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Chapter One: An Offer

"Hey stranger. I've heard you about you. Quick shot right? I know you ain't always been on the right side of the law too...but listen I've got a proposal for you. Now knowing you ain't no saint its going to come with some conditions. Interested? Or.......do you feel like walking from here to Primm or Spring Valley?"

Collie Entragian tilted his head back to look up from under the brim of his hat to see Sheriff Frye, a veritable New Vegas legend. Collie had heard stories about the man but he wasn't near as tall as he'd expected. To hear tale you'd expect Frye to stand around 6'2 but he wasn't much more than 5'10 which is a world of difference. He had a weight to him granted, but Collie had expected to look up at him rather than down.

Still work up North was hard to find, the BOS was still (somehow STILL) having problems with Supermutants in California to the West and New Vegas itself was, well it wasn't safe for Collie. So yeah, yeah he was interested.

Collie nodded and followed the Sheriff into the Southermost NCR Base.

"This is your shot at getting into the NCR Collie. Follow me."

After checking in weapons and alcohol they walk into the Southern NCR Base, North West of New Vegas and just North of Spring Valley. Collie followed close behind, being so close to The Strip there wasn't a whole lot of tolerance here. Walking straight from the Weapons Lockup led them to The Office of Internal Affairs. A squat building in the tradition of the long since abandoned settlement of Shady Sands.

"First," leaning back and putting his feet on whoever's desk, "a bit about where you are. This right here is the Souternmost NCR Base in Nevada. That makes this just about the most heavily defended NCR Base aside from our first base back in California and I'll tell you what that one is doing well, after bringing in Vault City, yeah it's doing nicely. Anyway as I was saying, Southernmost, Heavily defended...we've got Spring Valley to the South-East and North-East of that is New Vegas itself and The Strip. We're pretty heavily entrenched here."

"The Base isn't really all that confusing though if you visit town proper you will get lost rather quickly. We checked your weapons at the Lockup. Ordinarily you'd need a tag to get them and your booze back, this time I'll just run you down there myself. I noticed you kept your eyes pretty well on me on the way in. Smart move. We're all a bit on edge lately, I'll get to that later. So to your left as you walked in, that was McFinnigans. Nice enough bar. Ghoul runs it by the name of Doc. Holiday. Yeah he's the civillian doctor too. Across the way from that was the General store, Lefty runs that. If it's closed down you can find him at McFinnigans, he'll be the one missing his right arm in case you hadn't figured that on out yourself."

Collie had in fact figured that one out, old joke

"You're in the Office of Internal Affairs at the moment. Every man you walked past just now is a Deputy of the New California Republic. They get to go into town proper but can't live there just yet. You've got to make Sheriff for that. You may have noticed they weren't all smiles as you came in. They don't know why you're here and these boys can't stand me. I brought you in so if I were you I'd be real careful around them. I may be a Sheriff here but these Deputies don't much like me. I live in town proper and they live down here, a bit of animosity you know?"

"Anyway, right next to the Office is the Motel. The deputies live there as do any visitors. You agree to work with me and you'll be spending the night there. Now that hotel is one of the safest places for miles and miles around. You've got deputies all around, no weapons well aside from the occasional jury rigged knife and what have you."

"Hell," he smiles and coughs, "we got this guy made a jury rigged gun a few years ago, thought he'd take out a Deputy for roughing him up a bit, yeah he's out back and six feet under now. Just the same this is a damn fine place to settle down and grow some roots. No weapons (aside from the Deputy's and Sheriff's a'course), no hard alcohol, no drugs, and surrounded by us. Harsh punishment for any violations too, we don't have too many repeat offenders in these parts."

"Here, have a beer. You've sat and listened real nice and I'm almost done."

Collie gratefully tips the beer toward the Sheriff and takes a draught

"Now I've mentioned town proper. Generally to get into there son you are going to have to prove your worth one way or another. You get into the Office and you can at least browse around and make some connections but you still sleep and live out here. You work a miracle or something and maybe they'll let you apply for Sheriff. Only other way in is to be one rich son of a gun or else just absolutely bloddy brilliant. You just washed into town without a cap or NCR scrip to your name and you ain't the smartest man I've ever met well you just aren't seeing the other side of that wall for a good long time."

"Now that, that is where people get good and lost. We got rows and rows of houses, we got business, industry, we even have a railroad stop though we've been having some difficulty, those damn Powder Gangs. You don't really need to know much about that though. You're not getting there any time soon."

"Now I've got a way in for you. Now I'm not saying you'll be a sheriff, no no no, it's not even a Deputy position actually. But...actually hold on. You've got a choice to make here and now pilgrim. Get up and follow me right quick."

The two walk out a side door leading outside. The bright desert sun disturbs Collie's sight, having taken his hat off whilst inside. The Sheriff had his sunglasses on. When his vision returned Collie saw that the backyard, nestled up against the massive walls separating Town Proper from this middle ground was a series of sand mounds. Wasteland graves.

Chapter Two: Wasteland Graves

You know how some smells have a meaning to them and some sights have a meaning too? Like the smell of apple pie right, to Americans that's home that's a happy smell. The Statute of Liberty, the sight of her brings some nice patriotic feelings. Well it did when it existed anyway.....I hear. Yeah well it works the same way for sounds too.

The sound of a Wesson .357 Magnum's hammer cocking back, particularly when it comes from behind is that way. It means if you screw up in the next few seconds you're going to be falling for a long long time. If you're lucky that is the end of you. If those guys with the little white neck dealies were right though, well than Collie he would be lucky for that to be the end. With that sound all your hopes for tomorrow, the big and the small, a set of Brotherhood T-51b Power Armor with the TX-28 MicroFusion Pack fully loaded or a nights sleep without dreaming of the people you killed to live another day.....when you hear that sound it's gone. It's the sound of the first crow to land on your corpse or the sound of the first shovel full of dirt dumped on you just before you twitch your last and give in to the darkness. So yeah. It's not a good experience.

Standing stock still and looking at rows and rows of unnamed sandy graves Collie Entragian is feeling exactly that. His world comes back to focus as a brown slimy blob comes flying into his vision about 2 feet in front of him. Frye wipes his mouth of the residue of chewing tobacco.

"Filthy habit"

Collie keeps his head down.

Collie doesn't believe in ghosts. Collie doesn't believe in God. He doesn't believe in Grognak the Barbarian. At the moment though he's pretty sure there is a sixth sense because he can FEEL the emptiness of the barrel of the gun pointing at his head. He can feel the bullet in there just itching to spill his life into the sand. He can almost feel that first shovel full of dirt, landing softly on his face seeping into his shirt, lightly dusting the exit wound, just like he could almost hear it when the hammer cocked back. This is still not a good time.

"Something I didn't tell you when I brought you in Entragian. There's a bounty on your head, a sizable one. Regulators, independent of us Regulators, they hear tale you killed one of their own down in New Reno."

He spits again, this time hitting Collie's boot.

"As far as I'm concerned the Regulator's can get ****ed. But if you don't say yes when I'm done talking here 98% of you is staying right here until the next time too many of "us" piss too many of "them" off and we finish this planet off for good. The other 2% I'm sending in the shirt pocket of one of my deputies right down to California and collect on that bounty."

"So think about that alright? I think you've got it." Without turning his head or moving his arm an inch Frye yells for a Deputy. A second later Collie hears that door open again.

"Yes sir?"

"Bring out a chair for Mr. Entragian, we've got to finish this little pow-wow."

For some reason sitting in a wooden chair with the killing end of a .357 pressed against that little divot where spinal cord meets skull is a lot worse than standing with that same gun in the same position. Just the indignity of dying sitting after spending so damn much of your life wandering this wasteland I guess. Like if you went somewhere pleasant, like that exists, but if it does it feels as though they'd all know you'd died lounging in a chair rather than running or collapsing to your feet or something a bit better.

"Spring Valley got eaten up pretty bad last week Collie. I hear you knew a few folks down there. They're dead. You know that thing? That thing that weak men with guns sometime do to women without guns? Yeah there was a lot of that too. There ain't a whole lot left. Scraps, their mutie bartender they left him to tell the story. Seems like bartenders always have stories don't it? And they're just about always muties these days too. He told us what happened then he walked back into his bar and tucked himself in for a dirt nap. It was the Legionnaires. We can't go against them Collie. We don't have the men and California doesn't want to put the effort into clearing out the rest of Nevada right now. You though. They just miiiight let you in again."

Collie stiffened, odd that he could stiffen anymore at the mention of the Sheriff's plan

"I know, i know. They'll probably just make you a slave. Or maybe they'll kill you outright. Now look, I'm not a nice guy. I'm a Sheriff. I'm the Sheriff of the furthest outpost of this New Californian Republic and I'm facing Legions (no pun intended) of those slavers. They wiped out the one town between us and them. I'm going to do what i can to protect what we've built. So I'm doing some of the dirty work. I'm giving you a choice."

The Sheriff paces behind Collie now the gun still pressed into the back of Collie's head so it creates a little divot in his hair that changes direction as Frye does.

"It's not a fair choice and it's not really much of a choice at all. You play along. Go on this suicide mission, we'll escort you until the Vegas sign is in eyeshot and then you're on your own. You stop this war, or we at least get word that you've seriously hurt their war effort and you've got yourself a place in that motel just on the other side of that gate. You'll have my gratitude too and we'll make damn sure noone collects on that bounty. You don't play along and you stay on this side of the fence. So which side of the fence do you fall on?"

Chapter Three: The Right Side of the Fence

Not too surprisingly Collie Entragian chooses life. The gun is pulled away from his and he hops up off of the chair. After a curious moment of silence Collie follows Sheriff Frye back to the Hotel and is shown his room. It's not a bad little room. Bed, chair, toilet, and pump sink. Not bad.

"Now listen Collie you be careful what thoughts fly about in your head tonight. We have your guns, you can't buy a gun here without my say-so and I'm not going to say so."

Frye washes his face in the sink continuing as he does so,

"You're free to visit the bar or the general store but stay away from the main gate and keep an eye out for any of the Deputies. They're not going to be too happy with you, they know you and I have some kind of deal."

Entragian puts what little he was allowed to keep on his person, a bag of caps and some jerky, on the seat of the chair.

"I'll be right here tomorrow morning at 9. You be here."

With that Entragian is alone again for the first time since walking into the base. He sits down on the edge of the bed running his hand through his filthy blonde hair. Taking off his duster he places it on the back of the chair and begins to pump some water into the sink for his shower.

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I assume you are familiar with tunnel vision, the idea of it at least if you've not experienced it yourself, and when enough adrenaline is coursing through your veins that same principle applies to hearing too. You shut out the hissing, you shut out the jeers, you shut out the squelching sound as flesh and bone meet flesh and bone. Of course that only applies if tonight YOU are the center of attention in Caesar's Palace.

Tonight is a big night in The Strip, tonight is fight night. He has been christened Dim and has for some time been the reigning champion of The Games. Having shown his prowess against single opponents for some time tonight is the Gauntlet. Seated in the center his big square head turns left and right waiting for it to begin again. Last time they brought in a Deathclaw and Dim still showed signs of that battle on his shoulders. This would not be one big fight though. The Powder Gangers and the Silvertooth Raiders were in town tonight, tonight would be a big show.

"Laaaadies and Gentlemen, in the center of The Pit Caesar himself brings you God's greatest mistake, Dim! As you all know this supermutie wandered in to town and found himself face to face with us, the whole damn Legion! Tonight he will fight to the death for your amusemant, Round 1 will be......"

Across the pit the gate drops and one Brahmin sized radscorpion skitters out followed by half of a dozen of her young.

The crowd screams in excitement, those with the closest seats throw jeers and occasionally rocks at both Dim and scorpions, stirring things up a bit. Dim's sign to get moving is the same it has always been. The sound and feel of hundreds of rifles, pistols, and shotguns being levelled at him.

Adrenaline kicks in and it all fades to a dull throb, the only sound left the ticking of anthropod legs digging through sand and pincers ready to find out what FEV stained blood tastes like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Walking through town Entragian makes his way to the town's bar McFinnigans.

Can't believe I got myself inta a situation like this. It's been a long time since I had a sit down with Caesar, I don't think he'll be happy to see me...no choice though I suppose

It's dark now and night time in the wasteland is a lonely lonely thing. Prior to the Great War darkness, real darkness, was hard to find. There was so much light emanating from so many buildings one couldn't really see the stars too well except for in a few particularly out of the way places. It was called Light Pollution back before the sky fell down. Now there was darkness everywhere. The Strip had light sure, plenty of it, so its glow could be seen for miles...but aside from that when you stood outside of town it was just darkness engulfing you. Cold too, this was the desert after all.

Maybe that's why bars tended to be so very pack at night. Nobody wants to be alone, alone with their thoughts, so they all congregate together and fill their bodies with Rotgut until they can barely think. Some portion head off to their rooms with local women and the rest keep drinking a bit longer before stumbling back to wherever they spend the night so they can collapse fully clothed. Night time is when you start thinking and that can be a dangerous thing in the wasteland.

Entragian opens the door to warm warm light and the cacophony of sounds one only hears when at least a dozen people are getting good and hammered.

Chapter Four: Of All the Bars in all the Wastes

Surely God would not have created such a being as man,
with an ability to grasp the infinite, to exist only for a day!
No, no, man was made for immortality."
-Abraham Lincoln





"Hey stranger, what'll it be?"

"Scotch and Nuka, heavy on the Scotch"

Weathered hands go about the simple tasks of preparing another drink for another smoothskin looking to drown his sorrows. Nothing finishes off a day in the wastes like a modest deal of brain damage. This is what we do...day in and day out...we push through the all the pain and the sorrow just to earn enough so we can keep our bodies twitching and kill our thoughts for a few hours, then they cycle starts again.

Christ...I've got to cheer up.

"Hey smoothskin I hear you're the Sheriffs pick, what kind of wirj he got lined for you?"

"Slavers, got to go cripple some slavers"

"Good riddance, you know what those freaks do to us ghouls?"

"Nope," Entragian replies quickly taking a long drink of the booze, not half as heavy on the booze as he'd have hoped

"Ah....well nothing in particular really. Was a rhetorical question I guess....just the bad jobs really. We ain't the strength for those Chariots. I guess that's a blessing really...but you wouldn't believe how many people buy us just to hunt. This guy..."

Collie puts his glass down empty and turns to the ghoul

"Ah...sorry. I guess I'm not really the listening bartender so much as the prattling on type. You want another?"

"Let me try some of that local stuff, I heard you make something out of the cacti and some kind of mutant apple strain, Gimme a pitcher I've got a long night."

"Alright gimme a second, you do have the caps right? We don't keep no tabs and you don't want to know what happens to them what try to skimp out"

Collie drops a few caps on the table as a clean-by-wasteland-standards pitcher is placed next to his cup

"I'll be right back stranger. Got to talk to my barmaid right quick," the ghoul turns shouting, "Hey Nancy!"

A young woman, just entering the point in life where it might be beneficial to have someone around to keep the wolves away. What age is that? Who knows. She doesn't know how old she is, Doc. Holiday the ghoul bartender doesn't know how old she is...and with the world the way it is these days at what point DOES a girl have to start keeping an eye out for the men who look at her that. certain. way.

"My names not bloody Nancy Doc, I've told you a thousand times. I don't know who the hell this Nancy is, some unrequited love or something but I'm Claire. It's not that bloody hard 'kay?"

"Ahh....ah yeah....Claire then, can you keep an eye on the regulars? You know how I love to share stories, I reckon i'll do a bit of that now with this man, say what was your name?"

"Collie, Collie Entragian"

Nancy starts bringing the regulars their regulars and aside from a new face this would be just another night in another bar. That's how life always is though isn't it. The same except for what's different.

Chapter Five: This Bartender Tells Stories

"Every eye sees its own special vision;
every ear hears a most different song.
In each man's troubled heart, an incision
would reveal a unique, shameful wrong."
-The Book of Counted Sorrows




"So like I was saying, New Vegas is not a good place for ghouls. There was this one chap, Seamus something, he ran this hunting group. Don't know if they had a name, but every know and then they'd come in and buy us up. Not me a'course I had too much value keeping the others going another day...fixing up broken legs and cleaning out wounds and whatnot. But this piece of work would come in and just collect a group of us. He never did buy a smoothskin...don't rightly know why...but he'd take a group of ghouls out into the desert and meet up with his friends then let them loose. Spring Valley would talk about it, Primm would talk about it....everyone knew it was happening."

The ghoul scratches the right side of the back of his neck, short hairs grow haphazardly there. These are neigh the only remnants of his hair.

"So they'd let the ghouls loose. Those that knew what this was they'd take off like mad, but there'd always be a few who di'int know what was happening. They'd go down pretty quick. The firing would start, sometimes they'd have this one short little piece of work. This little sadist would come with a knife and do the poor guys slow. He was one of Caesar's boys. After that they'd hunt down all the ghouls that didn't immediately get it. Spring Valley would try to hide them sometimes, but Primm would just lock their doors and ignore the cries."

"One night I'll never forget, I was good and blasted trying to fall asleep in a room just above the bar facing away from the main streets, this was in Primm. So I'm laying there on top of the bed and on top of this dirty nasty sheet they made ghouls put down...I'm laying there and the room is spinning a bit and I'm just starting to fall asleep now. BOOM BOOM BOOM,"

Holiday pounds his bony fist on the bartop creating ripples in the little pools of spilt beer,

"There's this knocking on the front door to the bar. And this poor sap is crying and crying."

Entragian face forms a quizzical expression

"Ghoul's can still cry friend. They're still physically able to anyway. So he's got tears rolling and he's just begging to be let in. Now this was a'fore I'd been taken by the Legion so I didn't KNOW what was going on...but I reckon i still knew he was in some trouble. Now the poor guy is on his knees in front of the door pounding against it with one hand, alternating between cursing everyone in town and begging for mercy...and I'm just standing here watching it...curious what's going on...but I'm not about to go downstairs and open the door to another man's shop for a stranger."

Entragian nods, swirling his beer around in the glass. The story is getting a bit away from the Legion, which was had caught his interest in the first place...but the ghoul seemed a good chap and Collie was pretty sure he wanted to tell his story, Collie was pretty sure he was just itching to tell it.

"So I'm just standing there watching all this out the window and I make out this figure in the alley across the street. 'Member that little sadistic punk I mentioned a minute ago? The piece of work with the knife? It's him. I see it glimmering in the night. This hateful little light in the man's hands, and this guy is a pint size little punk but he is quick. In a flash he's behind the poor ghoul, and he's, he's just cutting. just putting the knife in deep, and he's holding the guy from behind with one arm and just jabbing the knife in and he falls backward from the bar door still holding the ghoul with his knife in the ghouls ribs and hes...he starts just wiggling the knife around and i can hear it all."

Holiday's face goes just a little bit pale, odd as that is given that most of his flesh is well on the way to rotten.

"Poor guy is wimpering, and i hear the knife moving around in the wound, scraping bone...and then I hear the vicious little bastard, and I can see what he's doing, and he's just whispering to the poor guy. Some unfortunate soul this little bastard has never met before, just whispering to him as his life bleeds out not five measly feet from safety, moving the blade around inside just drawing the poor guys suffering out...and I didn't do a damn thing. Next morning the owner of that bar just shovels clean sand over the bloody sand and comes back in...that little monster had taken the body."

Silence reigns for a moment. Not complete silence of course, there are about 8 others in the bar and they're all having hushed conversations around their own booze. Rumors of happenings on the West Coast, gossip about locals, arguing over who has the best jerky recipe, arguing about the NCR and what it's policies really ought to be. But between these two there is silence.

"Hell I'm sorry Entragian, I..."

"It's fine. I'm happy to hear stories, especially anything involving the Legion. They're who I'm supposed to go after after all."

"I know, and i appreciate it. I just feel a bit bad, sharing one of my greatest regrets with a stranger I just met, whose about to get hisself into all kinds of trouble"

"We've all got regrets Doc. We've all done some terrible stuff to survive in this wasteland. All of us"

Entragian fills his glass once again out of the pitcher. Cactus beer is actually pretty damn good.

"Thanks. Not too many people listen to me anymore, they've learned not to. Seems that all my stories are sad these days...these are dark times mister...you'd think with all the time since the war we'd have rebuilt and settled down...but too many people still want to play cowboy and outlaw, and most want to be the outlaws."

"Yep"

"Look if you're seriously going there, and I hope Frye is offering you some damn fine encouragement for that suicide mission, if you're really going in there you need to be aware of something. Shortly before I escaped they dragged something in that I'd only heard stories and rumors about."

Chapter Six: Holiday in New Vegas

Holiday walks down a long corridor, the floor is carpeted and the carpet a pattern of blindingly bright designs. Primarily bright blue it has images of Roman soldiers on Chariots and on foot battling mythological beasts. Medusa is neon green with yellow eyes, her hair is a tangle of deep blue snakes striking out at the brave Romans battling her. The Cyclops is in there eating an unfortunate soldier as are a menagerie of other creatures and Gods.

Holiday realizes that he is quite likely the only living creature in miles and miles and miles who knows why these carpets are so obnoxiously colorful. Most likely he is the only one in that same distance who ever actually gambled here when hopes for the future were bright. Why once while on leave he had made and lost a fortune in this very casino. His mind continues to wander recollecting better days.

This is his life now, and it is not bad for a slave. After wandering for god knows how long he had returned to the Vegas area and one day had been found by the slavers and brought bound in shackles to Caesar. He was lucky just the same though. As a ghoul he was too weak to pull the chariots and a ghoul could only ever serve as fodder in The Pit. Noone wanted to see a ghoul really fight in The Games, they were scarcely human anymore and it was easier not to ascribe to them any virtue or even vice. Had it not been for a rather bad case of Scurvy Holiday would most likely have been sold to the hunters and died somewhere on the streets. A Vitamin C deficiency had nearly cost Caesar his life and that same Vitamin C deficiency had saved Holidays. Finding him a few pills of a basic nutritional supplement in one of the local pharmacies the life of the great or terrible man had been saved. He expressed his gratitude in such a way.

Holiday lives in a hotel room on the top floor of Caesar's Palace. Between him and freedom are 15 floors of slavers and then the ground floor. Every day Holiday is to take the elevator down and care for the sick and the injured. When no one is sick or injured he is simply to bring the Legion food and drink as they desire. Today though, he is to be rather busy. A new fighter had been acquired and had laid out a good few Legionnaires in the process.

At the end of the hallway Holiday pushes open the door and sets about his business. First will be triage. One man is too far gone and will be dead within minutes, two are severely wounded but can be patched up with minimal loss of function, 3 simply need bed rest, and 1 has only superficial wounds. The first man dies shortly after Holiday sets to work on the two severely wounded men and the superficially wounded man sets off to let Caesar know of the death.


Holiday lives in a hotel room on the top floor of Caesar's Palace. Between him and freedom are 15 floors of slavers and then the ground floor. Everyday Holiday is to take the elevator down and care for the sick and the injured. When noone is sick or injured he is simply to bring the Legion food and drink as they desire. Today though he is to be rather busy. A new fighter had been acquired and had laid out a good few Legionnaires in the process.

At the end of the hallway Holiday pushes open the door and sets about his business. First will be triage. One man is too far gone and will be dead within minutes, two are severely wounded but can be patched up with minimal loss of function, 3 simply need bed rest, and 1 has only superficial wounds. The first man dies shortly after Holiday sets to work on the two severely wounded men and the superficially wounded man sets off to let Caesar know of the death.

Chapter Seven: Wasteland Surgery and Into the Pit

Wasteland surgery is an interesting thing. The first raider Holiday worked on was a rather young one. Early 20s, probably somewhere around 22 although he would be surprised if the guy had more than a 5th grade education. Holiday gave him a bottle of booze to numb some of the pain since they had no anesthetic at the moment. Holiday had been carrying his old Army medic kit since the Great War, replenishing it with supplies when possible. He popped a Mentat to help focus and pulled hard on the leg. The raider cried in agony as 3 other heads perked up to see what was happening. The leg had been broken at the femur, the flesh and muscle around the break were indented as though put under tremendous force.

The raider passed out from the pain which ultimately made things much easier for Holiday. He set the bone gently back in place and tied on a splint. The cast would come shortly but first the other grievously wounded man would need tending. There wouldn't be a whole lot Holiday could do for him. Sudden amputation by tearing force means too much muscle, nerve, flesh...everything damage for the limb to be reattached. This raider was in and out of consciousness already so Holiday just went about cleaning the wound as thoroughly as he could. Later the flesh would be cauterized and the socket wrapped with sandwich wrap or something to prevent infection.

The little sadist walked up to Holiday with a message from Caesar

"Caesar wanted your opinion on something we found out there today, the something that did this to these boys. We've got it down in the Pit right now, in the brahmin pens"

Holiday nodded to a few of the raiders he had trained in the most basic of basic first aid practices. They would keep the young raider still when he awoke with booze and ensure that the cast were put on immediately. He followed the wretched little man into the center of the Palace.

Walking through The Pit was always an odd experience. The sand was different for one thing. After every night of The Games ghoul slaves would be sent into the pit to drag out the last corpse and till the sand, but that was all they ever did. At first clean sand would be piled atop the dirty sand but in time there came to be so much blood in the sand that there was no longer any truly clean sand to spill atop it. From that point forward the slaves were just covering the most bloody sand with the least bloody sand...eventually they were just covering the wettest bloody sand with the bloody sand that had time to dry out.

Don't take no genius to see the anology there

These days the Pit was part sand, part coagulated blood, and part rot. No doubt this shortened the lifespan of the slaves considerably...but it seemed to entertain the Legionnaires just that little bit extra, watching the combatants, particularly those that fought against their will, struggling for life and stepping through the blood of those that came before. Holiday at least got to wear boots and was allowed to pick his way through the drier areas. Most Legionnaires made it a point of pride to walk plainly through the center of The Pit...stupid misguided bravado...but there was no shortage of Legionnaires these days.

Coming through to the other side the horrid little man shouted for the gate to be opened and Holiday followed him into the slaves quarters. They were kept in two pens on to the left and one to right. First was a small holding pen about 5 feet by 5 feet and behind that a much larger pen where the slaves who would be next up to be used in The Pit would live their final days. When it was time for the slaves to enter they would be called to enter into the smaller pen and lock themselves inside. They would then be taken out of that smaller pen and led through the gate to their death.

Many would refuse to enter the smaller pen knowing that once that connecting door was locked they would not see it unlock again. When that happened more guard would be called, the man, or woman as some of the raiders like it better with women, would be dragged out and often one of his friends would be taken with him. It worked well. Faced with the realization that this would be their last few minutes on Earth most would do anything to stretch those minutes out or to not be the one whose turn had come, this dread would lead them to feel great shame were their own cowardice to steal a moment from the life of a friend.

It reminded him of a passage from a book he had read before the bad times began. "He killed them with their love for each other," Richard Bachman had written that years ago. Holiday couldn't recall which book it was from though he was pretty sure it was one of his favorites.

In such a manner an inestimable number of lives ended in that pit. In Holiday's mind The Legion equaled its name sake in only two ways. It placed a value on human life just as paltry as Rome under the rule of mad Nero and while the body count of it's Pit no doubt paled in comparison to those killed in Arena under his rule....but give this new Caesar some time and Holiday had no doubt he would make good headway.
Passing through the slaves pens he came upon the brahmin cages. A good number of brahmin were kept here to supply the men with meat and milk. The slaves would bring the brahmin spoiled crops, straw, and really just whatever was available. In the furthest corner the final cage was covered in brahmin hide.

"I'm outta here," he said turning back toward the slaves pens,

"There are some guards in there to keep you from getting eaten up. Caesar wants you to take a look at him, figure out if he'll live, and figure out if we can make more, fun have with the freakshow Doc,"

The man turns and begins walking back to his Caesar, "We haven't seen one of them in decades, not since some tribal came through."

Holiday approached the tented cage from within came a voice.

"That you Doc?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's me."

"Alright, open it up Barca, let the good doctor in."

One of the guards pulls a section of thick brahmin hide away to reveal the door to the cage. Inside the cage there is a little lamp set up around a table. Atop the table is a large bulky shape. In the light it is recognizable as one of those Wasteland Myths come to life. These boys had found themselves a supermutant. Holiday understood now why Caesar wanted him to tend to this thing rather than keep his soldiers alive.

There was no small number of men willing and eager to put good money down to see a Super Mutant in the flesh. Holiday had no doubt those same men would be even more keen to see the monster fight. There would be no rest for Holiday tonight, not until he was damn sure that this...thing...would pull through into the morning.

Chapter Eight: Black Kettle

Now Super Mutants were pretty legendary in Nevada. Everyone knew that something at least pretty damn similar to what they knew as Super Mutants had existed in California years ago. They largely served as boogeymen or urban legends. Everyone had a friend who had a friend who had scarcely escaped being abducted by one of those things. The physical description varied from area to area and individual to individual. Their size was a constant. They were some big mothers. Some described them as some half human half deathclaw monster. Some said they were basically ghouls on steroids. Some said they that old Boris Karloff movie, Frankenstein.

Some said they were created by the bombs, just people who were exposed to so much radiation their bodies reacted chaotically. Holiday knew that was a load of [censored]. Radiation had made Holiday what he was, and what he was was a far cry from these things. There were a few other origin stories for the super mutants. A few said they were some Enclave experiment, some said they came from this facility that was connected to either Vault Tech or West Tek.

Beyond their size the one thing that remained constant was that they were bad news. Hints of some leader and unspeakable experiments on the California coast had made their way to Nevada. Not much was known about though. Sometimes it's the details that are left out though that haunt man the most. When there is some bit of the story left unknown it is up to each individual to decide exactly what happened. The mind is a terrible thing.

Holiday quickly discovered that night that the Frankenstein camp was closest to the truth. The things face was halfway between a rectangle and an ovoid. The jaw was wider than the forehead and it had deep set eyes that were small in comparison to it's nose and lips. The flesh around the beasts face was criss-crossed with scars, the left side of its face displayed several keloid scars. Truly a horrific visage.

Holiday set about to ensuring that this monster would awaken before he was good and ready for it. Connecting an IV drip into the beast and setting up a heart monitor Holiday calculates how much sedative would be needed to keep the giant under. He sends one guard out to retrieve it and sends the other on his way.

They hurry out into the brahmin pens. These men were not among the raiding party that brought him in, but they have seen what damage he caused. In quarters as enclosed as these he would do much more. Conditioned as these men are they don't turn to look at the desperate souls locked behind bars, they scarcely notice their outstretched arms and thin cries for mercy. The guards rush out of the slaves quarters no faster and no slower then they did from the brahmin pens. Their feet sink into the blood/sand muck in The Pit as they hurry straight through the center.

Back inside the darkest corner of the brahmin pens an abomination opens it's pale green eyes slowly and with some effort turns to see another. Holiday all but leaps from his seat and grabbing a weapon levels it on the thing.

"Stay bloody still, don't you move you freak."

Those eyes search around for a moment taking in the squalid environment, the business end of a shotgun, and the ghoul behind. This monster watches as the ghoul slowly sidesteps toward the IV. It pokes a needle into the saline solution, depresses the plunger, and as this new liquid squirts into the bag the ghoul squeezes it sending a rush of sedatives into the supermutant's blood stream.

The heavy lids begin to open and close as the head grows heavy. Pale green eyes disappear under deeper green lids. It opens it's mouth to speak.

"Kettle...Black"

Chapter Nine: You’re Gonna Need More Ghouls

"So a Supermutant then? You think they'll feed me to it or something Doc?"

"Could be, I don't know. It wasn't long after that that I left. The thing is Caesar was just itching to get him in the ring, Dim was it's name. There was a lot of caps to be made givin' people a chance to watch a real life mutie fight like that. First night I was there they had him going against three ghouls with spears. It was one hell of a thing."

The mutant stands in the center of The Pit as iron plated doors open to let in it's opponents. There are three of them, ghouls each armed with a long spear. The tip of each spear is curved and angled back inward that a good shot might take flesh out with it. The three ghouls begin to circle the mutant. Two of them stick together at first before separating to produce more possible angles of attack. The mutant is stationary but alert.

Spears are held out as far as they can creating a false sense of safety for these unfortunate slaves. A pointed weapon staring at your enemy ensures that you are safe at least from a full on blitz and having that killing bit thrust as far out as possible makes for a larger safe zone in your mind. The ghouls of course are not thinking of this. They're terrified, they'd not be anolyzing the matter to determine why these wooden sticks with metal tips make them feel safer. These are the one thing that allows them to pretend they just might make it out of the Pit this night.

In no hurry to be the first to die the three slowly close the circle, sidestepping around the mutant as though that would help. They stop when they are about 10 feet from their adversary, their spear points a mere 4 feet away. The crowd has grown anxious. This is the first fight to feature the super mutant, one of it's captors had dubbed it Dim, and all watching had paid good caps to be here. They wanted blood.

Slow breathing from the ghouls as they continue circling with no real plan as to how they will survive. Each not wanting to be the first to die they look to each other hoping to see some glint in the eye. Hoping to see some assurance, "Don't worry guys, I'm going to get you through this. We'll be okay," but there is no such glint. So they continue circling.

How long might they have continued in this? Oh some time, some time. The long life span they had been given multiplied the value of life so much for these poor souls. They likely would have gone on circling until they had worn a path all through the sand to the concrete flooring.

The first rock misses entirely hitting none of the ghouls and instead rolling to a stop somewhere between Dim and the smallest of the ghouls. Their eyes trace it's path until it's movement stops. This first throw signals to the others that this is Caesar's Will, that they may follow suit, and so they do. Rocks pelt down from the many viewers, gathered for such an occasion but rarely used there is abundant supply. The circle breaks up as the ghouls try to avoid the rocks thrown by some of the more "spirited" audience. The smallest ghoul in backing away from a particularly enthusiastic watcher walks right into a fast pitch and goes down. He is buried by rocks pitched at him with a new vigor. A boulder, heaved onto the shoulder then pressed above the head and then with a bit of a running start and a jump tossed into the air, finishes him off.

It becomes too much for one of the remaining ghouls, robbed of his last wall against the realization of imminent death he charges. They will not circle all night, they will attack and die or they will be stoned. This ghoul props the spear into the pit of his right arm and steadies it with his left. He runs full bore toward the mutant who has been largely motionless. Screaming into the night his bravery/breakdown is for naught. Dim jumps to the side with powerful legs and as the ghoul comes to a stuttering stop and brings the spear around to fend off death Dim grabs it in one hand. He snaps it as a petulant school child might snap a pencil. A backhand strike sends the ghoul flying across The Pit. He is alive when he lands but his body will not respond to his brain and he dies shortly after.

The final ghoul lifts his spear upon his shoulder, taking hold with both hands just around the tip where wood meets blade. As Dim approaches this final victim the ghoul moves with all the strength and speed he can muster to get his blade in the things flesh. The ghoul finds itself standing neigh toe to toe with the mutant pressing the blade forward with all his might but failing to meet flesh. Looking up he sees that Dim has grabbed the long end of the spear, sticking up and out over his back. This ghoul never had a chance. This knowledge makes it just a bit less horrid when all thought is pounded from its head

"[censored]."

"I just thought you should know...sneak in there if you can Collie. If they catch you there's a damn good chance you'll end up like those ghouls. Hell if they do catch you, you just make them kill you then and there."

"I'll do that, the sneak in part I mean. Listen Doc," Entragian finishes up as he rises from the bar and finishes his beer, "I've enjoyed your stories and I appreciate that you're trying to help me, but I need some rest. Tomorrow just might be the last day of my life and I'd hate to sleep in and miss it."

"Alright, good luck."


Entragian makes his way back to his room once more, he takes off his jacket and places it on a chair, his boots follow, then his belt. Entragian takes stock of himself before climbing into bed.

Never was too pretty. Not too bad though. Not ghoul bad.

He eyes various scars across his arms, chest, and back. Luck has allowed him to escape any facial scars thus far. It even allowed him to escape a branding once. Time will tell if he escapes it again after returning to the Legion.

Chapter Ten: Setting Off

The sun rises on this small NCR outpost. The sky turns from black to a deep velvety purple to a light blue (that'd be sky blue I guess) as the town slowly comes to life. Very slowly. Two men are awake slowly.

Sheriff Donovan Frye stands at the gate to town with a youngish Deputy by his side.

"Ok Carver, you and Fannin are going to escort Entragian as close to them Legion boys as you safely can. Fannin's coming back from somewhere or other, he'll meet you up on the way. I want you to make damn sure he goes into town. If he tries to run just shoot him, if he makes any sudden moves just shoot him, if you get an itchy feeling like something is about to go down,"

"Shoot him?"

"You're catching on," Frye replies with a small smile.

"Who is Fannin Sheriff?"

"He's one of tha Governor's boys. Good man from what I hear. Now go on, git our guest of honor up. We've got to get going if we're going to beat the heat of the day."

The Sheriff lazily gestures toward the motel and the Deputy runs off to wake Collie up. The Sheriff stands there under the rising sun taking in his small town. It's taken some time to build but damn if it isn't one of the safest areas nearby. Rumor was the Legionnaires had built up their numbers considerably, but their firepower had always been rather lacking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The 23 year old Deputy Carver knocks on the door to Entragian's room and twitches back a bit as it opens all but immediately.

Carver was a bit taken back by the size of the man, not a small guy, and by his appearance. The Wasteland is a rough place, but you still kind of expect the good guys to look the part. Entragian was one ugly son of gun. Pockmarked and sunburned, blonde hair in a rough buzz cut, and a big butt ugly jaw.

"Howdy."

"Howdy, I'm Deputy Carver, I'll be escorting you out of town."

"You? You're whats supposed to stop me from just splitting town now?"

"There's another guy, we'll meet him on the way," Carver replies, too eager to get out of town again to realize he'd been slighted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frye watches as his Deputy and Entragian make their way out of the Motel.

I hope you handle this guy Carver, you're a tough kid, but you're city tough. Entragian is wasteland tough.

"Alright Entragian. This here is Deputy Carver. He's gonna escort you out of town and start you on your way down to New Vegas. Don't get no funny ideas though. The kid's tougher than he looks and we've got another guard set up to meet with the two of you 'bout halfway there."

Entragian and Carver have just about made it to where Frye is standing as he finishes this speech.

The three of them walk to The Lockup together. The Lockup is a small building made up of a rebar cage with cement poured on the floor and the sides. Tied, soldered, and otherwise attached to this skeletal structure are bits of corrugated steel, prewar street signs, and lots of good old fashioned wood. As the Sheriff approaches he yells for the man responsible for the little shack, Johnson, and a small door slides open.

"Entragian is on his way out Johnson, give him all of his stuff, few rounds for that FN FAL and toss in a few grenades," he turns to Collie, "if you can get inside use'm to take out their computers or something, my little gift."

After a few moments of wait Collie has checked all of his stuff, loaded his weapon and is on his way out the door. Frye watches them leave and turns around ready to begin another long day in his town. First to check the stores and see if they need anything, then to check the bar, Frye needs something himself.

Chapter Eleven: David Carver Killed a Guy


The two men walk from one vague landmark in an endless sea of sand and bone toward another vague landmark. The sun is slowly starting to rise but the temperature is rising pretty bloody quickly. Entragian ties a handkerchief around his forehead letting the majority of it hang down covering his neck. He bangs his old hat against his knee and puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses. Collie has always felt that the big wide lens make his face look just a bit less brutish.

Carver does much the same, standard NCR white handkerchief, old baseball hat, only no sunglasses so he keeps his head down a bit.

"So Deputy Carver, this your first time out here?"

"Nah, I've been out a few times. Never quite as far as we're going, but Fannin will meet us pretty soon," he turns to Collie squinting as the sun obscures his vision, "It's David by the way, I never was much for rank."

"Alright then David, I'm Collie. Tell me David...ever kill a man?"

"What?"

"Not that difficult David, have you ever killed a man?"

"Why you want to know?"

"Well by your answer I reckon the answer is yes, and I'm guessing you ain't no sociopath so I'm guessing you got a good story."

"Well," David Carver turns away from Collie this time then quickly turns back remembering it's his job to keep an eye on him until Fannin shows up,
"You really want to know?"

"It's a long walk David, figure it's better than staring at sand for the next couple hours."

"All right...but if you get back to town don't tell no one ok," Carver replies well aware of the odds of him seeing this man again, "Sheriff Frye knows about this but that's it and that's how I want to keep it."

"Ok, ok David Carver, I won't tell noone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was down in Goodsprings, before Mr. Mitchell had come out the Vault and set up shop there, if'n you know who he is.

I was about 14 or 15 at the time, I don't really know, and I was working with Chet in the General Goods store. I was stocking up some of the stuff we'd just gotten in. Put some aside for Easy Pete 'cuz he had given us some'a the stuff he digged up for trade. These raiders came in from the south.

Now Goodsprings hadn't had no raider problems before so it didn't have much in the way'a defense you know? That was the first time them Powder Gangs attacked. I was in the store, like I said, and all I heard was all this shooting and yelling and then this big boom right?

They had brought in these little preserve jars filled with nails and rocks and stuff and gunpowder. They took out Miss Eastley and killed a few of the traders and was coming right for me so I ran back inside. I ran in there so fast and I was just looking for one of them guns we keep in the back. I found Chet back there getting 'em out and we start heading back outside right?

Sheriff Frye and Sunny Smiles is out there and they were incredible. I mean they was like something from the movies. Powder Gangers just kept coming in and the were shooting and shooting and then it was over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Collie turns to look at Carver, "That the end of the story?"

"Nah hold on...I've got to grab some water, you want some?"

The two sit down in the sand beside each other. Out in the desert one has to be real mindful of hydration. Yeah yeah, that goes without saying...but common sense isn't enough to keep you hydrated out here. You start drinking when you're thirsty and you're liable to guzzle it down and find yourself just another set of bones slowly bleaching out in the desert.

The two finish their short break and the long walk begins again.

"You were saying..." Collie asks his eyes on the growing blur in the distance that was New Vegas

"I was saying it was all over. The shooting had stopped. Mrs. Smiles and Sheriff Frye were standing in the middle of town looking to the entrance and me an' Chet was just standing there in awe. They was facing away from us and they cast this incredible silhouette. I mean I just knew I wanted to be like them when I was older of them two and then these two guys come out from behind the shop."

Collie smiles a bit, this is where the story gets interesting.

"The first one comes up and he's got this mean looking revolver it's got the longest barrel I've ever seen," the boy pulls his gun out, quite the barrel indeed.

"He pulls it out and I before I even know what I'm really doing I'm pulling my arm up and I"

"Pull the trigger"

"Yeah, I pulled the trigger."

The two walk along awhile in silence.

Carver starts the conversation back up, "Before the guy even hits the ground Ms. Sunny Smiles has turned around and shot the other guy. Them two come over to me smiling."

The boy pauses for a moment again.

"I know that guy deserved it but," he takes his cap off readjusts his bandanna and puts the hat back on.

"It don't seem real...Now he's dead and the other one too. All on account of pulling a trigger."

"It's a helluva thing."

"I mean, I guess he had it coming"

"We all have it coming kid, everyone."

They continue on, New Vegas growing closer by the second.

Wow. It's nice to see you have a plan to where this is going, I've come under the impression that this forum doesn't have much life in it, and it doesn't seem like anyone has posted on this yet, but you still keep going. That's something I hardly see, people usually give up if they don't get response within the first couple parts(Myself has done this), but it's great to see you have no lack of determination, but on to the story itself...

I've read only half it, because I don't have time to read all of it, so I'm going to review what I have gathered from that half. The first two parts were great(I like the first post the best) and other than some grammatical errors(mainly not capitalizing your i's) it's fine. But your dialogue really keeps me from getting into the story. Maybe because of the huge paragraph like dialogue, that should really be broken up, maybe by something as simple as inserting that he leaned back in his chair. Because when you have huge blocks of dialogue, it really makes it hard to concentrate on it, especially on the computer. Also I wouldn't recommend using much swear words, since they are blocked I'm pulled out of the story every time I see one simply because of those damn ****, so I would try to avoid that as much as possible

That's all I have right now, nice job :thumbsup:

Well thank you kindly. I'm fixing the grammar right now and the replacing the ****s with words that aren't swear words but express roughly the same thing. I'm trying to separate the long dialogues too without just throwing in whatever to do so.

I did a good portion of it with no idea where it was going. As my first post said I had all but given up on it when that first post with the Clockwork Orange slang didn't get any response.

Your welcome. I'm glad your fixing those problems because I'm sure it will be easier to read. And I'm really glad that you didn't give up after the first post, too many people do that. You said you didn't have an idea where this was going, I assume you do now?

Yep. When it was just the Clockwork Orange thing it was going to be about that gang, and to some degree it still is. Now it's going to be about conflict between Caesar's Legion and the NCR. I don't remember which night, but either last night or the night before I couldn't get to sleep, ended up thinking about New Vegas and the factions, and figured out what i wanted to do with the story. Got up and wrote my ideas down then sent them in a PM to myself.

I mean I already knew what factions I wanted to involve from the beginning, and shortly thereafter figured I wanted Collie, Doc., and Dim. But I added a few characters that night and expanded other roles. I'm probably done posting for tonight though.

Ah, ok. I fixed the swearing at least. Only one example of [censored] and that's in my last story post. Fixed the I's too I think. For some reason after every time i Edit a post I have to Log-In again. Bloody new system

That's great, a story will always end bad if you don't know where your going. And for some reason I get my bests ideas at night, the first FanFic I made was at two a clock, but anyway I'm glad there at least one fan fiction on here that is doing well.

Chapter Twelve: The Nature of Man


On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken,
amazed to see where I have come,
where I'm going, where I'm from.
This is not the path I thought.
This is not the place I sought.
This is not the dream I bought,
just a fever of fate I've caught.

-The Book of Counted Sorrows



What is the nature of man? That he would rise from the deserts of Pangea and populate the world. That he would develop his tools into those of beauty and those of war. That he would take those tools of war and use them to enter an age of darkness. Then, awakening from that darkness he would come to an age of unimagined development. Technologies that would be considered magic become common place and again he would develop his tools into those of beauty and those of war.

Moooooooo.

"Quiet Blue, shhhh."

That then from this new magical age of enlightenment he would advance that much further. Plasma, Energy, Pulse, and Atomic power. That knowing the choices of the path he would again abandon the tools of beauty for those of war. Atomic Weapons, FEV, The New Plague. Once again he would destroy the world he had built around himself, this time leaving only ashes.

Wet feet slap against brightly colored carpeting as a Legionnaire makes his rounds.

I have heard it said that war never changes, but what is war? Is war the thing that causes man to take what he wants. Is it war that leads men to betray each other over petty pieces of paper that mean nothing more than the meaning given to them by those men. Is it war that keeps the father awake at night hoping his daughter is sleeping safely in her new home. Is it war that caused our prosperous nation to turn it's head as madmen again and again turned against their people and slaughtered them.

No. It is not war, because what is war. War is the term we use to justify our greed. War is what makes it ok to go to another man's house, kill his family, take his home, and still sleep at night. War is but an invention of man. It is man that never changes. It is within the nature of man that these things shall be done, and it is within the nature of man that he will always find a way to excuse himself for these deeds. But I was once a man. Am I now more than man?

I shall have to think on this further

Thick skinned hands reach through a steel cage and scratch first the left and then the right head of an old brahmin.

Pale green eyes look up to the moon.

"Good night moon."

Chapter Thirteen: The Longest Walk


Two men continue on their way to the last place either of them ever wants to be. The sand here is particularly soft and their feet sink in deep with every step. A few feet below them a submerged skeleton reaches up, drowned in the desert.

"If that's the worst thing you've ever done kid you're a bloody saint."

"Yeah I guess"

"Of course I'd guess you've spent some quite some time cooped up in that little town of yours huh?"

Carver replies, a bit on the defensive, "I've been out plenty of times. You know I actually saved Sunny Smiles once?"

"This some tall tale boy?"

"No no, Sunny was visiting Spring Valley but she'd shown up real sick. I mean she was all sweaty but her sweat was cold...her eyes were all googly. I really thought she might die."

Entragian chuckles

"So the time you got to play big hero and save the damsel in distress you went out and got her some cough syrup and a wet rag?"

"No no no, just let me finish the story. I'm in the room with Sunny, helping her out and everything, the doctor of that town Scraps he had the medicine. So I'm with Sunny in the room right and guess who comes in the door?"

"The Rat Pack?"

Carver continues, ignoring the rather lame attempt at humor,

"Mercs. Those damn Powder Gangers had pooled their needles and empty bottles together or something, exchanged them for caps, and hired themselves some mercs to get revenge on poor Sunny."

"They had the drop on you?"

"Yeah, but thats the last time that evaaaggbbblll

Collie turns to the right just in time to watch the last pieces of the area between David Carver's upper lip and left eye fall into the sand. The young man lurches forward, catches his balance, then stumbles forward a step and half before falling face down in the sand. So much for sneaking in.

"Don't you [censored]ing move Collie or you die here with the little boy scout."

Entragian puts his hands up cursing himself for a fool. He should have stopped the conversation some time ago, they were too close to Vegas, now Carver was going to die far away from anyone who loved him.

Uhhhhh....what...whats...oh god no...I'm....I'm dying

David Carver gets up onto his elbows and knees and struggles up. His breathing is labored and with the left side of his face in ruins it brings a startling pain. Carver gets up just enough to be kicked back down into the sand this time landing and rolling onto his back, sparing his face from another close encounter with the burning sand.

"We're taking you to Caesar Entragian, but your little friend,"

one of the raiders continues, making a facial expression that is meant to be a parody of empathy

"I don't think he's gonna make it."

The man walks up to David Carver. In life Carver has been looking forward to his chance to get out there and start fighting the good fight. His difficulty with killing that first raider notwithstanding Carver has been eager to emulate Frye.

But the desert. The desert is so very hot. A gaping wound in your face, well it may come as a surprise, but a gaping wound in your face makes the desert seem that much hotter.

Hot....but not altogether uncomfortable...warm really when you get used to it....could almost just stretch out and....NO

A raider approaches the wounded and dying little boy scout, walking with such swagger it is almost a dance. He pulls a 10mm Pistol from his pants and bends close as Carver coughs on blood.

"Hey little boy scout! Time to render unto Caesar."

Right now would be the appropriate time for some kind of witty repartee. Some reply that would unbalance the raider, maybe bring a snide smile to Carver's life, a half smile half snarl...something like that. But it's hard to think up stuff like that when you know you're never going home. So Carver lets his gun speak for him.

A bullet tears through the body of that first Legionnaire leaving a gaping wound. In an instant the raider takes a deep breath and falls upon David Carver. The gun pressed between Carver and the dead Legionnaire, Carver can do no more harm. His strength has left him anyway. Pain and exhaustion reduce the world to a slow moving sepia toned slide show. In this slide show a rather short Legionnaire walks around Carver until he is staring Carver straight in the eye.

The Legionnaire smiles big down at David Carver. He raises his eyebrows feigning concern.

Wait..., Collie thinks to himself, this seems familiar

The Legionnaire gets down on knee before bringing his head to Carver's left ear. A few words are shared. The Legionnaire then palms Carver's face with his left hand and pulls a knife out in a flash. Garbled noises issue from David Carver as the knife pierces his throat.

sooo warm....not so bad really....sorry frye...sorry sunny....

The last thing David Carver sees before embracing the great mystery of death is the Legionnaires pushing Collie toward New Vegas. In these final moments Carver's mind returns to happier memories. A jukebox that broke years ago, but oh it was so nice when it worked. His mind settles on a song but searches for the lyrics. It is in this search that his mind turns over the last time.

Collie Entragian has never really learned how to deal with death. At times he has worried that he is emotionally stunted...but it has certainly come in handy in this world. Collie is aware that the heroes his father had loved would swear some type of blood vendetta against them dirty scoundrels what took the boys life...but his father is dead. Those heroes weren't heroes, they were actors. They'd grit their teeth, swear vengeance, and then go back to their trailers for a nip before bed. Collie is pushed and trips over the arm of the dead raider.

The march continues but now hope for a nice infiltration of New Vegas has been dashed. It is has been many a year since he has seen it, and he had seen it then only a scarce number of occasions. Collie trudges on through the desert, the tower of Lucky 38 visible now. Collie wonders what awaits him there. He had heard that the Legion had embraced slavery to a degree that made what he had seen seem minuscule. Perhaps he will be fed to that mutant Doc Holiday had mentioned.

Yeah, maybe he is walking to his death. But that's nothing new. Besides, those raiders hadn't killed him yet. Every day is a blessing...Collie guesses.

Chapter Fourteen: Putting Makeup on a Supermutant

"Hey freakshow, it's show time!"

The mutant rises to his feet, standing but slumped over that he might avoid banging his head against the roof. The Legionnaires gather around him. One among them is an unarmed older man, the dominus. Weapons aimed at the mutant called Dim the raiders stand close enough to ensure accurate shots but far enough to give them at least a momentary reprieve should he start attacking. The dominus alone walks right up to Dim, he looks up into the beasts eyes his head otherwise level with Dim's solar plexus.

He starts speaking in a grandiose manner about ancient Roman traditions and the Legion...oh but he does love to prattle on.

But perhaps it is not so that man never changes. Perhaps it is just in small small portions that man can change. These changes however they are so very delicate. A grand idea can be turned into a nightmare with but the slightest of changes, a nightmare then too can be turned into a grand idea with subtle alteration. The Master...ohhh but he was so close. I wonder to this day....would my life be better were I still a man? I've no doubt I'd not have lasted long here...but who knows how my life may have changed were it not for the dip.

"Art thou listening to me beast of burden? Do thou not care about this ludus?"

Dim looks down upon the little man.

"Good then....the dog knows his master. Prepare Dim, tonight the Fire Eater Clan from New Mexico has brought their champion. I would have much blood spilled tonight," the little man turns away from Dim and heads the opposite direction of the slave pens heading instead to a private elevator.

"Prepare him for the battle to come Barca, this victory will bring great honor to my ludus."

The man named Barca stands before Dim once again. He does not feel particularly safe. There are enough guns aimed at Dim to ensure that he would not leave the room alive...but how long would it take Dim to scramble his brains against the floor, or the walls, or even the cage. It is not a good thing on which to dwell.

"You ready big guy?"

"Let us get it over with. Who am I to kill this time?"

"Come with me big guy, I'll tell you the story while the slaves apply your makeup."

Barca leads Dim to the slaves quarters where one of the pens has been temporarily converted. A large kart (once used for ice-cream treats...hence the Ice Cream Treats paint that is all but completely faded from it's side) sits behind a large stone, both are surrounded by beautiful nvde slaves who serve Caesar, attending to his needs. Tonight Dim will be painted up to resemble some Roman God. Which God it was that had golden skin or if it were all the Gods is long long forgotten in this vast desert but the people of The Strip seem to like it. Caesar in particular.

Dim settles upon the big rock and removes his clothing. Any woman anywhere else in the world would likely be rather uncomfortable in the presence of a nvde supermutant but these woman have seen quite a lot. As far as nvde male humanoids go Dim is actually pretty decent. He doesn't make lewd comments, doesn't leer at their state of undress, doesn't have awkward physical reactions to their painting him, and has never used them as so many have. Used as they are it is actually rather a relief to work with him. The slaves may leer and engage in certain unpleasant activities at times, but there is no threat from them as there is from the guards. They are more safe within this cage with him than at any other time.

Just the same at first the sight of him was rather disturbing and naturally enough frightening. Stories had spread across the wasteland and these were just about the only women in Nevada who had seen a supermutant and lived to tell the tale, let alone spoke with him. His large nightmare ape anatomy, green thick skin, boils, burns, and scars were at first traumatic to the women...but time has made his freakish body quite routine. Some even harbor a certain form of love for the great beast. Not a sixual love of course but somewhere between pity and admiration...which is quite the gulf.

Dim looks up to Barca as the story continues, Barca however is not looking at Dim his eyes are otherwise busy. As he speaks the women adorn their champion for battle.

"So the Fire Eater Clan started out as just another group of raiders, don't know what they were called back then, but at some point they got this new leader they called Bone and he had them start doing stuff to intimidate other raider clans and the people of the wasteland in general. One of those tricks was, yeah, Eating Fire. It's an old carnival trick. Anyway that's where the name comes from."

"Fascinating" Dim replies without a particularly large amount of enthusiasm

"When they joined the Legion Bone changed his name to Titus pinarius Rullus, everyone just calls him Rullus. After Caesar started setting up different groups to bring up gladiators he gave Rullus his own ludus which has done pretty well, it has brought up a few champions. Anyway, his ludus uses a lot of intimidation just like Rullus did back when he was Bone preying on the small towns of Vegas. The guy you'll fight to night is named Lentulus, he's a bit slow but makes up for it in show."

"I know of him," Dim replies lifting his right arm that it's under-portion might too be painted gold, "He accepts no surrender in The Arena and wears the flesh of those he defeats."

"Yeah....intimidation stuff man...he's going to have a tough time intimidating you though huh?"

Barca sits for a few moments waiting for a response. Dim lifts his left arm, turns his head, stands, and otherwise contorts himself that the slaves attending him might finish their job quickly. Having no brushes they apply the paint by hand, it takes a lot of paint. His thick dry skin soaks it up quickly so that it takes several coats for the gold hue to overpower his green tint. As they finish they get a rare chance to relax. Tonight while Dim goes out to fight for his life they will rest in this cage until he returns. It is tradition that after victory a gladiator be left alone with the slaves to do as he will. These women will get a night of uninterrupted rest for the first time in quite some time.

Elsewhere Collie Entragian half walks half stumbles down the street that makes up The Strip. He can just make out the group gathering about The Collosieum.

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16:

Chapter 17:

Chapter 17:

Chapter 18: