'Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle (jingle, jangle)

As I go ridin' merrily along (jingle, jangle)

And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single" (jingle, jangle)

And that song ain't so very far from wrong (jingle, jangle)!

The radio on her Pip-Boy played Kay Kyser's greatest hit out loud as she walked down the ruined remnants of I-15. According to Trudy, the only way to get anywhere without traveling north up the highway was to go south, so south she went. The maps on the handy device on her arm told her that the nearest town to the south was Primm, a few hours walk down the road. It was a larger town than Goodsprings, at least according to the map, and that meant more people that might know something about the bastard that had shot her.

Every movement, every step, every time she closed her eyes, all she saw and thought of was his face. That smirking face as he leveled the gun at her, monologued at her, gloated over her tied up helpless form. She hated him. That hate, that rage, it's what drove her. Kept her moving. Kept her focused. Kept her motivated. Kept her alive. The doc had done a miracle job pulling two bullets from her brain, but the fact is, spite and rage and hate is what pulled Six out of that grave and it's what kept her moving down the road.

Pretty soon after leaving Goodsprings she came across a roadsign before a crossroads, Pre-War labels barely clinging to life as she read them. To the left was the road to Vegas. To the right, Primm. Ahead was. . . Jean? Checking her Pip-Boy, Jean appeared to be nothing more than a sky-diving facility with a small runway. Probably picked over a thousand times over the last two hundred years of prospectors looking for treasures from the Old World, not worth stopping at. Good landmark, at least.

The office building for Jean Sky Diving was little more than a small metal shack, with all the decay from two centuries of sitting in the elements untended to. She gave it no further thought, not even bothering to step inside. Prospectors would have picked it clean over a century ago. No, her destination was to the south, to Primm. Looking to that direction, she could see the town in the far distance, over rolling hills and small rocky cliffs and outcrops. While bigger than Goodsprings, it wasn't a city by any means. The big draw seemed to be the tall rollercoaster that reached high into the sky, though it was crumbling now. Another good landmark.

As her boots crunched on the asphalt of the Long 15, her Pip-Boy went quiet, the song coming to an end. Mister New Vegas's voice came over the radio. Six was finding she was enjoying his interruptions more than she thought, so she didn't switch it off just yet.

You're listening to Radio New Vegas, and I'm your host, Mister New Vegas, here to give you that light in the darkness. Here's the news! Powder Gangers have ramped up their raids along I-15, creating so much danger that the NCR has halted all travel from the Mojave Outpost north. Uproar from merchants and caravaners don't seem to move General Oliver an inch, who says, and I quote: 'The danger represented by mutants and raiders has made this necessary to protect lives. Until our troopers can clear the road, the Outpost remains shut down.' Unquote. Well, I know lots of folks who'll be unhappy to hear that one!

To soothe your worries, here's an old classic. The Ink Spots are here to tell us what we all feel in our hearts.

With that, I Don't Want To Set the World On Fire began to play.

The slow song played over the speakers of the Pip-Boy, but after a few seconds Six switched it off. She had a funny feeling about something in the area, and she didn't want anyone to overhear her. Frowning, she kept a hand hovering over her holster, a moment away from grabbing the handle of her revolver. She cocked her head, listening intensely to the area around her. Small little crunches, the flick of flint, an intake of breath, the scent of burning tobacco in the air. Cigarettes. Someone was nearby. Six pushed up the bandana on her neck to cover her lower face, it's red surface already marked with some dust. She stepped very slowly, enough that her boots made minimal noise, slightly crouching to lower her profile and give her more control over her movements. Directly behind the shack was a drop off to the runway, and that's exactly where the smoke was coming from.

Six pressed herself to the side of the shack, the metal to her back, and slowly drew her weapon, keeping her thumb on the hammer without cocking it just yet. Slowly, ever so slowly, she slid herself across the shack until she reached the end, only the faintest sound of leather scraping against metal emanating from her. Peering around the corner, she saw exactly what she was looking for. Two men on the runway, passing cigarettes back and forth, maybe twenty feet away. They wore the same light blue jackets as the Powder Gangers that had tried to take over Goodsprings. A grin took over her face under her bandana. Jackpot. From here she could see their weapons, too. One man held a small .22 bolt action rifle, the other a single barrel single shot shotgun. Even for raiders, these guys were lightly armed. But what really drew her attention was the bundles of dynamite at their waists. That gave her an idea.

Slowly pulling back the hammer to cock her weapon until it clicked, Six took in a deep breath then exhaled it just as slowly. Then she popped out around the corner, drawing a bead on the closer man's bundle. His partner spotted her, and raised his hand to shout, opening his mouth, but he was far too late. She pulled the trigger and her revolver spat out a bullet that sailed through the air in the blink of an eye, hitting that dynamite. The explosion was large, and it spread body parts all over the place, a shower of blood splattering across the runway. The two never had a chance in hell.

Six reloaded the single round shot before slipping the gun back into its holster. Something came down in front of her along with blood and body parts, something small and only slightly singed. A pack of cigarettes, half-full. She bent down and picked it up, shaking it to hear the cancer sticks rattling around. She shrugged and stood back up, placing the cigarettes into her messenger bag. Good luck, or the devil was looking out for her. Either way, she was satisfied. Never bothered her to know her habit was gonna kill her one day. Old Lucifer was gonna have to try harder if he wanted to tempt her to sell her soul. She just wanted to put a bullet in the fucker with the checkered coat first, then he could have her.

Turning back to the road to Primm, she considered turning the radio back on, but abstained for the moment to keep her ears open as she got closer to Primm. The sun was beating down hard, but her hat kept it off of her face and head, so she was content to keep walking. Every once in a while she would munch on some bighorner jerky and take a swig from her canteen for some water, but otherwise just kept walking. All in all, it took her seven long hours of walking to reach Primm, but that didn't bother her. She had made longer treks, like the one from El Paso to Flagstaff, the heart of Legion territory.

On the very outskirts of Primm, where I-15 had an exit she needed to take, she began to see more details of the town. A high walled fence surrounded it, save for a bridge over the highway that led into town, but something else caught her attention besides that. A camp, set up on the exit ramp and a few buildings to the right of her, covering the entrance to Primm. Suspicious, in her opinion. Especially when she saw the flag flying over the camp. A two headed bear with the words New California Republic emblazoned underneath. She took in a deep breath then let it out in a deep sigh, already getting a headache. Great. The NCR. Just what she needed to deal with right now.

As if summoned by her very thoughts, a trooper in the tan uniform and armor of the NCR waved to catch her attention from the other side of a wall of sandbags. He was wearing goggles over his eyes underneath his flat-brimmed helmet, an M16 in his hands, the standard service rifle of the NCR armed forces. She jerked her head up, indicating she had seen him and approached cautiously. Just behind the trooper was an oil barrel, empty save for the fire lit inside of it for light and warmth now that the sun was going down. When she got within ten feet of the sandbag wall and the trooper, the young man opened his mouth to speak.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded impatiently, "Primm is off-limits. Convicts have taken over the town and are holding hostages." Well, so much for finding any sort of assistance in Primm.

"I'm a courier with the Mojave Express," she said loudly, her Texas drawl coming out strong, "I'm followin' a man that came through here just a few days ago. Stupid black haircut, checkered suit, travelin' with some Great Khans. Seen 'im?"

The trooper looked at her suspiciously for a few moments before shaking his head. "I just got transferred here yesterday," he admitted, "but if you go into the camp, Sergeant McGee or Lieutenant Hayes could probably help you. They've been vetting all travelers along I-15 for a few weeks now."

Six tipped her hat at the trooper in thanks and then walked right past him, going around the sandbag wall into the NCR camp. It wasn't that Six had some sort of special grudge against the NCR, she just didn't like being told what to do by some politician a few hundred miles away in sunny California. If they wanted to prance around and pretend to be Pre-War America, that was just fine by her, but they had a tendency to push themselves further and further and further, hungry for resources and territory, ever expanding. And she did not abide by that, no sir.

There were more troopers in the camp, but not as many as she would have expected. A couple squadrons at best, not even a full platoon. That was odd. If the NCR was dealing with the convicts in Primm, then they needed more soldiers. The troopers here were in various guard positions, manning guard post sheds and towers, eyes trained on the fenced off town across the bridge. She could even see they had placed down a series of frag mines on the bridge, and had two LMG's on sandbag walls aimed directly at it. A defensive position, then. How useful for the hostages.

A series of tents housed the soldiers, and she could see a few barracks tents, a mess hall, and what she assumed must be the command tent, seeing as it had a man in an officer's beret hunched over a table with a map on it, drawing marks with a pencil. That must be this Lieutenant Hayes the trooper had mentioned. And the man standing guard just outside with a few bars on his shoulders must be Sergeant McGee. How handy. The courier cautiously approached the tent, keeping a hand hovering near her holster, just in case.

When she got close to McGee, he held up a hand, stopping her. "Another civilian in the camp?" he said with exasperation, "I just hope you aren't as chatty as the other one." Immediately Six raised an eyebrow, hoping beyond hope. "He happen to be a city boy with a poofy haircut and a checkered suit?"

McGee raised an eyebrow himself and shook his head. "No, the other civilian is a woman in a hood with a power fist, actually. But I think I remember your city boy coming through the other day. With some Khans, right?" She nodded, her heart racing. "Yeah, you should talk to the lieutenant. He would know more than me." She tipped her hat and stepped past him into the tent.

Once inside the man in the beret glanced up before turning his attention back to the map. "Lieutenant Hayes," he introduced in a tired tone that indicated he had done this speech plenty of times before, "First Battalion, Fifth Company. If you're trying to get into Primm, you're out of luck. Whole place is overrun by convicts."

"I'm a courier with the Mojave Express," Six said with a mounting headache, "tracking a package of mine that got stolen. Hopin' you might be able to help me, officer."

"The Express?" He looked up again, tightly pursing his lips in thought. "Well, I don't have the resources to help you, unfortunately, but there's an Express outpost in the town that might have some record of it."

Six filed away that information, asking another question. "I'm also lookin' for a man. He's a city boy wearing a checkered coat with a frumpy poofy haircut, looks like he knows more words for loose women than he should. Seen him?"

The officer thought for a moment before answering, searching his memory. "Sure, I saw him. Three days ago he ignored our warnings and went into the town. Haven't seen anything since. What do you want with him?"

Six made eye contact with the lieutenant, pushing up the brim of her hat to show him her ugly scars. "He shot me in the head and stole my package."

"Ah," the man said awkwardly, "well, I'll ignore the implicit threat of murder in that statement since you're so young. Yeah he went into town, but there's no way you can follow him. I don't have the men to mount an expedition into Primm without risking the lives of what civilians are left, and I definitely don't have the resources to chase after a lost package. My advice is to move on and forget it."

"With all due respect," Six growled as she leaned forward, "shove it up your ass, officer." With that she turned on her heels and left the tent without tipping her tent, leaving the lieutenant gaping after her. Sergeant McGee had a shit-eating grin on his face on guard duty outside the tent, and she offered him a tip of her hat as she left, intent on heading into the town.

But she was interrupted again when someone tapped on her shoulder to get her attention. Sighing through her nose, she turned on her heels to face the person, intent on giving him a tongue-lashing, only to pause when the perpetrator turned out to be a woman. A woman in a plain brown hood and robe, with a steaming power fist gauntlet on her right hand. An impressive weapon that required great strength and skill to use properly, the power fist was big and bulky, a pneumatic gauntlet that made every punch deadly.

"Hi!" The woman greeted enthusiastically. If Six had to guess, she would put her in her late twenties. She had a strong face with sharp features including a proud jawline and very short dark hair that barely peeked out from under her hood. Her skin was clear, barely marred by sun nor scars, a smooth creamy color that Six couldn't help but admit was quite attractive. Her eyes were a soft and deep brown, the color of earth and hearth and home. Her lips were spread in a grin that spoke of happiness and mirth and excitement, feelings Six had not felt in years, and it greatly annoyed her now. "You look like you're pretty well traveled, huh? Where are you from?"

Great. Conversation. Just what Six wanted right now. Sighing through her nose, Six responded in her drawl. "Texas." And that was all, since she really wanted to get into Primm and not talk to this very pretty woman right now.

The woman made a squealing sound, her face lighting up even more, the exact opposite reaction she wanted to see. "Texas!" She sounded far, far too interested for Six's liking. "I've never met someone from Texas!"

"I get that a lot," Six muttered under her breath, "what can I do you for, ma'am?"

"Oooooh," the woman said, impressed, "so polite! A real cowgirl!" Definitely not earning any brownie points so far, this girl. "Well that makes this even more exciting, then. I'm Veronica, and I live in a hole in the ground."

"That makes a lot of sense," Six remarked dryly, and the woman giggled like a schoolgirl. Despite herself, Six had to admit it was rather. . . cute. Innocent, almost.

"Well, it's a bunker if you want to get technical. Personally, I prefer the term 'hole in the ground' because it's more fun."

"Good for you, ma'am." Six let her eyes wander, looking for an excuse to leave the conversation and get on with her quest.

"Yeah, my family sends me out for groceries. I came to trade at the Express outpost in Primm, but it looks like that isn't gonna happen with the current crisis. Did I overhear you're a courier with the Express?"

"Yes ma'am. But I ain't takin' jobs right now."

"Oh? Why not?"

Six sighed, already finding herself tired of repeating herself. Why the hell did everyone always need to know her business? "I'm tracking down the man who shot me in the head and stole my package."

Veronica whistled, impressed. "Wow. That's one heck of a quest. Maybe we can help each other? I have business in Primm, too, and we would have a better chance against the Powder Gangers together than alone."

That was a pretty good point, honestly. Six could use someone watching her back while she put holes in some cons. Still. "How can I guarantee I won't just be babysittin' the whole time? You don't exactly look like much, ma'am."

Veronica smirked, which was not the reaction Six expected, only further confusing her perception of the 'grocery shopper'. "Huh, good. That's the image I wanted to project. Trust me," she said confidently, raising up her power fist, "this baby did not get on this fist by coincidence." She hesitated a moment before speaking again. "I do have a question, though, since you're so well-traveled. I had this run-in with this group called the Brotherhood of Steel. Ever heard of them?"

"Sure," Six responded, "they got a chapter over in Texas, based out of Fort Worth and Fort Hood. Dealt with 'em plenty of times, runnin' deliveries all over their territory."

"Really?" Veronica sounded very, very interested. Suspiciously so, Six thought. The woman was hiding something, she was sure of it. "Does that mean you're a friend of theirs?"

She shrugged. "S'pose so. They pay fair and help protect against Legion and raiders and muties."

"Wow," Veronica remarked, "that's way different than the group I encountered. Must have had something crawl up their butts or something."

Six grunted and Veronica kept going. "Well, that definitely answers my question. What do you say? Wanna be partners, cowgirl?"

Six sighed, rubbing her temple with one hand, feeling a needle sharp and precise headache coming on. "Sure. Why not. Just don't get in the way, partner."

Veronica squealed in excitement, which most definitely did not help Six's headache, no matter how cute it was. "Thanks you! You are the best! Thanks for taking on a girl from California with stars in her eyes and a pneumatic gauntlet on her fist. Let's hit the road, 'partner'!"

Six was already regretting this entire arrangement as she turned towards the bridge again, Veronica behind her. A chatty traveling companion was her least favorite kind, but she kept reminding herself that at the very least she could always use a pack mule. Veronica kept up the chatter as they approached the bridge into town, until Six held up a hand, silencing her. They were at the guard post where two troopers manned LMG's pointed at Primm, right before the minefield. They regarded the two women cautiously, the one on the right speaking up.

"Primm is off-limits, civilian. What's your business?"

Six stared at him, unimpressed. "Lieutenant Hayes gave me permission to head into town and go through the records of the Mojave Express outpost, sir," she lied easily, "he also said to deactivate the minefield for me."

"Really?" the trooper asked skeptically, "I find that hard to believe, kid."

Six shrugged. "Alright then, I'll just tell the sergeant you ain't willin' to follow your superior's orders. I'm sure he'll be real happy to hear that." She turned on her heel to walk back to the command tent, only for the troopers to splutter and hastily walk back their statements.

"Wait wait wait," the trooper said desperately, "hold up kid. Okay, okay, no need to bring the sarge into this." He leaned over to the right and pressed a button on a detonator, the lights on the frag mines going dark. "Go ahead, kiddo. It's your ass."

She tipped her hat in thanks and walked past them, Veronica gaping at her with lights in her eyes. "Wow!" she exclaimed as they stepped between the frag mines, "you're a regular Casanova, you know that? I love that movie, they play it in the bunker sometimes. Ever seen it?"

"No."

"Oh, so you don't even know what I'm talking about. Well, it's a movie about-"

Veronica then went on to explain the plot of a movie Six not only had never seen but did not care about, and her headache started to get much worse. Primm was a ghost town, she noticed as they entered it. Several ruined bombed out buildings that had been patched up with wood and scrap metal to make whole again, and a couple of casinos that still seemed pretty intact, surprisingly. No sign of any Powder Gangers just yet, but Six was most definitely not willing to hang her hat on that bet just yet.

Veronica was still talking as they approached the main cross street, until once again Six held up a hand, silencing her. Her hard gray eyes swept across the empty street, looking in the windows of the buildings, searching for any movement. "Too quiet," she muttered, drawing her revolver, thumb on the hammer, "I don't like it."

Veronica pursed her lips as she stepped up beside her partner. "I don't like it either," she admitted, "where are the convicts?" As if summoned by the scavenger's very words, one of the windows on the casino in front of them, the large spinning sign identifying it as the Bison Steve, was shoved open, a rifle barrel poking out of it.

"Hellfire!" Six cursed as she grabbed Veronica by the hand, pulling her into cover behind some of the pillars in front of the casino on their left, just in time for the man's bullet to spit and kick up shrapnel where she had just been standing. She pressed Veronica against the pillar as she cocked back the hammer of her gun, holding it by her head, eyes narrowed into slits. "Goddamn ambush."

She popped out of cover a moment, just long enough to draw a bead on the window, aiming for just above the rifle barrel. Her gun spat out a bullet that sailed through the air and slammed home, a scream of pain following the sight of the rifle dropping out of the window and onto the ground. Even as Six cocked her hammer back again, a door flew open on the ground floor, four men coming rushing out guns blazing. Semiautomatic fire from pistols forced Six back into cover as she let off three wild shots that sent the men scrambling for cover, separating them.

"Think you can get over there if I cover you?" Six asked as she reloaded her revolver quickly, then drew her second one, taken from Joe Cobb's still warm corpse. Veronica smirked and held up her power fist, the gauntlet letting out a hiss of steam on the side. "I'm ready to punch."

Six nodded and took in a breath before turning and coming out of cover once more, both guns in hand. Her eyes found where the convicts had taken cover behind some wrecked cars, pistols and shotguns in hand. She saw one of them trying to light some dynamite, and aimed her gun. A bullet found his hand, blowing off three of his fingers, forcing him to drop his lighter as he screamed in pain. Her other gun drew a bead on the car two others ducked behind, and let three quick shots, thumb working the hammer with practiced and expert decision, bullets pinging off of the ruined and rusted metal.

Veronica was crouched down low, moving quickly along the side as Six covered her and provided a distraction, keeping the ganger's eyes on her. Six let off two more shots from her first gun to keep them suppressed as Veronica approached the screaming man holding his ruined and maimed hand. She stood up, rearing back her power fist, and the man turned at the very last moment as she slammed it into its face. The pneumatic gauntlet put much more force forward than any bare fist could, the flat metal across the knuckles shot forward with compressed air and steam to deal gruesome damage to his face. His skull was caved in, his face exploding with blood and bits of bone and cartilage flying out to splatter on Veronica's robe.

Shit, maybe bringing her along was worth it after all. Six watched as the other three convicts turned towards her, standing up to draw a bead. She acted quick, using both guns to rapidly fire off the last three shots in each. One convict took two to the neck, another one to his stomach and one to his head, the last one between his eyes and in his shoulder. All three fell and lay still, exploded bits of brain and blood and bone laid out all around them as pools of crimson formed, marking the spots where they died. And all was quiet. But only for a moment.

Behind them, the doors to the casino opened wide, loud as a gunshot. An elderly man in overalls with leather tan skin and wielding a revolver waved at them. "Get in!" he drawled, "'fore more come out!"