Novac benefitted greatly from the Russians since they were acting as intermediaries with the Bright Brotherhood. During certain hours of the day, the REPCONN facility would be open for the scavengers to pick and choose whatever they wanted to salvage. Not only would the building be clean enough for the occupier's own use, but it helped clean up the old offices. Then the building would be closed off so that the ghouls could release their feral kin and pray openly. The cycle repeated again when the next day happened.

The relationship between the various peoples began to relax and the Polis Rangers assembled were reassigned to the more prioritized stations throughout the Metro. Soon, there were fewer soldiers left, save for the militia of Exhibition station. Yet, it did not mean that the Order would be idle in this part of the world.

Hunter had been called upon as he walked through the hallways and nodded towards the local scavengers passing by. Then he turned around a corner and found a fellow comrade waiting for him. His eyes were tired from an extended deployment while his lips carried a short cigarette butt. "Uhlman, I would have thought you would be smoking in the lounge."

The Polis Ranger smiled as he removed his cigarette. "Kids there. I didn't want them to deal with it. They're young for this kind of work."

"It's a different place with different values," He bluntly replied. It was out of his hands as he considered what his superior had in store for him, "What do you want with me?"

"News," Uhlman answered, "Mel'nik is returning to Polis; however, we caught word of a few settlements north of the motel you looked at. I spoke with some of the locals with Sam's help and we just stumbled into a war zone."

The experienced soldier knew what kind of stakes would be involved. He was going farther than any Metro dweller had any right to be and the thought of conflict made his work even harder. "What is the political situation?"

He picked the cigarette from his lips and passed it over to Hunter. "We are currently in the Mojave Desert, Nevada. There is the Legion and then there is the New California Republic. In fact, two of the riflemen guarding the settlement are former snipers."

"Really?" The soldier remembered his previous encounter with the two men in red berets as he took the cigarette, "I take they are the good guys?"

Uhlman shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on who you talk to. There's the crowd that sees them as newcomers staking their claim and then there are the people who see them as a force for good."

"What do you think, really?"

"You're the first to ask that question," He jokingly said, "I got nothing until we officially meet them in person, which just so happens to be the first place we're going, New Vegas."

"How did you find out about that? Is it another one from your ass?"

Both soldiers laughed at the crass humor before Uhlman carried the conversation. "One of the locals was willing to talk. Caravans, NCR citizens, soldiers, and gamblers pass through here to make their fortune up north."

The knowledge intrigued the Polis Ranger as he leaned back against the wall across from his comrade. He was tasked with reconnaissance and this seemed like a good place to start, but some form of preparation was needed. "It sounds good; however, I want to ask if you can fetch a team together. Mainly, Polis Rangers."

"What of Exhibition?" He asked, "I heard the station commander was interested in trading with Novac. He might get the same idea of sending people out."

Hunter forgot about Sukhoi. The man was trying to find a solution to the problems in the Metro and he couldn't blame him if he considered sending people out into the desert, alone. Yet, he knew the man personally to find a conclusion. "No worries. He's very reserved. I don't think he'll risk losing people if they got lost out here."

"If you say so. Until then, I'll notify you when the team is ready to set out."

The rejection of helping his family friend was disheartening news for Artyom. He had expected some form of approval to try and become one of the Polis Rangers, but even the colonel was not keen on permitting him. Fortunately, Sukhoi was willing to let him near the town of Novac. Not only did the trade benefit Exhibition, Artyom found himself interacting with the locals from time to time. Every now and then, he would help his fellow Metro citizen carry a few boxes of salvage and sell them off to some old lady. One of them was surprisingly happy to give him a free foreign meal.

He minded his own business as he climbed atop of the former gas station and watched the sunset skies from the roof. The last time he had witnessed such beauty was when he was nothing more than a kid from the pre-war days. Then his session was interrupted by a cry of annoyed beasts as he turned his head towards the southern road.

A train of two-headed animals with packs on their heads were conjesting the streets. Artyom was surprised by the sheer amount of merchandise they carried while dozens of armed guards quietly escorted them through. Yet, a single individual ordered them around in a harsh language. He did not understand a single word, but she was definitely fierce in her tone.

When she revealed herself, the young man was surprised to find a red-headed woman lugging around a double-barrelled shotgun. She seemed to instill fear in the caravaners to push forward before noticing him up top. Then the stranger spoke in their foreign tongue; however, they didn't seem to catch on. His soul found itself judged harshly despite that barrier between him and her.

Then he turned away from her and began to admire the sky as night fell upon him. Artyom reached into his knapsack and brandished a few cans of food that were somehow edible after all of these years. Nonetheless, it was better than mushroom stew. Part of him wanted to make this the finest dinner he had ever received, but his stomach would not handle it at all.

Time had passed as darkness was washed upon him; however, it was quite different. In the Metro, his eyes would be staring at the ceiling or the top of a tent, hoping that he would have something worth living in his existence as a survivor. What he did not expect from this experience was the stars above. A thousand small beads were spread out across the darkness, providing him a small solace that he was not alone this time. Not only did he feel alive, Artyom felt this place might have something for him.

The young man quietly ate his meal with gusto, something different to fill the hunger that was his curiosity. Yet, his stomach could not feel comfortable this night. It was not the taste of the food that made him ill, but a strange feeling in the air that disturbed him. His gut could not accept the wrongness that overcame him and so he put aside his meal and reached for the Bastard gun hanging on his person.

Artyom rose up from the rooftop of the building and scanned the surrounding countryside. Years of living in darkness had given him the privilege of seeing shadows. Across from the gas station was the motel of Novac, but his eyes noticed a group of shadows quickly moving past the main gate. Then they made their way into one of the rooms with efficiency.

He quickly descended from the rooftop and took a spot behind one of the fuel dispensers as he mounted his sub-machine gun. His weapon was not renowned for its accuracy and this was a necessary measure to make the best out of the worst.

Patience was rewarded with certainty. Five shadows slipped out from one of the motel rooms, but one carried someone on his shoulder. The white linen could distinctly reveal a woman being brought against her will.

This was none of his business; however, the Russian was compelled to do the right deed. "Hey, what are you doing?!"

A flashlight was activated as the shadows were revealed. Five masked men were wearing armor in dark crimson as they turned their heads towards the single individual who caught them. One of them gave the others a command, but their weaponry was much worse than he anticipated. Most of their weaponry was simple machetes and spears. One of them even had the will to throw one in Artyom's direction. Fortunately, the wooden projectile missed and flew past him.

He pulled the trigger and his weapon fired, shaking from the few controlled bursts. One of the men was wounded as the others began to run. At the same time, the town was awakened by the gunfire while Artyom chased after the masked men who raided one of the locals. They were fleeing east.

The brave soul tried to shoot on the move; however, it was effective as shooting drunk. Somehow, a few bullets managed to scar one of the men in the knee. He stayed behind as he pulled out some kind of knife with teeth on it. As the Russian came close, the red assailant revved his weapon to life and tried to swing its moving teeth at him.

A crack echoed from behind as a bullet whistled past Artyom, only to strike the enemy down. His head looked over his shoulder to find the tall dinosaur in the distance; however, he witnessed two flashes in-between the icon's teeth. Whoever resided in that spot deserved a drink for saving his life. Now that he received extra help, he charged forward and chased after the last man with the woman on his shoulder.

When it was clear he would not getaway, the kidnapper tossed the unconscious woman aside and turned around. Then he pulled out a rifle and began to aim it at him. Artyom quickly emptied his magazine through the volume of fire to suppress his ability to aim. It seemed to work as the enemy jumped to the side and pull the bolt back. Meanwhile, the young man began to reload his weapon.

It seemed like it was also noticed as well and as the Bastard was given a new meal of bullets, the assailant jumped him. The rifle used against him was now turned into a melee weapon as the masked man knocked him onto the ground with the buttstock. Then pushed the whole length against the Russian's throat. Artyom tried to fight back, but the man was using every once of his strength to destroy his windpipe.

There were a few breaths left in him and desperation made one of his hands scramble for a secondary weapon on his person. Then his fingers rediscovered a pistol holstered on his person as he grabbed the handle pressed the barrel against the kidnapper's stomach. Three shots were muffled against the armor as the dying foe lost his will to choke him. The red armored man fell to the side as he placed his hands on his chest, but the Metro dweller knew better than to let him recover. He pointed his revolver and emptied the last three shots into him.

The Rose of Sharon Cassidy awoke from her drunken stupor when she had heard the gunfire, but it took her time to recover from the sweetness that was whiskey. As she got her senses together in the settlement's meal tent, one of her caravan guards took the time to explain what was going on. Apparently, there was a squad from Caeser's Legion that snuck into the town just to enslave some sniper's wife in the middle of the night and a Russian had rescued her.

She had to admit it took genuine courage for anyone to oppose the Legion like that. They were an army that did not forgive and will not forget such transgressions. The caravanner looked outside of the flaps to see the locals wake up in the middle of the night to congratulate him. Yet, his reaction made it clear that he was not used to this kind of attention. Despite the drink still affecting her abilities, Cass could not help, but leave a small smile on her face.

More people showed up; however, they were far more serious in terms of outlook and equipment. She had seen hardened NCR troopers in her travels and these men shared their attitudes before their presence commanded the crowds to make way for the young man. It seemed like they were worth informing a local NCR officer about, but the republic was probably busy dealing with the problems that bogged them down to care.

What made these men different from the soldiers of her country was the uniforms and the armor. Although they were worn down by age and use, Cass was able to distinguish the styles and the symbols embedded into the clothes. What really caught her curiosity was the gas masks and the armored visors on their helmets. Few groups in the wasteland were capable of maintaining, much less, equip their soldiers were proper military-grade helmets.

A question popped into her head now that she thought about it. Just who were these people? She had been using this road for trade to New Vegas and never did she stumble upon them.

One of the foreigners approached her as she sat upright in the stool. He raised his mask as he rested his hands on his assault rifle hanging from his neck. "Are you in charge of this caravan?"

The middle-aged stranger was interested in her business? "Yeah, what do you want?"

"Are you heading towards New Vegas?" He continued to ask, "My men and I are going there as well."

That seemed a bit convenient for her. Cass would have to keep her eye on them, but she'll keep her word. "You help keep raiders off my back, fine by me."

Then he gestured his hand out to her. "You can call me Hunter."

The caravaneer reluctantly shook hands with him. "Cass of Cassidy Caravans."

The next day was calm for the locals and their Russian neighbors. Hunter appreciated the quiet morning as that meant everyone was sleeping or were close enough. Yet, he needed to do what anyone in his position would have done. When he learned of Artyom's incident with some slavers, the old soldier took the time to scrounge up enough money he salvaged from the REPCONN building. Apparently, bottlecaps was the currency of the region, but there was little he could do about it.

He entered the green dinosaur through the wooden door on its side. Once upon a time, this place would be part of some niche way to make this town distinct. Now the dinosaur was a marker for weary travelers to rest after days of travel.

A dark-skinned soul manned the counter on the other side of the room as he raised his eyes and smiled in his general direction. "Hello there, you're a fresh face arn't you. I got a whole lot items here that you may want."

Hunter decided to cut to the chase as he remembered his English. "Some of the locals said you have guns. Mind if I take a look at them?"

The merchant let out a deep sigh and began to rummage through his inventory behind the counter. "I wished there was someone willing to buy the dino toys."

Then he rose with his arms were mostly full of rifles and pistols. Fortunately, there were some occassional automatics that were present as well.

"Let's see what we have here. I got some old-school repeaters and some bolt-action rifles," He reached for the pistols and laid them out for closer inspection, "Here are some revolvers and some auto pistols. There are also some submachine guns in different calibers as well if you want that extra firepower."

His eyes looked upon each and every firearm that was present. Each one was distinct until his eyes fell upon a bolt-action rifle that was the least damaged out of them all. "What about this one?"

"The Paciencia? It's a three-shot three-o-eight. You want this rifle and the ammo that goes with it?"

He nodded his head before the transaction was made. The rifle and several boxes of ammo were handed over in exchange for a few hundred bottlecaps.

The Russian soldier stepped out from the dinosaur and made his way towards the gas station. He sought out the dumpster placed beside a vending machine as he climbed atop of them to reach the roof. After he pulled himself up, Artyom was sleeping quietly with his head resting on a backpack. This was going to be a parting gift from the Ranger as he crept forward and placed the rifle beside him. Yet, his stealth was detected when the young man shifted around in his sleep and his eyes took notice of him. "Hunter?"

He smiled as he fell to one knee. "Good morning, I thought you wouldn't notice me."

Artyom rubbed his eyes. "It was hard to go to sleep after last night. What are you doing here?"

"I got my orders to leave," Came his honest response, "The Order and I are heading out to scout the surrounding area. I came by to leave you a present after I heard you took on that group of slavers on your own."

The young man was embarrassed by that moment. He knew the disapproval that would come with that if his stepfather learned of it. "That… yeah."

Hunter smiled as he handed him the rifle and the boxes of ammo. "Just don't do that again."

"What's this?"

"An actual gun," He bluntly stated, "You're a good shot with the Bastard, but it will do you no good in wide places like these. Here, I want you to have it."

Artyom got a hold of the rifle as he pulled the bolt back and checked how it functioned. "The last time I had a genuine rifle was a Berdan. It was worse than the Bastard."

He pointed at the solid design. "I know. That's why I got this for you. It's all yours, but don't get yourself into trouble. Okay?"

There was a nod of acknowledgement to recognize his authoritative tone. "Yes, I understand."

Hunter patted him on the back as he stood up. "Help Sukhoi whenever he needs it. I'll make my way back when my mission's over."

"Good luck, Hunter."

The Polis Ranger turned his back on him as he climbed his way down from the gas station and ended up in the streets. His eyes looked around to find the caravan full of mutated beasts of burden. He walked up to the group of Rangers that were waiting for him as he quietly whispered to himself, "I'll see you later… son."

Ghostly: I also want to throw them in the dark and let them figure out the weird stuff about the Fallout universe the Metro factions have access to.

Imperial Stormtrooper: "Please do not notice the group of Reds trying to silence your awareness."