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Day 2 - Freeside - The Atomic Wrangler

After laying out the story of Edward Sallow and his transformation into the man known as Caesar, Arcade Gannon allowed his story to sink in.

"Thank you for what you've told me," the Legionnaire replied with a far off look in his eye.

"I need some time to think on what has been said here," he turned to the barkeep and asked Mr. Garret, "Might I have a room?"

Taking the key and paying the charge he got up and walked off to his room, leaving the remainder of his meal on the table.

Deanne Gibson turned to the Doctor with an observation and a question on her lips,

"I'm not too sure what you told him exactly, but I am sure it was good that he heard it."

Gannon agreed, knowledge was always superior to ignorance, but sometimes the truth was quite bitter to the palate.

"The past aside," Ms. Gibson continued, "What can you tell me about the areas outside of Vegas at the moment? Is Westside the only target of recent attacks? I'm sure you get a lot of travelers stopping by, you being a doctor and all."

"Thank you," Arcade Gannon replied to the young woman, "I always think it's better to know a hard truth than not, but it's going to be hard for that Legionnaire to process what I've told him. Sallow, Cae-sar, had a way of getting to a man's head. He had a knack for finding out what you need and figuring out a way to give it to you, with a little twist."

Arcade found that as tough as it could be working in the Mormon Fort it wasn't all that much easier outside of it. He was at home working in the Mormon Fort, in his element, able to put aside the daily tragedies of life in the wasteland and focus on the work at hand. Facing these strangers and knowing the dangers they would likely face, without any way to immediately be of help, was more difficult than performing surgeries on the wounded. He was less able to lend aide, or at least less able to see the immediate benefit of his actions.

"I can't tell you all that much really," he said to the young woman, and in case he was interested the man who had introduced himself as Hunter.

"I've heard rumors of mutant settlements to the North-East and South-West. 188 Trading Post is just a bit South-West of here, Novac is nearly dead South of that. I wouldn't recommend heading South-East, you'd hit a Deathclaw Sanctuary before you ever hit Sloan, Goodsprings, or Primm. Haven't heard from any of them in a long time."

It was true. The expulsion of the NCR and Legion had caused New Vegas to become rather isolated from the rest of the Mojave. Raider gang attacks had increased, Brotherhood patrols kept the Outpost, Wolfhorn Ranch, Novac, 188 Trading Post route fairly safe, but venturing too far off that route could be very dangerous.

"I can tell you Westside hasn't been the only target. Hell half of Westside these days is refugees from the North Vegas Square and that old Aerotech Office Space. Used to be used as a spot for down on their luck citizens of the NCR until they could get the caps up to get home. NCR packed up and left and just left the poor bastards there."

Day 2 - End of Night

Westside

Mahsofabish cowered far from the shopfront. Curled up against himself, pressed into the corner, hands held tight against his ears. He blubbered nonsense through his thick lazy tongue. He knew what they were doing, he knew it better than they did, than they ever could. Even here, far from where the grisly act took place, he saw it better than they ever could.

He had suffered heartily. Under the Master he had suffered, and then when the Master fell and he roamed the Wastes he had been captured by the NCR and he had learned of the horrors of torture firsthand. He had told them all he knew but it wasn't much. It wasn't enough. And so he told them more, he told them stories, and when those stories contradicted each other they hurt him that much more. It had been endless, pointless, all encompassing.

Captain Parker was the best NCR he had ever known, yet he could never forgive him for what he knew the man must now be doing. The Fiend would speak, but what value would his words bring and could they ever produce anything to justify their source.

The Mojave

Thick smoke bellows up into the night air and catches on the wind. The sickly sweet smell of burning flesh, the stench of accelerant.

At the foot of Black Mountain a body burns, far beyond recognition, hands bound behind it's back, legs bent. Though the majority of the chair has long ago burned away to cinder enough remains, charred black through and through, to identify what it is.

It is a thing of horror, in any place and in any time, it's impact will not be felt tonight. The body will not be missed until the morning. Until an unfortunate patrol happens upon it, as they surely will.

Day 3 - Freeside

Morning broke in the Mormon Fort as Gannon rolled over to avoid being jabbed again.

"Get up, work to be done," Farkas had come in to his tent to fetch him.

It would likely be an easy day, at least compared to the last day. The others had done while he and Farkas spoke with the Legionnaire and the cowboy in the Atomic Wrangler. They had cleared out most of the back log, hopefully having maintained a high level of quality work.

He had only been at work, mostly supervising junior members, for a few hours when the Legionnaire showed up once more. He had likely had a rough night, been given much to think about.

"If you can, I'd like you to find a book on this history you spoke of last night," the Legionnaire asked of him, "Regardless if Caesar lied about the origin of the Legion..or not...I wish to know the truth. I would like to study the source of your information, and decide for myself."

It was a fair request, one Arcade admired. As the Legionnaire left to go to attend to whatever business an ex-Centurion might have in New Vegas Arcade hoped that the man might prove to be more than his predecessors. So much promise had been lost when Sallow turned to madness.

Day 3

Day 3 - Westside

The Legionnaire made his way down the streets of Westside looking for Jules. Here and there residents were picking through the rubble, gathering up spent shells, scrubbing out blood, and in a few places scrubbing hard with brushes, tattered cloths, and simple rocks to seperate the bits of flesh and cloth from the storefronts they had been fused to.

He hears an anguished cry and learns from it his destination.

Day 3 - Vault 22

One of the many had fallen. Their home had been invaded.

Simple biological mechanisms took place. No conscious thought. No plots, no traps, no malevolence. Simple adaptation. Darwinism in action.

They had reached out to test the invader and it had struck back, had trimmed their nails, but the loss would not be felt. The appendage would be repurposed, it's mass put to use immediately. Even as the invader fled chemicals worked and tissues changed. No need for mobility, too many repairs needed to facilitate that, more cost effective to take a new form. Arms reached up for a long embrace. Returned to the soil. More expedient. More beneficial to the whole. To the one.

Day 3 - Westside Streets

The Legionnaire ran through the street, responding to a cry of anguish coming from one of the storefronts.

"What's going on? What happened?" he asked the man outside the door, Crandon.

"They've got that Fiend survivor in there. They're questioning him. He's not being particularly cooperative."

Day 3 - Westside - Miguel's Pawnshop

Crandon saw the cowboy type who had helped out during the attack turn the corner and come running up to join the Legionnaire.

“Why are you questioning our prisoner without us?” Lancaster asked.

"Well hold on now," Crandon began to reply, but the man hadn't waited for a response.

“Okay stop, stop this is our [censored] prisoner so me and the legionnaire will be questioning him now… you guys clearly aren't getting him to talk so how about you let the professionals have a go. God dam it you guys better not have [censored] him up to much.”

A man dressed in worn NCR regalia turns to face you as you enter the room.

"Who the **** are you and what the **** are you talking about 'your prisoner'?"

Crandon had come in just behind and answered the question, "He's one of the boys who helped last night."

"Is that right. Well thank you for your assistance," the man says to Lancaster, "My name is Parker, was a Captain with the NCR, and this is my prisoner. You want to talk to him I suggest you adjust your ****ing attitude. Now, Mr. Professional."

Day 3 - Westside - Miguel's Pawnshop

"Prisoner by right of battle eh?" Parker asked, taking a good luck at the Legionairre who stood before him, one hand holding a spear the other resting on his sword hilt.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. He was captured here while attacking our homes, he is our prisoner, and I'd suggest you think hard before drawing that sword of yours. You Legion boys were always brave, I admire that, I do, but bravery won't shield you from a bullet. And that's exactly what you'll get if that hilt goes vacant."

The cowboy introduced himself,

"I'm Doctor John William Lancaster of the OSI medical research department and this ex-legionnaire…colleague Aetius, like he said we captured this friend last night because we wanted to question him about the raider attacks, ask the super mutant if you don’t believe us..”

The cowboy continued,

“Aetius can break this man. Legion trained him to do it and I can make sure he stays alive, stable and clean headed enough to answer the questions… lets us have a go and if we fail you can go back to beating him..”

"I appreciate your help, Mr. Lancaster, Mr. Aetius, I do, we all do. Just don't think youre entitled to ownership of anything here. We don't have much to go around and one heroic act isn't going to go far if you start demanding stuff around here. Particularly when one of you is strutting along in full Legion Gear. Gonna have to escort our interrogator out the back door you know. He was 1st Recon you know, he'd be like to shoot you just to make up for whatever you mighta done years past. It's great, just ****ing super, that you two can put aside all the slaughter, [censored], and slavery that went down, but we aren't all there just yet."

Captain Parker heads through a door and can be heard walking down a set of stairs to the basemant, Crandon turns to the Legionnaire and the OSI man. With an exasperated sigh he addresses them,

"He's right you know. On all accounts. Before all this went to hell what you boys did woulda made you local heroes. Even with that Legion gear you got on. These days people think differently, almost expect to die. Life's got less value. Anyway, I'll take you down there in a bit. Give the Captain time enough to clear out."

He turns to Flavius Aetius with a warning,

"Be careful round here. That boy downstairs is no joke. He back in town, if he'd a saw you with your spear and your sword like you was just now, he'd a shot you. Jus' like the Captain said."

Day 3 - Westside - Miguel's Pawnshop

"Gratias tibi- thank you," Aetius replied with a nod to Crandon, "I will heed that warning. I don't wish to cause further trouble in your town. Your people here have suffered well enough. I have no desire to seek conflict with these NCR soldiers but understand: I will defend myself if necessary."

"That's all well and good Mr., everyone got the right to defend themself, but bear in mind you don't really want it to get that far. If it were to go that way this whole city would be coming at you. I trust you don't particularly want to die, and I'd hope you don't particularly want to kill every last one of us, and that is what it'd come down to. Parker's not an NCR soldier no more. He gave up that life when he stuck it out and refused to retreat with the rest of them. He's got a temper, a mean one, but he coulda turned tail and ran and he didn't."

"Course you didn't neither. Just keep that other 'un on a leash alright? He got a bad reputation already on accounta that business in Freeside. Tensions is high around here, got plenty a tinder don't need no sparks...."

"Anyway, you can head on down now. Parker shoulda got the other 'un out by now. Just watch yourself. Westside owes you a debt a gratitude, but it's a dangerous place and we're all tight knit. You're a good outsider, but you're still pretty clearly an outsider."

Day 3 - Brotherhood of Steel Bunker

The chow hall was buzzing as another day progressed in Hidden Valley. The Knights, Initiates, and Junior Scribes who had been picked for duty that week cooked and served the others. Simple food, easily prepared, easily sourced, and relatively nutritious. The good stuff had run out long ago. Can't survive in a bunker for long with any halfway decent manpower, so they'd barter for what they couldn't produce and produce all they could. Precisely where most of the material they used for barter came from was a bit of a poorly kept secret.

As a matter of policy seating was not segregated and intermixing of the different disciplines and ranks was encouraged, but in reality they were largely self segregated. The Knights and Paladins ate on one side, though rarely together, while the Scribes and Junior Scribes ate on the other. Initiates would usually look for a seat on the borders of the discipline they aspired to. It made sense, gave them an opportunity to build a bit of a rapport with their senior classmen. Hell it worked.

A rather pale faced Scribe walked past the serving area, scanning the room in search of one particular face. The grouping made it easier for him. He wasn't looking for one of his own, wasn't looking for any Initiate. He was looking for a Paladin, and one of the higher ranked Paladins at that. He woulld be in that section and nearest to the doors and the food, he would be....there. There he was.

"Paladin Burns," he greeted in a rather meek voice, "You are summoned to the Command Room, by Elder McNamara."

Though most didn't hear him those who did grew silent. The Elder rarely addressed any single member, even one of Burns' rank, alone.