It had been two days since they stayed cooped up in the Nash residence, mostly helping Pyrrha and Velvet recover enough to walk on their own while lending a hand to the Nashes on mundane chores, only rarely stepping outside to fix the plumbing or clear debris. Interestingly, Mister Nash vigorously countered the NCR Sheriff's attempts at taking 'protective custody' of the two teams, even so far as brazenly telling off his deputies with a hand on his revolver.

It would not be long, however, before a more thoroughly-equipped military unit would come knocking to 'escort' the 'Vegas Wonder Kids' back to McCarran Headquarters. Thus, the Remnant teens were making preparations for the journey up to Goodsprings before any more NCR troops would show up in Primm.

"Thank you so much, Mister Nash," Weiss said with characteristic Schnee curtsey.

"No need to get formal on me, young lady," Johnson Nash waved off. "You young'uns needed the help and I'd never be able to sleep well in my grave if I left you out on the streets."

He leaned on the counter while half of the 'Vegas Wonder Kids' made final checks on their equipment. The rest were upstairs feeding their pet deathclaw. How they managed to find one and domesticate it was beyond him. As long as it was keeping to itself and not chewing on anyone, he was fine with the damn thing staying in here.

"Say," Jaune threw in. "You, uh, got any advice for, y'know, traveling on the highway?"

The elderly man chuckled loudly, grabbing the others' attention. "Don't shoot yourself in the foot, son."

"I think I already got that."

"I'm sure you did." Then the mirth died and the mien that graced his wrinkled features made them weary. "Of course, given what you all done did in the Divide, I reckon the NCR'll be all over the roads keeping an eye out for you. They'd be wanting an explanation themselves. Especially since they apparently lost some of their own."

"We'll try to keep out of sight," Velvet assured.

Ruby cleared her throat. "Um, Mister Nash? You were Six's boss, right?"

"For about four or five years, yeah. In the courier business, o'course."

She twiddled her thumbs. "So...can you say that, uh... Would you think that, um...after what we did...that Six is, y'know, still mad at us?"

"O'course he is," Nash deadpanned.

The girl winced at that while the rest gawk disbelievingly. "O-oh..."

"He didn't show it," added Jaune nervously. "Much."

Johnson shrugged. "Stubborn mule is almost always angry. Never lets faults as big as yours go that lightly. You said you screwed up his life's work in Divide or something. Any other man would either up and leave you or shoot you where you stood."

"So why didn't he?" Blake wondered.

"Because he's a sentimental son of a mule."

Weiss sputtered. "Come again?"

"If you would've burned down every single Express chapter in the wasteland and buy out the ashes, then I'd probably pull out my six-shooter and get revenge or shoot myself in the head, my age notwithstanding," Nash explained. "But knowing Vickers, he'd postpone the wrath of God until later. Hell, I reckon he's probably taking his time thinking about a proper punishment other than killing you all outright. He takes his time."

"That's reassuring," Velvet groused softly.

Johnson continued, "The fact that he decided to take you all in and raise you as his own—"

"We were not entirely reared in a familial manner per se," Weiss politely interjected.

"But he still treats you like his own. Or so everyone says." He studied their faces for a while. "I can tell that you don't know."

"Don't know what, Mister Nash?" pressed Blake.

The elderly man sighed onto the countertop. "I can understand why he didn't tell you. Hell, he hardly tells anyone these days." He paused a bit longer before shrugging to himself. "Pardon my language, kids, but my gut's telling me shit's going to go down soon and it's about time you know this. For your own good and his. The man's lost a wife and child in Arizona several years ago. Legion raid."

Ruby coughed while disbelieving sputters echoed from around the room.

Nash shook his head. "If you ask me, he still hasn't let that one go. Usually you have to get him a dozen bottles in to even talk about it. I hate to jump to conclusions but I get the feeling that you remind him so much of his, well, family that he'd be cutting himself open again if he let you go. That don't mean he'll let you off the hook though."

Glances were exchanged between the teens before Blake rasped her fingers on the wood and asked, "Mister Nash, before he left, he told Ruby to 'be a good girl' and to 'lock the doors and windows unless her mother said otherwise.'"

Johnson leaned back as his fingers rubbed at the graying stubble on his chin. "He wasn't drinking, wasn't he?"

They all shook their heads.

"Ah. Maybe the stress and the withdrawal triggered some suppressed memories. Not my place to say though; I'm no doctor." He frowned. "You kids must be curious about his family. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

Blake nodded. "That's okay. Thank you for the, um, information, though."

"Just be careful when asking those kinds of questions."

Ruby's gaze darted from one object to another, eventually settling on the radio sitting on the far edge of the counter. Nash reached over and turned the dial, the music fading and the soothing voice of Mister New Vegas filling the room.

"[...and now, for the news. NCR officials have dismissed unofficial reports of Legion refugees from Arizona occupying Fort Mead. Additionally, General James Hsu has reiterated the Republic's commitment to revise its foreign policy regarding the influx of migrants and travelers coming into Nevada from the east...]"

"There's been a lot of chatter about those refugees," Blake remarked.

"Something we should concern ourselves with?" Weiss inquired.

"It may not matter to you now," Nash intoned. "But what happens over there is going to matter over here sooner or later, whether you like it or not. Whatever you did in the Divide, it ain't my place to say whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. If it's really as bad as you say it is, then we'd all better start digging up our own graves out back."

Ruby shrunk shamefully at that.

The elderly man rebounded with a convincing laugh. "I'm just messing with you. Things aren't as bad as it is; it's always been like this. Killing, raping, robbing, looting, nothing new under the sun. You'd be surprised how many people here grew up all on their own, living off of scraps while trying to hide from slavers, hungry mutants, and the worst kind of folk to walk the desert. Some poor kids don't make it. The lucky ones find work and even that's another basket of rattlesnakes altogether." He smirked at their visible discomfort. "I take it Vickers didn't tell you too much about life out here."

They shakily nodded, Jaune suddenly paler.

"And you still don't know how bad it is?"

Hesitant nods and a couple uneasy shrugs.

Nash grinned. "You kids are so sheltered, it's adorable."

"I don't feel good about that," the little reaper muttered.

The elderly man folded his arms and exhaled. "That damn stubborn mule. Ah, at least you know who's in charge around here."

"The NCR?" came Velvet's slow and unsure answer.

"Hmph, you've got the basics covered."

"I'm guessing there's more to that," Weiss said.

Johnson Nash planted his arms firmly on the countertop. "A lot more than you'd imagine."

Major General James Hsu returned the salutes given him by the garrison troops of the Aerotech Office Park. The non-ceremonial parade review was quick and the soldiers immediately dismissed to their posts. He waited five minutes—when most of the privates and corporals stationed here started gambling amongst themselves in their tents—before he issued orders to the specialized platoons he brought with him.

Three comprising uniformed rangers with at least five years of service under their belt and three more decked out in the finest body armor the NCR could cobble up. The rangers fanned out to their spots while the heavy shock troops manned the perimeter of the building before him. Satisfied with the placement of his men, Hsu pushed through the double doors of the fortified suite.

The fact that the whole building was surprisingly almost entirely empty—even reception was devoid of staff—came off as a bit of a blessing given who he was meeting here. Former Major Theodore 'Old Green Eyes' Vickers was leaning next to a vending machine in the back with his arms folded.

"Back already," the General started, preferring to stand in the front of the unmanned counter.

"I work fast," the Courier replied coolly.

"How was the mission?"

"False alarm."

Hsu was hesitant before responding, "I see. Our intel must have been off then."

"Very."

The two men studied each other for the next minute—heavy bags under the eyes, unkempt facial hair, red cracks around the irises, signs that they were both under heavy strain but refusing to bend to the other—until James broke the silence. "Is there anything else to report?"

Vicker's gas mask hung off the side of his neck, revealing his full contempt for the military commander. "Why did you send my kids to the Divide?"

Hsu felt his brow rise. "Come again?"

"Why did you send my kids to the Divide, General?"

Stiff pause. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't bullshit me, James," Six rebutted coolly. "Those brats spent hours digging around in a place that would have gotten any older man ripped apart in minutes. They were lucky they didn't walk into a radioactive sinkhole."

The NCR commander remained impassive. "What is Samson, Six?"

"Nothing but a broken relic of the Old World. I wouldn't bother myself with it."

"I know when you're lying." Hsu began pacing around the reception area, radiating authority relevant to his rank. "There are so many things we cannot ignore anymore. Moving in and out of the Divide, clandestine deals with the local factions, transfer of 'scientific materiel' through independent channels, even twisting our own internal troops to suit your designs—"

"Wash yourself all you want, James. I moved the chain of command to get you where you are. The blood spilt to pin those stars on your lapel are as much on your hands as they are on mine."

"There is a limit to how much I can be persuaded, Six."

The Courier gestured mockingly. "Oh? Is this your patriotism speaking? Because, if I recall, you looked the other way while Oliver and Moore got what they so rightfully deserved."

"Enough is enough," countered the General with an expression rare of him: visible anger. "It's time you realized that. I have a nation to serve, people to defend! I swore an oath to serve and protect my country. You spoke the same words when you signed that merger."

"We only agreed to your Republic because it was better than capitulating to the Legion," Vickers flared back. "Times were different back then. We were desperate, on the verge of splintering. We gave up everything we had left—our identity, ourselves in exchange for your so-called 'protection!' We waited on promise after promise, sat through hearing after hearing. We bled more than we already needed to! All for what? This? My patience has already run out."

Hsu's anger subsided to allow for sympathy. "We made plans and we tried. Even then, no plan survives contact with the enemy. You know that. You understand that completely."

A snort. "My kids thought they were doing the world a favor. They nearly damned us all with what they did. Not just me, you, your Republic, but every single living thing across the entire continent..."

"So you admit to harboring Samson, an alleged unsanctioned weapon of mass destruction."

"'Unsanctioned,' huh. As if I needed your permission to use my gun." The Courier simpered, a mirthless chuckle slipping through his lips. "Samson is still active."

Hsu froze—his steely demeanor cracked slightly. "I'm inclined to disbelieve that."

"You used my kids. You turned them against me." Every word came off acidly. "Congratulations, James. You have won yourself a new enemy."

To his credit, the officer regained his composure with the same power returning to his voice. "You know, I've always been curious. Why the vested interest in these youths? Puts a strain in your efforts, don't you think? What benefit do they give you in the long run?"

"They're more than just tools, goddamn it! They're kids with special powers and a gullible sense of heroism. Lost, confused, and fucking stupid to boot." Six equally rounded the reception desk. "There's a reason why I've been keeping them from you all this time. We Desert Rangers got the short end of the stick and suffered for it. I don't intend to let the same happen to them."

"Was it for those reasons that you worked hard on Samson? A vendetta? A bargaining chip?" the General challenged.

"Samson is merely a tool to protect Nevada from any and all threats."

"Nevada has been annexed into the Republic since Hoover Dam. That puts Samson within our territorial jurisdiction." He made to add how the NCR was daftly unprepared for it only to bite back his tongue. The man before him can no longer be trusted with his country's weaknesses.

Six sneered. "Can you really call the Divide NCR territory? You lost two whole regiments when the valley fell apart and left the remains to rot," the Courier growled. "The Divide belongs to those who brave it and tame it. And I've been pacifying that hellhole for three years. I have to hand it to you. You convinced my kids to pull the rug from under me. Kudos. They didn't do a good job of it though."

"Whatever Samson may be, know that we are preparing for it." Hsu pointed an accusatory finger at him. "And know that you will be held accountable in the event that it will be used against us. We have the evidence and the means to prosecute you. Times are different now, Six."

Vickers snorted as he mockingly bobbed his head. "Oh~, I feel guilty already."

The General's fists curled. "A Ranger squadron was massacred west of Primm. Their final transmission was identifying you as the culprit. You know what that means."

The Courier remained unintimidated.

"You've committed a grave criminal offense in NCR territory punishable by NCR law. You say I've made an enemy out of you? Well, how am I supposed to react to this crime?"

"Consider it a declaration of war."

He scrunched his brow. "A nation against you?"

Six smiled wickedly. "I can ruin your career as easily as I did Moore's."

Hsu scowled. "You're only one man. We will ruin you."

"Never underestimate your foes. When the day comes, I wouldn't be the only one you'll be facing on the battlefield."

The General exhaled. "Then it's a shame that it has to come to this. You're a good man, Six, but know that you've brought this upon yourself." He withdrew his pistol from his holster. "I have Tier One groups outside covering every square inch of this building. If you intend to make a last stand, know that it would not be as glorious as you intend it to be. You should come quietly with us and we can all let bygones be bygones."

The Courier chuckled. "Do you honestly think I didn't see that coming?"

Hsu shuffled slightly.

Vickers refastened his gas mask, locking his respirator into place, and opened his gloved palm to reveal a detonator. His thumb clamped down on the bulging red button. "I've got gifts for you and your posse. Thirty tons of 'em. All over the place. Hell, you can go look for 'em and fiddle with the same old puzzles. Red wire, green wire, you know the game."

James's eyes went wide as quickly as he went stiff. "You sly son of a bitch."

"You want to keep playing? You can call in your bomb squads if you think they'll help. That is, if they get here in time. If you're careful, you could minimize the casualties. If you're smart, you can walk out of this alive and no one else dies."

Uneasy silence. The General cleared his throat. "Most of the refugees we have at Fort Mead are from Remnant."

The Courier raised a doubtful brow. "A little too late to be making a bargain now, don't you think?"

"They still have their slave collars on them. We couldn't get them off. Different design. Absurdly impervious to heavy industrial tools. We've been trying to find ways to disable them."

"Really now. And they can't use Aura, Dust, or Semblance to get out of it, eh."

"The collars deny them usage of those. It seems they were manufactured specifically for that purpose."

Six glimmered. "Quite the sell, James. Do you really expect me to believe that a bunch of 'freed Legion slaves' from Remnant out of all places couldn't get their damn collars off even though they're fucking capable of naturally defying physics and reality?"

"They are led by two capable Huntresses."

"Who can't get their own collars off, I presume."

"I already told you. The collars nullify their advantages."

The Courier scoffed. "Nice try deodorizing bullshit. You could've come up with a better story than that—"

"Winter Schnee, older sister of Weiss Schnee. Early to mid-twenties. White hair, claims to be a military specialist from a nation called Atlas in Remnant, holds significant authority over the group. She carries around a sword like her younger sibling. She is one of the two representatives for the refugees."

Vickers was unable to contain the sudden flare that broke his pokerface. He stared at the officer with an equally unreadable mien. Good thing he could still control the shakes from his withdrawal lest he would have slipped in this battle of wills.

"I don't doubt that you don't know who she is. I'm sure Weiss must have talked a lot about her. She must miss her dearly."

Six hardened his glare. His grip tightened on the detonator, his tone dropping dangerously. "What do you want with my kids?"

"We only want to return them to Remnant." Hsu could tell how unconvinced he was but pressed further. "We can discuss more intricate details as well as a potential pardon for the murders...if you come with us."

The Courier narrowed his gaze. "Weiss can see Winter at a later time. Make your choice, James. Either you go or we all go."

In the five minutes of silence that followed, the General mulled his remaining options; he played all his cards, tempted the beast, and now was facing insanity personified. There was no getting through this unscathed. Alas, this was inevitable. Breathing deep and knowing fully now that this was no bluff—and no other alternative in the Republic's favor—the officer mouthed into the communicator fastened over his chest. "All units. Stand down."

Clicks, crackles, and shuffling boots echoed behind the walls and windows.

"That's a shame, Six. The sisters would have loved a reunion. Miss Winter was very eager to see her sister again. I'm sure young Weiss would have felt doubly so if she knew," James bade as he holstered his pistol.

"Given the circumstances, it'd be safer for Snowball to keep her distance," Vickers countered, the detonator still wound tightly in his grasp.

The General was quiet for a while, locked deep in thought. He had thrown down his cards but there was one more nagging thought that needed to be addressed. "I'm not a religious man but I'm no stranger to the story of Samson. A champion of his age. Incredibly strong. And arrogant. He spelled his own downfall by falling for a woman named Delilah." He paused slightly before continuing. "Samson and Delilah." His voice dropped to a low whisper as he stared at a tile on the floor. "Delilah..."

Six's voice was deep and cold. "We're done here, James."

The doors opened and the officer's escorts stopped short of swarming the interior. He righted himself and turned on his heel. "I'll inform Miss Schnee of this unfortunate development." He spared one final glance over his shoulder. "Until next time, Six."

"Likewise, General." Former Major Theodore Vickers eyed the mix of lightly armored Rangers and heavy shock troops swarming around their charge. One of them had a black silhouette incessantly pecking on his shoulder.

Major General James Hsu paused in his stride to witness that particular member of his security detail flail away the vexing corvid.

"Shoo, shoo! Get off! Damn bird."

"[Hello?]"

"[Dennis.]"

"[General. I was just about to retire for the night.]"

"[Stay there. I'm on my way. We have a new problem.]"

"[... What is it now?]"

"[Six was one step ahead. He knows.]"

"[... Dear sweet Lord... Has Samson been taken care of at least?]"

"[We can't know for sure until we debrief the teenagers.]"

"[Have they returned?]"

"[We had eyes on them for a while. Give them four days. Passed that and I'm collecting them.]"

"[Papa Six is not going to like that.]"

"[He would have to let them go at some point.]"

"[And if he doesn't? If this triggers some kind of incident? The man is unpredictable! This will get bloody, I know it. And Samson—]"

"[Samson has a partner and its name is Delilah.]"

"[Come again?]"

"[We have a new problem and its name is Delilah. We'll talk later in person.]"

Line end.

Raul withdrew the headphones from his ears and tuned down the dial to withdraw from the 'secure' NCR frequency. In less than three minutes, the portable radio receiver was folded back into its case which the ghoul strapped onto his field pack. With skill honed from two centuries of wasteland vigilantism, he rappelled down the Highway 95 overpass, unlatched his hooks, and quickly disappeared into the night.

Trekking the wilderness, the ghoul pondered on stepping out of retirement again. Another crisis was rearing its ugly head. And apparently, Boss's secrets were far more ominous that he had taken them for. Samson and Delilah? What could those be? And why was the NCR so afraid of them?

This he could not ignore. He would have to confront the Courier about it. Especially now that the little diablos were dragged so deep into this.

The Courier squeezed himself onto the only vacant stool behind the bar. Dumb luck to walk into the Atomic Wrangler on a busy night. On the bright side, it was past two in the morning and most of the patrons were either liquored up in their rooms or liquored out on the streets.

"Man, you look like you haven't had any sleep," mused the casino's proprietor James Garret.

Six downed his first shot of the night. "Any spare rooms?"

"Sorry, buddy. We're fully booked. Tourist season's kicking up."

"Can't be helped, I guess," he grunted. Halfway through his second whiskey of the night, he angled over to his right to glare irritably at the amused man seated next to him. "What?"

"Hard times?" the stranger inquired with a slight curve on the edge of his lips.

"Yeah." Another shot. Probably his sixth. Or eighth. "Hard fuckin' times."

"Y'know, for the sake of our business, please keep it civil, 'kay?" Garret inserted nervously then went back to busying himself with some dirty drinking glasses behind him.

Six offered a dull wave. "I ain't gonna start a fire, Jimmy. Wouldn't have another place to drink freely if I did."

James Garret hummed in response.

The man beside him cleared his throat. "Say, you wouldn't mind me asking..."

The Courier exhaled. Ninth shot. Or was it tenth? "What?"

"Any suggestions for a good night out on the Strip?"

"... You're asking me?"

The stranger shrugged. "If you've noticed, you're the only one still awake and sober and I want to hear it from someone other than the bartender."

"... Fine. Gomorrah, if you're looking for some freaky kinky shit. Ultra-Luxe for your fancy pants. Or go for the Tops to get the classic Vegas experience. Bunch of other cash pots down the road but those are the big three."

"What about the Lucky 38?"

Six resisted the urge to grip the curious son of a bitch by his lapels and toss him halfway across the lounge. Having emptied his third (fourth?) bottle of the night, he swiveled to his side to fully face this really persistent tourist. "Privately-owned. On lockdown last I heard. Stay away from the place. It's bad luck."

The stranger smirked. "Really now."

"I think we're done here."

"Wait. Let me buy you a drink."

Six stiffened. He rubbed the back of his head. Whatever alarm bells that would be ringing in his head were silenced by the alcohol swimming through his body. "Ah, no offense, buddy. I'm straight."

The tourist laughed. "So am I! Come on, man. I came out here all by myself and the first friendly, helpful stranger I meet turns down a rare gesture of gratitude?"

The Courier felt his shoulders droop. He did have a point—generosity was rare indeed. Might as well. Free alcohol was always blessing (or a curse because the damn thing could be poisoned but he stopped caring at this point because he was tired and partly drunk). Yay for his wallet. He slid back onto his stool and waited until James Garret procured for them both two whole bottles of vodka and scotch. Following an icebreaking toast, the two men indulged in a night of awkward conversation: one bitter, the other magnanimous.

An hour later (or two?) later, the stranger slurred, "Ne'er really got 'yer name."

"Jus' call me Six."

"Sex? Shit. I know we jus' met an' I'm flattered but I don't swing that way..."

"No, no... 'Six.' As in the fuck'n numb'r."

"I ain't askin' for your contacts, man. Jus' your name."

The Courier raised (shoved) his extended fingers in front of his drinking buddy until he counted all six extended digits. "How many? Six. Got it?"

"... Sex six times?"

"G'damn it. Y'know what? Jus'...jus' call me Tee. Tee 'n' Vee. Tee-vee."

"Sure thing, Six," laughed the tourist.

Six glared at him. "Smarmy son'v'a'bitch. What 'bout you, stranger?"

"Eh... Call me Kyu-bee."

ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 13, 2018

LAST EDITED: February 23, 2020

INITIALLY UPLOADED: June 22, 2018

NOTE (June 22, 2018): Well... I hope I handled these interactions well. I admit, I completely overlooked how everyone else in the wasteland has it much worse. Thanks for the reminders. Breaking the kids is...a delicate procedure.

Anyway, hope you guys like it so far and let me know what you think of the character developments or something. :)

~o~

Guest reviews: Fair point.

As for the book, Blake will have to place her bids.