Jessica opened her eyes for the first time since she had been knocked out. She found herself sitting off the side of the bed in a fresh blouse and a pair of underwear. Then the young woman looked around to see that someone had been caring for her; especially, with the chemistry sets and medical equipment assorted by the counter on the far side of the room to her right. She didn't know how to feel as she thought about the possibility that could have led her here.
The only memory she recalled was being ambushed by a group of Great Khans led by a man in a checkered suit. Before she had been shot in the head, the Courier watched them execute some soldier until it was her turn to be shot. It was a shame that he too got caught up in this mess. Going after couriers was a low blow in wasteland culture and news of this would travel fast if she spread the word. That night still resonated with her about the stranger who would look at her in the face.
Her package seemed to be important enough to be intercepted like this. She remembered how he presented a platinum chip before everyone as if it held some kind of power that couldn't be understood. Then again, it wasn't the first time that she delivered a package to its destination without understanding its true purpose. Jessica grimaced at the thought of the Divide, a pain she carried in the depths of her heart.
Floorboards creaked and a pair of footsteps approached her from the right. An old man with a white mustache and a fading hairline arrived in the doorway. Dressed in a clean pre-war shirt and jeans, he noticed her awakening and briefly smiled as he strolled over to her bed. "Take it easy, you just underwent some surgery to the head."
She was shot in the head? The Courier had to admit, Lady Luck certainly had her favorites but this caught her by surprise. By every right, she should have been dead and at the mercy of radroaches and bloatflies.
"I tried to get all the pieces in your noggin as best as I could but I hope it's enough," He answered while grabbing a stool within reach, bringing it along towards the well-rested woman. Soon, what seemed to be her surgeon placed his seat across from her as he occupied the empty chair and continued, "My name is Doc Mitchell. I worked on you to see what I could fix."
"W-Where am I?" Jessica asked, hoping to get her geographical bearings straight.
"You're in Goodsprings, my dear. Our local robot saw you at the cemetery and dug out your grave before handing you over to me. How are you feeling?"
She didn't know what to say before looking at her hands and feet. The young woman moved her legs slightly, regaining the strength she was all too familiar with as a courier for the Mojave Express. Soon, she helped herself stand and took her first steps towards the doctor. Her body was functional from this point on. "I think my legs still work. I mean, if my head's fine, everything else must be."
"Still, ain't no reason to be cautious, you've been in a coma for a few days. Get used to walking around." Someone knocked on the front door and the doctor turned around as if contemplating to see his visitor.
"Who's that?"
It seemed important that his attention was elsewhere despite a recovering patient sitting in front of him. "Probably the caravan. Yesterday, we were attacked by the Powder Gangers but we've fortunately survived."
Three more knocks happened once again.
"Sorry, but I have to take this," He stood up from his stool and turned to the doorway on the other side of the room. Yet, Mitchel engaged with his profession despite this new distraction, "I'm going to have to risk it but why don't you walk around and see how you fare while I talk to our guest."
After the doctor had departed from her company, Jessica carefully regained her balance while exploring around the room to find anything of interest. With her package gone, there was little she could do about the issue before returning to the Mojave Express and reporting the interception. Walking over to the chemistry set, to her right, the woman found herself thinking about the kinds of drugs she could make for herself before going on her merry way. Some buffout would do her wonders and Med-x would help if her surgery still ailed her.
The Courier didn't know what else she could do as her body remained functional. She might as well be out of a job at this point since she failed; yet, her killers remained. Fortunately, tracking them wouldn't be long, and perhaps learning about that platinum chip would deserve her full attention. Such a package could be inherently dangerous for a mere man to wield just as she learned from the Divide.
Soon she walked over to the doorway where she had last seen her doctor. Then peered into the hallway where he seemed to converse with the stranger by the door. However, the accent was different from what she was used to and what Jessica had come across in the past.
Mitchell had the door creaked open but she couldn't see the man at the door. "What's going on? Are the Powder Gangers attacking again?"
"Nyet, they sent a messenger. Their leader said that what was going on between your town and Joe is done," Was there fighting going on while she was out in a coma? "He wants me to come to the correctional facility and talk things over if I'm going through their territory."
"You really think it will be that simple; especially, after what happened?" There was a tone of uncertainty as if he wasn't sure that the Powder Gangers would backstab such a meeting.
"If there is anything I've learned about bandits, they prefer their survival to a full-scale war. We have to presume that they don't want this to escalate."
A loud commotion erupted from outside but Jessica didn't recognize anything specific that was being said.
"I have to go. Caravan stuff."
"What about the girl? Didn't you want to talk to her?" That alerted Jessica's senses and she grew suspicious about the man at the front door.
"If what you said about her is true then I have to give her time to recover. This caravan's safety is a pressing matter and if I can bypass the bloodshed, then we can meet at a better location." The stranger explained with great detail. It seemed important that he talked to her but for what reason alone? "Tell her I would like to know her encounter with a man in the checkered suit and that I'm heading towards Novac if she has her own questions."
"Alright, I'll pass it on. You take care and thank you for saving the town."
"You're welcome. Rest easy, doctor." He said his goodbye while the Courier immediately ducked back into her room and prepared to pretend that she was working on her legs. What was said seemed interesting and worthy of her attention. Then the doctor's footsteps crept towards her room as she anticipated her next plan of action.
"Well, now that's been done with, we can get over to the next tests," The old man returned while standing beside an ancient machine beside the door, "I want you to try out the Vigor test, see how your body is fairing. Then we'll do some other tests and I'll fetch your things so you can be on your way."
A group of stalkers marched into a dark-lit tunnel after they were dropped off at the four-hundredth mark by a trolley. They had their flashlights turned on as they scoured their destination for an anomaly that brought them to this part of the Metro. Fortunately, for them, the Exhibition locals had operated small relay outposts beyond the station's perimeter. Manned by the home guard, it wasn't impressive with its defenses, which consisted of nothing more than checkpoints with walls of sandbags stacked toward the teleport anomaly. When they reached the last one, Bourbon immediately noticed a strange 'wave' distortion ahead of the group. It was hardly the weirdest sight he had ever come across but his experience in the pre-war Chernobyl Disaster Zone had taught him to treat every anomaly with a bit of caution.
One among the stalkers seemed unsure about it. "I don't like it. You guys sure we should go through that?"
"Getting wet feet?" Pondered a local guard at his station while twenty men seemed hesitant about proceeding into the strange phenomenon, "Just so you know, if you refuse, you're not going to get another contract."
Bourbon brushed past them all and didn't hesitate to perform his job. For one to become a stalker, it was meeting these risks without any question or doubt. Few things in this world would make him pause and question himself from pressing on but it was not here. As he got closer to the distorted part of reality, his mind prepared for his eventual transition.
One step into the anomaly and all of reality around him had changed. No longer was he in the tunnel leading beyond the northern territories but found himself appear in a room occupied by some of the local station guards. He was confused by how seamless it was for himself to be sent elsewhere.
The far side of the room revealed a heavily armored man leaning against the wall with his Duplet slung over his shoulder, smoking a cigarette. He then noticed the stalker's arrival as he waved his hand for him and grabbed his attention. "I heard one of you guys is coming. Welcome to the REPCONN rocket facility or what's left of it. We're currently in the facility's basement but if you take the stairs to your left, you'll be on your way to earning those cartridges. Follow the signs and it'll lead you up to the surface. Also, mind the local scavengers, we've made an agreement with a nearby town to let them pick whatever they find."
"Thanks." The veteran said before making his way towards the base of the stairs.
"Good hunting, stalker."
Walking through the building almost felt like a maze. If it wasn't for the easily posted signs made out of scrap metal and spray paint, it was likely that Bourbon would have found himself coming across a restricted area. Not that he wouldn't mind, perhaps he would have come across a survivor's cache and taken it all for himself. Then he was reminded of his job and decided to head over to the surface before the other smelly bastards got there first. The hallways began to transition from utilitarian into eye-pleasing attractions. It almost felt as if this place was made to look good in the eyes of the world. Nonetheless, the stalker didn't want to waste any more time than he needed.
On his way, he passed by a group of old English-speaking Americans wearing rags. It was hard to describe their foreign accents but he also noticed their belongings consisting of nothing more than duffle bags as they searched through for the fanciest of kitchenware to even the smallest of rusted tins. Stalkers were expected to do the same but stake their claim on more precious pre-war items one might find in the post-apocalypse. Whether he would be just as fortunate was a different matter on its own but he was good at making the best of the situation.
He arrived at what may seemed to be the reception room with its tattered floor titles and blood-stained walls. The arrow signs pointed towards the main entrance across from him as he noticed the main doors open wide with a world beyond the building. A howling wind breezed through as the stalker finally embraced the fresh air on the surface without a gas mask. He wanted to rush out and embrace the feeling with all of his heart, knowing he survived this long to experience this once more.
Just before he would make his way to the front, Bourbon caught sight of an orange vending machine to his right. It was labeled as 'Sunset Sarsparilla' while glass bottles rotated and clinked from within. He approached the bottled drink dispenser and saw its buttons light up to confirm its current inventory. Such a sight would have been unheard of in the Moscow Metro but here he was to witness it in the flesh, or rather, metal. His hand reached out and tapped the glass button. With a simple click, the internal mechanisms from within began to shift and move until a glass bottle from a shute slipped into a cupholder where the drink could be easily taken. A simple bell rang out to signify a completed task.
When he grabbed the bottle, all that went through his mind was his amazement that such a small pleasure of humanity remained. Its self-contained sugary contents released it's cold embrace into his gloves before he popped the top and saw the bubbly fizzle of being exposed to the air. As its volume stopped just barely from spilling out, he raised his glass bottle and took one mere sip of the foreign brand, quenching a thirst that would have never been satisfied for a man of his profession.
He began to walk out of the building and into the grasp of this new reality. Blue skies loomed from above as he found himself walking near the front platform overlooking a round-a-bout and a rocket statue. The surrounding area was a canyon with only one route into the facility and out into the wider world. Each simplest detail of this place was hardly a beauty that would allure your average Metro dweller but its atmosphere was ahead of the original home of the initial fifty-thousand people who sought refuge within the stations.
"You must be one of the new stalkers that just arrived." A man spoke out from behind his back. Bourbon turned and saw an old man whose receding hairline revealed the beginnings of a balding head. Yet, despite the hair features, the stranger was accompanied by two guards in kevlar body armor and Altyn helmets, both wielding modified assault rifles with light machine gun drums.
"I take you're the important one around here," The scavenger hinted based on the retinue alone. That was unless he was a second-in-command for the people of Exhibition station. A proper introduction was in order, "My name is Bourbon."
"I'm Sukhoi, the station commander. Where are the others?"
He recalled their hesitation at first and even so, it was likely that the other hired help were still gathering their directions or unwilling to cross into another world. "They're catching up."
"Then that means you're the lucky one." He openly admitted with a smile.
"What is this about?"
"I'm busy managing some internal affairs while being diplomatic with the people of Novac but there is a particular issue that needs to be dealt with." Sukhoi began before bringing both of his hands from behind his back. Bourbon kept his thoughts to himself but he was wary of what the stranger had in store for him, "I have a serious matter to deal with but I can't spend my own time nor my men looking into it. Someone tried to get a sniper's wife into slavery and I'm keen on helping as goodwill on his behalf. The problem is that I need someone who can keep secrets and won't have loose lips."
"You want me to be some kind of investigator?" The station commander nodded his head with approval.
"There's some extra cartridges involved but I suggest you start asking around the locals about their problems with a woman by the name of Carla Boone. Start from there and if you do well, I can pay you extra for an upcoming mission."
"What do you get from all of this?" The stalker questioned as he took another sip from his soda bottle. There was an angle at play here and he had to know if he was making a mistake in this line of work, "I just came here to start stalking stuff."
He took a deep breath and exhaled about what he was about to say. "Word will spread that there is a new world because of an anomaly in the northern territories. I know how this game goes and Hansa will find a way to strong-arm themselves through our commonwealth and get a piece of the trading pie. Goodwill with these foreigners will help us get an advantage and God knows we need this advantage after what the Dark Ones did to us."
"Well, you're honest at the very least. Not many station commanders can openly admit to that."
"Such is life in the Metro."
Cass spent several days following a company of NCR soldiers deployed from the Mojave Outpost. With most of the local forces being redirected to holding the Hoover Dam, it was a surprise that they would spare this many to deal with a prison breakout. Yet, the government's intentions were clear in that the Powder Gangers were to pacify them or put the convicts six feet under. For once in her life, she had some sense of pride that her nation wasn't always twiddling its thumbs.
They linked up with a small garrison in Primm, led by a Lieutenant Hayes, and immediately brought the town under the rule of law. However, there was debate about proper civilian authorities to run the place. The caravaner overheard conversations about a sheriff they could liberate from the prison once the troopers engaged in shaping operations. It was beyond her concern since all she could care for was helping the fresh-faced boy trying to make a living in the wasteland.
Walking among the troopers was your typical gung-ho soldier looking to score a name for themselves. From the stories Cass heard from sleeping with the average recruit and conscript, the recruiters at home painted a glorious picture of the New California Republic sending its armies out to civilize the wasteland and bring safety and prosperity to those in need. It was a nice image in her mind but the truth was that the republic wanted to expand hard and fast to the point its strength was sapped with multiple commitments across the West Coast. This wasn't helped that they were also trying to fight major conflicts in said areas, meaning that much of that patriotic zeal has diminished once a couple of fireteams brought out the cards to gamble their wages away.
She stole glances from the men and caught some of their leering. Were things among the ranks so bad that they couldn't afford to train them decent manners? All that could be done was to roll her eyes and let her shotgun do the talking if they wanted to test her patience. Fortunately, New Vegas was a few settlements away and that place had enough hookers to keep them occupied. Until then, she would have to tolerate some hotshot who thinks he has the courage for a one-night stand.
The point man ahead of the column along the road beyond Primm was quick to warn the others. "Contact! Displace!"
It was not long until everyone, including the caravan merchant, quickly split into two groups, both shifting along the road to either kneel or lay down in the sand and dirt. Cass readied her double barrel before noticing a heavily armed caravan approaching. At first, it was hard to get a closer look at her drinking habits and a haze of intense heat surrounding the lone civilian accompanying the soldiers. Then, the closer they came, she immediately recognized the band of foreigners and the strange visors attached to their helmets.
"I don't like this. What's a caravan doing out here in Powder Ganger territory?" One trooper pondered from across the road.
"They look too armed for merchants." Another beside him replied as if contemplating his suspicion before the men, "Do you think we can get some caps off of them? You know, if we accuse them of coordinating with the convicts. Someone bring this up with Lieutenant Hayes."
"Hell, if they resist, we got more than enough guys to put them down."
These poor bastards didn't know that these mere merchants weren't exactly pushovers. The Rose of Sharon Cassidy had to say her piece lest the idiots get themselves killed for a matter that was unfortunately common for caravans within NCR territory. "You either have the biggest balls ever or the smoothest of brains if you think about taking on those guys."
"Oh, look, the civie is talking," One of the men commented now that she had their full attention, "Why don't you get back to drinking that whisky in your tent so I can tell you how much of a bad girl you are?"
"I know their caravan master and if it wasn't for him, the Mojave Outpost wouldn't have known that Nipton was wiped out. These guys fended off Caesar's Legion, I'd place my caps on them than the fresh-faced recruits who haven't seen a titty on a good woman that wasn't their mamma." She caught the stranger's scowl as the other troopers let out a good chuckle at her reply. It seemed to shut him up as the caravan slowly approached; yet, she saw the commanding officer of the unit arise from a crouched position and signify his rank with a green beret while a retinue of rifleman stood by his side.
Cass stood and walked past the men in the hopes of meeting her acquaintance again. Her coming presence seemed to be noticed by those in the front while the lieutenant turned around and acknowledged her. "Ma'am, you might want to stay back. We might encounter some hostiles."
"Not these people," She argued against that notion while giving him information so that it wouldn't result in a shootout with the caravan nor devolve into a hostile reception for Artyom and his crew, "They passed by the Mojave Outpost not too long ago and reported about the Legion in Nipton. They'll do good by us."
"Are you sure about that?" He continued to question in a soft-spoken tone.
"Hell, I'm the reason they're out here anyway."
"Alright, I'll take your word for it," Her argument seemed to resonate with his judgment before looking back to the front and seeing the caravan get closer with its personnel within hearing distance, "Why don't you introduce him to us?"
It was a fair deal as the woman strode past him and waved her hand to the man offering her a decent job with his people in Novac. "Artyom, do you remember me?!"
"Cass? What are you doing here? What's going on?" He seemed puzzled by the current situation and a good explanation was needed as the two groups finally connected and stopped for a conversation.
"The NCR is launching a takeover of the correctional facility," She informed while looking him down. His outfit had changed significantly from a casual outfit of shirt and pants into a worn uniform with a kevlar vest over his chest. In the meantime, she sought to learn more about his experience in this part of the Mojave, "What's been going on with you? Are you in the green at Goodsprings?"
"The Powder Gangers launched an attack on the town and I chose to defend it. We won and it seems like their leader wants to strike a deal at his place. I don't know how many made him come to this choice but I'm making my way to the correctional facility."
Lieutenant Hayes walked in on their conversation. "Then that's a prime opportunity. My name is Lieutenant Hayes, I'm with the NCR military. We're taking back the location and you seem to be given an invitation."
"I suppose that means you want me to do something with it?" Just what was the plan that was in store for him?
"Affirmative. Primm is in dire need of some law and while I am privy to see it under our control, the locals are antsy about living under martial law and we can't afford to spend troops doing police work when they could be reinforcing frontlines. There's an ex-sheriff convicted by our government but I have orders to provide him a pardon and reinstate him with legal authority. As much as I would like to personally see to the matter through the assault, we can't risk him getting caught in the crossfire. That is where you come in - find him and convince him to head to Primm. You'll be doing a republic a great service."
"That's your plan? Sending my friend into a den of criminals?" Cass didn't want to agree to the plan. It was bad enough that she threw him into the fire heading into Goodsprings but this seemed too far for a rookie merchant, "There has to be another way."
"Ma'am, unless you're a ranger, I can't request for additional forces and assets to tackle this problem. There's a time-table I'm trying to fit here and we can't afford to wait things out." It was a load of brahmin shit but this was what she should have expected from her nation. All of these forces are at its disposal but can't be able to spend them wisely. If that was the case, Artyom's task required help and maybe she could ease the process.
"Fine then, I'll go with him. What's your guy's name?"
"Meyers. His name is Meyers."
Approaching a station along the ring of the Hanseatic League was a daunting task for the agents of the Red Line. Embers of the conflict between the two factions were still everpresent despite the open ceasefire declaration between the two sides. Nonetheless, Major Pavel Morozov would overcome that obstacle on behalf of General Korbut. He and a squad of six infiltrators knew what was expected of them as they joined up with a caravan heading into Prospekt Mira.
It wasn't uncommon for merchants to take on strangers from mysterious backgrounds much less a small band of heavily armed men. The more that came with you, the merrier chance one had to survive the dark tunnels despite the relative distance between stations. Many hands made for easy work and many guns mulched the mutants from overrunning such numbers. Despite that boon, Hansa tended to be thorough in their inspections and that could potentially cause the agents of the revolution to be held up overnight. The major knew that was a situation that couldn't be afforded and was a point of failure that could lead to his squad being discovered.
One of the best ways to bypass the legal system was to engage in a little bit of capitalism. While men like Secretary General Moskvin espoused the doctrine of Lenin's beliefs, a man such as General Korbut also grasped the desperate nature of most folk living in the Metro. Their ideological enemy may have been wealthy but it was not shared with the rest of its citizens and soldiers. Much of it involved a series of middlemen who always swiped a small percentage from the taxes and trade - an open secret for a Laissez-Faire society. The wages were often not enough to bring a man happiness. Then there was the matter of gambling and debts in the hopes of striking it ridge with so many cartridges one could obtain if they were lucky enough. Their good fortune was that the major's superior also handed them a decent amount of magazines maxed out with military-grade rounds to bribe their way through.
The front of Prospekt Mira was heavily fortified by the standards of the tunnels. A crowd of people waited before the hermetic door, which could only to opened and closed by the station's security from within. Yet, they were also watched by the sentries along their flank. By the left side of the door was a cage where a guard was posted in full body armor and helmet. Further left was another hermetic door with its separate track leading elsewhere; however, it was open with a trolly plastered in steel plates while a turreted machine gun was nested above the driver's seat. Its searchlight shined on the entrants, blinding all who looked upon the occupants. Had they known there were spies in their midst, it would only take the gunner mere seconds to hose the entire group of travelers back into the abyss and the mercy of the mutants who dwelled in the darkness.
A guard in the cage brought out a loudspeaker and addressed the crowd. "Stand clear."
Steel wheels rolled slightly as the door groaned at being awakened from its slumber. The first few people up front were quick to take a few steps back as it began to swing outward. Inside was another searchlight peering out from inside with a platoon of soldiers awaiting the people behind a wall of sandbags. One such soldier could be seen sitting in a chair behind a Dushka while smoking a cigarette in what was normal procedure.
"Alright people, come in one at a time but present your documents for inspection. Entrants who fail to meet expectations will be turned away."
Pavel looked around to see the few dozens of civilians reach into their pockets and hastily fetch their passports. Yet, he noticed disappointment among the few who couldn't find the one important set of papers that could bring them into the relative safety of human society. Some tried to reassure themselves that the officials could give a voucher while others simply accepted their fate and retreated into the blackness with their flashlights on. It was one of the few times that the officer could sympathize with their plight for Lenin's teachings often encouraged the assistance to those who couldn't afford to pick themselves up. Unfortunately, his mission came first as his men sprinkled themselves among the line of people walking up to the heavily armed soldiers by the sandbags.
The line of entrants was processed into Prospekt Mira one by one. Ahead of the group was the documents inspector being handed passports and neatly folded papers into his grubby fat hands. Minutes were spent with each person until a mere nod was all it would take to signal his approval into Hansa territory. The ease of the process was much faster than the infiltrator had expected as he thought their bureaucracy would spend several hours managing this many people. It was almost his turn to be processed when the man in front of him was brought forward. "Next!"
A skinny thin man approached and presented his papers as a brief moment was spent. He was suspiciously looking around with frantic abandon while scratching his chin. His ragged sweatshirt and workout pants were all that remained on his person, not even a pack to his name. The stranger covered his mouth and coughed; yet, it revealed an unsettling stench from within.
"Denied, get out of here!" The official addressed him.
"For what reason?" He expressed his confusion, "Is there something wrong with my papers?"
"You smell like shit and hash. Our station has hygiene standards and you fail to match them."
The beggar began to plead with him. "Please, I came here to get a job. I'll clean myself up when I get the chance."
"It may work with the other circle stations but not here." The inspector replied with a vehement tone of hatred, "I will not risk disease breaking out because you didn't take a bath, now scram!"
"There's nowhere else for me to go." The communist had all of his sympathies for him but even the Red Line would throw people out."
"You think I give a damn? Guards, get him out of my sight."
Two guards in kevlar and old Soviet helmets grabbed the entrant by his arms as they dragged him out of the line and into the tunnel to the rear. He cried out for clemency, someone to look out for his behalf. Yet, none intervened as he was thrown out of sight with a warning from the guards.
The voice of the Hansa official reclaimed gravitas for those looking for entry. "Next!"
Pavel stepped forward and reached for the carefully printed Hansa passport the Red Line spent thousands of cartridges for this very occasion. He reminded himself to stay calm and avoid antagonizing the locals. Easier said than done as the inspector flipped through the pages and verified the details in public. Even if there was nothing out of the ordinary, the one issue he had to worry about was waiting for the rest of his team.
"Finally, someone who has the decency to get a bath. How hard is it for people to find a bit of water and splash themselves up for a bit? Is it too much to ask from most people?" The communist feared that he would be standing and hearing the complaints of someone who despised the people his job tackled. Thank Lenin there wasn't a mission to listen to these ramblings. "You seem alright. Welcome to Prospekt Mira."
Once he was handed back his documents, the Red Line spy expressed his gratitude and entered the station with little fanfare. As he left the checkpoint behind, the major heard a radio beep from the walkie-talkies. He looked over his shoulder to see the guards approach the inspector and whispered into his ear. The man's composure straightened before he revealed murmurings among the authorities.
"Apologies, everyone but I've received orders to stop receiving entrants and turn all of you away."
That alone was enough for Pavel to stop in his tracks as he fully turned around and saw the uproar among the rest of the folk who came all this way to either enter Hansa or pass through their territory. His men were still in line as his gaze fell upon the few faces of his squad members who gave him unsure looks. The increasing outcry among the travelers continued; however, his men were seen breaking out of line and departing into the tunnel. When they finally noticed each other at great length, they nodded in his direction, knowing they wouldn't be able to join him on his mission. It was a terrible situation he found himself in and there was nothing he could do.
The inspector tried to calm the crowd that encroached past the hermetic doors. Despite any diplomatic attempts to calm them down, he began to shield himself behind the platoon of guards manning the sandbag ramparts. Then the sentries shouted warnings and orders for the caravan to disperse and return to their previous destination. It wasn't enough as an eager young man jumped forward and tried to rush the guards. Whether he was trying to inspire courage to overpower them or get through, it was difficult to tell. Despite all attempts to get him to retreat, the fool didn't relent.
A single shot rang out as the sea of humanity was silenced in but a mere moment. The young man lay dead on the concrete with fresh blood seeping out from his wound. His killer stood tall with his Kalashnikov ready, the barrel smoking from its recent shot. Not a morsel of mercy was given while an older woman broke out from the crowd and lunged herself to the body, crying out with an agonizing screech, grieving for the boy who thought himself bulletproof.
Major Morozov turned away from the scene and pushed himself onward toward finding a scheduled trolley to Rizhskaya. Such was life in the Moscow Metro, to witness tragedy before pressing on as if the never happened. There just wasn't any time to fully take it all in when one had current responsibilities that were too important. General Korbut expected him to succeed and he intended to make the motherland proud.
The head of the Exhibition caravan had left most of his people behind on the road between Goodsprings and Primm. His retinue was a five-man squad whose equipment consisted of heavy layers of body armor, Altyn helmets, and pre-war firearms. Based on his previous engagement with the Powder Gangers, they didn't seem to be wielding anything substantial to overcome it all. Aside from the people from his home, Cass was also accompanying him with sticks of dynamite and a double-barreled shotgun. While her gear was not as sophisticated, Artyom considered the explosives to be a handy tool that would be useful later.
Their horses trekked across the wasteland to the main entrance of the former correctional facility. Watchtowers secured the perimeter fence with lazy guards sitting or leaning at their posts, bored of the duties they were tasked to perform. Despite their appearances, he prepared for the eventuality they would point their guns at the entourage. The New California Republic was securing the surrounding areas owned by the criminals and time would tell when their attack was going to begin. Once that happens, those who would receive their visit would become hostile and the caravaneers had to fight their way out.
Soon the party approached the building connected to the inner courtyard. A lone dark-skinned Powder Ganger was found waiting outside the front door. With arms crossed over his chest and a pistol holstered along his belt, he focused his attention on their arrival. Then came a sneering remark as they dismounted from their steeds and closed the distance where they were a few feet away from each other. "So, you must be the guys that Eddie wanted to let through."
"Yes," Artyom answered, clarifying, "He's expecting us."
"And? What makes you think I'm just going to let you in?"
Was he going out of his way to obstruct them? Especially, after their fellows died at Goodsprings. "Your boss is expecting me and if you're not going to let us go inside, there won't be much imagination he would be pleased."
"Okay, you got me. I heard we were going to be seeing some visitors and I wasn't to give a tourist a look at our home. Just fucking with you." He revealed his bluff before reaching out to the door and opening it wide for the armed party entering dangerous territory.
Once they entered the entry building, the scene where they were met was a complete mess. It appeared to be a cafeteria but Artyom took a closer inspection and noticed the surrounding details that were present throughout his observations. Twelve tables occupied the center of the room with enough space to allow those in the chairs to move their seats around. The floor was cluttered with empty tin cans, shattered plates, and utensils. On their right was a counter that was directed toward the rest of the room with strange computers and leftover documents that remained. The left side consisted of vending machines and a counter occupied by kitchenware, pre-packaged food, and bottled drinks. This was where the prisoners would be if they had visitors and should their time here end, be the final place where they could leave it all behind.
The criminals residing in the room turned their heads with disdainful looks. Such was the attitude of their kind; however, there was one face in the room who seemed different from the others. One of the convicts was sitting at a table with a black cowboy hat while popping off a cap from his bottle and drinking it with gusto. He seemed unconcerned with the situation and kept his eyes on a table, reading a comic book.
A Powder Ganger on their right flank approached the group as he started a conversation with the only woman in the group. "Hey, there sweet cheeks. Need a ride for a cowpoke?"
"That depends, you know a guy by the name of Meyers?" The Rose of Sharon Cassidy responded as Artyom looked over his shoulder to see a sly smile on a half-naked criminal in blue pants. Yet, he also caught a hard and cold stare from the NCR caravaner.
"Yep. He's the guy in the black cowboy hat. What do you want with him?"
"It ain't your business," Then her social mask shifted into a heartfelt smile while her eyes looked him down, "We can talk after you show me around to your bunk."
"Shit girl, is this real?" He seemed surprised as they broke off from his side of the room and departed from his company. As soon as she turned away and headed towards the freshly shaven cowboy in the room, the woman displayed her disgust while the Russians exchanged glances at each other before following.
When they were in the center of the group of tables, Cass sat across from the prisoner in blue while Artyom stood by her side. The man with the black hat raised his head and looked at the people in front of him. "I don't know any of you but I heard you were looking for me."
"Let's just say that we have a proposition for you to join us on our way to Primm after we talk with the head of the Powder Gangers." Spoke the head of the Exhibition trading party while catching the foreigner's raised eyebrow. Meanwhile, he looked down to see the woman pulling out a note from her breast pocket and slipping it across the table.
"And?" Once the paper was exchanged and he peeled the edge upwards, Meyer's looked down for a quick inspection before his hand flatly planted itself over it, "Are you sure the offer is worth my time? I'm worried my new employer will kill me before I get a chance to try."
She continued the conversation onward. "Let's just say they think you're valuable enough to be told all is forgiven. Why don't you join up with Artyom's caravan out west? We'll get you started and out of those clothes in no time."
"You two are playing a dangerous game." He admitted before rising from his chair and taking one more sip from his bottle.
"So, you accept?"
"I don't have much of a choice and I can't say I'm happy being here, sitting around," The former sheriff explained as he placed the empty glass bottle on the small round table and grabbed his shirt by the buttons, "I'll see you two outside. Good luck with Eddie at the administration building. He's a real piece of work."
He turned to the door from whence the group entered and walked out to leave the premises. Artyom wasn't able to tell what was being said in that conversation but it seemed like Cass was able to convince him. "What's on the note?"
"Enough." Cass answered before slipping the piece of paper into her breast pocket once again.
"I suppose we try to negotiate with Eddie about the things that are happening."
"No, kid, I think it's a bad idea," She stood up and turned around to address him while the guards remained diligent in protecting the adoptive son of their station commander. He didn't know what to expect from this talk as the caravaner nodded to the entrance, "Why don't we help escort Meyers to the caravan before he comes across a coyote or a dangerous critter along the way?"
"Good point but maybe we can ask someone to do that for us while we talk to Eddie." He insisted and explained his reasoning.
She crossed her arms with a skeptical expression being made from her face. "Believe me one guy with a gun isn't enough. Trust me on this."
"Okay, if you say so."
They began to retreat out of the transfer building with great haste as the veteran home guards chased after them. As they bypassed the door sentry, the Powder Ganger was taken aback by their return and was quick to shout for their attention. "Hey, I thought you guys were going talk to Eddie!"
"We will," Artyom began as he looked and pointed to Meyers walking past the group of horses left outside the correctional facility, "My people want him and I want to make sure he's safe with my caravan. We'll come back afterward."
"Nah, man. That wasn't the deal. The boss said you're going to meet with him, you're going to meet with him." His hand reached for the pistol in his holster.
"I know just give us time to get Meyers out and we'll be back before you know it."
"None of this sounds good," The convict brandished his pistol as he continued his warning, "You better get the fuck back insi-"
He was cut off as a gaping hole in his body ripped through the man's clothes and torso with a merciless shotgun blast. His body was launched back into the building while the Russians turned over to the Rose of Sharon Cassidy with a smoking gun. Then she looked in their direction and shouted her order. "Get to the horses! We are leaving!"
Artyom and the others didn't hesitate to flee the scene of the crime. The irony was not lost on him; yet, now wasn't the time to reflect on that situation as the caravan master ran up to the steeds and mounted the saddles. He looked around and saw his companion climb atop his steed and wrap her arms around his chest, leaving one empty saddle.
"Go, go, go!" She yelled into his ear as he latched onto the saddles and spurred the animals into a gallop. Hooves cracked against the sand, dirt, and gravel to the west - where Meyer was walking with his back turned.
Behind the party was the sound of alarms blaring from the correctional facility itself. A quick look over the shoulder revealed the guards jumping out of their relaxed positions and eagerly scouring around the watchtowers with rifles in hand. Gunshots rang out from afar as the bullets whistled past them, not landing a shot by neither was it safe. The Russian looked ahead and sought to escape the range of their guns.
"Sheriff!" The man ahead turned around, puzzled by the call before his eyes widened and was about to embrace the storm of riders about to run him over. Despite that risk, they began to slow their pace enough while the caravaner pointed towards the empty saddle, "Take that one."
He gave her a nod from his head as he ran over and pulled himself up onto the white horse while lowering his torso forward. "Was this all part of the plan?!"
"Sorta?"
A bullet flew by them before Artyom rallied all to their departure. "Comrades, with me!"
It was unlikely that the convicts had the means to chase after the men and woman who pretended to meet with the leader of the gangs. However, they would not stop unless they would find safer ground for their own sake. A few minutes of riding turned into a dozen as they came across empty ravines and avoided strange flying mutants by small ponds of bog that existed in this part of the wasteland. Blown-out cars and buildings littered the land but none would be shelter while trekking to the west.
Soon the party came across a hill overlooking the NCR former prison complex several miles out while their mounts revealed their tiring stamina. Then the gunshots began to fade as the riders slowed their pace into a trot, giving the beasts of burden time to recover but also the strength to walk over the elevated position. Putting the creatures into exhaustion would do them no favors.
The horizon of the hill became forthcoming when they came across a few platoons of brown leather uniforms laying themselves across the ground. Encountering the soldiers of the republic was enough of a sign that they were in good hands as Artyom looked around for the whereabouts of the rest of the men that he encountered earlier. While his eyes were not as good as they once were in his pre-war days, the Russian used the position to seek out the various scattered squads slowly encroaching the correctional facility in gradual advances. From multiple angles from the west, a sign of the fighting to come but one the caravan would have no further involvement.
"I must admit, you managed to do what I asked." Spoke the voice of Lieutenant Hayes as the Russians looked ahead to find the green beret atop his head with a brief smile upon the situation. "Meyers?"
It wasn't long before the ex-prisoner rode ahead of his rescuers and approached the NCR officer. "Is it true? Has the NCR given me a pardon?"
"Yes, sir," He answered with an approving nod, "We wanted to evacuate what valuable occupants were there before we launched our attack. Command wanted no prisoners and I have an order to fulfill."
"Then I should count myself lucky the bureaucracy likes me but I have a feeling it comes with strings attached."
"We just annexed Primm and cleared out the escapees but can't spare the troops to enact martial law. Are you willing to do the job?" The lieutenant replied before pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and lit the end.
"Am I allowed to perform the job without interference?" Meyers questioned while taking off his hat and swiping the dirt and sand off, "After all, it's how I was arrested."
"That'll be arranged."
The former convict looked over to Artyom and Cass by his side and chuckled. "I appreciate the company but I have a feeling I have to enforce the law. I'll be sure to welcome either of you at Primm if you're passing by."
"You're welcome." The Russian gave him a quick nod before the newly appointed sheriff peeled away from the rest of the riders and began to travel south. Not another word was exchanged as the threat of the Powder Gangers was finally out of reach.
"As for the rest of you," Hayes shifted the conversation onto them as he pulled out his cigarette and exhaled the smoke, "Both of you have done the republic a great service given the dangers involved. What I do know is that you'll deserve a reward for that."
"What are you offering?"
"We got two companies operating here, which means that a lot of equipment is being brought around to take the facility. I can afford to shift some of that gear to your caravan as payment since I don't have any caps on me." He suggested to the head of the Exhibition convoy.
Artyom gave him an approving nod to what was being brought. It wasn't worth the lives of those who died for the caravan but it helped ease the pain of his best friend. Nothing about this journey was in vain. "I'll see to it that I receive them before I make my way to Novac."
"You're going there? Just so you know, my men scouted a pass along the railroad heading east while they were dealing with the ganger outposts. It might save you some time if you head there."
"Thank you, I appreciate the help." He was grateful for that additional knowledge, knowing he could cut the time on going home. "Good luck with your attack."
It was not long until the riders traveled west to find the caravan on the road. Empty stretches of land lay before them; however, relief fulfilled the young man. Unless someone or something else dared to attack, he would enjoy a calm return to Novac and report his earnings to Sukhoi. His mind considered the eventual disappointment in his leadership but the Russian shut out those thoughts. There was a time to berate one's self from the consequences but this was a moment to bask in the victory of living and it didn't deserve to be spoiled.
He was interrupted by his stomach being squeezed by Cass' arms pulling herself close. As the hooves walked the danger off, the caravan master wondered if she would be satisfied by having a horse for her own. "Do you want another horse? I can ask someone to spare a saddle."
"I don't know," She began with a chuckle, "I like this."
Author's Note: The Courier is finally awake. It's time to do something with her now that I finalized my intentions with her character. I hope this rewrite will handle her character better than what existed in the previous Mojave Roulette. This story will undergo a bit of a hiatus since I'm going to be working on adding a few more chapters to the Dark Railtracer crossover.
Da Lone Ranger: I know, right?
Imperial Stormtrooper: Yep, they are another anomaly that has been brought to the Mojave.
cotia110: Eh, what? This crossover story has nothing to do with either Max Steel or the Hellaverse. Given that you practically are just hijacking a review to demand me to write a story for you - it's not working - I'm going to decline the request.