The view from the top of the hill that was Goodsprings Cemetery was phenomenal. If she had planned the town, no doubt she would have installed a watchtower or sniper's nest here, despite its close and macabre surroundings. It wasn't a very full graveyard, a few mounds with some wooden crosses and stone heads scattered about, with one exception. One open grave, still freshly dug, just barely enough to cover a body. Her own grave.

She knelt next to it, staring down into its depths, darkened by the shadow of the desert sun overhead. Her hat was pulled low over her face to give as much shade and cover from the sun as possible, for what little there was, the rest of her borrowed clothes loose on her form. Her gun was still holstered at her hip, all of her extra pistol ammo pouches so far empty. Six shots and six shots alone. All that stood between her and revenge was getting more bullets.

Something caught her eye by the open edge of the grave, something that didn't belong in the sandy earth. Her fingers closed around it, picking it up, examining it. It was white, it was cylindrical, and it was a cigarette butt. Humming with thought, she brought it to her nose, taking a deep sniff of the burnt end. It smelled like him. Like expensive cologne and the blood of the disadvantaged, even days later. Very, very distinctive. She slipped it into her hip bag as she heard footsteps behind her.

In a moment she was turned around, on her feet, revolver drawn and thumb on the hammer as she pressed the barrel against the throat of the woman that had snuck up on her. "You got two seconds before I give you a new hole to breathe out of," Six drawled out, the teenager's eyes narrowed tightly. "And I count quick, darlin'."

"You always this friendly?" the woman snarked at her, not seeming to be all that concerned about the gun at her throat. "No wonder you got so much company up here, kid." Six cocked back the hammer of the gun, staring at her in unamused silence. The woman chuckled again, raising her hands in surrender. "Sunny Smiles. I was at the saloon."

The one with the rifle that had been playing pool with the German Shepherd by her side. Six remembered her. Sunny Smiles was all in all a very average woman. Average height, average weight, unremarkable copper hair pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head, a toothy smile that lived up to her name, simple brown eyes and sun-kissed skin, and simple baggy clothes meant for the desert heat. She was sans rifle and dog, at least for the moment, and stared down at the short Texan girl, still grinning with that gaptoothed country smile.

"Six," the girl said with annoyance, uncocking the gun and holstering it, stepping away to stare at the woman with suspicion. "What the hell you want, Smiles?"

"Well," The woman said with a chuckle, rubbing the spot at her throat where the barrel of the .357 had rested, "I was hopin' to avoid filling the grave up again, and ask what the hell you think you're doin' challengin' Joe Cobb to a showdown."

"I ain't worried about Cobb," Six muttered as she turned to face the grave again, hands in the pockets of her black duster, "he's all bark, no bite."

"How can you be so sure?"

Six shrugged. "A real gunslinger wouldn't have waited until sunset."

Sunny scoffed in response to that, clearly skeptical. "What, he shoulda just gunned you down in the saloon?"

Six nodded, looking away, back at the grave. "Moment my back was turned." Six stood over her own grave, staring down into it, her jaw tight. "The thing to worry about is gonna be his punk friends. Moment I kill him dead they're gonna seek revenge." She gathered up spit into her mouth and hocked it directly into her grave. "Yellow bastards."

"That's what I came to talk to you about," revealed Sunny at last, and she pointed at the abandoned Poseidon Energy gas station on the hill next to Doc Mitchell's place. "Ringo in there is the reason the Powder Gangers are even here. Crimson Caravan trader on the run. He might be willing to provide some backup."

Crimson Caravan. Even back in Texas, they knew about the CC. The Company, as it was often called, the largest trading outfit in the West. Having the Company on her side wouldn't be a bad gig at all. "Alright," she confirmed reluctantly, tipping her hat at Sunny. "Looks like it's time to get me a posse."

"Count me in," Sunny Smiles said at once with no hesitation in her voice, "I'm gonna end up fightin' em sooner or later. Might as well be with backup."

"Great," muttered Six as she took off for the station, Sunny right behind, "because you haven't already talked my ear off or nothin'".

The walk to the gas station was pretty simple, Six not allowing any interruptions. She let Sunny talk the entire way there, but didn't listen to a word, not really caring for anything the redhead had to say. The gas station's windows were boarded up, preventing her from seeing inside, but she didn't really care about that. Not at the moment, anyway. One man in a gas station wasn't too much of a threat, so long as he didn't shoot her as soon as-

The moment that Six's fingers touched the handle of the door, three rapid gunshots rang out, matching holes punched through the crumbling metal of the door. "Hellfire!" Six hissed as she threw herself to the wall, getting out of the way of the opening, Sunny doing the same to the other side, parallel to the girl.

"You better bring a goddamn army, Cobb!" A man's voice shouted from inside, muffled by walls and boards, "'cause I'm shootin' any one of you bastards that goes through that there door!"

"I ain't Cobb you stupid son of a bitch!" Six shouted loudly. "It's me, Sunny!" Sunny Smiles shouted right after, still grinning like an idiot. "Check your eyes, dummy!"

"Sunny?" Ringo asked with a hint of disbelief, and she heard muttered cursing from inside the gas station as he unlocked the door, opening it to look out at them. If he was trying to hide he really wasn't doing that good a job. Especially at knowing who was outside of his hiding place. Ringo was an antsy man, she could tell. Though he had a nice round oval face with strong features and sun-tanned skin, he also had plenty of wear and tear from the road, his skin hardened to leather. He wore plain farmhand clothes, likely borrowed from someone else, and his cropped dark brown hair was parted to the right, slicked that way with product, his green eyes full of suspicion. "Sunny!" Those eyes lit up as he took in the redhead, his dry lips cracking into a smile. "Shit, sorry about the gun! I thought you were Cobb and one of his boys."

"Hell of a mistake," Six muttered, the man's attention coming to her at last. He raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?" He asked suspiciously, his hand hovering over his holster now. Six rolled her eyes, sighing. "Six," she introduced, the name becoming tiresome to keep repeating again and again, "I wanted to know if you wanted to help me take on the Powder Gangers."

"What?" he said in confusion, blinking. "I mean, yeah, definitely! I'm just a little, you know, confused. Like, who are you again? And why are you fighting Powder Gangers?"

Ringo. Wow, what an appropriate name. Clearly he took inspiration from the last living Beatle in a bit more than just name, too, judging by his slowness. Sucking in breath through her nostrils, she sighed, shaking her head. "My business, not yours, Ringo. You want to join the posse or not?"

"Come on inside," the man said, rubbing his chin, "we got some things to talk about, kid."

Apparently what he actually meant by that was he wanted to play Caravan. Like a child, he only seemed able to process the traumas of the world through games. Well, that was a bit harsh, but Six couldn't help the thoughts as she was crowded onto a spot on the floor and given a spare deck, the man even providing a holotape with the rules on it despite never asking if Six knew how to play or not. She did. She just didn't like it because it was a very silly game and it frustrated her. Why couldn't people just play goddamn poker?

She placed down a ten of hearts on one of her 'caravans', wondering if that was the correct move to take, and dared to speak during Ringo's sacred game. "So, about the posse-"

"We'll all share the same grave if it's just the three of us," Ringo admonished as he placed down two cards at once. Six assumed he could do that. "We got a better chance of them adhering to the rules if there's plenty of guns on our side of the showdown."

"Trudy!" Sunny said suddenly as she placed down a six of spades, "if anyone can get the townspeople on board with a militia, it's her. Gonna take a silver tongue, though." Both Ringo and Sunny glanced at Six, who was glaring at her hand, a storm cloud raging above her head. "I'll talk to Trudy," Ringo confirmed, nodding along with Sunny, "I think that'll go smoother."

"Easy Pete has plenty of dynamite buried," Sunny offered after another moment of breathing and thinking, "have to convince him you know what you're doing with explosives, but if you can do that you're in."

"I worked as a miner in San Anton," Six grunted, "know plenty 'bout dynamite."

"Someone's gonna have to talk to Chet for some extra ammo," Sunny muttered, rubbing her chin, "he owns the general store and that's gonna be the hardest one. Even to defend the town he'll make you barter with him for it."

"I'll talk to him," Six confirmed, a dark light in her eye. Sunny opened her mouth as if to protest but Six cut her off. "I'll barter with him, don't worry." A little smirk twisted at the corner of her lips, the glint in her eyes almost sadistic. "He'll be just fine."

"Wouldn't hurt if the Doc could come help," Ringo said to break the silence after that awkward interjection by the teenager, "I seen that laser pistol he keeps with plenty of cells."

"He's got a bum leg," Sunny immediately dismissed with a wave of her hand, "but it ain't a bad idea to talk to him. Especially if he has any supplies to cough up."

Six scowled at the woman, then. "No." Sunny blinked several times rapidly, shocked, and opened her mouth to speak, but Six kept on going. "Ain't no way I'm gonna let you take advantage of that poor man's hospitality, Sunny Smiles. You ask him for a single cap and I will shoot you dead, understand me?"

Sunny's face grew red with anger and embarrassment. "What the fuck did you just say to me, kid?!" She demanded, throwing her hand of cards to the floor, scattering them, "come on, say it again!"

Sunny was no longer all smiles as Six did the same as her, throwing her hand down and getting to her feet, eyes narrowed into slits. "I said," she growled, hand hovering at her right hip, "if you ask the Doc for a single cap I'm gonna shoot you dead in the street like a goddamn dog." Sunny went for whatever was at her hip, but Six was faster. By the time Sunny's pistol had cleared its holster, Six was already drawn, aimed, with the hammer pulled back and cocked. Silence reigned as Sunny went still, frozen as the teenager held a gun on her.

"Try me," Six practically snarled, "I swear to God, try me, Sunny. I been itchin' to kill a man since I woke up."

Sunny stared at her for a long time then before speaking, Ringo's hand hovering near his own gun too. "Doc would wanna help, kid."

"I don't give a damn," Six shot back, her hand holding the gun steady as could be, "he could come down that hill and personally offer you a stimpak and I expect you to turn it down, Sunny. That man has done enough out of the kindness of his heart, and I will not allow you to do anything else to him."

Sunny just stared, for a very long time. Finally she let her gun drop back into her holster, clipping it in. "Fine," she muttered, letting it go, "just don't go around spoutin' off, kid. I known the Doc for a hell of a long time, and I don't like strangers tellin' me how to live my life."

Six waited another moment before uncocking her gun and replacing it in her holster, patting it a few times. "No harm no foul," she said easily, and picked her hand back up, placing down a king of diamonds on her caravan.

". . . Right." Ringo said after a long moment, cautiously placing down a card. "Well, we have a lot of plans to execute, but no executioner. Seems to me if we're putting together a posse of deputies, we're gonna need a sheriff." Ringo looked between the two women with him, hesitant still. "So, which one of us is the sheriff?"

Sunny looked at Six, raising an eyebrow, and the girl scowled. "I'm not your sheriff," she growled, feeling incredibly aggravated, sick of all of this already, "don't go gettin' no ideas now."

"Come on kid," Sunny nudged with her shoulder, bumping her slightly, "it wouldn't be so bad. You impressed the town enough by challenging Joe Cobb, I'm sure everyone would be behind it. Could make this place your home."

"I ain't got no home," the Texan muttered, "'cept the Lonesome Road."

"The what?"

"Nothin'," Six sighed, "nothin'. I ain't settlin' nowhere." She pointed at the scars on her forehead. "Not while these are unanswered. I got a date with death, and I don't plan on bein' late, Sunny."

"Bit young for that kind of talk ain't ya, kid?" Ringo said hesitantly, afraid of incurring the teenager's wrath, "shouldn't you be more worried about the here and now?"

Six glared at him, a look that could have frozen over hell, and the man coughed into his hand as he looked away awkwardly. Better. Six looked back to Sunny, then threw her hand in. "Let's get going," she muttered, dusting herself off as she rose to her feet, "tired of sittin' 'round here."

She left the two behind as she made out for the Goodsprings General Store, down the hill and next to the saloon. Victor was in her way, just rolling along the road, turning to greet her as she passed. "Howdy partner!"

She glanced at him, but especially the barrel of the submachine gun embedded in what would be his right palm if he had a normal hand. Hmm. "Say Victor," she said cautiously, turning to face him, hips cocked. "Feel like bein' my deputy, partner? We got some no good rascals comin' in at sundown for a showdown."

"Hmm," Victor hummed, flexing his three fingered hands. "No good varmints tryin' to disturb my peace huh? I'll be there at sundown, partner, don't you worry. Ole Vic is gonna show you how to deal with rustlers."

She tipped her hat goodbye as he rolled away, determination in his form, and she shook her head, smiling to herself. Despite her own paranoia, she had to admit, the bot was charming and growing on her. Maybe it was the cartoonish use of language she had heard from birth. Maybe it was the easy smile. She was falling for his trap. Maybe she would get lucky for once and it wouldn't turn out to be a bad one.

Fat fucking chance.

She took note of a Mojave Express dropbox outside of the store as she pushed in the front door, a little bell tinkling to let the proprietor know she had entered. Chet, as Sunny had called him, was sweeping part of his only slightly dilapidated store when Six entered it. It was a bare place, with not much merchandise on the shelves, as was to be expected from this town. He was a weaselly little man, short and small with dark oily hair and a sparse mustache on his upper lip, sweat constantly running down his face that he had to stop and mop up with a handkerchief. A small fan blew a little bit of air onto the clearly overheated man and a radio played soft music.

Some folks can lose the blues in their hearts

When I think of you, another shower starts

Into each life, some rain must fall

But too much is falling in mine

He looked up as the door opened, and a smile crept across his shining round face. "You must be the one Doc Mitchell was patching up!" he greeted as he set the broom aside, dusting off his overalls as he stepped up to the counter. "Way I heard it, I wasn't sure you were gonna be walking around again."

Six grunted in response, coming up to the counter, leaning on it. "Don't suppose you might know anythin' 'bout the bastards that put me in the infirmary?"

As expected, Chet shrugged. "Not really. The head honcho, the one in the suit, was a typical New Vegas city boy. The ones with him, though?" He leaned forward, whispering, "they were Great Khans. I recognized their armor."

Khans. That got Six's attention, and her eyes narrowed. "I thought the NCR wiped out the Khans."

Chet shook his head. "Got close to it at Bitter Springs, but not quite. Most of 'em are holed up somewhere in Red Rock Canyon, to the northwest, don't come out much. It's weird to see them so far from home." Interesting. Very interesting. Six drummed her fingers on the counter, pursing her lips. And he kept going. "I saw a few last time I was in Vegas, on the Strip. I would know that armor anywhere."

"Been to the Strip?" Six inquired, raising an eyebrow. Chet nodded. "Twice, actually. Both times I drank a lot of liquor and lost all my caps, in that order. That was before the credit check was implemented, and little guys like me were allowed in. You ever been?"

Six shook her head. "Never appealed."

Chet raised an eyebrow then shrugged. "To each their own. But you might have more ties than you think with Victor watching over you." That got Six's attention, and the teenager pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes into slits. Chet saw that, and he began to sweat more. "V-Victor is a Securitron," he stammered out, "and the Strip is guarded by Securitrons, they're the only ones Mr House will talk to people through. So, you know," he shrugged, "seems to me like Mr House is watching out for you. Has to be a good thing, right?"

Yeah. Right. Definitely a good thing for a magnanimous anonymous sponsor to keep an eye on her through a goddamn robot without telling her what he wanted. Her creeps around Victor were increased, and she made a note not to divulge any sensitive information within earshot of the robot cowboy. She really didn't like this. "What do you know about Mr House, Chet?"

"'Bout as much as anyone else," the shopkeeper supplied, "which isn't too much. He runs the Strip and orders the Three Families around and rakes in caps from everyone coming to the casinos, but he never leaves the Lucky 38, and no one is allowed inside. He's a mystery alright."

Well, that didn't help much. Still. It wasn't nothing. "No one's ever seen him, really?" She sounded doubtful, and it was for a reason. She thought the entire thing was bullshit, this whole mysterious air was nonsense. "Sounds like horseshit to me."

"It's true!" Chet insisted, leaning forward on the counter. "I heard it from some of the Freesiders and the Strip old-timers. People living in the city for generations with no idea who the man that owns it is."

Something stood out to Six, then, something she felt the need to point out and harp on. "Generations? Come on, this guy is smoke and mirrors, Chet, no one lives that long."

"Ghouls do," Chet pointed out, "plenty of Pre-War ghouls around. And it isn't like we know he isn't one, no ones ever seen him before." That was a pretty good point, Six had to admit. Hm. But why would a Pre-War ghoul care about her, and why would he send his little Securitron to save her? She didn't like that. Not one fucking bit.

"Let's change topics," Six decided, the man nodding. She leaned on the counter, staring at him intensely, those stormy eyes making him sweat even more. "The Powder Gangers are gonna be here in a few hours."

Chet swallowed a mouthful of air, nodding. "I heard," he confirmed, "and I have my complaints." Six raised an eyebrow. "No one asked me for my opinion before we started rounding up a militia to fight the Powder Gangers. That's a thousand cap investment I am not willing to make without plans, and a promise of a return. I say we should just hand Ringo over to them."

Six paused, staring him down. Her entire being froze in place, save for her lips. Her lips curled back in a snarl, a guttural expression that was more primal than anything else, instinctual. She said one word and one word only, a word that was devastating to any man once uttered towards them: "Coward." She spat it out like a curse, and Chet physically recoiled like he had been slapped.

"Hey!" He protested, wiping at his brow, "that isn't coward talk. It's practical. We're a town of survivors, but we don't go looking for trouble. That's how it is. And this is trouble, isn't it?"

"So what?" Six challenged, giving him no ground whatsoever, "good fucking luck trying to run your store when the Powder Gangers take over the town and shake you down every day."

Chet opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He thought that over for a few moments while Six stared him down, then threw up his hands. "Alright!" He conceded finally, "okay, okay, point taken. I can provide some leather armor and some ammo to everyone in the posse, but anything else has to be paid for!" He pointed to a stack of leather-based chestpieces stacked nearby, but Six shook her head.

"All I need is some ammo for this," she patted her revolver in its holster, "and that." Chet's eyes followed where she pointed and then narrowed in confusion as he squinted. "What?" He questioned, scratching his head. "I mean, are you sure? The armor is worth a lot more, especially in a showdown."

Six stared at him, and under her sharp and stormy gaze he faltered once more. "Alright," he muttered, shaking his head, "I'll go get some revolver ammo. Go ahead and take it, tune it, whatever."

Sundown. The time was here at last. The sky was awash in strokes of yellow, red, orange, and purple that were almost beautiful if it wasn't above an empty wasteland. Six stood in front of the saloon, at the very front of town, her boots planted on the road. She faced the road south, the road that Cobb and his boys would come from, her hand hovering over her holster. Strapped to her back, slung over her shoulder with a sling, was a beat-up acoustic guitar, freshly tuned and on the road to recovery.

At the first signs of movement on the horizon her eyes snapped to attention. Behind her was her posse, wielding their various weapons. Sunny stood to her left, Ringo to her right. Sunny had put on some of Chet's leather armor, holding her bolt-action rifle in one hand, scratching her German Shepherd's ears with the other. The dog was long and lean, muscled and scarred, her lips already pulled back into a snarl. Sunny had named her 'Cheyenne'. Ringo held his pistol nervously, his forehead sweaty as he waited for the inevitable. Victor was behind her, and Easy Pete came in from the back holding a bag of dynamite, passing it around to the various townies that had come up. Trudy held up her shotgun, her wife standing next to her with a cleaver in hand. A few other townsfolk had various positions, and the entire town was paused and ready for war, waiting with baited breath.

The Powder Gangers came strutting up from the south in a diamond wedge formation, Cobb at the head. He was holding his revolver, the other men their own weapons. She counted two with baseball bats, one with a bolt action rifle, one with a shotgun, and Cobb himself. She took note of each position of the convicts as they approached, but paid special attention to Cobb.

He came up about twenty paces from her, slipping his gun back into the holster, sneering at her with a cocky smirk that bled arrogance. "So you actually showed up," he mused, "didn't think you had the balls, kid."

"For someone who complained about mobs," Six retorted, "you sure brought you plenty of friends."

"So did you, cowpoke."

Six just smiled sinisterly, cocking her head. "Got any last words, Cobb?"

"Go fuck yourself," the man retorted, "let's do this."

Six sucked in breath through her nose and let it out. "You need a count?"

"Hell no!" He laughed, only to be cut off by the ringing sound of a gunshot. It echoed around them as the new hole between his eyes bled red dripping down into his eyes. The man looked at her slack-jawed, at the drawn and smoking revolver in her hand, cleared from its holster so fast he had never seen it coming. He fell down to his knees, grunted, then fell into the dust to lay still.

His friends stared at his corpse, then at Six, the girl putting the gun back into her holster. She spread out her arms, grinning, her eyes alight in a way that they never had been before. "Anyone else?"

"You little bitch!" The one with a single shot shotgun snarled, and raised up his weapon to fire. But Sunny was faster, and she put a bullet through his throat from her rifle. Cheyenne barked and lunged as all hell broke loose, running through the chaos. Easy Pete lit up one of his sticks of dynamite, grunting as he tossed it with athletic and experienced grace, the now lit stick tumbling in the air before landing between the two gangers with bats.

Both men sprinted for the cover of some boulders, throwing themselves behind it last moment, Six forced to dive for a discarded wagon to do the same. Ringo was taking cover beside her, trying to lay down suppressive fire on the ganger with a rifle, who had taken up a position behind a fenceline. Her posse was in a bad place here, but she looked over to Victor.

"Lay down some covering fire, partner!"

"You got it! YEE-HAW!" Victor whooped as he held up his hand, the submachine gun inside of it lighting up as he laid down covering fire, pinning the gangers in place. She looked over at Trudy and her wife, pointing at them then at the rocks hiding the men with bats. Trudy nodded, nudged the woman next to her, and they began to creep up on those rocks, Cheyenne at their side. A few moments later, Six heard shouting, gunfire, and several grunts of pain before silence, save for Victor's shooting. Cheyenne came back, Trudy behind her, holding her beaten wife, nursing a severely broken arm.

Six had no time to pay attention, in the middle of the fight. "Draw him out!" She ordered, and Easy Pete was on it in no time. He tossed another stick of dynamite, and the ganger had no choice but to throw himself over the fenceline, scrambling for any form of cover he could find, only to get shot up by Victor, blood spraying in fountains behind him as he fell.

And all was silent.