Chapter 4: Unwanted but Necessary

The following is an excerpt from a speech given by Commissioner Natalie Boone to the Judicial Marshal contingent of the Allied Expeditionary Group, as transcribed and recorded by Timothy Frost. Dated March 23rd, 2304

"Hey, long time no see for most of you. I know a lot of you are tired from the journey here and I'm not exactly excited about public speaking, so I'll try to keep this short. In a few hours, we all will depart to the Dam and from there we begin the expedition. You are all aware of the briefing. You know where we are going, who we are going to see, what is expected of us, and what we're preparing for.

Before we leave, though, I just want to address some of the commentaries I've picked up while strolling through the camp. That's right, I can hear the shit you guys are talking. *smattering of laughter* Let me go through some of the commonalities I've heard. "Can't wait to show these Cali boys how to fight" "Last time a Cali boy was this far east, they got their asses handed to them for half a decade." "You mean we got to babysit these scrubs?"

Now, I'm not one to denounce a little friendly trash talk here and there, but if I may speak to you all as a Cali girl *smattering of laughter* I feel that is my duty as your commander in the field to elucidate a manner I'm afraid many of you have overlooked.

None of you are soldiers."

*Cries of indignation and bewilderment from a few of the men are audible*

"Now, don't get me wrong, we've been teaching you all how to fight. As the successors to the Desert Rangers, you are obligated to be combat experts. All that small arms training and tactical maneuver training wasn't just for show, we want you to handle anything that the wasteland can throw at you. And it has been paying off in spades! Just last year, three separate Tunneler excursions were repulsed by Deputy Chief Smiles' unit."

*Cheering and hi-fiving of the unit in question commences*

"Alongside Deputy Chief Clydebuck's recent apprehension of that train-robbing gang by the border."

*More cheering and applause*

"And, for the sake of brevity, my own operation that oversaw the expulsion of the Ministerio de Hex from the Sierra Madre Supermax, before they could liberate their leader."

*Raucous cheers and applause*

"Thank you, thank you, I'm proud of that one, too. The point is, we know what we are doing, we've got a good track record of about two decades, and to top it all off, I see a lot of new generation JM's in the crowd. Which I personally believe is a testament to our ability to get the job done quick, done right, and kick a lot of ass while we do it.

This does not make us soldiers."

*The audience is silent*

"We are about to embark on a joint operation with the New California Republic. Not only that, but with the best soldiers of some of their best units. The best of the best that they could spare, considering the circumstances. But while they may be soldiers, this operation does not give you permission to act as if you are as well.

You are not here to outshoot First Recon, you are not here to out-scout the 14th, you are not here to siege with the 32nd nor will you be expected to traverse the environments the 66th call home, and neither shall you rush out to spearpoint the enemy before the 5th. Because you are not soldiers.

You are police.

Judging by some of the looks some of you have given me, I may have to explain myself a bit. Any of you remember the Mojave Campaign? When you have soldiers doing police work, it can lead to one disaster after another. Boot camp has plenty of time to teach you how to shoot, very little about knowing when not too. That was my class, after all. *smattering of laughter*

You see, although the Unclaimed Wastes has a reputation for being rather lawless, it remains our duty to see to it that we do not approach it like occupied territory. While California will provide the muscle, we shall be the voice and soul of Nevada. Before the bullets start flying, we must try to mitigate and diffuse hostilities before it gets to that point. If a hand is asking for help, you and your squad should take it.

Don't think this means I'm an idiot, though. I fully expect us to see action. Confederate activity in the Unclaimed Wastes is practically a given at this point, and more than a few groups will not appreciate what they will see as an intrusion. It is up to all of us to make the distinction between neutral settlements and hostile camps. Again, why you don't want soldiers playing police and vice versa.

"So, to keep it simple, this is a collaboration, not a competition. You are here to mitigate, protect, support, and fight as necessary. Shoot with the 1st, scout with the 14th, defend with the 32nd, attack with the 66th, but if it's all the same to you, I'm thinking I'd rather the 5th lead the charge. *laughter*

Best to settle in, gents and girls, we're leaving at tomorrow's first light. I hope you all have your stuff taken care of, if not, come see me and we'll get it sorted out. This is an all-volunteer mission, I am obligated to say, so, last chance. Anyone got cold feet?

*Silence*

"Yeah, thought so."

The following morning, the six-hundred odd NCR troopers and eighty Judicial Marshals would leave Camp McCarren with little fanfare. Most troopers traveled light, carrying their necessities with them, while the bulk of the logistics train was handled by the 5th Heavy Armor and their caravan of brahmin. The survey teams that had sporadically been sent into the Unclaimed Wastes previously had identified an optimal path with access to well water and salvageable scrap to accommodate the AEG, at least throughout Arizona. As far as most were concerned, that was all the immediate issues dealt with. The Governor, however, had other matters to attend to.

Lars strolled outside the gate of Camp McCarren, glancing at his Pip-boy watch as Tobey and Carla flanked the gates. Jimmy took out a toothpick, chewing on the end as he tapped his foot impatiently on the dirt floor. Joseph stood silently, cane before him, not an ounce of irritation on his face. His wife was getting acclimated with the medical contingent of the AEG, and her relationship with Rosa was often strained on the best of days. Nonetheless, he was the first to perk his head up upon the new arrivals. "She's here."

Ulysses and Rosa came into view, trudging up to the street as Lars stormed over to his kid. "Where in the blazing hell have you been?!"

"Out," Rosa replied.

Lars rubbed his face in his hands before turning to Ulysses. "Thanks for fetching her."

"No matter how many years pass, I remain a courier," Ulysses joked, dryly.

"Right, let me give you your pay," Lars said as he stuck his hand in his pocket. "Oh, here it is," he replied as he pulled out his hand, middle extended.

"And your wit has yet to outstay its welcome," Ulysses replied, so flatly most couldn't detect an ounce of insincerity.

"Just get in there and say goodbye to your old trainees. At least some people are going to miss you, despite your best efforts," Lars said as Ulysses moved past. The door to McCarren creaked open, and Ulysses snaked his body inside. As he did, Lars returned his attention to his daughter.

"You'd better have a damn good excuse for why I couldn't find you, today," Lars muttered.

"I went home to pick up some things. Just happens that one of those things turned out to be a guy," Rosa shrugged.

"Anyone I know?" Lars growled.

"Nope," Rosa replied.

"You worry me, girl. You have any idea how much a switchblade covered in shit can fuck you up if it tags you? It's not quick or pretty."

"Lucky for me, I'm both," Rosa beamed, though an element of hostility bubbled beneath the surface.

Before Lars could continue, Rosa noticed Tobey and Carla standing guard. "Hey, haven't seen you guys in weeks! How're things on Planet Pig?"

"Oh, things are just peachy! We kept your home-away nice and clean," Carla replied, cheerily. Rosa had spent some time at the Highway Patrol Center, and rarely in a voluntary manner. Nothing major, a brawl outside the town here, a little distribution of counterfeit there, a drunken episode every so often. She rarely spent long, though, usually Jimmy would come and pay bail before that happened.

Rosa, Tobey, and Carla used to be inseparable when they were younger. They had spent a lot of time playing in the relatively safer north side of town while their parents basically ran the country. As time went on, though, small fights erupted into bigger ones. Carla and Rosa especially took it poorly, their conflicting outlooks turning into poison for their relationship. It had gotten so toxic that they had both tried to weaponize Tobey against the other, culminating in Carla all but ordering Tobey to cut the other girl off, to which Rosa retaliated by sleeping with him.

"Hey, Tobey!" Rosa waved, cheerily.

Tobey began to wave, ignoring the withering glare Carla shot at him. Tobey had often tried to be the peacemaker between the two, with varying and recently diminishing levels of efficiency. While Carla and Rosa regarded the other as a litany of wrongs committed against the other, Tobey only wished for the three of them to at least give the friendship thing one last go, and do something like catch a film at the drive-thru or just try cloud-gazing again like when they were younger. They both expected him to cut the other out of his life and hate them, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Maybe when they both realized it, they could start putting this bullshit feud aside and really commit to acting like adults.

"Hey, I was talking to you!" Carla screamed.

"And I wasn't listening!" Rosa shot back.

It was a nice dream, at any rate.

"Ladies, please!" Jimmy said as he got between them. "What's the point in fighting, anyway? We don't have a paying audience!"

"Carla, why don't we go inside?" Tobey suggested. "Get some air?"

Shooting one last glare at Rosa, Carla retreated inside the fort. Tobey shot a look over his shoulder, shrugging apologetically, before joining his sister. Jimmy chuckled a bit as Joseph made his way to Rosa.

"So, at long last, you shall receive your dream," Joseph began.

Rosa began feeling her chest. "I mean, honestly, they could be bigger."

"I meant leaving Vegas. It's been your greatest desire for years, no?" Joseph asked, quizzically.

"That too," Rosa admitted, nodding. "I get to go east and not see neon. Just a shame that we're marching to Legion turf, though. Mel is holding up OK?" Rosa asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

"She is strong, Rosa. As are you, as much as you pretend otherwise," Joseph said.

"You trying to get at something, Joe?" Rosa asked, perturbed.

"Everyone could use a knight in shining armor, Rosa. Not all damsels are women, either. You met someone you didn't want to see again, but you will soon enough. Him and the Clutch Killer."

"What in the fuck are you babbling about?" Jimmy said under his breath.

"My apologies," Joseph said as he bowed his head. "My mind wandered a bit, that's all. We've a long journey ahead of us. I shall see to it that Mel is settling in. If I don't convince her to get some rest before sunrise, we'll all be in for some tribulations," he smiled.

"Hey, you ain't leaving yet until you explain whatever that hocus-pokey bullshit you were talking before…" Jimmy felt a hand on his shoulder. "Jim, Joe will tell us what matters when it matters. Treating him like a fortune cookie was something we promised we wouldn't do, remember?" Rosa asked. Jimmy gritted his teeth as he saw Joseph disappear behind the door.

They heard someone clearing his throat. Both turned to see the Governor glaring at them, his foot tapping on the broken road as he folded his arms.

"You want me to stick around?" Jimmy asked.

"I would prefer you didn't," Lars shouted across the road.

"Wasn't asking you, Gov," Jimmy replied.

"Just leave it, Jim. If he's going to scream at me, let's just get it over with," Rosa relented.

"Alright, holler if you need something," Jimmy said as he turned away.

"You'll know if I do," Rosa nodded. Soon, it was just the two of them. The Governor and the Wild Child.

"Oh, is there anyone else you wanted to talk to? Do I finally have your undivided attention?" Lars asked, sarcastically.

"Just get over whatever you want to lecture me about," Rosa groaned. "Is it about responsibility or something? I don't want what you got, period!"

"I want you to be safe!" Lars snapped. "Beginning, middle, and end, that is all! If there were any other options to the situation in front of us, we wouldn't be having this conversation, I'd keep doing my thing and you'd keep doing yours!"

"Oh, thank you for your generosity, Old Man!" Rosa exclaimed as she held out her arms. "Whatever would I do without you constantly looking over my shoulder and leashing me to your shitty city!"

"And why did I teach you how to fight, then?" Lars asked. "To give you the advantage in bar fights, or to make sure you could handle what the even shittier world can throw at you?"

Rosa paused. She remembered when the Old Man took her on vacation to Zion Canyon to camp and relax away from the city. Apart from being… fun, from what she could remember, the Old Man had also taught her how to use a machete like a deathclaw used its claws or a radscorpion used its stinger; so instinctually it became second nature. Also how to clear debris using just the correct amount of explosives, as well as taking pot-shots at bottles on fences. She felt warm all of a sudden and pushed that feeling as far down as she could.

"If I could take your place, Rosa, I would in a heartbeat," Lars said, seriously. "But, seeing as that isn't possible, the best I can do is this."

He held out his arm, showing that obnoxious golden Pip-boy he had always meant to refurbish but never got around to for one reason or another. He typed in some commands, and the Pip-boy began making a sound it hadn't in decades.

"Audio passcode: Cash Out," Lars spoke.

On the screen, a message flashed. Passcode accepted. Goodbye and good luck. And after decades, the Pip-boy snapped open, sliding off Lars' arm as he caught it. Lars glanced at the tender flesh of his arm, wondering if that mole had always been there, before remembering what he was doing and holding out the device to his successor in, if not title, at the very least legacy.

"…You're kidding, right?" Rosa said as she looked at the armlet computer.

"This thing has gotten me into, and out of, so much trouble," Lars admitted. "But I've been using it less and less these days, and you're going to get a lot more mileage out of it than I will here. I mean, I can always teach you the basics, but I'm thinking we ought to…"

Rosa moved forward and took the Pip-boy. Gold-plating aside, she could see the wear and tear covering its chassis. She looked to the computer than to the Governor. "You're giving me this?"

"It's the most multi-purpose tool I've ever encountered," Lars said as Rosa continued her appraisal. "The more you can do, the better you can survive out there. All the soldiers and marshals in the world can hardly make up the difference you can if you have the proper tools you need."

Rosa looked to her wrist. She always wondered what it felt like to wear one of these things. Most people carried these things for life, so it was beyond a fashion statement at any rate. The Old Man wasn't wrong, she had to admit to herself.

"…I…" Rosa began. "…It… don't know…"

"Well, it's been a while, but I think I can figure out how to put in on someone else," Lars shrugged as he moved to help her.

"No, I get it!" Rosa said as she clamped it down on her wrist. Her body pulsed as the computer acclimated to her biometrics and heartbeats. As it invasively began documenting her medical history to the best of its abilities, Rosa held it up in a manner of triumph. "See, it wasn't so hard!"

Lars blinked. "Well, that's good to know."

"Yep, I don't need you to walk me through this! It's like field-stripping a rifle, once you learn you don't ever forget!" Rosa said as she began fiddling with the controls. "So we got analog, radio stations, communicator, no games, which sucks ass, and…" she began pawing at it. "…Daylight savings? What the fuck is that?" She pawed at it more. "Back. Back! BACK!" she cried as she began getting frustrated.

"Oh, first-time user issues. How it takes me back," Lars smiled.

"I can get it!" Rosa shrieked. "…No, don't reset! I… urgh!" she fell to the ground. Lars strolled over to her, standing over her as he tried not to take too much joy in his princess's frustrations. "…Do you need some help?"

"Isn't there some kind of manual?" Rosa asked.

"It's in the Pip-boy," Lars explained.

Rosa sighed. "…How long is this going to take?"

"Half hour. Tops," Lars said. He offered out his hand. Rosa, instead, sat up and moved aside. Lars joined her on the ground. "…So, did you try turning it on and off?"

"Fuck you," Rosa said.

Lars let out a laugh while Rosa hid the slightest smile. One of Lars' biggest regrets had been his lack of time to spend with her as the years had gone on, in addition to having never found a mom to help him. Truth is, for all his success and accomplishments, he had never been happier than when he was spending time with his kid. He promised himself that he was going to make this count. It was the least he owed her, and it was the best he could yet do.

Dryxon rolled out another one as Costwood continued cutting up bait. They sat on the eastern shore of the Colorado, the morning sun creeping up behind them as they waited for their junior member and prepared for their breakfast. Costwood was the senior member, his doughy physique and walrus-like mustache belaying the fact that he had been a remorseless killer and dutiful outlaw lieutenant for years. Dryxon in comparison was a handful of years younger and much skinnier, as well as a fan of medicinal botany.

"What's keeping his ass so long?" Dryxon asked as he fished out his lighter.

"Lay off him, Dryx, he's a good kid," Costwood sighed as he laced the line with radroach chunks. "Kenzie digs him, he busts his ass, and the longer he sticks around, the nicer Legatum Saeva will have to play with us."

"I'm just glad he don't have the same stick up his ass," Dryxon replied as he took a drag. "You know how to cook those things?" he asked.

"Give me a campfire and a skillet and I'll figure it out," Costwood grinned. "Besides, we should have plenty of chunks to experiment."

"Speaking of experiment," Dryxon said as he exhaled. "How well do you think this "rally" business is going to pay off?"

Costwood looked to his partner as he cast the line into the water. "…Most we got going for us is common cause. Lot of townies and settlers ain't gonna be a whole lot receptive to what we're jawing…"

"Ain't nothing stopping them from joining us, though?" Dryxon offered.

Costwood nodded. "Course. Still, not all folk are up to hanging with the Liberty Clans."

"We can thank those Desert Ranger punks for the bad lip," Dryxon added as he took another puff. The Liberty Clans were the descendants of anti-government survivalists, homesteaders, free-thinkers, and hippies who rejected the United States in its waning days, choosing to live out their lives in the desert and away from civilization, a move that protected many of them when the Great War came to pass. These clans more often than not rejected all forms of authority outside their group, a facet that often brought them in conflict with the Desert Rangers, leading to bloody feuds throughout Arizona that generally lasted until Caesar's Legion forever altered the paradigm of the region.

As much as they enjoyed their libertine lifestyle, there were a few others who regarded them as bands of thieves, whores, killers, and con-men. Costwood and Dryxon, along with Larain, belonged to a powerful Liberty Clan known as the Kenzie McGrath Family, and was one of the preeminent gangs of its kind in Arizona. Most of the other clans were on good terms or kept their distance from the group. Cowing them in line wouldn't prove to be a difficult endeavor.

"How many gunslingers you think we can scrounge up if we pull all the clans together?" Dryxon asked.

"Couple hundred, I reckon," Costwood shrugged.

"…And how many worth a damn?" Dryxon pressed.

"…Few dozen," Costwood admitted.

"So, we can't stop the invasion ourselves," Dryxon groused.

"Which is why Kenzie is going to have sent a messenger down south," Costwood grunted as he checked on the secondary bag.

Dryxon looked at his partner. "El culto loco?"

Costwood shrugged. "I mean we get along with them well enough. They stay away from us and we haven't had a reason to kill any of theirs."

"They still want to kill everyone in the world, right?" Dryxon asked. Costwood suddenly felt a lot more focused on his fishing line.

The Ministerio de Hex was an offshoot of the Iglesia de la Santa Sangre, the most violent and dangerous group from the Mexican wasteland. A few years back, though, their visionary leader had tested his luck against settlements claimed by Vegas, and in response the Governor had led a task force of marshals and mercenaries to trap and capture the mutant. After a bloody battle, Hex wound up imprisoned in the Sierra Madre Supermax, a nearly impregnable prison that was regarded by most as not being worth the effort to claim. All except the loyalist splinter group of the Iglesia, who had tried and failed to break their leader out of prison. They were nothing if not stubborn, though, and wouldn't be too far from the area. Convincing them that a united California and Nevada was an existential threat wouldn't be a hard argument.

"So, our theoretical army consists of a bunch of gunslinging hippies and a nihilist's fan club. Our odds are getting better, but they don't exactly look good, boss," Dryxon said as he took another toke.

"That, my friend, is why Kenzie is also going to ask for help from members of the old regime," Costwood said as he watched the dark shapes under the water encircle his bait.

"Legion?!" Dryxon asked, incredulously.

"EX-Legion," Costwood explained as his free hand began fishing in the second bag. "Lot of the old tribes started getting ballsy when the Legion called it quits from their western territories. Some walked away, others rebelled, and as much as that Lanius asswipe wanted to crush them, wasn't much point in crushing rebellions in territory you couldn't hold, you think?"

"Guess you ain't wrong," Dryxon shrugged as he flicked away his blunt.

"Course I ain't! Now, most these tribes are like the townies and settlers, ain't got the stones to resist another invasion, I guess their time under Caesar bled the bloodlust out of em. Most of em, at least."

Dryxon caught on to his implication. "Bloody shits, Costy! Those psycopaths?!"

"If Kenzie don't get out his best sweet-talk, he'll end up tastin pretty sweet, yeah," Costwood admitted as he pulled out a stick of dynamite.

One of the last tribes to acclimate into the Legion had also been one of the first to rebel against their masters. The Pelt-Brutes were probably the last tribe to voluntarily enlist in the Legion, wowed and mystified by their battlefield prowess and ability to conquer and subjugate their enemies, talents and values the Pelt-Brutes tended to admire. Of course, not long after they did enlist, the Legion suffered two defeats at Hoover Dam, Caesar was killed at the heart of his army, and the fearsome Legate Lanius surrendered vast swaths of territory to a deliveryman. A few disemboweled centurions later, the Pelt-Brutes were the first and largest tribe to renounce the Legion, their recent and voluntary assimilation allowing them to retain their tribal identity as they went to work raiding and butchering what few cohorts tried to subdue or exterminate them.

The Pelt-Brutes were naturally vicious hunters and warriors. They were distinct for their usage of animal hides as a form of battle dress, with stags, wolves, yao guai, and occasionally deathclaws being popular choices. They were known to be unparalleled trackers, and their most fearsome warriors were known to be all but unstoppable in the heat of battle. They also indulged in the usual tribal shenanigans. Cannibalism, human sacrifice, raiding settlements for women and children, rape and slavery, the usual. Really, it was a small wonder they adapted so well to Legion life in the first place.

"Well, I'm glad to not be downwind of them at any rate," Dryxon said as he lit another cigarette. As he took a puff, Costwood took the cigarette from his mouth, sticking the embers to the fuse. Upon its ignition, he tossed the stick over where he had dropped his bait, returning the cigarette to Dryxon.

"C'mon, out with it. Who else?" Dryxon teased.

"…Might be one more reason we're waiting for the boy," Costwood admitted as the dark shapes swirled around the stick.

Legatum Saeva used to be Legion, run by a guy who claimed he used to be Enclave. Apart from his shit luck and decision-making, its leader had also been the guardian of Larain. Like the Pelt-Brutes, the Legatum Saeva were Legion defectors. Unlike the Pelt-Brutes, their leader had convinced his maniples to adopt certain technologies, like plasma weaponry and radio communications. The result was a band of disciplined marauders, utilizing the weaponry of the Enclave and combining it with the fanaticism and brutality of the most dedicated of legionaries.

The leader, known by most as Dalton, had been the number two in a cohort run by this enormous piece of shit (according to several of Costwood's friends in Arizona), holding the position of optio within that particular cohort. He later assumed leadership, if not rank, after said leader was sent on an excursion to Hopeville. Dalton proved to be a competent fighter and tactician, though far from any kind of visionary leader. Since leaving the Legion, an organization he had made apparent he did not follow out of ideological reasons, at some point he would fight with and against the Liberty Clans, Ministerio, Pelt-Brutes, Frumentarii scouts, NCR covert ops, and even the RMX. A true mercenary, fighting to exist for tomorrow, and fuck-all else.

"So, for the rundown," Dryx stated as he took another drag. "We got us a coalition of gun-toting free spirits, a Mexican death cult, furry cannibals, and a rogue kill team led by a guy who has never fought for a winning side?"

"Sounds about right," Costwood admitted.

"…Why not just bite the bullet and call in a favor from RMX?" Dryx asked.

The dynamite exploded as a hand raised it from the water. The lakelurk shrieked as its body was rent apart, raining chunks on the shoreline.

"Well, Dryx, I guess it all comes down to the size of the favor, at the end of the day," Costwood sighed as he picked himself off the ground. "You know the Brandt gang?"

"Neal's guys. Yeah. Why?" Dryxon asked.

"Bout fifty or so years ago, they got caught in that real bad snowstorm somewhere up north. Ran out of food before it was halfway over, and it would've gotten real bad if it hadn't been for RMX."

"They did that?" Dryx said, incredulously. "Good for them. Didn't know they had it in em!"

"They don't," Costwood shook his head. "Brandt's group has been paying it off ever since. They've been paying tributes every year to this day. Heard he even had to give up a kid a few years ago."

"No way," Dryxon breathed. "They're a Liberty Clan!"

"And they owed a debt to the RMX," Costwood said. "Moral of the story is there are some things you just don't do. You don't pull a radscorpion's tail, you don't ask for a pork sandwich these days, and you don't bet what you aren't willing to owe, especially to the RMX. Anyway, I'm going to go pick up some chunks of breakfast. You can, uh, keep baking, I guess."

Dryxon gave him the finger as Costwood hiked down the hill and began picking up shards of mutant lake monster. Dryxon leaned back, pretending to keep an eye out for Larain while fighting off the urge to doze off and catch a few more winks. When he decided to give up any pretense and readied himself to get a little more comfortable, he felt something strike against the back of his neck. It wasn't very big and it didn't hurt very much, so he could rule out a bullet. Still rude though. He was about to holler out some complaints when he turned around. As he did, his fingers landed on top of the offending item. It wasn't stone, at least. Felt pretty metallic.

He brought it up to his eyes and could not believe his luck. A real Legion Aureus. Pure gold, and even though the Legion had left Arizona years ago, this money was as good as ever. He felt another coin strike him on the forehead. This one was silver, a denarii. Someone over the ridge wanted his attention, and was willing to part with good money to get it. He pondered for a moment how to engage with his new friend. He could ask Costwood to give him some backup, but on the other hand, if he went alone he could rob the guy, keep all the money, and no one would be the wiser. So, he opted to go alone.

When Larain reconnected with Costwood, he was immediately asked if he had seen Dryxon anywhere. Combing through the area together, they were unable to find any trace of their partner. All they were able to find was a small pile of bloodstained Legion coins on a patch of burlap the size of a napkin, and the words SAWNEY WUZ HEAR carved into the dirt. It would be the last time they ever saw Dryxon alive again.

A/N: The character of Dalton was loaned to me by fellow Fallout writer Interfectorum (one of the other writers on the tab who does a similar style of multi-fic worldbuilding to the extent that I do it) from a previously mentioned fic titled The New West.