The inside of the Vikki and Vance Casino was dark, dim, and very depressing. Run down slot machines lined the walls, a decrepit cash counter that hadn't seen use in some time on the other side of the main room. A rundown car on a large podium display was in the center of the main room, with a big round and unseemly Protectron robot in a cowboy hat standing beside it, short stubby arms kept in front of it. The old man slammed the door shut behind them, placing a bar down to lock it in place. In front of them were about a dozen people or so, all in dirty clothes and wielding guns, all currently trained on the two of them. Veronica was the first to get up, raising her hands in the air, her face an expression of surprise. "Well, not the friendliest welcome I've ever gotten."
"Will you shut the hell up for five goddamn seconds?" Six hissed as she also got to her feet, raising her hands in the air. The old man that had let them in poked her in the back with his own revolver, his voice slow and steady with the accent of most rural Nevadans. "Alright, youngsters, no sudden moves. Why are you here, and are you with the Powder Gangsters?"
"Considerin' we just killed four in the street like the dogs they are," Six muttered, "I don't think I would consider them friends."
The old man seemed to consider that, then he waved at the other people in the casino, who all lowered their guns but still kept them handy, just in case. "Fair enough, youngster." He walked around them to speak to them face to face, and Six got her first good look at him. He was as dark as tanned leather, his skin the result of decades spent under the Mojave sun. He was wearing a pair of overalls over plain gray clothes, a bandana tied around his neck, ready to be pushed up to protect against dust storms. A real native of the Mojave, and one she instantly had a liking too.
"Johnson Nash is the name," he introduced as he pulled a cigarette from his overall pocket along with a lighter, putting it in between his lips. "Whatever brought you to Primm, youngsters, you should turn back now. Towns gone all to hell."
"I can see that," Veronica chimed in, "but we aren't afraid of a few tough guys with guns."
Six really wished the woman would stop speaking for them, and was very much tempted to slap her to be quiet. "I'm trying to get into the Mojave Express Outpost," she explained, "and track down a no good bastard while I'm at it."
"Shoot, youngster," Nash laughed, "we got plenty of those across the street. As it happens, in better times I run said Outpost. Maybe I can help ya."
Finally. A stroke of luck. Six reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a slip of paper. Her delivery order. "What can you tell me about this'un?"
Nash took the paper from her, looking over it. His easy expression quickly turned into a scowl as he read it, and he took a long drag from his cigarette. "Oh, so you're talkin' 'bout one of them packages. Whole order stank to high hell, if you ask me."
Six's heart was racing now. This was it. This could be her answers that she had wanted ever since getting the delivery to begin with. She waited for the old man to speak more, to reveal more, to answer this mystery.
"That cowboy robot had us hire six couriers, each delivering something different. A pair of fuzzy dice, a deck of cards, stuff like that. I thought the whole thing was odd, but the caps were too good, definitely couldn't turn it down. We got payment for all the others, looks like it was just yours that didn't make it."
That fit the bill. It was a very, very precise ambush, they only wanted one thing and they knew exactly where she would be and when. Motherfuckers must have had access to the Express manifest, somehow.
"When you say cowboy robot, do you mean the one right over there?" Six pointed to the Protectron, and Nash's eyes followed her finger. He scoffed and shook his head. "Nah, that there's Primm Slim. He runs the Vikki and Vance museum. He ain't programmed to make deals. No, this cowboy robot was one of them 'Securitrons', with a screen that had a cowboy's face on it."
Six's blood ran cold and the room seemed to get a bit darker. Cowboy Securitron. Victor. He was describing Victor. But. . . but why? Why would Victor be the one that commissioned the job? That didn't make any sense, none at all. If Victor was from Mr House, and Victor was the one that gave her the job, then she had been working for Mr House. What did Mr House want with her? Why had he pulled her out of that grave? Why was he so interested? What the fuck was going on?! Why was the platinum chip so goddamn important?!
Nash seemed to notice her discomfort, and his face wrinkled in concern. "Everythin' alright, youngster?" Six nodded, waving for him to continue, even as she had to grasp the nearby railing just to continue to stand up straight.
"First deadbeat we hired to do the job walked away." Nash shook his head, puffing on his cigarette. "I hope a storm from the Divide skins him alive. He seemed to know you."
Six scowled, then, her face darkening. "What?"
"Yeah, the moment he saw your name on the list, he turned down the job, just like that. I asked him if he was sure, the money was real good. He said yep, let Courier Six take the job. Like the Mojave'd sort you out." He shrugged. "Guess he was right if you got robbed."
Six worked her jaw back and forth, a feeling of dread coming over her, then. "Do you have his name?"
"Sure," Nash responded, thinking a moment. "I think it was. . . Ulysses."
The name didn't sound familiar to her, but a cold sweat ran over her, like someone had just walked over her grave. She would remember the name, because it was never good to not know the name of an enemy. Someone had taught her that, long ago, as her farmstead burned to the ground and her mother screamed on a cross within it.
Stare upon the harvest of your family's cowardice, girl. Stare upon it and feel the warmth of hate. It shall keep you strong.
If this Ulysses hated her, it was because he knew her from her previous life. He knew her name. And that was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. After she put a bullet in the checkered coat bastard's head, she was gonna have to track down Ulysses and do the same. She didn't like the idea of someone who had a grudge against her being alive still, especially from her past before the Mojave. Did not like it at all. But that was a worry for another day. For the moment, she needed to focus on city boy.
"A man in a checkered suit robbed me and stole the package," she explained to Nash, "came through here about three days ago. You seen 'im?"
Nash thought about that for a moment, rubbing his wrinkled chin in thought. After pondering, he nodded. "I saw him around the Bison Steve, with the Powder Gangsters. Our deputy was investigatin' 'fore he went and got himself captured same day. Gangsters got him tied up in the casino, holdin' him hostage. Only reason they haven't tried bustin' in here is because they know we'll gun 'em down soon as they show their faces."
Six knew what that meant. That meant she was going to have to rescue the deputy in order to get the information she wanted. Son of a bitch. She opened her mouth to say she would find the prick herself when Veronica beside her jumped in, her mouth working faster. "We'll rescue your deputy for you!" Six shut her mouth and sighed as Nash lit up.
"You will?" He asked incredulously, hope in his old tired eyes.
"Of course!" Veronica confirmed, looking to Six. "Right?"
Six glared at the two of them, but nodded after a few moments of hesitation. Guess it was easier than trying to find a city boy in the Mojave with no real clues. "Fine," she muttered, "but there better be a reward for it."
Nash thought on that, working his jaw, puffing on his cigarette. After a few moments he shrugged. "I got an old robot in my shop that don't work. I was just gonna sell it to the scrapyard in Novac for parts, but if you want it, y'all can have it, youngsters."
Veronica squealed in excitement as Six looked utterly despondent. "A robot!" She exclaimed, stars in her eyes, "Oh my gosh, that would be so amazing! I could get him working and we could have our own robot together, wouldn't that be so awesome?!"
"What's all this 'we' stuff?" Six complained, adjusting her bandana over her face, "I don't remember gettin' married to ya."
"We're partners, remember?" Veronica admonished, affectionately punching Six's shoulder. "We're in this together, Six!"
Nash looked at them strangely, then, a dark look in his eyes, taking a step back from them, like they had just revealed they were ghouls. "Just save our lawman," he muttered under his breath, turning away, "and let me know if you ever want to trade."
Six stared after him as he walked away, feeling. . . Despondent then. Veronica was confused for a moment, before understanding dawned on her face. "Oh, geez," she murmured, her expression falling. "I didn't mean. . . I thought that. . . Wow some people are bigots."
"Yeah," Six replied lifelessly, suddenly feeling very tired, "well, let's just get this done and over with, partner." She lowered her bandana, offering Veronica a weak smile that momentarily lifted her spirits, but only slightly. The two women turned on their heels, taking in deep breaths. "Let's make a mad dash for the front door," Six said as she lifted up the bar holding the entrance in it's place, "'fore any of the bastards know we're even there." Veronica nodded, and upon another exhale, they threw the doors open and sprinted for the front door of the Bison Steve.
No one shot at them as they came out, the bodies of the four men still on the ground behind the cars. The front door of the run down casino crashed open as they put their weight on it, surprising the guard posted. Behind a barricade of chairs and desks, he stood with a bolt action rifle, mouth agape, eyes wide enough to fill up his biker goggles. "Holy shi-" he started, only to be interrupted by a gunshot, and the hole where his throat used to be. Her pistol still smoking, Six was already moving by the time his body hit the floor, cocking back the hammer again as she pressed herself to the wall. There were two doors in front of her, a closed one behind a counter and register that led to some sort of shop, and a large open hallway from which more sounds came. Six looked back at Veronica, holding one finger to her lips, then pointing at the other side of the door to the hallway.
The woman silently pressed herself against it as Six adjusted her position, creating a perfect cross ambush. Footsteps were rapidly approaching, only one set for now. Six counted them down as they came closer and closer, the dark and dim lighting of the Bison Steve keeping her hidden. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
As the Powder Gangers rounded the corner, tire iron in hand ready to swing, Six clocked him across the back of the head with the handle of her revolver. He let out a grunt as he stumbled, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Veronica stepped out from her corner to swing her power fist, hissing and clanking as it smashed into his chest, caving it in, his ribs and chest bones splintering and piercing more organs than Six cared to count. He died choking on his own blood as it bubbled and frothed crimson on his lips, falling to the dirty trashed floor. Six nodded at Veronica and stepped over the dying man as she cast a glance down the hallway. It was almost pitch black, with only faint green emergency lighting next to a broken elevator acting as any kind of illumination. More sounds were coming, distant shouts and the racking of guns, and another sound she didn't immediately recognize. Flowing gas? A flicker of flame?
Her eyes narrowed, and she raised the bandana to cover her face from the nose down. "Flamer," she hissed to Veronica, who's eyes widened. One of the most terrifying weapons in the wasteland, the brutal flames it spat out the promise of a brutal and agonizing death. How the hell had these jokers gotten a hold of one?!
"Son of a bitch," she growled as she took out her second pistol again, cocking both with her thumbs. "Come on, V. We gotta take these sons of bitches out if we wanna find this deputy."
She led Veronica forward, guns aimed forward, ready to cover the punching robe wearing scavenger, and more of the hallway became visible. It ended in a 'T' shape, with two doors leading to a large room that had once been the main game room. That's where the sounds were coming from, and shapes began to emerge from the gloom.
Two men came from the door on the right wielding a tire iron and a large kitchen knife, while two others came from the left with a rifle and shotgun. Wordlessly, Six switched her aim to the ones wielding firearms, while Veronica went for the two melee enemies. Six's guns barked, sending the two convicts into cover, diving for the safety of the corner of the T hallway. Veronica ducked under the line of fire as the two convicts had their own return salvo, Six crouching down low so the buckshot of the shotgun pelted against the ruined wall.
Veronica dove for the man with a tire iron, ducking under his first swing. Her power fist smashed into the arm wielding the weapon, shattering the bone and snapping his arm to bend in the complete wrong direction. With expert precision and trained discipline she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, flipping him over her with a martial arts move that slammed him on the ground. Six was impressed, her eyes widening in surprise, but a rifle round impacting a few inches from her head made her focus back on the two men with guns.
Though they were ducked behind the wall, they weren't very efficient about it. One of them had a foot sticking out, and in the blink of an eye her gun barked and a bullet exploded the man's toes, blood spurting from the new hole in his boot as he fell, dropping his shotgun, screaming and holding it, writhing in agony. "You fucking bitch!" the other man shouted in fury, coming out holding his rifle up, intending to kill her. Instead he got a bullet between the eyes, the back of his head bursting like a melon, painting the wall and floor with his brains and bits of skull and splatters of blood. His corpse fell instantly, his body limp and broken, eyes staring wide at the dark ceiling even as the gaping hole between them formed a third one as black and crimson as bloody darkness.
Veronica was dealing with the last of this particular wave, and it was truly a display of skill. She crouched down low, spinning her body around, sweeping the man's feet from under him, committing to a full spin. As he yelped and dropped his knife, his head cracked against the floor, stunning him. She raised up her boot as she stood, and stomped it down onto his windpipe, crushing it, suffocating the man as Six lined up her pistol with the writhing toeless con, and put a bullet in his head. Everything was quiet for a moment, then, until Six heard the sound of hissing gas and a flickering flame. Shit.
"Get down!" She barked as she threw herself down to the ground, a fifth man emerging from the dark, a huge tank on his back, a wicked looking upgraded flamer in his hands. It was worse than a flamer. It was an incinerator. It shot a high-powered ball of flame through the air as the man laughed maniacally, the fireball splashing against Veronica. The woman screamed as her robes were set on fire, smacking and slapping against it wildly.
"You fucker!" Six snarled as she came back up to a kneeling position. The man swiveled, and aimed at her before firing another ball at her. She tucked her knees in and rolled, the ball missing her by an inch or two at most, singing the ends of her auburn hair. As soon as she came back up, her gun was in her hand, and she squeezed off a shot. The bullet pinged against the tank on the man's back, and in a moment it exploded into a great storm of flame, engulfing him entirely. He died screaming, roasting alive, and Six just stared, eyes wide.
Her weapon dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor, and she felt her heart race in her chest. The sickly sweet smell of cooking flesh was in her nostrils, the screams of the damned, and she saw a cross standing in the middle of a burning building, a woman lashed to it, wailing as she died, wailing a word. A name. Her name. Over and over and over again, echoing in her ears until she wanted to claw out her own ear drums to escape the sound of it, a needle piercing into her brain that scrambled her mind.
Stare upon the harvest of your family's cowardice, girl. Stare upon it and feel the hatred. It shall keep you strong.
"Six!"
She couldn't do it. She couldn't look away but she also couldn't keep staring, on her knees in front of the farmstead as it burned and her mother wailed inside of the fires of hell itself. The man stood behind her, her stepfather's blood still on his sword, looking down at her.
Do not look away. Do not be weak, girl.
"Six, please, come on!"
A hand on her shoulder. A large hand. The hand of a monster, not a man. A voice that growled through a metal mask, a face of iron instead of flesh, all warmth gone. Only blood and dust remained.
Remember this moment when next we meet.
"SIX!"
She was back in the hallway. The convict burned in front of her, cooking flesh in the air, and she wasn't a helpless little girl anymore. She was a courier, she was a wanderer, she was a fucking killer, and she wasn't scared of monsters. Veronica was shaking her by the shoulders, a large burn on her right shoulder, the robes torn and frayed and singed there. "Six, come on, snap out of it!" The woman shouted desperately, tears gathering in her eyes. "No, no, no, come on, we just met, don't die on me now!"
"I'm not fuckin' dyin'," Six snapped, shaking the woman off of her. "Get the hell off!" Veronica squealed in relief and hugged her tightly, the exact opposite of what she had ordered her to do. Six signed and let the woman do what she was going to do, having a feeling there wasn't much point in trying to stop her.
"Thank Steel," Veronica sighed, and Six stiffened. Veronica seemed to realize what she said at the same time the cowfolk did, and both women just stared at each other for a few moments. Then Six drew at the same time Veronica raised her fist, and it was a matter of if she could pull the trigger before she could swing.