» Fri Oct 05, 2012 10:28 am 
.The Cloud Came to the Mojave
Chapter 1
They had to die. All of them. Every last single one of them. From the poshest White Glove to the lowliest Rad Roach. The world was burning and all they were doing was pouring gasoline on the flames. It was time to extinguish the flames before a massive conflagration consumed the world again. It was time to extinguish the fire, to silence the noise, to wipe the slate clean. Today, it would begin.
Centurion Scipio Africanus didn't believe his eyes. Squinting through the binoculars, he'd never seen anything like this. He'd seen hundreds of dust storms, none ever looked quite like this. It was advancing slowly, inexorably, unnaturally. A crimson cloud. Countless miles wide and high. It rose in the horizon like a great wall of dust. In the afternoon it blocked out the sun. It would be upon them in a few days time at the most. He'd sent a patrol of a half dozen legionaries to investigate. Now he saw three returning to their encampment, hobbling. They had no visible wounds, their weapons unstained.
He met them at the perimeter gates. The three of them were coughing violently, their entire bodies convulsed with each cough, rippling like waves of a tsunami through calm seas. Other legionaries dragged them to the medical tent. They were placed on picnic tables, ersatz operating tables. Scipio Africanus watched from afar. He wanted, needed, a report. But these men were barely breathing, getting a report out of them would be nigh impossible.
The medic hovered above the man nearest to Scipio. The Recruit turned his head aside and began violently vomiting, a strange, crimson coloured, yet oddly powdery substance regurgitated out of his mouth. His body spasmed with each convulsion, like he was being shocked with a thousand volts. A pungent smell of stale sweat, urine and something that smelled oddly like copper filled the room. His skin was stained with patches of a crimson coloured powder.
"Remove his clothes!"
Other Recruits held the man's extremities down. Scipio watched as a few men tried unsuccessfully to remove the recruit's clothes. They tugged but the clothes didn't move.
"Get a knife! Cut his clothes off!"
Machetes weren't exactly in short supply.
The medic made what seemed like a delicate incision on the legionary's tunic, from the throat and descending downwards. The man screamed. Vomit and phlegm fused with his agonized cries. Scipio watched with horror as the doctor peeled the recruit's clothes. The recruit's skin had fused to his uniform, by peeling his uniform the doctor was flaying him. The recruit's raw flesh was exposed to the air. There were traces of green ooze on the man's flesh.
Scipio was a veteran of countless skirmishes and battles. He'd survived the Second Battle Of Hoover Dam, he'd survived three of Legate Lanius' decimations, he'd survived taking an NCR sniper's bullet. Yet nothing had ever terrified him as what he was seeing now. This was the third patrol he'd sent out to investigate the strange cloud. This was the first to return. Whatever was in that cloud, or if it was the cloud itself, was the biggest threat they'd ever faced.
"Thank you for your report, Centurion. Wait here. I will brief Caesar. Further instructions will arrive."
Vulpes Inculata's steady gaze and calm voice never ceased to unnerve him. Scipio Africanus waited outside the steps of the Lucky 38. Once this had been the abode of Mr. House, the previous leader of New Vegas. Now it belonged to mighty Caesar. He'd heard this city had once been the capital of decadent debauchery, now it was something more austere. There were few drunkards and gamblers walking through the strip, they were subdued, nervous. Dozens of Legionaries stood guard and walked on patrol. Legionaries were only allowed onto the Strip on official duties. Any legionary caught gambling or drinking would find themselves lashed onto a cross.
"It's just a [censored] dust storm! Nothing more!"
Vulpes remained immobile, unreadable.
"Mighty Caesar, I believe this is far more than a dust storm. A dust storm wouldn't kill dozens of legionaries. Nor would it cause the... sickness described."
Caesar breathed in deeply. Triumph and good health had not cured an ill temper. Nor did it cure him of the stress of being a head of state. The NCR was fighting him tooth and nail. Every day legionaries were being ambushed or sniped by NCR Rangers. Mojave Outpost was a dangerous area, now heavily fortified. General Hsu was a far better strategist and tactician than Oliver had been.
But this cloud was a foe of entirely different composition. He'd once known a mercenary, a courier, whose contributions to the Legion's victory had been essential. There were only two men he'd ever feared in his life. One was Joshua Graham. The other was this courier, Sentenza. His blue eyes filled with hate and rage. His words littered with contempt for all who beheld him. He'd helped the Legion not out of belief for their cause, but because the Legion's victory would cause the most destruction, the most death. He hadn't seen him since the Battle for Hoover Dam. No one had. He'd been a useful, if dangerous and unpredictable, tool.
"Perhaps you're right, Vulples. That courier fellow would be the right sort to set to this task. Don't you think?"
"I concur. However, his whereabouts are a complete mystery."
There was a long, ponderous silence.
"For now, continue to observe this cloud. Report any changes in its trajectory. Perhaps it'll blow over."
To be continued
