Chapter 65: Quarry

The pack of hunters closed in on the dying brahmin. One of the heads sputtered out its last breath while the other let out an agonizing moan before its throat was slit. The still warm corpse was littered with arrow shafts and rusted javelins, but the beast and its rider were both driven creatures. "Skrakit, get the good bits. Grot, find out where that little morsel ran off to," the coyote-headed pack leader ordered.

Ever since they had sacked that settlement, Braxus had his hands full keeping the rest of those meager settlers in line, either holed up in the barn or kept at a distance. Still, every other hunting band had found a way to amuse themselves, like finding one of the little buggers had absconded with a brahmin and tried to ride off and escape. The hours-long hunt had been the most fun these Pelt-Brutes had since the battle, but they had finally brought the beast down and were going to have the girl soon enough.

"Jabber, Jabber," one of the smaller junior hunters called out, this one wearing a hare-skinned hat. "Lookie what we got here," he motioned to a burrow, likely for a mole-rat, and now likely housing a different one. "Wanna start digging?"

"Little morsel had a gun with er," Jabber scoffed. "We start diggen, one of us is gonna get shot." He paused and let the thought hang in the air. "…WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, GROT! DIG!" he bullied the younger hunter, shoving him towards the ditch. "LIKE A DOG IF YOU GOTTA!" Jabber snarled as he joined his comrades to loot the brahmin.

"…ugly fucker…" Grot mouthed as soon as his brother was out of earshot. His attention was then drawn to the various shrubs around the area. An idea popped into his head. Grot then proceeded to gather as many shrubs as he could fit into the entrance of the hole. Then he grabbed a piece of flint and began sparking it against the kindling.

Fire was a talent that didn't come naturally to Grot. Like many things, it took him a while to get it going, up to about five minutes for the first smolders to waft into the air. He wiped the sweat from his brow as the sudden cloud loomed over him. Then he put himself right back into his task, continuing to strike with the flint until the first ember sparked to life. Right as he was about to shove the kindling further into the hole, a raindrop doused his meager flame. Grot swore as he looked up to curse the weather, finding himself staring into the yellow eyes of a reptile hovering over him, salivating over its prey.

The scream came to an immediate stop as Jabber looked over to see his younger brother's head disappearing into the jaws of a deathclaw, the body squirming and struggling until the beast snapped its jaws shut, the body falling limp. The other two lizards immediately beset themselves upon the raiding party. The Pelt-Brutes were gifted hunters, as much as they loathed the word and concept, preferring the title of predator as they deemed it to be a more accurate moniker, were completely caught off-guard by the surprisingly fast and well-coordinated attack.

Pariah lifted her head up, sensing something as she sat before Barabbas on Belua. Biting her lip, she sensed the nauseating stench of death and violence transpiring nearby. As much as she wanted to puke or pass out, she sensed the other thing as well.

Barabbas, I need the reins.

This isn't a pleasure ride, Pariah, we're already late going home.

Please, brother, she needs my help!

Who?

Brother, I swear if you don't give me the reins, I will kick your ass so badly you'll wish the blind man was here to save you! GIVE ME THE REINS!

A piercing headache overcame Barabbas, his skull throbbing as Marcy ripped the reins from his hands. Belua sensed that her rider had changed, and became agitated by this new situation, rearing back as the now unstable Barabbas was knocked from the saddle. Marcy took the reins and gently soothed Belua, urging her to head towards the disturbance. As Belua took off, Falco rode beside the prone Legate laying on the dust. "…She's really putting you through your paces, isn't she?"

"AFTER HER!" Barabbas ordered as he kicked himself to his feet and charged after his little sister.

"…I thought you had that one!" Davey screamed at his sister as he dug his head into the brahmin.

"No, I had the ones on the right! You took the ones on the left!" Ronny shouted back.

"My left or your left?" Davey asked for elaboration.

"We attacked from the same side, idiot!" Ronny snapped. Petey was just happy he wasn't the one getting yelled at now. That and he was curious about the strange scent he smelled coming from the hole. The molerat hole didn't have a molerat in it. Weird, and probably tasty, he thought to himself as he continued to dig. Something loud and hot stung him in the snout as he stuck his head in to sniff around. "OWIE!" he screamed as he clutched his nose, a thin trickle of blood streaming past his teeth as he glared down at the eyes that darted further into the hole.

"…Petey!" Ronny warned. "Dog riders!" The deathclaws all turned to see the oncoming riders on the aforementioned dogs, followed closely by a too familiar figure with a cow head. Hissing, the lizards made their retreat, each grabbing a half-eaten body of their choice as they ran off.

Not three minutes later, Pariah arrived on the scene, dismounting Belua as the hound continued to growl at the fleeing scents. The little girl immediately dove into the hole, digging her way deeper and deeper into the tunnel as her feet managed to vanish above the surface. Once the riders arrived, they took notice of the carnage that surrounded them before realizing that Pariah had once again vanished. Having lost the Legate's sister once again and with the man rapidly approaching, Falco drafted the smallest of them to go into the hole after her. And so, Dinero was drafted after Sophia began faking an injury.

Tia held the gun before her, shaking and trying not to panic. She hated leaving Sean and Shaun, but the poor animal couldn't run any farther. She hid in the only place she could find, and hoped they'd pass her by. Sadly, it sounded like something even worse had stumbled by, and though the assholes were gone, she was almost eaten by a bigger and more literal monster. Even with her small frame, there was no more room in this hole she could retreat to. As she felt something approach, she readied her weapon. Two glistening white eyes entered her vision. After the initial panic, Tia realized something. She knew who this was.

"…Hey, guys, I think I got her leg," the muffled voice of Dinero called out. Falco grabbed Dinero's leg, who was then in turn grabbed by Barabbas, who in turn had his cape grabbed by Belua's jaws. After a solid pull, Dinero was dragged out of the hole, followed by Pariah, and followed by a girl none of the legionaries present, save one, recognized.

The girl threw her arms around Pariah before Barabbas could grab his sister, and could only bawl as she clutched onto the other girl for dear life. "Marc!" Tia choked out. "I'm so… happy you're… OK," she sniffled out between gasps and tears. "I thought… I'd never… see you… again," she continued to sob.

"There, there, Phia, everything's going to be alright," Dinero tried to placate the girl, only to suddenly find the revolver pointed directly at his face. "YOU RAW-DOGGING SON OF A BITCH, YOU STOLE FROM US!" Tia screamed.

"Did not!" Dinero lied.

"You there, girl," Falco finally spoke as his men began to laugh. "What did he take?"

"Just some shitty Legion coins. Gold is gold, after all," Tia explained. "Probably enough to stuff his pockets, so like fifty of the big ones, I guess."

Falco dumped a bag of gold coins at her feet. "Compensation for this idiot's indiscretion," Falco said as he glared at Dinero, who could only smile sheepishly.

"Thanks. Who the fuck are you people, anyway?" Tia asked.

"We're Legion," Falco smiled as Barabbas approached to grab Pariah by the arm.

"HEY, LEAVE HER ALONE!" Tia screamed as she rose her gun toward the newcomer. She stopped when Barabbas turned to look at her. She gulped and felt like she was once again on the verge of tears, but she stood her ground, one hand on the weapon and the other on Marcy.

"…Tia," Dinero gingerly tried to intervene. "That's Marcy's brother."

Tia reluctantly let Marcy go as Barabbas dragged his sister away. Now alone and surrounded by unfamiliar strangers (and Dinero, not that it helped any) and began to sob as the crushing reality of her situation returned to her. Meanwhile, Barabbas began pulling out some rope from his saddlebags.

I'm tying you to Belua for the rest of the trip if you ever try and pull a stunt like that again!

She saved me, Barabbas. She and her mom saved me.

Barabbas turned to see the crying girl as the legionaries all looked to see who would try and comfort her. Sophia turned up her nose at the suggestion when some looked at her, Dinero realized Tia probably hated his guts more than usual, and the rest of the legionaries weren't exactly parental material. So most were shocked when Hypatia approached the girl and offered her very own canteen. "Take a swig, then a deep breath, and then explain what happened," the female rider gently coaxed.

Tia then explained, broadly, what had happened. She explained the betrayal of Vulpes Inculta, much to the disbelief of those listening. She explained the rout of the clans at the hands of the Allied Expeditionary Group, and how as they only managed to regroup, were sacked by a vicious tribe of raiders called the Pelt-Brutes. Falco knew them as traitor legionaries who turned against the Legion before they assimilated. Tia explained that she only managed to get away before she was spotted and chased, and only just managed to hide until… something scared them off. She did not know how to tell these people about talking deathclaws without sounding crazy, the Vulpes part of her story was bad enough.

"…Very sad," Barabbas finally said after she was finished. "…In light of your predicament and your prior service caring for Pariah, you shall be taken to the nearest Legion settlement and handed over to the local governor, where you shall be cared for under my orders."

"No," Tia shook her head. "I have to find as many Liberty Clanners as I can so we can take our people back!"

"Your issue is not of my concern, girl," Barabbas rumbled as he turned away. Pariah got in front of her brother and crossed her arms, scowling.

"…My first and only concern is your wellbeing, Pariah," Barabbas said aloud. "We don't have the manpower or time to fight someone else's war!"

Pariah scowled harder.

"You can complain all you want! It's not our problem!"

Pariah spat on the ground, wiping her mouth.

"Hating me is fine, Pariah, if that's what it takes! Go on, see if you can convince the others to help, anyway!"

"We're not a democracy, Barabbas," Falco interjected. "We follow your orders and only your orders."

"SHUT UP!" Barabbas snapped at his senior lieutenant. He turned back to Pariah. "…What do you want from me?"

I'm not asking you to do it for my sake, Barabbas. I'm asking you for yours. Deep down, in that place you think I can't reach, I know that for once you want to be a hero.

Dan practically collapsed off his mount as he hacked up even more dry air. Reaching for his canteen, he allowed a few extra drops to moisten his tongue before turning to his steed and pouring a trickle into his panting maw. "Easy, boy, easy," Dan patted the side of his head. "…Oracle, I know you hate it when I give advice, but I really think now we should take a breather. Argenti here ain't ever been ridden this hard this far for this long. And, I'm sorry to say, but I ain't feeling so hot myself. Can't we take a fiver? Or a sixty-er? Or just call it a night, maybe, please?

"…Fine," Sybil said as she climbed off the animal. They had to have crossed the better part of New Mexico at the moment, not that she was sure which part of New Mexico classified as the "better" part. Still, despite himself, the idiot had a point regarding the health of his animal. Walking back didn't seem like such an appealing concept. "…You may ready your camp, Animalus," Sybil announced as she sat cross-legged on the dusty ground.

"Oh, Praise Mars, Hades, Athena, and all the other less important gods," Dan breathed aloud as he broke out his sundries bag to toss Argenti a steak. Watching as the animals perked up, Sybil began to focus, delving into the currents of time and reality. With Scorpio's new mechanism, his future plans and intentions were shrouded to her as much as to even his closest followers. No, her first order of business was finding her son and forcing him to reclaim his birthright. So she sat and listened.

"Hey, Oracle, would you mind…" Dan saw that she was doing one of those "trance" things. It was like that time he stumbled upon some confiscated reefer and somehow found himself in a total haze for the rest of the afternoon until Mr. Falco dunked his head into a bucket repeatedly. It was almost as awkward as that time he stumbled upon some confiscated absinthe and somehow ended up making out with Hypatia. The more he thought of it, the more he wondered if he had some kind of problem. That was when Argenti let out a fart that made Dan double over laughing.

Sybil listened and traveled and searched. The vast waves of reality subsumed her, so she found herself returning to an old focus

SYbil. At last, you HAVE returned. Returned. RETURNED!

Thank you, my Master, she greeted as her body was taken by a fleshy tendril, lifting her above the chaotic temporal winds as she looked for the beacons. She saw a pair far in the distance. A small and welcome one and a larger, starker, and brighter partner. Sybil's lip curled. He actually found that little wastrel.

She foresaw their eventual meeting, the riders coming together. She saw the wastrel cower behind her Prince as she tried to explain the real truth behind her abilities. The Prince would listen, look to his lesser, and pick his side. The Mother would be discarded when measured up to the wastrel. Her lips curled at the thought of losing the father of her children to treachery and her children to instinctual affection, chemicals masquerading as an emotional bond, she snarled.

As time passed, however, she saw the beacons separate once more. The Prince rode out to glory, while the wastrel remained behind, too weak to find her own. Sybil smiled. Without the Prince to get between them, now would be the perfect time to "properly educate" the wastrel. Force her to understand, now that there was nowhere else to run and with nothing and no one to hide behind. However, even she realized that if she directly made a move against the wastrel, the Prince would see her as an adversary from that day forward. No, she thought as she took a seat on the tendril while another scratched her chin for her, she needed to play things smart.

The third beacon appeared over the horizon. A familiar one, distasteful. The Preacher. Not a friend, not an ally. Dangerous. But far from useless. Sybil started to formulate a plan as the city of tents erupted in flames.

Dan opened a can of beans and drank it raw. Normally, he'd use the time to set up camp, but considering how short the Oracle's allotted breaks had been for him, plus considering that it was still the middle of the day, he decided to just snuggle up next to Argenti and catch a rest his eyes for a little. He passed out before he even realized what happened.

Sybil was carried above the group. As she did, she observed all those who flocked around the beacon. It was the typical menagerie of emotional and spiritual basket cases. Burdened by familial issues. The brother and sister both seemed to be the most well-adjusted, even if they both lusted after the same girl, the thought with a scoff. And one of the strangers was threatened by the weight of responsibility, both on his own behalf and that of his father. And one of the elder members seemed to have a fading light, no doubt near the end of their time on this plane. Finally, as she neared the beacon, she found herself passing through a shade that she had somehow not sensed. Curious, she leaned in closer.

Kyra huddled to herself, feeling a chill come over her. "…You guys feel a little drafty?" she asked. Rosa wiped the sweat away from her forehead. "You're joking, right?" Kyra felt a little embarrassed. "Must be my imagination," she said as she swatted a bug by the side of her neck.

Ow, Sybil cried out as she nursed her finger. No presence within the Sight but able to interact with it? A curious aberration. One worth further study after business was taken care of. There was still the matter of the beacon. Negotiating with the Preacher promised to be a dangerous task, as while she was certain she could overpower him, the risks she would have to take could prove to be dangerous. Her last fight had been against the three-eyed yogi, Rumali, and she had only barely survived the encounter.

She then felt a warm sensation fall over her. One of the lights passed by the Preacher's beacon. A menial conversation, but one of enormous affection. Sybil smiled, having found her in. As they parted ways, Sybil stalked the other light and dove into her memories. Then, Sybil began constructing a prison.

Melody had come to a complete stop. For a few brief seconds, it appeared as if she had blacked out. With the rest of the group occupied with their own tasks and duties, few if any paid it any heed. Finally, Melody blinked herself back to consciousness. Immediately, her demeanor shifted.

Glancing around her, she patted the sides of her waist. No firearm. Typical Follower. She glanced over at the "supply depot" of the camp, a generous term for where the clanners and newcomers had stashed a bunch of their gear. Melody approached the stockpile and looked over the assortment before her. Food, bound tents, clothing, wait, here was something. A pistol, busted up and heavily worn, likely overlooked as everything in better condition was being used. Melody checked the clip. It would do fine. She placed the weapon in her lab coat.

She approached Joseph as he knelt down to pray. As the words were scarcely on his lips, his attention immediately realized that something was wrong. Before he could say anything, Melody knelt down beside him and whispered into his ear. "I have a gun right next to the artery in her leg. Try anything and I will pull the trigger."

"What do you want?" Joseph growled in seething fury.

"I want you to follow me," "Melody" stated. "Make sure you aren't being followed, which should be an easy duty for one such as you. Don't worry, I'll let her go soon enough." And with that, Melody stood up and walked away, the rest of the group none the wiser. Joseph bowed his head. "…Forgive me, Father, for what I am about to do…"

Dan awoke with a jolt, realizing that security in this situation was entirely his responsibility. Picking up his guns, he immediately went to work trying to establish some kind of perimeter when Sybil rose up to her feet. "Animalis, I order you to set up camp for the meantime."

"Camp? You mean… we're stopping?" Dan replied, unable to hide his elation.

"You've been a valuable soldier, Animalis, and I would prefer to see you in high spirits and vitality," Sybil smiled. "Besides, I'm about to reunite with my children, and would prefer not to be grumpy and tired when I reunite."

"Can't argue with that. Wait, did you just say "children?" Dan picked up, unaware that he had accidentally traipsed over a landmine.

"Of course. I only have my children's best interests in mind," Sybil continued to smile.

"Even after all those times you called Pariah a freak of nature and an 'evil-ution-airy dead end' and an embarrassment to the perfections of the Unity, whatever that last one means," Dan shrugged.

"Is there a point to your queries?" Sybil's vacant smile persisted.

"…Do you actually like your daughter?" Dan asked.

"…Tell me, Dan. Where is it written that I am bound to "like" my daughter?" Sybil asked. "What obligates me to "like" the little girl I carried and nearly killed me to deliver? Under what law is there that my daughter is entitled to have me "like" her? I had expectations about her, expectations she regularly failed to meet. As my daughter, she is mine regardless of whether or not she follows the path I have set out for her benefit. She doesn't have to like me, and I'm don't have to like her, but I am the best thing that has ever or will ever happen to her, regardless of whether or not she learns to accept that simple fact."

Dan gulped. "…Well, at least Barabbas liked her enough to look for her. And not wait for the, y'know, coup, I guess."

"And may we all be forever blessed by that inspired decision," Sybil smiled warmly. "Now shut the fuck up and set up camp, you inbred ingrate!"

"On it!" Dan saluted as he scrambled to offload Argenti. Sybil scoffed as she turned to meditate. A coyote trotted by, keeping a distance from the large mutant dog. The Oracle watched the creature as it looked over the camp before deciding that now wasn't the opportune time to look for a meal. A scavenger through and through, Sybil thought as the animal wandered off. Still, Sybil couldn't help but feel the vaguest sense of an omen that she was somehow overlooking. Not that she was a superstitious type, and her Sight revealed nothing that she believed she could not handle, but something about the coyote sent a chill down her spine.

"…Animalus?" she spoke up.

"Ma'am?"

"Kill that coyote. I'll have that for dinner."

Tyrus opened the consul's tent. "Sir, a message from the Senate has arrived."

"Can't it wait?" Scorpio asked as his fingers wrapped tighter around the girl's neck. Cheslie sat in the corner, recovering from the previous ordeal. Poor May Lin was left to bear the brunt of the consul's appetites. And by now both girls had well and truly understood that Scorpio's pleasure was someone else's suffering.

"It's from the Tribunes," Tyrus elaborated. Scorpio released May Lin as she coughed and hacked on the ground. Scorpio threw a towel at her so she could clean herself up, leaving the tent as the mewling and sobs began. Taking the letter, Scorpio saw that it had indeed been marked by the seal of the Tribunary Office, the military wing of the Imperial Senate. Bracing himself, he opened the message and began to read.

Consul Scorpio Oklahomus

It has come to our attention about the actions you have taken against the Legios Amazonia. Though we recognize your insistence that it was at their hands that Caesar Lanius was slain, we hereby order that all future hostilities between your 4th Legion and the Legios Amazonia cease immediately. Their leaders, in further absence of the Oracle, are to stand trial in front of Dallas, to answer under Caesar for their actions.

In addition, you have been recalled to Dallas immediately. While we are grateful for the measures you have taken to secure Dallas and the Central Empire, the Senate would also like to question you about your actions taken during the events that preceded the death of Caesar Lanius. While your proactive initiative is appreciated by many, others are concerned that you are overstepping your bounds as Consul and agent of the Senate and the people of Dallas.

Therefore, until your return, your estates have heretofore fallen under the control of the Tribunary Office. The holds shall be released upon your return to Dallas. We look forward to your imminent return and future cooperation with our investigation of this heinous tragedy.

Cordially yours,

Tribune Aleron

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Legate Tyrus," the Consul said as he folded up the letter. "I was about to use the latrines, anyway."

The 4th Legion had been very busy as of late, battling against the traitors ever since Laredo. Upon arriving outside the city walls and demanding a surrender, the leader named Bea demanded that only the Oracle or Barabbas could order them to stand down. And so, Scorpio besieged the city, driving out the women after a series of bloody skirmishes and a mighty push to breach the gates. Crafty bitches that they were, the Amazons fell back in short order, stalling his advances with fanatical devotion. Few had been captured, and all who had been committed suicide, using everything from hidden blades to biting off their own tongues. This suited Scorpio just fine, as he hadn't intended to take prisoners anyway.

Since then, he had taken half of the 4th Legion and pressed eastwards, ignoring the harrying and sporadic attacks the Amazons had inflicted upon them. Now, at the border of the frontier, the bulk of what remained of the Amazon host had gathered atop a mesa, daring Scorpio to attack.

"The Second and Fifth Cohort have been deployed around the sides of the mesa, as per your orders," Tyrus relayed.

Scorpio merely nodded as he approached his chariot. A custom-built war-engine, the carriage was built out of the front of an Old-World vehicle. Having long ago lost the ability to power itself, Scorpio instead tied the engine to two mutant hounds, Fang and Claw. These armored hounds had trampled, gored, and mangled their way through countless battlefields at the head of their master. Scorpio often found himself with more affection for these dumb animals than the yapping quims waiting for him in his chambers.

Mounting the chariot, Scorpio leaned at the head of the carriage, folding his arms over the dashboard as he looked up the mesa. Storm clouds gathered overhead, the overcast blotting out the sun. Ominous, but delightfully atmospheric, Scorpio thought to himself.

"…Sir, give me the word and I can order the attack," Tyrus bowed his head as he crossed his fist over his heart.

"Denied," Scorpio stated. "Besides, the Tribunes have ordered me not to engage in further combat with the Amazons, and who am I to defy the old fuc- I mean, the wisdom of the Senate," Scorpio yawned as he passed the letter to Tyrus.

"Then, what are we doing here?" Tyrus asked the obvious question.

"Well, Tyrus, if you must know, I have many friends," Scorpio smiled. "Some of whom I've yet to meet. Tell me, have you ever been to the Rocky Mountains?"

"I've never had the pleasure," Tyrus answered. "To what does this have to do with our situation?"

"I've been to a lovely place called Aspen, Tyrus. From there, I was introduced to another place called the Central Market. From there, I was introduced to… someone who went by the moniker Abacus," Scorpio smiled. "Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

"Aye, my lord," the legate bowed.

"It is to Abacus that I owe all my success. His trade brought prosperity to my lands, giving me wealth. His information allowed me to succeed in battles where others fail, giving me prestige. And it is with his blessing that I conquered Oklahoma, clearing off the tribal chaff so his markets could operate freely. If the Senate insists on giving me grief about my estates and position, I could always buy Vegas to one up those miserable old fogies. Imagine the look on Aleron's face when I simply buy the victory that eluded him for his entire life. And the best part is, I'm not the only one."

"Sir?" Tyrus asked as a shape began moving within the clouds. Above the mesa, a mechanical behemoth began to descend from on high. A massive airship, twin-dirigibles bound by a steel bridge between them, so vast that even the Coliseum was unlikely to contain it. To Tyrus, it looked like someone had taken a blast furnace and made it airborne. To Scorpio, he was waiting to be impressed.

A rocket shot off from atop the vessel. It arched over the air and exploded into multiple smaller flares. Another rocket fired off with the same effect, and even from this distance, Scorpio could sense the panic and confusion amongst the ranks of his enemies. That was when suddenly the airship began dislodging containers on its underside. Roughly six in total, these six containers had been hooked up with rockets and shot towards the mesa like ancient torpedoes.

The containers flew forward until they literally crashed into the enemy lines, smashing through those unfortunate enough to stand in their path. As Bea, the commander of the Amazons tried to maintain cohesion, the doors of the containers burst open, and hulking armored soldiers strode forward, weapons at the ready. Each of the containers contained a squad of five, and within each squad, three carried heavy machine guns while two carried custom-made shotguns. In this situation, spread out throughout the enemy lines and with orders to proceed with extreme prejudice, the shock troopers went about their task.

Scorpio took a sip of wine from his draught as the Amazons were scattered and routed. With nowhere else to flee but outside the empire, Scorpio could officially declare that whatever was left of the Amazons had been outlawed on behalf of Rome, their credibility destroyed having fled the lands of Imperial Dallas. Now, all they could do was flee, their best chance being to rally around either the bitchy Oracle or that mama's boy Barabbas. Either way, Scorpio's task was done, and in such a way that the Senate could not find fault with.

"Tyrus, prepare to have a message dictated," Scorpio said as the airship, the Onager, continued firing rockets at the retreating Amazons as the power-armored soldiers claimed the mesa. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, an unknown party has been discovered at our borders. To keep this new situation in check, I will have to decline my immediate return to Dallas indefinitely. Your faithful and devoted servant, Scorpio Oklahomus." Even the typically stoic Tyrus fought back a snort at the last line.

"In the meantime, I have to go chat with our new Midwestern friends. This "Jefferson" fellow might be really useful going forward, and if he proves himself up to Abacus's reputation of him, then the future might be very interesting for us all going forward," Scorpio smiled.

"In what way, sir?" Tyrus asked.

"In a way that perhaps I'll show the Senate what a real fucking Rubicon moment looks like."

Jabber collapsed on the ground, his legs exhausted as his body heaved out dry air. His pack of predators had been caught off guard and devoured by bigger ones. Pelt-Brute honor dictated that he avenge his clanmates and bring back the hides and skulls of the lizards, but for Jabber the easier thing to do would be to mention getting jumped by Liberty Clanners so Braxus would take out his anger over the prisoners instead of him. Getting to his knees, Jabber began quietly relaying the story he would tell, going over the amount of gunners he had been attacked by and explaining why he wasn't carrying any wounds. The latter would be amended swiftly, as a large black deathclaw immediately attacked the cowardly tribal, grabbing him in its jaws as the escapee was mauled and thrashed.

"Behold, your Prophet of the Revelation bestows once more the ultimate gift upon the lost and wayward!" Nemesio announced as his flock sang their praises of their new godly figure as he decapitated his prey with some more wild thrashing. The head, the shocked look etched on his face forever, tumbled towards the feet of Inculta. Vulpes looked down at the sight and took note of the coyote pelt covering his head.

Sawney began tearing off strips of meat, throwing his head back as it fell down into his gullet. That grenade had cost him most of his sense of taste and smell, but there was little anyone could do that could take away his pleasure over a fresh kill. And for some reason having those idiots cheering him made him feel some kind of warm deep inside, the kind he hadn't felt since Papa had praised him long ago over his first kill. So he proceeded to make a show of tossing the body in the air and continuing to thrash it, much to the delight of the cultists.

Vulpes then approached Nemesio soon after the corpse had bled out and Sawney was left picking his teeth with a femur. "I believe we're just now passing through where the majority of the Liberty Clan had been. Considering the nature of our exit, do you believe it prudent we remain in the area?"

"We have faith in the Revelation, Vulpes, and with the Prophet, we cannot fail," Nemesio seemed to smile. "Those of them who seek to oppose us will only find true liberation should they find the Pelt-Brutes lacking in their hospitality."

"Still, reconnaissance would hardly go amiss at this juncture," Vulpes quietly mused.

"Agreed," Nemesio nodded.

"You, me, and the lizard can check on the camp while the bulk of our- your men continue eastwards. Once we see that the situation at the camp is stable, we can finally take our leave of these lands," Vulpes stated as he marched past the grisly sight. Nemesio looked down at the severed head and noticed that the bare skull was missing its cover. Vulpes meanwhile fastened the dog skin atop his head, purely to keep the sun off his face he would publicly tell anyone who asked.

Classified NCR Intel Report from Shady Sands California Intelligence Bureau

Tek-Barony of Detroit: With the Midwestern Confederacy being considered our contemporary peer adversary, we have taken to compiling whatever reports we can of what little we can glean from these frontier provinces. As a confederacy, the group consists of a number of various sub-factions, all kept in line by the Midwestern Brotherhood and its General, Henrietta Barnaky. Amongst the most notable and prominent is the Detroit province, the aforementioned Tek-Barony led by a Reaver named Jefferson.

Details on Jefferson's early life are scarce to the point of non-existent. We know he pledged his services to Barnaky some forty years ago and climbed the ranks of Reaver society to the point where he was able to revitalize the decaying industrial centers near Lake Michigan and immediately militarized their production. Reports indicate a rivalry between him and a "Battlemaster Thex," a commander of the super mutant shock army contingent of the Midwestern Confederacy until apparently recently. Details are scarce, but with inter-political tensions within the Confederacy being rather strained on the best of days, the implications are clear that the matter likely was handled internally.

Jefferson seems to command his own private military, a privilege afforded to very few under Barnaky's administration. He has been granted a certain degree of autonomy and appears vital for whatever war-effort Barnaky is mobilizing her forces to undertake. At the very least, the most we can gather is that it is through his actions that the Wild Khans were mechanized, putting us in the situation we are currently dealing with. Therefore, it is this report's conclusion that the Wild Khan invasion was likely masterminded by Jefferson himself, with Barnaky's knowledge and approval currently unknown at this time.