(June 24th, 2269)

Fergus had to scoff. As he stood waiting with his arms crossed, he glanced around through the cracks of his Khan wall that surrounded him. These Reno types sure liked to be flashy, and he thought it was bad outside. Every decor, every neon light and garish billboard, the women that glittered in the drunken or hazed eyes of 'clients' and 'tourists', and the lure of get-rich-quick gambling was all a vulgar lie.

That aura didn't start out in the streets, though. It bled out from the cesspools like where he stood now. This place was the Desperado Casino. The air was cloudy, and yet no one cared to crack a window. Through it, beautiful women hung on the arms of loaded patrons playing slots or cards, no doubt conniving these fools into spending every last cap they had; on smokes, drugs, alcohol, games. . .

'And more,' Fergus thought with disdain, as an elderly man easily years older than Papa Khan with a wrinkled mug topped with gray and a distended belly full of liquor was guided past his entourage with a woman leading him 'seductively' by his necktie to the stairs for the private rooms. The man could've been a Senator, or a Baron for his state of dress, yet all Fergus could see was a horse lead by its halter.

The truth was that New Reno was a trap. Even his men weren't totally immune to the luster, not for long, but they had a job.

"Mr. Fergus," a man said as he descended from the same steps the drunken Senator had been led up. He was dressed in a nicely tailored pre-war suit, hair slicked back, and cigarette hanging from his lips. Very presentable, a stark contrast to himself and his company of Khans. "Mr. Mordino will see you now."

(Desperado)

Fergus was led into the room in which the Mordino boss conducted his business. Top Floor, of course, away from all the noise and smoke of the patrons indulging themselves down below.

The first thing that drew his attention was the large, elongated silhouette casting itself across the floor and opposing wall. Following the dark shadow with his eyes, it led him to the man he was looking for was standing by himself, drink in hand, as he watched the denizens of New Reno down below from large windows that allowed the numerous flashy lights to glitter about the room.

The room was surprisingly sparse and large enough to keep that fact from going unnoticed. A large conference table surrounded by empty chairs sat in the middle. A few guards were posted, but they all paid him little attention.

"Mr. Mordino," Fergus announced, hoping that the man wasn't actively trying to ignore him. It wasn't as though his arrival was quiet and without warning, the man knew he was on his way up. It wouldn't be a very good impression on his part.

"I hear you're staying out in Redding, is that right," the man asked, not yet turning away from those large windows.

"You heard right," Fergus responded evenly, trying not to allow his rising ire to show in his voice. "I figured you and the other families wouldn't appreciate a sudden swelling of Great Khans among the local populace. Might make people nervous."

"With the Van Graffs," Mr. Mordino said, mostly to himself as he finally turned to look at Fergus, swirling the liquor within his glass slowly. He was clean-shaven and well-kempt in that tailored pre-war suit of his, brown hair slicked back with something or other. His eyes were hard though, narrowed almost permanently like a scowl. If Fergus was to guess, they were probably about the same age. "And how would you describe your current relationship with them?"

"Cordially tense."

"I see," Mordino nodded. He then gestured towards the large table, beckoning Fergus to take a seat. Both men moved to the table in the same instance. Once they were both seated, "I heard a little of your exploits, Fergus, involving the Van Graffs. Gave my boys quite the laugh, honestly. I'm surprised Miss Tiaret hasn't sent you to Golgotha."

"Ah yes, hence 'cordially tense,'" Fergus smirked. "Our meeting before last hadn't ended on a very good note, though Tiaret has always been fair enough to hear me out. You could say I'm grateful at most for her hospitality."

"Indeed," Mordino set his drink down on the table, before leaning forward on his elbows, "So, what is it that brought you to seek me out, Fergus?"

To business, then. "I need Brahmin for my clan, and not just a few head of cattle either."

"The Barons could've solved that issue just as well as I. So, why come to me?"

"Dealing with Barons usually means dealing with the NCR in some manner, and I'm sure you're well aware that Khans and NCR don't mix. If not the Barons, it'd mean rustling cattle, and while that may be a path to take, it certainly won't be quick and or clean; it'll just draw unwanted attention. That leaves me with you, your Jet production requires a good number of Brahmin, and last I heard, you've got more than you need and some. Enough to make a Baron envious."

"Well, I can't fault your reasoning. And I certainly have plenty of Brahmin to supply the demand of my many clients," Mordino said as he leaned back in his seat, nonchalant as ever, as he reached for his glass and downed the remains. "But I cannot help you."

"And I take it there's nothing me and my men can do to change your mind?"

Mr. Mordino set his glass down, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before scoffing, "I have no reason to get mixed up with you Khans. You have nothing to offer me to be frank, no service that could benefit my organization beyond a token force of manpower."

"I'm sorry that's the way you feel, Mr. Mordino."

"It's not just that, Fergus. The NCR you don't want to mingle with, they wish to make something of New Reno someday, considering how many of their more influential members of high society so greatly love to entertain themselves here. And I can't have any business with you, not with all the rumors of increased raider activities along the frontier of NCR territory." Fergus didn't respond to the veiled accusation, but he didn't need to, "Activities that I'm sure you're well aware of."

Fergus raked his fingers through his beard and sighed, he nodded and chose that moment was as good as any to make his exit. Standing from his chair, "Mr. Mordino, I appreciate your honesty and not dragging out what would be a pointless conversation. It appears I'll have to find another means of acquiring the cattle I need." He locked eyes with the man, "I surely hope neither of us come to regret the partnership that could've been."

Fergus left quickly after his parting words back down to the lobby.

Mr. Mordino puzzled over those words for a while, then signaled one of his servants with one hand, and a lieutenant with another, "I want you to make the rounds, make sure our guards are refreshed and keeping their eyes open, tell them to expect trouble in the near future. Take whoever you need with you."

"Yes sir," the lieutenant nodded, "you think they'll be a problem?"

"Not if they're smart. If they aren't, they'll be getting more than they bargained for. In fact, schedule a meeting with the Salvatores, as soon as possible. I'm cashing in my favor."

The servant arrived promptly by his boss' side, refilling the empty glass for Mr. Mordino. The head of the family stood from his seat with glass in hand, walking over to stand back in front of the large windows again, "Your move, Fergus." Everything he said to the man, he meant. He didn't like how those Khans were staying out with the Van Graffs, and he wasn't going to allow a potential traitor into his midst to see their operations and business.

The things about partnerships, is you're either all in, or you're out. Sitting on the fence got people killed, it destroyed trust, and turns friends into enemies. Everything had to be mutual, you had to know that your partner had your back as much as you had his.

No, they were far better off without them and now he had preparations to make.

(Downstairs)

Fergus met up with his group of Khans and were escorted to the front door of the Desperado to make their exit. Once outside, Fergus looked up and down the neon streets looking for his escort and found her leaning against a telephone poll across the street a good distance away from the entrance to her rival's main hangout and it seemed she had company.

He started to hear the conversation she was having with the two gentlemen hassling her, "I said buzz off, I ain't some fucking hooker."

"Oh, come on, baby," one of the men said, "A fine looking girl like you? Don't tell me you got standards that are better than a handful of caps."

"Yeah, we can make it worth your while, doll, in more ways than one," said the other.

Gloria's face turned furious, "The fuck did you say to me!? I'd say to take a hint, but you dumbasses can't even grasp a direct statement," she sneered at the two, her hand was starting to move to the small of her back and Fergus knew that if he was going to speak up, then now was the time.

"The lady wants nothing to do with you two, try your luck elsewhere."

"You can wait your turn pal," one said, not actually turning to address Fergus and the group of killers at his command. If he had, Fergus was sure the next words out of his mouth would've never came, "We started talking with her first, get lost before we lose our temper!"

Gloria, upon seeing Fergus and company, smiled sadistically at the two, unnerving enough for one of the men to comment on it, "The fuck you smiling at like that for?"

The woman just pointed behind her, finally getting both men to see just what she was getting at. The men's faces paled considerably, all except for the reddened flushes of heavy drinking on their cheeks and noses.

"H-h-hey, we're sorry man. We didn't know you guys were Khans," one was quick to apologize, taking a step back.

"Yeah, we were only looking for some fun, we'd no idea she was with you, we swear!"

Fergus could only shake his head, "It's not us you should be worried about. That there is Miss Tiaret's daughter. You should be begging her for forgiveness."

The two men whipped their heads back in the direction of Gloria, both of them mouthing the phrase 'Van Graff' across their lips, before ultimately deciding it was better just to scamper off, as far and as fast as they could away from that woman.

Gloria let loose a loud laugh, "While I appreciate the show, I could've handled that myself."

"Yes, but your way probably would've left two men gutted in the street. There's too much attention on us right now already. It's time to go."

"Sounds like your meeting didn't go as planned," she said, casting a sideway glance his way as the group started making their way out of New Reno.

"You could say that," Fergus' eyes were darting back and forth among the throngs of people, looking for any of Mordino's men who may be trailing them, who'd report back his rendezvous with the Van Graff matriarch's daughter. His threat wasn't exactly veiled, and people like Mr. Mordino don't get where they are by being stupid or careless. "Hopefully your mother squared away her end. I'll need that meeting as soon as possible."

(June 25th, 2269)

(Hall of Congress, Shady Sands, NCR)

Mr. Lennox stepped from Salidino's office with some pep in his gait. When it came to getting things done and through loads of red tape, Salidino was the man to see. But, as a senior among his colleagues, he had a lasting tenure and he was a hard man to sway. With that sway, came the power to shake things up, and that's exactly what Lennox needed.

Ms. Pratt was waiting for him outside in the hall, and quickly sidled up to him, "How'd it go with Mr. Salidino?"

"I had to cough up some intel and justify the procedures, but he came around. He felt that if we could determine where these larger groups behind the recent attacks are coming from, we may be able to bring an official end to the Mojave Campaign."

"Do you think that'll be attainable, sir?"

Mr. Lennox didn't answer immediately, because he honestly didn't have an answer. Ending the campaign would be the ideal outcome, but it was a long shot. "The Mojave is a large expanse of rugged and harsh terrain. Unforgiving. There are nasty monsters out there that'd make seasoned veterans sweat, and that's just the people. There's Deathclaws, Cazadors, mutated insects of various types. The further into the frontier one goes, the support our personnel has out there gets smaller and smaller."

"So, that's a 'no,' sir?"

"It means whoever General Oliver sends out there is going to have their work cut out for them. The expanse means those raiders could be anywhere, but for large groups the options they have may be limited as to where they'd settle and hole up, so that could help in the search. Hostiles will be a certainty, so there'll probably be an uptick on casualties," Lennox slid a hand over face just thinking about it.

"Is it difficult," the sound of her heels coming to a stop caused Lennox to stop and look at her. "Being in here, when you know what it's like being out there?" It couldn't have been easy making the transition from soldier to politician. She'd known since finding out she'd be working for him two years ago he was a veteran; an actual veteran and distinguished at that, judging by the Star of Sierra Madre medal tucked away in his desk. In the time since, she'd seen the way he'd just stare at some of the briefings and reports he had to go over, not actually reading them. The look of grief he got when consoling family members of fallen soldiers, or the look of understanding he got when meeting with other veterans. It was sincere, genuine.

"I thought that by coming here, I'd be able to make a difference. It's only been two years, but time just doesn't quite drag the same way." That wasn't an answer, not really. "It's got its days. Sometimes, I'd rather be back out there. You know who your friends are and who's on your side. You know what you've got to do; you've got a mission or an objective to complete. . . but in here? Everyone's got an agenda, their own personal schemes even if the group as a whole has a common goal. Politics is a lot of backstabbing and backroom deals, no transparency and little to no accountability. Good men and women die for the decisions made here and are very often never given the courtesy of knowing 'Why?'"

"Well, that explains why you're here."

Mr. Lennox turned with a light chortle as he continued the walk to his office. So, Miss Pratt thought she had him all figured out, then? "Please, do tell."

"It just seems to me that you want to be the man you wished was here when you still served. Someone that has the soldiers' interests at heart, not necessarily the Military, per say."

Well, if that's what she saw, he couldn't deny that it didn't sound nice to hear, even if he didn't believe it himself. Two years within these halls had taken its toll, not to mention all the favors he had to dole out during his campaign just to get in through the door. Instead, he gave her a small wistful smile, hoping he wouldn't be around to see the day that image crumbled.

The last few steps were filled with silence, and the congressman was about to reach for his door when he noticed it was slightly ajar. Someone had been in his office. A quick glance at Ms. Pratt said the same, he clearly remembered her closing the door behind him on their way to Salidino's, and she seemed just as bewildered.

"I don't recall there being any visitors for you today on the schedule, sir. After your meeting with Salidino, today was rather light. One of the other aides would have found me if anything changed."

Mr. Lennox pushed the door open, and the reason for the break of workplace privacy was still inside.

Sitting at his desk, no less. In his chair, back turned to the two of them without a care in the world, a cloud of smoke hanging around the stranger in the light cast by the open door.

"Tell me, Jami," the man started, addressing him as though he were family or a close friend, spinning around in the chair to face the congressman and his aid. He was older than Lennox by two decades, at least, the top part of his graying brown hair already gone. The man was heavy set and well-fed, in a picture-perfect, tan tailored suit. "Have you ever thought of upgrading your office to one with a window," he asked with a glint in his ageing brown eyes and a snarky smile wrapped around a cigar.

"Father?!"

That's right, as Ms. Pratt's outburst announced. The man occupying his chair was her father, Senator Lewis Pratt. His senior, his colleague, but more importantly, his most influential backer during his election campaign.

"Hey sweetie. Listen, I have some business matters to discuss with the good congressman. Would you give us the room?" Ms. Pratt looked a little unsure, at first, wrestling with her duty as an aid and as a daughter. Eventually, she relinquished, nothing but a curt nod to signal her departure. "Thank you, sweetie. I'll treat you to dinner this evening and you can tell me how work's been treating you, and the good congressman, of course."

The room to themselves, the Senator rose from the chair, offering it back to Mr. Lennox who took it upon his request, Mr. Pratt taking the seat opposite from him on the other side of the desk.

"What can I do for you, Senator?"

"I'm glad you asked, so I'll skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase," he said, before his face became serious. "I hear you're trying to move troops. I know who put in the request, so there's no need to try denying it, but that's not why I'm here."

"So, again, what can I do for you, Senator?"

"I have interests in the Mojave that I want protected concerning all this recent raider activity, and I'll put my stamp of approval on the expedition provided you can give me some guarantees. It's time to make good on those promises, Jami."

Lennox knew this day would come, and unfortunately, he was in no place to argue. All he could do was make sure his own bases were covered, but the man across from him could tank his career early if he so saw fit. "Such as?"

"First, my brahmin pastures and assets. Should be easy considering the objective of the campaign includes protecting the NCR frontier and its citizens and properties. The second. . . well, for the second task, you'll have your work cut out for you."

"Name it, don't be coy."

"And don't you get smart with me. We've been pushing to annex more, the pressing objective being that of your former people."

Mr. Lennox scowled, "You can't be serious?"

"Oh, I'm deadly serious, congressman. If anyone can bring them into the fold, it'll be one of their own. We've coordinated operations with them to knock out large gangs along our shared borders. We've been sharing reports and intel for years, and you're not the only one to up and leave to join us. You and I both know they're losing whatever ground they used to have, and all the advanced training in the world won't help them with their manpower and supplies crisis. Their self-sufficiency is admirable and they're tenacious as hell, but it will be their undoing before long."

The younger congressman grit his teeth. This Senator didn't know, he couldn't know the struggles of his people. He didn't know the sacrifices made to protect the Nevada territory before the NCR ever came knocking. There are factions crueler and more merciless than the Enclave, numbers to put up a more of a dogged fight than the Brotherhood of Steel. As much as he loved his people, he knew the Senator was accurate in his assessment. His people were proud, self-reliant, they were survivors through and through. Many times, the NCR recruited them to scout territories or train some of their more promising Rangers, but the Senator didn't know just what kind of trouble he was inviting to the NCR's doorstep.

Then again, maybe this could save his people from their own stubbornness. Inclusion to the NCR didn't have to mean they lost their way.

Inclusion just might be the only way to save them.

The congressman let out a frustrated sigh, sinking his face into his hand as his body sank deeper into the chair. As much as he wished it, he didn't have a choice, and if the worst comes to pass; if the ones his people were wary of the most learned of the NCR, then bringing his people into the embrace of the New California Republic would be condemning many good soldiers to death. Worse than anything yet they'd ever seen, wars with the Enclave and Brotherhood be damned.

"I have a contact that can be here within the week. He and I are still on good terms and he's more than capable. But don't expect quick results. Getting them to agree will be like pulling teeth from a Deathclaw."

"At this point, I think they have as much choice as you do on the matter, Jami," the Senator replied.

"Only my friends call me Jami," Lennox included, cutting a glance to the Senator, his eyes just barely visible from the palm of his hand.

"I thought you and I were friends, after how much I helped you get elected Jamison. That's what friends do."

Jamison finally righted his posture within his chair to look the Senator in the eye, and while his smile was soft, his eyes were anything but, "Impossible Senator. All my friends are dead."