Author's Note: I hope everyone is doing well, and that you are all enjoying the story up to this point. Enjoy the chapter, and reviews are always welcomed and appreciated.
Mark awoke with a start. The entire room was dark, so he rationalized that it was nighttime or early morning. He reached over to see if Amata was next to him, but she wasn't. He looked at his pip-boy: 11:01 PM. He turned on the light on his nightstand, and rubbed his eyes. He saw his new armor and his weapons, which had been arranged neatly on the coffee table. Amata must have done that while he was sleeping, because he had just dumped everything on the floor when he got back earlier. He got up, and after using the bathroom, went into the hallway. There were voices coming from the game room, so he went to investigate. He found Cass, Veronica, and Amata sitting around the bar, laughing at something.
He saw Amata drinking something out of a bottle. "I hope that's not a beer, babe," Mark said as he walked towards them. "Hey, sleepyhead," Amata said, "no, it's not." She showed him the label. It was a Sunset Sarsaparilla. "Do you honestly think that I would be that stupid to drink a beer while I'm pregnant?" "Just call me careful," Mark said. "Sure thing, Careful," Amata said, smiling. Mark smiled back. "So, what were you guys laughing about?" "Amata was jus' tellin' us 'bout that test ya'll had ta take in the vault. What's it called?" "The GOAT," Amata said. "You guys really had one test to tell you what you were supposed to do for the rest of your lives?" Veronica asked. "Yeah," Mark said, grabbing a beer, "it did seem a bit stupid. Hey, Amata, you remember Butch's reaction when he got his results?" Amata laughed. "Yeah, that was hilarious," she said.
"Who's Butch?" Cass asked. "You remember that gang I told you about the night we first came to Vegas?" Veronica nodded, and Cass said, "Yeah, what'd ya call 'em?" "The Tunnel Snakes. He was their leader, and he basically tormented the both of us our entire lives. Me physically, her emotionally. Our teacher told him that he was going to be the vault's hairdresser." Cass and Veronica burst out laughing." "Yeah, that was my reaction, too. He started freaking out, saying that he was a barber, not a hairdresser. It was literally the funniest thing that I ever saw."
"So, what'd you get, lover boy?" Cass asked. "I was training to be the vault's electrical engineer." "And I was put on the supervisory track," Amata interjected. "Yeah," Mark said, "because with your dad as Overseer, you weren't exactly going to be a garbage burner." "Hey, I was fully qualified to be Overseer, regardless of what my dad was." "Yes, and your glorious reign as Overseer lasted a grand total of seven days." Amata stuck out her tongue at Mark, and Mark responded in kind. "So," Cass said, "how'd ya'll get from there to livin' out here?" The room suddenly got very quiet, and Mark and Amata looked at each other. Mark changed the subject. "So, Cass, you seem to be in a better mood." She took a drink of whiskey. "Yeah, well, while ya were conked out, I did some thinkin', and ya were right. I probly woulda got us all killed. Thanks fer talkin' me down."
"Anytime," Mark said as he finished off his beer and put the bottle on the counter. "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have a compound to break into." Mark walked out of the game room and back into his room, turning on the overhead light as he did. He put his armor back on, and got re-armed, albeit less armed than before. This mission was going to require stealth, so he was only planning on bringing his silenced 10 mm pistol, his trench knife, and his assault rifle. If everything went according to plan, he wouldn't need any more than that, although he hoped he wouldn't have to use any of them. As he got ready, Amata came in and shut the door. She sat down on the bed and watched him get dressed. "You're going to be careful, right?" she asked. "Don't worry, babe. If what Ringo told me is accurate, the only defenses that I have to deal with are one guard and a locked door. This isn't exactly the hardest place that I've ever had to break into."
He finished getting dressed and held the helmet under his right arm. Amata walked around him. "Well, I must say, you do fill out that armor nicely. It's kinda turning me on." They kissed. "Good to know, babe." "Oh," Amata said, "I have some good news. Arcade said I should be able to sleep normally tonight, so no one needs to watch me." Mark smiled. "That's great news, babe," he said as he put the helmet on and picked up his assault rifle. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up." "Good luck, Mark," he heard her say as he left the room and closed the door. He walked towards the elevator and pressed the down button. The door opened, and Mark was about to walk in when Boone came up beside him.
"Mark, you got a minute?" Mark stuck his hand in the doorway so the door wouldn't close. "Sure, Boone, what's up?" "Listen, I know that you're doing this for Cass, but the people there, they're just NCR citizens trying to earn a living, so I would appreciate it if you didn't kill anyone." "Boone, contrary to what you may think, I don't enjoy killing. I only do it out of necessity. I will try to do this as quickly and quietly as possible, alright?" Boone nodded. "You know," Boone said, "I was a bit surprised when you told me that you were only nineteen. The way you carry yourself, the way you plan, you seem a lot older." "Thanks, Boone. Good night," Mark said as he got in the elevator and watched the door close.
(10 minutes later)
Mark began his walk through Freeside, and as he did, he checked the infrared and night-vision modes on his helmet. There were buttons on the side to switch between the two, and one to return the helmet to where he would see normally. They both seemed to be working. As he walked, he held his assault rifle across his chest, and he thought about what Boone had just said about him only being nineteen. Besides Amata, he was pretty sure everyone else in the 38 had close to ten years on him, and Arcade was old enough to be his father. They had probably seen a lot more than he had, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, they seemed to rally around him, looking to him to be their leader. But, like Boone said, maybe it was because he seemed older.
He didn't really feel like a leader. Amata and Sarah Lyons are far better leaders than he could ever hope to be. Anything he knew about leading people, he learned from them. If his friends believed in him, then he would take up the torch as their leader. He chuckled a bit. If someone had told him a year ago that this was what his life was going to be like, he would have suggested a visit to the vault's psychiatrist, or perhaps multiple visits. He looked around Freeside as he walked. It was eerily calm, with a few streetlights illuminating parts of the road, although the alleyways remained dark.
He continued to walk, and as he passed by a gutted, yet still standing building, when two people came out from the doorway he just passed and stood behind him, pointing pistols at him. At the same time, another man came out from the side of the building and stood in front of Mark, pointing a submachine gun. The man in front of him was about Mark's height, with short black hair, and they were wearing what looked like some kind of leather armor. 'Damn, I must be getting rusty. I should've sensed them,' Mark thought. They weren't wearing rags, so they probably weren't locals, and they didn't look like Kings. The man in front, who seemed to be their leader, spoke. "Give me your rifle, and anything else valuable you've got, and come with us." "Who are you guys, mercenaries? Or just some group of idiots looking to make a name for themselves?" "It doesn't matter who we are," the man continued, "we know who you are, Courier. Now do as I say. You're outnumbered three to one."
Mark chuckled. "Guys, just slink back into the shadows. Trust me, it'll be less hazardous to your health." "Just hand over your damn weapons like he said," said one of the two guys behind him. Mark took a moment to gauge their distances from him. The two men behind him were standing about three feet away from each other, and about four feet from Mark, and the man in front of him was about four feet from him. 'They never learn,' Mark thought as he smiled, although they couldn't see him smiling. "You really want my rifle? Fine, here you go." Mark shoved his assault rifle with both hands at the man, who tried unsuccessfully to catch it. Mark deftly went behind the man in front of him, and grabbed the collar of his neck. The two guys behind him tried to shoot Mark, but he was already behind their leader, using his body as a human shield. Mark then grabbed his trench knife and threw it at the man on his right, lodging it on his neck. He dropped his gun and started gurgling, which probably would have been a scream had his windpipe not been split in two. Mark then grabbed his pistol and finished off the last man with one shot to the head.
Mark dropped the man that he was holding, whose torso was riddled with bullet holes. The whole sequence took less than ten seconds. "Hmm, maybe I'm not as rusty as I thought." Mark looked at the carnage, and took his knife out of the guy's neck, and wiped it off on the man's armor. He checked his armor. There was some blood on it. 'Dammit, I hate trying to get blood out of my armor,' he thought. He heard some people running towards the area, so he raised his pistol, but then he saw two members of the Kings coming to see what happened. They didn't know what to make of the situation. Mark picked up his assault rifle, and holstered his knife and pistol. "Gentlemen," Mark said as he passed by them, "tell the King that the Courier says hi." For no reason at all, Mark started to quietly sing the song "Way Back Home" as he walked away.
"Don't know why I left the homestead
I really must confess
I'm a weary exile
Singing my song of loneliness..."
About an hour later, Mark found himself outside the Crimson Caravan compound. There was a solitary light illuminating the entrance, but it did nothing to keep the guard awake, as he was leaning against the wall, sleeping. Mark, who had a stealth boy on his right wrist and already activated, walked right past the guard and into the compound. He activated the night vision on his helmet, and everything was bathed in a green light. 'This would have been infinitely more useful when I was wandering through the DC metros than my pip-boy light,' he thought, 'and wouldn't have given my position away to any enemies that were down there.' He looked around the compound, but the only sign of movement were the brahmin in their pen. He continued to walk and came to the building that Ringo had said was where McLafferty's office was.
He then switched from night vision to the infrared mode, and checked to see if there were any heat signatures coming from the building. He made on circle around it, and after seeing no blotches of red, turned off the IR vision and approached the front door. He reached for the handle, and found that the door was locked. So far, everything that Ringo had told him was accurate. He deactivated the stealth boy, and after doing a quick check, took a small screwdriver and bobby pin out of a pocket on his right leg guard. It wasn't exactly the hardest lock he ever had to pick, and the door was open in no time. He slipped in, and quietly shut the door and re-locked it. He activated the night vision and looked around. The building was as Ringo described it, with the three offices on the left and the open waiting area.
He found Alice McLafferty's office, which had a plaque on the door the read, "Alice McLafferty, New Vegas Branch Manager." He opened the door, went in and turned on the light. Him getting blinded made him realize that he had forgotten to turn off the night vison mode. He let out a quick yell, dropped his rifle, and ripped off the helmet. He continued to rub his eyes, and eventually stopped and blinked rapidly to try to get his eyes back to normal. It took a few minutes, but eventually he stopped seeing random dots and could see clearly again. 'Note to self. Night vision is not to be used in the light.'
He looked around McLafferty's office. There was a wooden desk with a terminal on it, a filing cabinet off to his left, and a couple of chairs in front of the desk. Hanging on the wall behind the desk was a picture of the woman he assumed was McLafferty shaking hands with a well-dressed man. He sat at the desk and booted up the terminal. After hacking it, he searched through the files for anything that had to do with Cass or the Van Graffs. He looked through financial records, and while not what he was looking for, he downloaded them to his pip-boy. He also found a list of current and future jobs that the Crimson Caravan was hired for, and found one that said Ringo was due to leave on a delivery in a couple of days. "Not anymore," Mark said quietly.
He continued looking, but found nothing related to what he was looking for. He sat back in the chair and ran a hand through his hair. 'Maybe it was just the Van Graffs trying to frame the Crimson Caravan,' he thought. They were a crime family, after all, according to Boone, so it seems like something they might do. He looked around the room, and saw that the picture Mark noticed earlier wasn't flat against the wall. He got up and took the picture off of the wall, and he found a safe. Mark mentally kicked himself. They probably wouldn't leave evidence of dirty dealings on a computer. He put his ear to the safe, and once he found the right combination, the safe popped open. There were a couple of sacks of caps, and a few documents. Mark grabbed the document on top of the pile. Bingo. It was a message to Gloria Van Graff confirming what they had found at the site of Cass' caravan. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
He read the other documents. They implicated McLafferty and the Crimson Caravan Company itself in a number of shady business transactions, including extortion, bribing NCR officials, and a whole host of other illegal activities. Mark took them all and put them in his pocket. He figured if he was going to take down McLafferty, he might as well go big. He closed the safe, put the picture back over it, and shut down the computer. He put his helmet back on, picked up his assault rifle, turned off the light, and exited the room. He checked to make sure that no one else was in the building, and once he found it was clear, he activated the stealth boy. He opened the door and walked outside, making sure to re-lock it as he left. He walked through the main gate, and once he was far enough away, he deactivated the stealth boy and began a brisk walk back to the Lucky 38.
It was just after 2 am by the time Mark got back to the 38. He took off his helmet and looked around. It was quiet, but there was a light on in the kitchen. Mark walked in and saw Cass slumped over the table, her hair askew. Mark put down the helmet and the rifle and ran over. 'Oh, shit, please tell me her heart didn't give out,' he thought. He shook her. "Cass?" Mark said worriedly. "Cass!" he said as he shook her again. She started to move. "Wha? Wha' happen?" she said groggily as she looked up. Mark exhaled. "Cass, I think you overdid it on the whiskey. You need to go to bed." "Fuck tha'. Did'ya ge' tha ev'dence?" "Yes, but you're so drunk that you're not gonna remember a word I say. Come on, I'm taking you to bed." "Not witout buyin' me dinner first', yer not," she said failing to contain a laugh. "Yeah," Mark said, "you're definitely wasted." Cass got up, but nearly fell over. Mark caught her and hefted her over his right shoulder.
"You know, Cass, there is such a thing as moderation. If you keep drinking like this, your liver's gonna fail," Mark said as he carried her into the hallway. "Moder-what? Never heard a it." 'No, of course you haven't,' Mark thought. He was about to open the door to her room, when the door to their right opened. Amata came out, wearing a white tank top and sweatpants. She rubbed her eyes. "Mark, what's going on?" she asked. "Lover boy's gonna bed me, tha's what's goin' on," Cass said, laughing and slapping Mark on the back. Amata raised an eyebrow. "Amata, I'm just bringing her to bed. She's drunk off her ass. Go back to bed. I'll be there in a couple minutes."
Mark opened the door to Cass' room and turned on the light. It came as no surprise to Mark that there were empty whiskey bottles everywhere. Mark laid her gently on the bed. "Alright, Cass, get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning. Sleep on your side so you don't choke on your own vomit." Mark turned around and headed for the door. "Mar', wait.'" Mark turned around. "Yeah, Cass?" "Yer a true frien', helpin me out. 'Mata too. M'glad a met ya'll and…" She started mumbling something unintelligible, and her eyes closed and she started snoring. Mark turned her on her side. He walked over to the door, and looked at her before he turned off the light. "We're gonna make this right, Cass. I promise," Mark said quietly as he turned off the light and shut the door.
I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I'll be the first to admit it, I'm not great at writing fight scenes, but I did the best that I could. Anyway, until next time, and reviews are always welcome.