Chapter 5: Mutual Adversaries

There was a time when the city had a name. During that time, it had been a throne for a madman, and the heart of the tyrannical infection that had blighted Arizona. Now the virus was gone, and with it the city had been abandoned. According to legend, a former slave, freed through neglect, celebrated his newfound liberation the only way he could think of by taking a torch and immolating as much of the city as possible, leaving behind the charred husk of a monument for all the wasteland to see. This place was once called Flagstaff, and even as the years passed, nary a prospector or scavenger would venture into the city, wasteland superstition being as it was. Here, only the desperate would risk enduring such a place.

Kenzie stood at the outskirts of the town as the dying light of the evening sun began to dip into the horizon. He was flanked by some of his better gunners, plus a few extra trigger fingers who could be trusted not to instigate anything. On a nearby roof, a sharpshooter signaled down that they were beginning their approach. Kenzie nodded as he strolled forward to meet them. As necessary as this meeting would prove to be, he was not going to pretend he was looking forward to it.

The Iglesia de la Santa Sangre had been a thorn in the side of everyone who lived in the southwest, up until Padre Hex had been captured and imprisoned. While most of the group splintered off and tried to find their own salvation, the most persistent in the area happened to be the Ministerio de Hex, a group consisting of the Padre's most fanatical followers. They had made a huge stink some years prior, trying to break into the Sierra Madre prison, and to their credit made it a lot farther than anyone could have reasonably expected from them. Prior to the Judicial Marshals intercepting and driving them out, it was very possible they could have succeeded in breaking out Hex, a feat that hadn't been seen since the alleged Vertibird that had been rumored to have attacked the prison years ago and taken that other occupant that no one had seen since.

As the group of newcomers approached, Kenzie got a better look at the man upfront. As was typical for his organization, the dress code consisted of armor and tactical gear worn over priestly garb. The scarred bodyguards stared him down dispassionately as they trained their weapons towards the town, nearly forcing a standoff with the rest of Kenzie's boys. Their leader, on the other hand, held out his hand, and the rest of his men rested their weapons to their sides. For bloodthirsty misanthropes, they were obedient.

The man in front, compared to the rest of his companions, was somewhat underdressed. He wore the same priestly garb, yet in place of the armor of the rest of his brethren instead wore a bolero hat atop what looked like a mix between a burlap mask and some kind of respiratory equipment. At any rate, his face was completely covered.

"You someone I should know, friend?" Kenzie asked as he signaled his sniper to ease on the trigger.

"This one has been bestowed the name and title of Nemesio del Juarez, acting bishop of the Ministerio de Hex," the man in tattered vestment rasped, his voice straining against the pressure of his rebreather as he took a large inhale after completing his sentence.

"Acting bishop? What happened to Jorge?" Kenzie asked, surprised by the sudden loss of the one member of the Ministerio he had some familiarity with. Jorge had attacked his clan a few times, killing his brother and two of his girlfriends throughout the years. In retaliation, Kenzie made the group pay for the insults in blood, which suited the doomsday cult just fine. But such thoughts were for neither here nor there, there was business to commit.

"He fell some time ago, his life committed completely to our cause," Nemesio explained as best he could.

"My condolences to the loss of your leader," Kenzie tried to sound sincere.

"They are unneeded. Santa Jorge fell in service to the Revelation," Nemesio exclaimed as he held out his arms, mangled skin on display to Kenzie alone.

"Christ, man, what the fuck happened to you?" Kenzie asked, not… intentionally trying to blaspheme.

"My own encounter with the Revelation," Nemesio "explained."

"I knew the Sierra Madre wasn't a joke, but I didn't think it could mess you up that badly without killing you," Kenzie continued.

"Oh, we have moved beyond that which necessitates the Padre. We no longer seek the annihilation of mankind, or at least we accept that it is beyond our means of control," Nemesio continued.

"What's that supposed to mean? You're saying you're going to quit the whole "extermination gospel" or what have you?" Kenzie asked, immediately suspicious about this change in attitude to a group whose ultimate ambition as far as he knew was indiscriminate genocide.

"According to Hex, humanity was meant to be purged so the world could renew itself. The Rapture of nuclear fire was only just the beginning, and mankind's continued survival and ever-renewed lust for conflict was thought to stall that renewal. Only now, though, do I see where Hex had been mistaken. He Who Shall Inherit The World has already arrived. What Santa Jorge thought was a monster to be slain is in fact the Revelation incarnate."

Nemesio stopped for a moment to take a hit from whatever was in his rebreather. Kenzie began to realize that it wasn't just his arms that had sustained such grievous injuries, but rather his whole body, judging by the amount of whatever he was inhaling. He understood that this man's tolerance for pain exceeded what Kenzie had thought humans could handle. He also wondered what the hell even happened to this guy in the first place.

"And, uh, what if I told you that there was a force that has just entered Arizona that could possibly be a threat to this "Revelation," as you call it?" Kenzie suggested, cautiously.

Nemesio immediately drew out his sword. It was one of those "homemade" flaming swords that was often used by raiders and psychopaths (though most would be damned to distinguish the two.) What was different about this particular blade was that its alloy was different from the usual rusted scrap most would expect. This clean metal wasn't just for show, as when Nemesio activated the fuel, the blade burned blue fire. Holding the sword in front of him, clasping the hilt with both hands, Nemesio recited his prayer. "By the sacrifice of Padre Hex, on the blood of Santa Jorge, we of the Ministerio pledge our lives to that of the Revelation. Through our services, may It inherit the world, and through our violence, may those who seek Its ruin know nothing but damnation!"

"Thank you for having this interview with me," Frost smiled as he readied his camera and recording equipment. "For the sake of brevity, could you state your name and rank for the camera?"

"Captain Zachary Milligan, Commanding Officer of the First Recon Battalion contingent of the Allied Expeditionary Group."

"Very good," Frost nodded as he scribbled down some notes. Milligan shot him a look but kept his face neutral as Frost turned to look up at him.

"And in this first week of our departure from Vegas, what would you say your current morale is? That is, your mood and such?"

Milligan began fidgeting with his rifle, some people just weren't interested in becoming media darlings. Still, he figured he owed the people back home something they could use. Looking up, he finally had his answer.

"I'd say I'm having fun," he said.

"Fun? Could you… perhaps describe that a bit further?" Frost asked.

"Well, when I say fun, I'm not talking like going to the county fair fun or making out with your sister fun, but really more like rubbing your scrotum across some broken glass while you're hammered fun. How's that?" Milligan asked, dryly.

"It's certainly… descriptive," Frost hesitated.

"Thank you," the ginger officer said as he continued fidgeting with his rifle. Though the Legion had left years ago, the California soldier still felt antsy this deep into Arizona. The week-long trek thus far had been uneventful, mostly thanks to the 14th keeping tabs on potentially hostile fauna. The most pressing concern so far was making sure the men retained enough water, not engaging in firefights. Most soldiers appreciated things like that. First Recon wasn't most soldiers.

"Well, then, perhaps you could tell me your thoughts about how well the coalition is functioning between allies?" Frost suggested.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Milligan asked.

"What do you think of serving alongside your Mojave allies?" Frost amended.

"Allies?" Milligan repeated, enunciating the word as if there was something off about its taste.

"You have issues with the designation?" Frost asked.

"Guess I don't," Milligan admitted. "Or can't, what have you. I don't have much of a problem with these Mojave boys, but you should hear some of the old-timers rip into Vegas back home."

"Resentment over the Mojave campaign, I cannot say I am surprised," Frost nodded.

"More than that," Milligan continued. "Look around you. Most of these guys were kids during the Hoover Dam battles. Most of them had parents who served. Imagine how many dinner conversations turned into bellyaching over how badly the brass screwed them over, about that uppity mailman screwing over all their sacrifices and hard work, and how we're going east to open diplomatic relations with the most sadistic regime encountered in living memory? This wasn't a popular decision in Shady Sands, from what I can understand. There's a lot of lingering hard feelings in California, both with the Legion and the Mojave."

"I see," Frost understood. "A very candid response, Captain, if I do say so."

"You trying to get at something?" Milligan cocked his brow.

"I mean I appreciate your honesty," Frost countered. "Still, considering this is an all-volunteer operation, I take it you joined without the aforementioned resentment?"

Milligan turned his head to the side to spit. "Well, truth be told, not a lot of options for a country boy except signing up and shipping out. Besides, as much as I'd like to fight the Wild Khans, I heard some rumors about what they did to a platoon of red-beret wearing gunners. You know what I'm talking about?"

Frost gulped. He had only enough time to glance at some reports about military survivors of Wild Khan captivity before he was able to catch his train, but he remembered how the phrase "humane euthanization" struck a chord with him.

"I'm ready to die if I have to, but that," Milligan shuddered. "Sure as hell makes dying look easy, don't it?"

"Understandable," Frost nodded. "Tell me, is this your first action?"

Milligan paused but eventually shook his head. "Nah. I worked on the northern frontier. Mostly just patrolling and the occasional maneuvering drill, but eventually I got called in to handle a "pacification" mission."

"Pacification?" Frost asked.

"Hostile tribals, mostly. Kept driving prospectors off their land, eventually they complained enough to petition the local rep for military assistance. I got sent over, as did Tandi."

"Is this the first time 1st Recon and the 14th Scouts worked together?" Frost asked.

"Probably. Whole situation was a mess. Would have been a political disaster if it hadn't been for Tandi's involvement."

"Could you please elaborate?" Frost asked, growing more interested in learning of how the NCR handled their expansion plans in a Post-Vegas era, a topic that most people he wanted to cover were often tight-lipped about.

"…I don't think I'm the qualified guy to ask about that," Milligan admitted. "I'm just a soldier who did what he was told to the best of his abilities. If you want more details, you'd have to talk to Tandi."

"I… see," Frost said as he stroked his chin.

"There a problem with that?" Milligan asked.

"I… don't think I'm particularly popular around here," Frost admitted.

"You're not," Milligan said, bluntly.

Frost winced. "Then why did you talk to me in the first place?"

"Because I heard you worked in the film industry, and I was wondering if you could probably hook me up with Andrea Heilong or someone," Milligan smiled.

Frost groaned. He had little lost love for the New California Film Society. Most of its recent output consisted of either shlock or smut, with the occasional serious artistic endeavor few and far between. Not that he wasn't familiar with Miss Heilong, they both welched together during the biopic of President Tandi, and were two of the loudest voices of protest to the proposed and entirely fictitious love scene between the legendary Vault Dweller and the young Tandi played by Andrea. That being said, she did eventually come around to the production's vision upon finding out that they had cast Chet Hemlock, fresh off of his debut from Lusty Lady Legionaries 6, as the Vault Dweller in question. Frost never really saw the appeal, but he supposed all great works of art existed through compromise one way or the other.

"I'll see what I can do," Frost lied.

"And I'll see about setting up a meeting between you and War Chief Tandi," Milligan grinned. "You, uh, spend a lot of time around tribals?"

"Can't say that I have, but I don't see how that will instigate any significant deterrents. I am a proud card-carrying member of the Foundation for the United Peoples of California, and activism on behalf of the outlaying tribes on the frontier has long been a passion of mine."

"Good to know," Milligan as he stifled back a grin. "I think the two of you are going to get along just great," turning away to hide his snickering.

As the AEG set up camp for the night, they had set up sentries to surround the camp and keep track of any movement, whether it be a neutral caravan or perhaps hostile fauna. Usually a five-man squad, these sentries usually consisted of four NCR troopers and a Judicial Marshal. However, seeing as not all members of the AEG were officially military, some exceptions were made, especially as volunteering was encouraged for such duties.

"Snake eyes," Rosa crowed as she pulled the caps towards her. Carla snarled as Tobey put a hand on her shoulder. Jimmy just laughed as Rosa pushed out some caps. 300 says I get seven coming up. Any of you three think different?" Rosa grinned.

"You cheat!" Carla hissed.

"Do not!" Rosa shot back.

"Do too!" Carla snapped.

"No, I don't!" Rosa sneered.

"You do," Joseph said as he turned the page of his bible. The four players turned to look at the one guy who was actually taking sentry duty seriously. The irony that he was literally blind was not lost on any of them.

"Ah, what do you know? You don't even gamble!" Rosa rolled her eyes.

"So, you aren't using Duke's dice?" Joseph asked off-handedly as he ran his fingers over the page.

Jimmy shot a look at Rosa. Rosa blushed as she picked her dice back up and returned it to her bag. "…Good dice is hard to come by," Rosa added, quickly.

"Ok, so why don't you use mine," Jimmy said as he handed her his. Rosa kept the dice in her hand for half a minute, waiting for the perfect opportunity to release. She flung them to the ground, two sixes staring up at her when it came to a halt.

"Tough break, Rosy," Carla taunted as she took back her caps.

"…Hey, Tobey, you seeing anyone?" Rosa said in a chipper, bubbly tone.

"Please don't start," Tobey sighed as Carla bristled.

"Cuz if you ever feel lonely and are sick of putting up with your awful sister, you can just say the word and I can find somewhere private where we can-"

"Rosa, shut the hell up," Carla growled.

"I'm sorry," Rosa said as she picked at her ear. "Did I hear the faintest whiff of annoyance? Or… was that jealousy?" she grinned.

"Rosa," Jimmy said as he put an arm between them. "This is neither the time nor place."

"Stay out of this, Jimmy!" Carla snapped as she stood up. "She's had this coming for a long time."

"Have I?" Rosa said as she followed the action. "Is this everything you've ever dreamed of? You on top of me, beating me bloody as I gasp and beg for air? Screaming each other's names as the exhaustion brings us to our knees, leading up to the climax as we…"

Carla felt her ears burn as Tobey and Jimmy separated the two. For as long as she could remember, she wanted Rosa to be her best friend. As annoying as she could be, she was funny, attentive, creative, and in her own way, loyal. Were it not for her actions and behavior as she grew older, perhaps it would have been possible for them to…

"Caravan," Joseph announced as he turned a page.

"A caravan?" Rosa exclaimed. "This far out in the wilderness? The nearest settlement isn't for another ten miles."

"…Well, I'll be damned," Jimmy said as he brought up his binoculars, much to the bemusement of Joseph. "He's right. One brahmin and six guards about two miles to the northeast."

"Should we report it?" Tobey asked as he pulled out his walkie-talkie.

Jimmy stroked his chin. "…I've a better idea.

"And since when do we take orders from a mobster?" Carla asked.

"Since your mom probably isn't going to appreciate riling up hundreds of tired soldiers to deal with a lonely caravan," Jimmy shot back. "Rosa and I ain't soldiers, so what's there for them to get spooked by? You want to help? Keep overwatch as the two of us go down there and chat up the locals."

"How do you want to do this?" Rosa asked as the twins picked up their gear and headed to a better vantage point.

"I'm thinking we should pretend to be cousins," Jimmy suggested.

Rosa groaned. "That's what we always do."

"And somehow, to this day, it just feels right," Jimmy shrugged.

A half-hour later, the two had intercepted the trader, a fast-talking "entrepreneurial pharmacist" who went by the name "Doc Gallagher." As the caravan guards eyed the two newcomers suspiciously, the wandering cousins played up their act. Jimmy, with his well-dressed appearance, carried himself like a fresh-blooded wasteland capitalist, while his leather-wearing companion served as a bodyguard in her own right, or at least came off as someone attempting to play the part.

"What's this?" Rosa asked as she dug her hand into a satchel by the brahmin. The guards bristled even as the "doctor" laughed them off and allowed her to continue. "Oh, she ain't harming no one, let her rifle through it a little, so long as she don't break nothing," he laughed. The bubbly Rosa looked to her big, strong older cousin, who simply smiled and nodded for her to continue. "Oh boy, I bet there's something really neat in here!" she exclaimed in a bubbly manner, digging through one of the lower bags as she stuck her butt out further.

"She really is an excitable young woman, isn't she?" Doc Gallagher said as his eyes tracked her swaying hips.

"Shame about the… mental issues," Jimmy explained, apologetically. "She's a good girl and she means super well, but her judgment usually isn't… well, I feel like I spend as much time looking after her as she feels she does looking after me."

"Still, she seems like a lot of fun to be around," Doc Gallagher said as he turned his attention to the "real" buyer. "Tell me, is her condition… medical in nature?"

Jimmy thought for a bit. "I mean, we've been giving her mentats for the last few years to help her focus, but they've been so expensive. You, uhm, wouldn't happen to be carrying some, would you?" Jimmy asked.

Doc narrowed his eyes. "What do you got on ya?"

Jimmy reached in his back pocket and pulled out some caps and Legion denarii. For a brief moment, Jimmy watched as the "good doctor" recognized the coinage, and thanks to his years as Gavino Bishop's understudy, knew when he had a mark hooked. "Will this satisfy the initial payment?" Jimmy asked.

Doc snapped his fingers, and two of the caravan guards pulled Rosa away while bringing one of the satchels she'd been rooting around to him. Reaching in, he pulled out six cases of mentats, Jimmy's eyes widening at their reveal. "Wow," he laughed. "It's hard enough for a merchant to be that well-stocked in the west!"

"So I've heard," Doc nodded. "And let me tell you, being this well-stocked doesn't come cheap."

Jimmy swallowed. "How much?" he asked, reluctantly.

"Well, let's just say what you got in front of you should cover what I got in front of me. For more than that, though," he returned the mentats to the bag.

"Come on, man, it's for her health," Jimmy pressed, betraying desperation.

Doc eyed Rosa one last time before throwing an arm around Jimmy's shoulder, pulling him in. "Well, if we're in the business of being honest, how good a bodyguard do you think your little cuz really is?"

"I don't understand," Jimmy said, perplexed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying a cute little thing like that might have… options," Doc grinned. "There's a camp a few miles north that's always on the lookout for breathing merch, if you get my meaning. I only bring this up because someone this far east who uses Legion coins might be… partial to the trade?" he suggested.

Jimmy looked to Rosa. As she continued playing with another satchel, she motioned reaching to her belt for something, drawing it out, and dragging it along the bottom of the bag. Jimmy grinned. He taught her well.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jimmy said. "How would the Legion feel about your secondary inventory?"

Doc blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Jimmy drew out his switchblade and dug it into the bottom of the satchel. As he tore it away, several needled contraptions and inhalers spilled onto the ground. The caravan guards wheeled towards him, but one of them was caught off guard by a sharp blow to the armpit, and as he was forced to his knees, Rosa pulled out her sawed-off and held it to his skull, forcing a stand-off.

"A drug-slinger masquerading as a doctor. Clever," Jimmy tutted. "Shameless, but clever."

The doc curled his lip as he noticed the reflections of two or more scopes on the ridgeline. "I didn't take you for a moralist. This is the Unclaimed Wastes, ain't no one got the authority to tell me what not to sell!"

"Maybe, but I got some friends just down the road who might protest that and penalize your inventory anyway. So tell you what, in exchange for, say, twenty percent of what you got on you, and I convince the local JM's to look the other way so long as I never see your ass again? Deal?" Jimmy grinned.

The doc looked to his incapacitated guard, the suddenly lucid Rosa holding him there, the four other guards training their guns on the two, and the two scopes on the horizon that promised to make this thing so much uglier than it was worth.

"…Fine," Doc relented. "You win."

It wasn't the most generous haul, eight hundred caps in all, but Jimmy preferred to send a message to people he viewed as "competitors." The Bishops had gotten out of the drug game since the death of his grandmother long before he was born. Hell, Jimmy didn't even smoke, that was how clean-cut he was in the game. He would have, however, settled for driving him away, had he not suggested that he sell out Rosa. That part demanded a little punishment.

"You are pretty ruthless, if I do say so myself," Doc admitted as he surrendered the last of his promised caps. "You two are in the game, huh?"

"We play for ourselves," Jimmy grinned as Rosa released the guard, strolling by to join her cousin.

"Well, consider yourselves lucky," Doc sneered. "Here," he tossed them the broken satchel. "A little token to remember me by," he winked as he returned to his brahmin. "You try that shit on another one, though, I can't guarantee it'll end so well."

Jimmy looked over the dirty-brown satchel. It was pretty unremarkable, save for the letters "RMX" stenciled in big blocky letters on the back. The two watched as the caravan turned around and headed in the other direction. "What do you think he meant by that?" Rosa asked as she checked her sawed-off, cursing herself for having forgotten to load it earlier.

"No idea," Jimmy admitted. "Still, RMX… for some reason that sounds familiar."

"What's that?" Rosa asked.

"…I think my dad mentioned something about it," Jimmy tried to remember. "Apparently they were the big reason we couldn't take any mountain territory in the east."

"How did they manage that?" Rosa asked as she put some shells in for later.

"Ah, it was years ago," Jimmy eventually said. "Probably just some old caravan company that didn't feel like taking some bribes. C'mon, lets get back to the others."

As the two returned to the rest of their party, Doc Gallagher turned to look at the two as they strode away. "Sir," one of his guards said to him. "If you want, we can get in contact with Brodie, then we could…"

"Leave it," Doc explained as he shook his head. "Consider it a cost of doing business. I'm not worried about the money."

"You still on about the girl?" another guard asked. "She looks like more trouble than she's worth."

Doc chuckled. "You wouldn't know the half of it. She didn't look familiar to you?"

The guards looked to each other, puzzled. "Let's just say I don't think she takes after her dad," Doc grinned. "C'mon, if we don't give Abacus something to count, he'll sic the Securities Committee on all our asses. Get a move on!"

Excerpt from the Judicial Marshal Basic Training Guide and Manual

Meeting new people: As the premier law enforcement branch of New Vegas, I expect you all to conduct yourselves with professionalism and candor. When dealing with strangers, do not approach them as suspects without cause. Greet them warmly, ask them how their day is going, do not rob them, etc. With all that said, I understand that for many of you, these terms are a bit more flexible the further you get from New Vegas. I understand that dealing with the average prospector or tourist can be a taxing experience. However, unless we are engaged in an investigation or combat, I expect you all to abide by these basic guidelines of etiquette. If you are found abusing your position over civilians, IA will be dispatched to rectify the issue. Please don't make me do it -Deputy Chief Natalie Boone