked in a sort of bored tone.
"Doc Mitchell said that you could him get back in the saddle, you know, help me relearn how to survive in this wasteland, I guess," he said, relaying the words that the Doc had told him in order to get help.
"Alright stranger. Meet in the back. I got a nice shooting range. After that, we'll go clear the Springs watering hole. Then, I'll teach you how to mix different plants in order to make different kinds of potions, healing items, all the wonderful stuff. You in stranger?" she asked. Zephyr nodded and soon she was heading out into the wasteland. He followed close behind and soon he was basking in the warm afternoon sun once more.
"Alright stranger, take this varmint rifle," he turned to see that she had lead them to the back of the Saloon. A makeshift table held several bottles of empty Nuka-Cola and Sunset that wee arrayed in a makeshift shooting range.. She handed him a rifle, with three magazines. He locked on the rifle and suddenly bits of information came into his mind.
M1 Carbine. Five-point-fifty-six round. Same used in the M16 and the AR-15. Able to drop a human target from three hundred yards. Not high stopping power but with the right aim, can drop anything. Headshots are the best way to use this rifle. Bolt action. Five round clip. can be modified. Ok condition.
"Alright, just take this and aim down the sights. Shouldn't be tha-"but she was cut off when he aimed the rifle down the sights. Inhaling, he let the cool desert air filter in to his lungs and let the adrenaline take over. Time seemed to slow as he exhaled and pulled the trigger. A mushroom cloud of smoke and exhaust sputtered from the rifle as the bullet sped out of the rifle, letting the rifled grooves make it spin like it was doing ballet, being propelled by hot compressed gasses.
The first target exploded in a shrapnel of glass that rained onto the table, stabbing the ground with deadly efficiency. He then pulled the bolt out, letting the hot brass eject and slammed right back in, a new bullet in the chamber. He aimed again and the same thing happened, this time a Nuka-Cola bottle that also exploded. Repeat. Soon, all the bottles had been shot and destroyed. He let the hot rifle cool before he ejected the magazine and slammed a new one right into it. He was good. Real good. He didn't know what happened. He had let his instincts and this was what happened.
"Wow stranger. Never saw anyone shoot like that before. Seems that you have this whole shooting thing down like that," she said with admiration in her tone.
"Thank you Sunny. Here's your rifle back," he said, trying to hand it back.
"No stranger, you keep it. You do a lot better with it than me. Alright, lets go head to the watering hole," she said with authority. Zephyr looked at the rifle before asking for a strap. Sunny parted with one, though not without complaint. Soon, the rifle was strapped to his back and he and the ranger were heading to the watering hole, or the "Springs" as the locals called it, to do some community service.
Juno was situated on top of the hill. The town of Goodsprings was arrayed right in front of her. She saw the graveyard where she had dug up the courier that had been shot. She was looking through a pair of ancient binoculars when she saw two people start to walk from the Saloon to the Watering holes that gave the town its name. One of the was in a vault suit, armored and raring to go, while the other was in leather, with a dog trailing behind her.
"My lady, a group of Powder Gangers has just arrived outside the town. Numbering at least ten. Two of them are heading to the Springs. Both are dressed in the armor of the old NCR guards at the prison. Should we take care of them?" asked Crassus in his old raspy voice.
"No. I want see what this man can do. I want to see why I saved him."
Zephyr obeyed Sunny when she told him to kneel down. A large bluff was what blocked the wind from betraying them to the three geckoes that were just up the small slope that lead to one of the watering holes that dotted the Springs.
"Alright, here's the plan. You go and kill them while me and Cheyenne have a bottle of water. Ok?" she asked and Zephyr, not paying attention due to the large German Shepard licking his face, said ok.
"And go do what you do best!" she yelled, encouraging the young man. He grumbled whatever, before taking a spot at the bottom of the small slope that indicated where the geckos where. As he lined up his sights on the first one, a gecko about as big as Cheyenne, with green skin and razor sharp teeth, he inhaled.
Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System online. Targeting...large mutated animal. Thirty-five percent chance of hitting head. Sixty-three percent chance of hitting right and left legs. Seventy-two percent chance of hitting arms. Ninety-two percent chance of hitting torso. Which would you like to hit?
Zephyr let his instincts take over.
Targeting torso. Three shots.
Aiming, he swore that he felt time slow, the gecko starting to sprint towards him on two legs, bouncing up and down as spittle dropped from the gecko's mouth. A snarl was heard as the varmint rifle fired three times.
The first shot impacted the gecko's right lung, severing it at the connection with the trachea and causing it to collapse. The gecko started to feel the impact of the shot, but running on pure rage and adrenaline, the mutated creature continued to run towards at a blinding speed.
The seconds shot went wide, and instead of hitting the torso, it smashed straight into the gecko's upper arm. The bullet was sent straight through the tendon and bone that connected the arm to the torso, and severed it right then and there. Blood started to gush out in alarming amounts, dark red amounts that made the animal slid in its own blood and impact the dirt with a massive thud.
The third shot sliced straight through the right eye due to the gecko tripping on its own blood and ended its life.
The other geckos started to charge as well, but two well-placed headshots from Zephyr made them join their brother in the afterlife of death.
"Good job stranger. These gecko hides and meat will fetch a pretty cap at the general store. I got two more holes to clear out. You want to help?" she asked sweetly. Without hesitation, Zephyr answered,
"Yes."
In a chamber that was painted a bright blue, such as the blue that was the color of the Xeno-Tech that the aliens on board the Mothership that orbited the Earth before being taken over by the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel, six men were gathering on a long table. Each wore a robe that extended down to their feet, colored steel grey. Each man looked as old as when the day came to a standstill and bathed itself in atomic fire. Three other men were there, though they carried weapons, each of them armed with a laser rifle and wearing steel-grey combat armor and donning combat helmets.
"We need to find the solution to this problem. Without him, we cannot progress in our invasion of the Oregon plains. He can win the allegiance of these settlements so we have the necessary manpower to take over Washington and end the rogues that dared drive us out!" one of them said, wearing the emblem of a snarling golden lion on his collar of his robe.
"General, we have few soldiers as it is. We need him. I already have scout teams in our birds trying to locate the man. He should be found shortly," another said, this one wearing the emblem of a howling wolf.
"Who can we count as allies to destroy the filth that inhabit the plains? I know the Soldiers of the Cross will help us. These are true brothers. What of the New California Republic?" asked another, this one with the emblem of three red diamonds.
"The New California Republic is engaged with war against the backwards Caesar's Legion. They are stretched to thin and are already fighting a two-front war with the Legion and the Sixth Empire of Mexico. No, they cannot be counted on. How about the Oregon Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel?" asked the General.
"No, they are engaged in a war with the raider clans. We need to find him! WE NEED TO FIND MY SON!" yelled another one. This one had an emblem of a dragon, a black dragon with fire coming out of its maw.
"Calm down Zachary, we are trying. Remember, he left on his own accord. Our traditions state that one can leave if they wish to. The clans also voted to send him into exile, due to the events of the Hopeville. We are trying my old friend, we are-" and then he was cut off as a man in black combat armor came running in, along with two other men, dressed in the same armor.
"What is it Sergeant?" asked Zachary.
"General, we found him. He is currently in Nevada, somewhere in the proximity of the city known as New Vegas. I can have my team there in one week, if we travel on the ground, or a few hours if we travel by air," the Sergeant said.
"Take my personal Vertibird. We need to get my son. His exile is over."
The second watering hole was easy. They had cleared it without difficulty, destroying the geckos with practiced ease. Once they reached the last one, they heard a scream.
A female scream.
A woman, dressed in a red country dress with a white apron and black gloves on, while donning a sunhat, was being chased by two humans dressed in blue. Kevlar vests that had fit over the blue prison suits they wore. Zephyr didn't need to know that these men were Powder Gangers.
"Gangers! We need to do something. Zephyr, we can't shoot them, they are to close to Emily! We have to find another way!" yelled Sunny.
Aim for the back. Knock the wind out of one of them, engage and kill the first one and then kill the second. And with that, Zephyr scooted back, while keeping an eye on the convicts running towards Emily, gauged the distance, started sprinting, and when he reached the bluff's edge, he leapt, his katana shining in the blazing sun.
Rodger was having fun. After killing the four geckos that were lazily lapping water and sunbathing, a young girl had wandered into the watering hole, seemingly to draw water. She had spotted them and was now running for her life. He enjoyed it when they ran, so he started to chase after the girl, his friend Charles behind him. His personal bat was there, Striker, and he licked the edge of it as he was within reach of the girl. Bringing it down, he slammed the bat straight into the girl's leg, enjoying the sound of bone breaking as the wooden bat vibrated. He loved the feel of when his bat struck a victim.
Swing baby, swing.
He then raised it one more time when heard an 'oof.' He turned to see his friend Charles on the ground, but didn't see the flashing steel as it came descending onto his neck.
Juno saw the man leap into the air, time slowing as adrenaline kicked in. The man landed on the large black man before cutting down his other one with a single overhead swing that decapitated the man easily. The sword was elegantly made, a black handle with the flawless steel. Before the other man could get up, the sword sang and the other man was dripping with blood as the sword cut off both his arms and then...a single thrust into the heart ended it all.
So, a sword wielding and a gun wielder.A very powerful warrior. True Powder Gangers are weak idiots, he managed to kill two within seconds. I will be watching you stranger. I will be watching you.
And without a single word her and her guard left, the only indication that they were ever there was a banner that a black bull on a golden field.
So longer chapter there. Explore some of Zephyr's origin, getting him back into the saddle, and Juno's interest in this man. Zachary is the father of Zephyr if you can't guess already, and there will be more next time. Thanks for reading!
DeathbladeVII