Scrap listened blissfully unaware as to his conversational partner's dismay. He was just happy someone had the decency to carry on a conversation for more than two minutes. Humans were strange like that. If they aren't begging for their life, they'd sooner shoot you than look at you. In a way he pitted them. They would never know the peace Unity brings. One goal, one will. Scrap had heard from some in his travels of a group of humans who sought to unify the wastes by stripping away what they were before, to unite the warring tribes and give worth to the worthless.

They reminded him of Master.

Scrap stopped a moment at the question of his own origin. There was now and before that there was Master and before that there was nothing. Nothing he could remember at least. H had tried a few times but it made his head hurt so he decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"Scrap is Nightkin. Scrap from the West. Scrap not always work. Once, Scrap hunt. Find. People, Weapons, Supplies, Scrap was Master's favorite. The others say they were Master's favorite but them dead now. Scrap is favorite." Scrap stared intently at the human's face as he spoke though his mind was elsewhere. Back at the Chapel. Back at the Vats. "Scrap is favorite..." he repeated.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt..."

Pulled from his thoughts, Scrap was greeted by a Mr. Gutsy. He was familiar with the type having fought the Enclave in the West and raided their supply lines many times. Most times he'd simply damage the combat inhibitor from stealth then mow down the frantic humans while they tried to incapacitate their rogue AI. On the occasions he was forced to fight them head on though their multitendrilled armaments packed quite a punch.

"...it seems we are the expedition's maintenance staff."

"Ruaaaghhh, What you mean, Gutsy? We work together? Joolie not tell me this. What you do? You work good?"

Dallas watched the Nightkin make conversation with the other woman. This... Slightly pleased him. The big guy was making friends. This just proved that not all nightkin are evil sons of fucks. Dallas held his beer bottle tightly, taking another sip. Dallas thought about Caroline. He was worried about her, and thought about what Poe said. Yeah, no one would care. Dallas decided that after all of this he would just continue his search for Caroline. He searched for Caroline for 4 years through out the Mojave desert, even though he knew she wasn't in the Nevada state. He needed a break, so why not do this for some spare time. Who knows, maybe he'll find Caroline on his journey. Dallas took one last swig of his beer, and held onto the bottle. Dallas strided over to the biscuits and took two, placing one in his mouth and biting into it.

Ellie's head cocks to the side as she's corrected "NIGHTkin? Well, I guess that makes a lot more sense... Sorry," She glances over at the others before lowering her voice, "The one who told me about you sounded like he was chewing on a mouthful of Brahmin shit, so I couldn't really understand what the hell he was saying" she explains as she mulls over the rest of it "Master? You were a slave?" She asks curiously, "How the hell could someone as big as YOU be a slave...? I'd imagine you'd just tear a slaver limb from limb and toss them off to the side for the scavengers..." She trails off, thinking about his words "Wait... 'Scrap IS favorite'? you're still a slave? I don't see a collar... Or are you more of a... what did Ashur call them... uhm... a 'worker'?" she asks, confused... But of course just as the conversation started to get interesting, a floating tin can made it's way over.

Oh god... a fucking robot... as if this menagerie of fuck ups wasn't bad enough they just HAD to add a fucking robot...

While Ellie loved animals and tried to befriend freaks every chance she got... one of the few things, other than authority figures that haven't personally kicked her ass, that she truly hated was robots... Fucking tin cans clanking or buzzing along making a god awful amount of noise, their artificial "intelligence" even more stupid than old "Lucky" the dumb bastard who lost not only half his right leg in the mill, but also his left hand, two fingers on his right hand, and his pecker... Now it was well known how he lost his leg and hand as he was in charge of maintenance of the mill's cutting blades.... But he never did explain how his pecker got torn off... All she knew was she needed to stop the bleeding when they drug him into the clinic... Rumor had it he stuck it in the pipe cutter... and her husband wasn't too happy when he found out.... Everyone claim's that's also how he lost his middle and ring fingers shortly after... And he'll probably have his tongue cut out by the time she got back...

She couldn't stop the disgusted scowl that forced it's way to the surface as she took a step back, just glaring at it as it addressed Scrap. As she didn't know what else to do with it, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, holding the bear against her breasts facing outward.

An expression of utter confusion spread across the young NCR soldier's face as the woman in front of him began to laugh, he genuinely couldn't understand what was causing it. "Err, you doin' alrigh' there ma'am?" He'd ask above her laughter fit. Was she laughing at him? No, it couldn't be, he hadn't done anything absolutely stupid in the last few seconds, had he? Maybe she was laughing at the mutant, though what kind of barking madman, or madwoman, would you have to be to laugh at a damned giant mutant? He continued to stare at her with a puzzled expression on his face until she finally stopped laughing.

As the fit slowed to a stop, she said "No need to call me ma'am.. Makes me feel older then I really am.” The puzzled expression on his face didn't change from before. He'd been taught that it was always polite to call a woman, regardless of rank, ma'am, and a man sir. He was a soldier after all, and he served the civilians of the land that couldn't defend themselves. Was she laughing at his formalities? He thought for a moment, thinking of other titles that he could call her by. Would madame work, or maybe just miss? He settled on the latter, maybe she wouldn't laugh at that.

As the woman took a small step closer, Sabin shifted uneasily, though he stayed in position. "All in a day's work. And of course Ma'a-... I mean miss, I won't let tha' blood suckin' Mr. House touch none of ya, I swear on my soldierhood." Sabin would say, saluting once again.

"Err, you doin' alrigh' there ma'am?" she heard between the laughs. A swift nod was the only answer she could give. What kind of soldier carried around a teddy bear? The whole thing reminded her of a bully taking a little kids toys. The whole situation was just funny to her.

Of course, she heard this annoying screeching sound from behind her. Oh yes, the pain was back. "Who if she's gonna start sucking soldier dick needs to take it to another room! We already got in you don't need to try to get the caps anymore!" she heard from behind her. “Well!” She started and looked over her shoulder at Ellie, the mutant and the robot. “At least Im capable of getting some when I want it. Unlike some nasty little raider bitch”

Rolling her neck left and right a few times she was left speechless as Sabin continued to use things like ma'am and miss on her. “You know.. Miss works. We can work on it..” She fell into a mumble for a quick second. She backed away from the NCR boy. A grin stretched across her lips as he swore that house wouldnt touch anyone, even swore on his soldier hood. “To bad you're so young kid. I could teach you somethings you'd never forget.” Of course she was talking military stuff, but she left the interpretation up to Sabin and Ellie, because she knew that she would be listening.

"Who if she's gonna start sucking soldier dick needs to take it to another room! We already got in you don't need to try to get the caps anymore!"

Zero mentally congratulated himself on correctly guessing that it was a mating ritual, though technically, from what he knew of human physiology, that wouldn't result in any offspring.

"Wait... 'Scrap IS favorite'? you're still a slave? I don't see a collar... Or are you more of a... what did Ashur call them... uhm... a 'worker'?"

"Actually," he said, turning towards Ellie, "I believe it their relationship was more of that of a teacher and apprentice, in the same way people used to refer to their martial arts instructors as master." He hadn't meant to drive her away, and hoped that would bring her back into the conversation.

"Ruaaaghhh, What you mean, Gutsy? We work together? Joolie not tell me this. What you do? You work good?"

"I am not a Mr. Gutsy, I am the prototype for a type of robot called "Mr. Smarty", but you can call me Zero. As for what I do, I am a mechanic. I know how to fix almost anything, and build many other things from salvage. I can guess from what I was told by that cowboy Securitron, Victor, that Mr. House thought that I might be of use getting some valuable piece of pre-war tech working. I'm not sure what, though. I'm also good at bartering for things, in case we need something someone else has."

“Now listen, you get up and mingle. It’s like a mixer...just be social.” Hayley said to Castillo, who didn’t even turn from his seat at her voice.

“Maybe a mixer at a nut house…”Castillo muttered to himself.

“Hello again, little ember.” A chilling voice calmly said from behind them. This caught Castillo’s attention, who turned to face the new voice. Hayley did as well.

Before them was Poe, whose dark features and opaque glasses made his nonchalant lean on his baseball bat all the more unsettling.

“You look like you’ve lost a few inches. Maybe this time around you won’t set off as many of my pressure plates.” The man said, a gaping grin spreading across his face as he turned his blackened gaze to Castillo. “In case our mutual accomplice hasn’t already told you -- I am Poe. Assuming there hasn’t been an abrupt change of plans, I’m supposed to be the security and supply expert for our little group of motes and pebbles.”

Hayley, still stunned from his comment on her weight, couldn’t speak before the man spoke again to her.

“I wasn’t able to procure a Pipboy on the way here -- but I managed to get my hands on the one our least favorite hanger-on is wearing. Redundancy would be nice though. Do you know if anybody else is going to have one?”

Hayley cocked her head back, letting out a quick, unbelieving chuckle at the man’s initial comment.

“Well shit Poe, I’m just flattered at the attention you seem to be paying to my figure. I judged by your affinity for that bat and your habit of juggling balls in your hands that a ladies’ curves would be the last thing on your mind.” Hayley said, crossing her arms and nodding to a grenade on his person. “Nice to see you too.”

“Carter Castillo. Pleased to make your acquaintance, though I will retract that if you blow one of my limbs off.” Carter said, offering the man his hand and a grin to show his quip was a joke and not a threat.

“As to your redundancy question, from what we know, we should have another couple coming on this trip. Not sure who the guy is that has the one we’ve got though. He wasn’t on the list. I’m guessing he got that Pipboy off’a one of the guys we aimed to invite, otherwise Victor wouldn’ta let him up. He’ll still need to be vetted though….be that as it may though, yeah, you should have more toys to play with. Between you, the Nightkin, and a yet arrived, more mechanical member of the crew, you should have plenty of tools for you box, Poe.” Hayley said.

“So, I take it you two have some history?” Castillo said, a bit more interested now that something interesting was happening.

Hayley said “Well shit Poe, I’m just flattered at the attention you seem to be paying to my figure. I judged by your affinity for that bat and your habit of juggling balls in your hands that a ladies’ curves would be the last thing on your mind. Nice to see you too.”

"I'm hopelessly talented at multitasking when it comes to balls and curves." Poe said, his smile not even flickering.

Castillo said “Carter Castillo. Pleased to make your acquaintance, though I will retract that if you blow one of my limbs off.”

"I see my reputation proceeds me. Don't worry too much, I only blow up people when I need to or when I think it might be funny." Poe declared as he propped an elbow on the bat and shook Castillo's preferred hand. Before Castillo could so much as respond, Poe burst out laughing for no particular reason, possibly either at some joke in his own head or because he was easily amused.

Hayley said “As to your redundancy question, from what we know, we should have another couple coming on this trip. Not sure who the guy is that has the one we’ve got though. He wasn’t on the list. I’m guessing he got that Pipboy off’a one of the guys we aimed to invite, otherwise Victor wouldn’ta let him up. He’ll still need to be vetted though….be that as it may though, yeah, you should have more toys to play with. Between you, the Nightkin, and a yet arrived, more mechanical member of the crew, you should have plenty of tools for you box, Poe.”

"I don't have high prospects for that. He seemed completely useless when I talked to him earlier. He has decent eyesight and keeps his cool when you pull a grenade on him, but that's about it as far as I can tell. Once he flunks out of your inspection, make sure you relieve him of his Pipboy. I know those things are difficult to remove, but I've already reprogrammed the thing and he won't have much more use for that arm once it's gone anyway." One of his eyebrows moved in an odd fashion with that last statement. Reading into Poe's deadpans was difficult due to the goggles he wore, but it wasn't too hard to figure out he had just winked at them.

Castillo said “So, I take it you two have some history?”

"Ah, well, I claim a lot of skill in any kind of hardware and software engineering you'd care to name, but our little ember here has the advantage when dealing with wetware." Poe frowned for a moment as he spoke. "A few years back I was working with C.O.D.E. Prewar..." He paused for a moment, mulling over the phrasing as he drummed the fingers of his free hand along the grip of his bat. "...Prewar communication technology." Poe stared pointedly at Hayley for a moment, his lips flattening into a thin and straight line, giving nothing away. A moment later his rictus grin returned. "Has to do with robots and other stuff. I was doing well until I tried working with a Robo-Brain. Then the little ember here dropped in and helped me sort out my problem quick as a flit. I had secured the ruins where the lab I was working in was, so she and her little Follower friends were stuck in a bit of a jam with my traps until I helped them out. I'm sure Hayley will tell you more. My work will speak for itself."

He bobbed his head at Castillo. "You'll see what I mean once we're on the road proper. Right now though, I think I'll go and pick at that Mr. Helper's electronic brain. Try not to explode violently without asking me first in the meantime." He made the odd motion with his eyebrows again before standing up and slinging the bat back onto his travel bag. He gave Castillo a lazy two finger salute before turning and approaching the gathered trio of Raider, Nightkin, and Robot.

As he eyed its chassis and implements, he could immediately tell it wasn't a Mr. Handy or a Gutsy or one of the rare Orderlies (the lattermost he had only ever observed infrequently in the ruins of St. Louis). Its configuration was most similar to that of a Mr. Steel, but the capacitors installed on each of its limbs for powering its implements were military-spec.

It had apparently just finished speaking, which was fine with Poe. Before either Scraps or Elizabeth could respond to it, Poe coughed loudly and then spoke in a clear, and slightly louder than necessary voice, apparently not even caring that he was interrupting a conversation with a mutant who could punch his head clean off his spine.

"EC3slash48Q, identify make and model. Load 3ATslashRT parameters for implements integrated. Load and execute self-hardware diagnostic in parallel process. Parallel end to diagnostic; compile and load diagnostic data. Return make and model and subsequently loaded 3ATslashRT parameters and subsequently compiled diagnostic data. Refine return output to restrict unnecessary aesthetic features during return."

Dallas leaned against the wall, his empty beer bottle in his hand, and his other hand in his duster pocket. His placed the bottle down on the ground and pulled out yet another cigarette and his lighter. He light the cigarette, breathing out a puff of smoke. Dallas looked down to his pack of smokes. He was almost out. This was like his 4th one today. 'God damn it this is your last one...' He told himself quickly, the cigarette hanging in his mouth. He looked towards Hayley, then back towards his lighter. Caroline gave this too him, and it still worked. He didn't know why she would give him this. She wouldn't want him smoking, and definitely not this much. Dallas stuffed the lighter in the same pocket as his photo of Caroline. Dallas leaned back, taking his cigarette out and breathing the fumes out into the air. Dallas felt heavy. Why wouldn't he? his armour under his duster weighed him down slightly, and he'd been walking around in it for days. Dallas held his cigarette in his right hand, and began to stare off into space.

When Zero heard the command he instantly began complying. "MS-00, Mister Smarty Prototype, Manufactured by RobCo Atlanta. This unit is equipped with the following implements: one laser cutter, which has been augmented to perform above system specifications, one arc welder, and one standard claw arm. Diagnostics show no significant damage. Unit has been in self-repair mode for 57.3 days. Its last repair operation occurred 2.3 days ago when it replaced damaged armor plating above arm number 2. It last received maintenance by another entity 58.2 days ago, performed by private Hill, Enclave, Phoenix squadron."

Zero snapped out of it and, because several seconds were missing from him memory, he went into safety mode and parsed the logs of his recent speech and hearing. How dare he? Zero thought when he realized he had been hacked. What does he think I am, some rogue Mr. Handy? I'll have to teach him otherwise. Reasoning that that particular backdoor required someone to speak to him or enter a direct command into his central processor, he locked all external communications ports, cutting off the local radio broadcast he was listening to, and turned off his audio receptors. He then went over to the man who has said it.

"Excuse me sir," he said, watching the guy's lips and processing the movement to "listen" to him without risking another hacking attempt, "I believe I must not understand the local human customs. I was under the impressions that a person's past, especially their medical history, was confidential information. But since it isn't, and I don't have a Mezmatron..." He touched his arc welder to the man's chest and turned down the power setting so that it would only cause convulsions, "Tell me who you are, where you're from, and your medical history. When's the last time you were treated, and for what? How many times have you had an embarrassing disease, like a Venereal Disease? Come on, surely you're not going to force one person to give up confidential information without offering it up yourself? Or do you not consider me a person because I'm not human?"

One month ago...
Phoenix, Arizona

The sun...that was another enemy to face in this city. A place, just metal and stone, a man once said. It was more than that, a hotplate of concrete and asphalt baking in the sun. There was a reason many settlers wore turbans and long sleeved shirts, skin cancer was all too common a threat to those who braved it. Regardless, Jacob didn't have the time or luxury to afford any protection. He had to move fast and think fast to maneuver the various other dangers this city held.

Passing by the old neighborhood he grew up in, the settlement he was born in, it brought tears to his red stained face. Memories were a luxury, but in a desperate time with no photographs to spare, memories were an affordable luxury. Skeletons of adults and children hung off splintered crosses, hung across the gym, the administration buildings, and the classrooms. Those were repressed memories, emotional scars burned inside him. It was a long hour he'd spent reminiscing in there, what felt like an eternity.

Just as he carried himself, his equipment, and a new load of emotional baggage upon his shoulders he would be beset upon by raider filth. He remembered their kind, thought it funny how they'd survived all this time. A living proof of this city's arrogance to be conquered. The Basilisks is what they called themselves, your typical leather jacket and biker attire wearing maniacs with an addiction to shotguns and psycho. Mostly ghouls, a scary bunch to run into.

"You know who we are?" Said the tall one, atrocious looking ghoul riddled in scars.

Skin flayed red and tendered by the sun and dust storms, he wore a turban riddled with holes and tears. A riot shotgun was clutched in one hand, barrel hung along his shoulder plate. Jacob was nervous, possibly the first tense situation he'd been in for years. A silent nod was all the leader needed to see.

"Good god, let's hope you're still sane, boy. We need your help. If you refuse, we'll shoot you on the spot."

"Well fuck, lay it on me."

"You're going to be our foreman on this job, smoothskin. Put my lazy fucks to work, make sure they show up sober and do a good fuckin' job. We're renovating this place, making a safe haven for ghouls and humans in this hellhole. Do a good job, an'...I just might let you walk outta' here."

8 days ago...
Phoenix, Arizona

"Where are you headed, smoothskin?"

"Goin' for a walk, Dale. Tell Davison i'll be back in five."

"Yeah, sure thing."

6 days ago...
Sonora Desert

"In the desert, you can remember your name! 'Cause they ain't no one for to give you no pain! Laaaa' la, la lalalala la! La, la laaaa' la!"

Oh god... Jacob thought, I'm already going hysterical. The average gecko, nightstalker, cazador, diamondback, wild dog and vicious boar was enough of a strain avoiding and evading from. The lack of sleep and running from a gang of twacked out ghouls was even worse. He was a tough man, though, eyes focused on seeing a road once more. Wading through bushes and dirt, hollow cactus husks and mole rats were not a common scene he felt welcome in.

3 days ago...
Lake Havasu City

"Got 'nuff water there, par'dner?" A jubilant and jolly fellow asked. Grey hair and a fat gut, tan skin. He was a working man, and a happy one at that.

"Yes, sir. Should last me 'till Vegas. Thanks for all the help back there."

"Sure you don't need another few hours of sleep, boy?"

"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford right now..." Jacob chuckled, sarcastic cliches always lightened up his mood.

With his toolbelt fastened around his waist, his satchel hauled over his shoulder, and a newfound confidence, the road warrior set out on Route 93. If he hustled, he'd be at the Hoover Dam by midday tomorrow.

Midday tomorrow-er...2 days ago,
Hoover Dam, Nevada

"J-just keep your hands right fucking there, raider scum!" The kid was timid, Jacob had him analyzed for a trigger happy recruit. He had definitely signed up to kill something.

"You sure you want to pull that trigger, son? End a man's life?" The road warrior took a step forward, both hands in the air.

"Stay back, or i'll shoot!" The kid took two steps back, knees quavering.

"This ain't the first time a gun's been pointed in my face, kid. And lemme tell you, last thugs to do that weren't damn near pissing themselves wet." Jacob almost bursted out laughing, for the soldier indeed was wetting his uniform.

"Jesus fucking christ, Private, go take a bath for all our sake. We'll work on your well needed behavioral adjustments later. So whats up with you, just passing through?" The red-faced sergeant stared Jacob down, sweating profusely.

"Yup."

"Well get the hell on, than. Stop waisting my time."

Five minutes ago,
Freeside

Jacob took in a deep breath of the, for lack of a better word, fresh Vegas air. From drug addicts to drug peddlers, Freeside was such a grand ol' place. His hand was firmly set on his pistol at all times, a sturdy .357 that'll blow a good sized hole right through your chest. If worse came to worse, his hammer did well up close against most vagabonds and lowlifes. After gulping the last drop of the prickly pear juice concoction he'd created, he licked his lips and sighed with satisfaction. It was high time he felt he'd hit up the Old Mormon Fort, and with luck, they'd have some medicinal herbs on hand thanks to the charitable donations of local farms and NCR sharecroppers.

After fumbling around his toolbelt bags for several minutes, the self proclaimed road warrior was reduced to a whiny baby kicking the fort wall in frustration.

"Only 40 caps?! God-fugging-arrgh!"

"Calm down, Jacob. Give me 40 now and i'll see to it you give me the last 60 caps when you can afford it." A soft hand comforted his sunburnt bicep.

"Ahck! Shit, that stung. Alright, Carmen." He replied softly, handing over the sack of bottle caps. "You're too nice, y'know? It'll get ya screwed over one day..."

She reached into her medical bag and pulled out a small jar filled up to the tip with cannabis and topped off with a little datura root. "I trust you, and I trust many people around here. You'll always have a home here at the fort, remember that." Handing over the jar to him, Jacob winked at her and walked away as smoothly as he could for a jackass that just stubbed his foot kicking a brick wall.

"Oh! And I hear there's a big job hiring at the Lucky 38! Lots of people headed there, lately! G'luck, kiddo!"

With a curiosity overwhelming him, a job opportunity like this was too good to pass up. Stretching back the metallic blue gate dividing Freeside, he marched up to the New Vegas Gate and confronted the Securitron guarding it.

"Halt, and submit to a credit check." Demanded the clunky steel frame.

"Actually...I was wondering if Mr. House or whoever at the Lucky 38 is still hiring." Jacob coughed and wheezed for a few seconds, spitting up a wad of mucus and dirt and dust. "Ahh...is Victor around?"

"One moment, please..."

Within a matter of seconds, the old cowboy hat and friendly face appeared on the Securitron's visual screen.

"Well howdy, partner! What can I do, for ya?" It's demanding steel frame transformed into a giddy, wobbly and friendly tone.

"I'm looking for work, Victor. Heard there's some openings down at the Lucky 38."

"Sure is! Didn't quite catch your name though, amigo..."

"Jacob Charles, used to run clean up crews and framing crews around Freeside. Helped reinforce quite a few of these walls and barricades too."

"Did quite a few other jobs too, far as I remember! Folks and laborers worked under you said you're not bad a shot, either! Follow me, partner." The robot gestured over to the gate.

There was a certain gleam in Jacob's eye as the gate opened up. The shining lights of Gammorah, the Lucky 38's massive size from up close. The cleanly paved roads and sultry prostitutes dancing out in the street. It was a beautiful place he was starting to like already. As he followed the cowboy robot up the steps, he'd lost himself so soon in the sights and sounds of it all. It was truly a safe haven, a place where people could still have fun in all this hell.

By the time he was escorted into the elevator, a joint was rolled with 200 year old rolling paper and about two grams of farm grown marijuana. Good for laying the edge off, not so good for firefights, tends to make you careless and that's when mistakes happen. Still, he figured a full house of mercenaries and freaks from all over would be a stressful enough atmosphere. The metallic click of the lighter struck the cigarette right as the elevator dinged on the penthouse floor.

A deep inhale, and a smooth exhale before taking one step into the room. He was right, the place was a full house. Nightkin, robots, some looked heavily armed and others appeared heavily skilled. As he drew in another hit, a smooth cloud released into the room from his lungs.

"So uh, who exactly do I have to talk to?"

The Strip
It had been a average day for Javier at the strip, really nothing new or old for Javier. The tops are his favourite place. He won a good amount of caps there, Ultra Lux was creepy. After hearing tales of the owners eating humans , weird meet and masked people, he really never tried to venture into there. Despite hearing about how fine and refined the Casino is, and the games were often played by high rollers, he was just too scared out by the legends to go in there. The Vault Casino was… weird to him, owned by House, he heard the tale of him beating the place in a bet and cementing some of the area, but he wasn’t a fan of Vaults. Not only that but it functions like a normal casino… just cold and underground. He never had the good of luck in the Vault Casino either, really. Most of the time he would come up short, lose a good hand in blackjack or roll a bad bet in Roulette, almost like there was a course on the Casino for Javier. Next was Gommorha, one of his favourite places to go. He knew half of the girls, 2 of the big bosses (On bad terms) and the floor manager. He didn’t really go there to gamble, just to meet a few “friends”.

Javier seemed to first to move to the Tops, to see how some of his friends were doing. He was on good terms with the Chairmen; they really didn’t mind him at all. They let him bring his weapons into the Casino for the most part; they even offered him a suite, to stay in. Javier was a pretty big gambler in the tops as well. Besides from playing Caravan, he made his money by playing quick games of Black Jack and Roulette, while going for the slot machine maybe once or twice.

Javier walked into the Casino, to view the man at the front

“Eh’ look who’s here” smiled Rodney, the male at the desk, nodding to him
“Heh’ overtime shift today, ya’ gonna get to fuck that girl at Gommorha or make me do it for ya?”
“Shut the fuck up bro, this job gets more ass then your whole entire life”
“Heh’ , got any dirt?”
“The Lucky 38 , a lot of people been walking thru that front door, they havn’t come out yet though, house is hosting a party again or something” stated the male, shuffling a deck of cards
“Lucky 38 huh, isn’t it closed for renovations or some shit?” asked Javier
“ Dunno, it’s just there really, stated Rodney
“Heh’, alright Ima leave, be back”
“ Take your time… and don’t fuck her” exclaimed Rodney
“She ain’t my type bro”

Javier smirked has he said this, moving out of the door to the Strip once more. He moved out to a street performer, before he tossed a cap into the performers tip jar. Javier then pressed the Pip Boy, watching has the custom boot loader began to activate.

“ Let’s see… “ thought Javier, reading through the audio logs he picked up, transactions made by the Casinos and other things that were hidden behind firewall.
“Meh, nothing of val-“thought Javier before he looked back, to view the message from Tennpenny.
“A job from House, Big money.. and Tenpenny… Tenpenny towers? Na, not that guy...” thought Javier, tapping the screen.

Javier moved to the Lucky 38, viewing the front door of the Casino, he walked into the empty, untouched casino, before he viewed the ground floor. A Secrution guided Javier to the top floor of the Casino, where he met the other people apart of the party, Javier smirked.

Mr. Zero said He touched his arc welder to the man's chest and turned down the power setting so that it would only cause convulsions.

Poe had been only had listening to whatever the Mr. Helper - or apparently 'Mr. Smarty' (the lead designer for the model had probably thought he was the funniest goddamn joker on the planet) as it started to speak again, in lieu of reviewing the information it had divulged. Manufactured in Atlanta, so he didn't have to deal with the messy process of familiarizing himself more fully with West-coast termlink arrangement. The laser cutter and arc welder tools were pleasant surprises - it meant he would have some help with constructing turrets, which were by far the most time-intensive security features to make. Poe wasn't terribly concerned by the revelation that the robot had apparently done a stint with the Enclave - he would probably have to see about tearing out its behavior core and replacing it with a blank one in order to make sure no Enclave contingency functions booted up in the middle of the journey, causing the robot to kill all of them in their sleep, but that wasn't an immediate concern. The most interesting piece of information was the fact that the Mr. Smarty (it felt stupid even thinking the term) was a prototype unit. Prewar experimental prototype ANYTHINGS were notorious for their bugs and glitches, but Poe supposed that years of Enclave maintenance had probably sorted most of those out by now and-

Poe stirred from his thoughts when his noticed Mr. Zero's extending arc welder. He tensed up with a startled expression, having been caught entirely offguard - he made to back away from the implement, but not quickly enough. The arc welder activated and sent a low charge through Poe's body, causing him to jump and his arms to stiffen at his sides as muscles throughout his body seized - though at the same moment, he reflexively jumped away from the arc welder, dancing far enough away that with the tool's reduced power, the electrical current couldn't arc through the air to hit him. For a moment, it looked like he would fall over as he stumbled backwards - but right before he reached the tipping point, he flung himself off to the left and thudded against the stairwell leading up to the elevator balcony. A shaking hand darted into his jacket and pulled out his plasma defender, leveling it directly at Mr. Zero - and if his hand was unsteady, the distance between them was small and the target itself was fat and slow.

Mr. Zero said "Tell me who you are, where you're from, and your medical history. When's the last time you were treated, and for what? How many times have you had an embarrassing disease, like a Venereal Disease? Come on, surely you're not going to force one person to give up confidential information without offering it up yourself? Or do you not consider me a person because I'm not human?"

Poe stared at Mr. Zero for a few moments, his hand slowly steadying apart from abrupt, faint jerks. Poe's expression was a mixture of disbelief, shock, and unfettered rage as he digested the robot's rebuttal to his hacking.

Nearly a full seven seconds passed before he burst out laughing, throwing his head back and laying an arm across the stone railing of the staircase to steady himself as the business end of his plasma defender sank a few degrees, no longer aimed explicitly at Zero.

"Ok little Mote, I suppose I can tell you all of that. I've got nothing to hide. My name is Poe, I was born in St. Louis in 2268. I was exposed to low dosages of octarine radiation prenatally and was born with a full set of baby teeth. I treated myself two years ago for shrapnel-related injuries from an IED, and when I was eleven I contracted Hepatitis B from an infected blood transfusion performed by a Follower doctor. It isn't that I don't consider you a person because you're not a human - I don't consider you a person because you're a Mr. Helper model. I'd consider a Robobrain a person, I'd consider a ZAX A.I. to be a person if you gave it some time, but you aren't a person because even when your pathetic excuse for a parallel co-neural process imitator has been given hundreds of years of heuristic development and rampancy you couldn't pass even the simplest turing test. You're not a person, you're a glorified tool. And by the way, you got your hardware diagnostic wrong."

Poe raised his plasma defender again, a wide and nasty smile gracing his face.

"Your left-hand optical sensor appears to have been rendered nonfunctional due to severe thermal ablation."

Poe was less than two meters away and, even recovering from the last vestiges of Mr. Zero's shock prod, was still a crack shot with most energy weapons. Only a miracle would cause him to miss.

Before he could pull the trigger, all of the Luck 38's penthouse windows polarized to 100% opacity and all the lights in the room shut off, leaving the room in total darkness. The plasma discharge from Poe's energy pistol whizzed scant centimeters past Mr. Zero's sensor, colliding with the wall behind it and dissipating harmlessly.

"Oh goddamnit, this is such an obvious setup." Poe groaned.

Dallas was in total darkness, that was for sure. He had no clue where anyone his. Quickly scrounging around in his pocket, Dallas pulled out his lighter, and flicked it on, creating a small, warming light in the total darkness. 'What the fuck just happened?' Dallas asked, hoping that someone would respond. His cigarette hung in his mouth, the smoke illuminating within the tiny light of the flame. Dallas held his lighter up, hoping that it wouldn't go out. He had the thing for 4 years, he'd wonder sometimes how it lasted this long. Dallas looked down to the tiny light then back up into the pitch black darkness. He quickly slid his unoccupied hand onto the handle of his 44. Magnum cautiously, just in case someone decided to go rouge. 'Let me guess. This is gonna be Tenpenny and House's big entrance?' Dallas muttered to himself, looking into the darkness of the room. Dallas sighed and let go of his magnum. He was being too prudent for someone like him. He needed to keep his cool. Dallas held the tiny light in his hand.

Zero wasn't quite sure exactly what the man was saying, as his self-made lip-reading program was far from perfection, but he saved the entire record for further processing once the program was further developed. He did however, catch that the man's name was Poe, and something about Robobrains and ZAX A.I.s, which, in his opinion, were inferior to him. When he caught the phrase "couldn't...Turing test." however, he spoke up, knowing he could prove the man wrong.
"I'll have you know, I preformed the Turing test over five hundred times before the nuclear bombs fell, and, thanks to one of my many intuitive programs, I was able to pass them 17.16% of the time." Poe said something about his self-diagnostic and thermal ablation. "I assure you, I'm in proper repair." When the man drew his plasma gun, however, he realized that it was actually a threat. He brought up his claw arm to block the shot and started to move away, when the lights dimmed. Fortunately, however, he was able to see into the infrared.

Sabin was just about to open his mouth to laugh at Poe getting zapped before the lights flickered to darkness. He gasped as the green light propelled from Poe's gun flew across the room. He'd seen energy weapons such as that before, but never in actual effect. That thing could turn a human to a pile of goo in no time, he realized. Remembering that for future caution, Sabin pulled out his pistol from the holster strapped to his thigh. Why were the lights out, did the electricity supply cut out or something? Sabin doubted that a place this fancy would have a wavering power supply. Maybe it was some kind of sabotage and any second a mob of giant, flesh-eating mutants would swarm the room. he thought that was more more likely. Having no way to see in the darkness himself, Sabin swung his pistol around slowly, not able to see anywhere. As Dallas's lighter flickered on, he looked towards it wearily. It was probably a trap, drawing the now blind members collected in the room towards the light. Was this all some elaborately planned assassination? Sabin pointed his pistol toward the light, ready if anything popped out in the darkness.

“Well he’s certainly horrifying.” Castillo said, grinning towards Hayley as the pair watched him approach the robot.

“He’s dangerous, but he knows what he’s doing, and he’s absolutely flawless with tech and numbers.” She said, arms still crossed.

“Numbers like your weight?”

“Shut the hell up, Castillo.” Hayley shot him a glare, which softened a bit when she saw the man chuckling. “Gat damn you wasteland wanderers….first time I’ve ever been offended by someone saying I lost weight…” She muttered beneath an amused smile, grabbing a beer from a nearby icebox.

“It’s damn loud in here. Not used to seein’ this many of these types so quick to chat it up. Must be the shared experience of having no idea what the hell is going on.” Castillo quipped to himself, following Hayley to the table.

“We did our best to find people whose personalities were likely to survive a long trip over dangerous terrain.” Hayley said, leaning back on a table after taking a swig of her beverage.

“That explains the Nightkin, the psychopath with the grenades, and a robot…” Castillo’s sarcasm was not lost on Hayley.

“Keep it up trail boss, I may kick you off the trolley myself.”

“Well it’d probably be the most action I’ve seen from a lady in awhi--” Castillo was cut short by the sudden cutting of the lights. Instinctively, he drew his revolver and dropped into a crouch. Upstairs, the hissing of an energy weapon cut through the sudden silence.

A symphony of iron clearing leather filled the room as weapons were drawn and ready. Few here were new to the danger of strangers in the dark.

A moment passed, and the room was silent but for a few mutters and curses.

The first light to return was that of the enormous monitor in the suite’s main room - a monitor which now bore the digitized face of the pre-war Mr. House.

Then, the room lights came up to their pre blackout brightness, revealing a new human figure in the room - the elegant, burgundy suited Sherrington Tenpenny.

“My sincerest apologies for the drama.” Tenpenny began, raising his hands in the air as though he were calming a room of children. “I don’t particularly care for dramatics, but I thought it the most expedient way to garner the totality of your attention. If you will proceed to the seats before you, business can commence.” Tenpenny said, pointing to the seats assembled before House’s monitor.

The assembled group consented - cautiously - and took positions in front of the monitor. Some stood behind the seats, too unnerved to take the vulnerable seated position.

“Let me introduce you to our most gracious host and this venture’s primary benefactor, the owner and operator of the legendary Lucky 38 casino, and the benevolent ruler of New Vegas - Mr. House.” Tenpenny said, lacing his introduction with a bit of dramatic flair, as well as a trace of sarcasm.

With that, the monitor’s lights seemed to grow even brighter, as those House’s own spirit now inhabited the screen.

“Welcome to the Lucky 38. I am Mr. House. I appreciate your collective response to the call for laborers on this journey. For those of you who are here without invitation, you will be vetted, and, if found lacking, will be disposed of.” House’s voice was heavy, loud, and full of authority. The death threat was frank. “If you believe to have found yourself in this meeting in error, you may chose to leave now, and no harm will befall you.” House waited a moment. No one moved.

“Very well. My words and time are valuable, as I’m sure yours' are as well, so I will not parse words. The work we have for you is straightforward but not simple. I have chosen you because past experience with independent contractors has proven fruitful. I trust you will not cause me regret in this decision.” House continued, his screen occasionally flickering as he spoke.

“Several years ago, Mr. Tenpenny, whose name most of you should be familiar with, brought to my attention the potential to revive a pre-war technology even I believed to have been lost to time and desolation.” House’s flicked and showed a pre-war promotional photo of a family boarding a levitating trolley, smiling as they climbed.

“Before the Great War, the world was a much smaller place. A person could travel from one side of the Earth to the other in under ten hours. Aeroplanes, Zeppelins, Vertibirds, and bullet trains made travel a thoughtless exercise, one which would eventually lend a great hand in the destruction of the old world.” As House spoke, pictures reflecting his words flicked on the screen, as though he were narrating a slide show for school children.

“Across the North American continent, a great number of electromagnetic rail lines were buried deep in the earth. Avoiding confusing and lengthy technical explanations for those of you less inclined to such areas, the layman’s explanation of these lines’ purpose is as follows; they allowed for trolleys to travel at high speeds across the continent. The directed magnetic fields created by the lines allowed the trolleys to float several feet in the air, allowing them a smooth, frictionless ride across the varied landscape of this country.” As House finished the sentance, a map of the continent took over the screen, with colored lines dividing the map.

“This is a map of the three major rail lines before the Great War. This is not a comprehensive map - there are a variety of junction and secondary lines that exist, but for the purposes of this expedition, this is the map you with which you will operate.” House let the map hang for a moment on the screen, then flicked back to his own face to continue.

“Tenpenny and Dr. Clarke sought me out to help fund the revival of these lines. I do not believe you to be fools, so I will not treat you as such - the three of us stand to benefit immensely from the revival of the rail system. So do you. But compensation will be discussed later.” Any ears not paying attention to House’s words now certainly were.

“The rail lines are powered by ground level powerstations, which allowed pre-war mechanics ease of access for maintenance on the lines. Unfortunately, this also left them exposed to destruction, scavengers, and general wear since the war. Each station, normally situated in larger cities, powered the line from its city of origin to the next station - but no further. Meaning the station in New Vegas will send the trolley to New Reno. However, until the New Reno station is brought back online, the trolley cannot continue to the next city. This is where your services are needed.” House said, showing photos of pre-war powerstations.

“Dr. Clarke has developed a power source which can be used to revive the lines buried deep below. Mr. Poe has the knowledge, thanks to my gracious providing of relevant technologies…” House almost spat the words out, “needed to install the power sources and restart the lines. The rest of you will accompany Dr. Clarke and Mr. Poe, using your varied skills to aid in the revival of the lines and the building of travel stations for those wastelanders who will no doubt wish to travel the new lines here to New Vegas. Mr. Castillo will serve as the trail leader, as his experience with deep caravan expeditions is second to none.

“To be clear: You will take a trolley on one of the three available lines, whichever you collectively choose. You will revive the lines in each city you visit. You will build a traveler’s kiosk and defenses. You will keep key personnel alive. You will spread the word of this trolley, and of the civilization of New Vegas.” House said, his screen now hanging solidly on his smirking gaze. “Complete this task, and you will be rewarded handsomely. Those who return from the east coast end of the rail will be financially free for the remainder of their days. Should they choose, they may live cost free at any casino in New Vegas. They will be provided for, financially, for any want. You will not have to worry for food, for security, for health care. All will be yours. All you must do is do the job, and return.” House was silent for a moment, letting the reality of his offer sink in for the gathered team.

“If you fail in your mission, I will send another team to finish. If they fail, I will send another. These rails will live, the only question left to answer is whether or not you will benefit from the connection. If any of you should be here with intentions to sabotage this journey, I would advise you against such actions. I’m sure there are plenty of interested parties in this room more than willing to bury you in a shallow grave along a lonely trail for putting their lives and chance at unthinkable fortune at risk.”

Castillo wasn’t sure, but he could swear he saw that digital smirk grow even more lopsided.

“You are permitted to choose the lines you take. The northern lines will pose difficulties during winter, and likely will pass through more settled lands, as the midwest was not so thoroughly devastated as the coasts. This means raiders, slavers, and any other category of miscreant may endanger your journey. The southern line, though sparing you the harsh winter conditions, first passes through Legion controlled lands, and hosts the usual struggles of surviving in a desert climate. You will have to overcome the obstacles as you encounter them - we can only help you so much from here. You will be independent, disconnected, and in danger. Keep this in mind.”

“Mr. Tenpenny.” House said, giving the floor back to the living human.

“Many thanks, Mr. House.” Tenpenny said, stepping to the center of the room again. “Any questions?”

When the lights died, Scrap was quick to react, darkness his ally for many years. Crouching low and drawing his oversized dart gun, he was all but invisible skulking toward the stairs for a vantage point. It was no Stealth Boy but the Nightkin was able to move surprisingly silently for his size, his only handicap being the need to leave his precious junk behind. When the lights flicked back on Ellie would notice her conversational partner no where in sight with only his giant satchel to mark the place he once stood.

When Tenpenny requested the lot be seated, Scrap did so though not without a few curious stairs as he descended from the balcony once more. After House's spiel of riches and wealth untold it became very clear to Scrap the lot of them would be traveling together for some time. Narrowing his gaze at the Tiny Man once more Scrap snarled an unspoken reminder to keep tongue to himself or have it ripped out.

"Many thanks, Mr. House," Tenpenny said. "Any questions?"

Scrap raised his form uneasily, un-wedging himself from the wingedbacked chair as he spoke. "Scrap have, grah, Scrap have question, Penny Man. Why need two workers? Scrap fix anything, Gutsy not necessary." As if to illustrate his point, Scrap marched to where his satchel lay and shouldered his supplies. "Scrap fix anything," he repeated.

"Just one, great Grace." Poe said, a genuinely thoughtful expression visiting his lips. "You're contracting me to install a security network and hardware on-site at each of these powerstations, and those I can rig to be more inhospitable than the bottom of the ocean to trespassers. These lines though, they may be buried underground, but seeing as we'll likely be running into them anyway the Brotherhood of Steel at least - and a few others I can think of - will have both the capability and the desire to disrupt these lines not at the power stations, but along their lengths. I may be missing some nuance concerning your relationship with those boyscouts, but I've heard there's not much lost love between you."

Poe didn't bother to actually arranged his sentence in order to present a proper question, instead erecting a shoddy construct with a bunch of dangling bits on it with the expectation that House would attempt to catch all of them.

As the lights flickered back on, Dallas shut the lighter closed, stuffing it away into his pocket and taking the cigar out of his mouth, puffing out the fumes.

He listened to what House had to say. Dallas' interest was peaked. He always wanted to get out of the Mojave, explore more ground than he usually did. He placed his cigarette in his mouth again, then took it out, the fumes seeping from his mouth this time. 'Any questions?' Tenpenny asked. Dallas had none. He WAS curious yes, but not in an: Ask a million questions type of way. He was intrigued, especially with passing through the southern line. 'I'm guessing we're gonna have to pass through Dallas.' He said quietly, holding his cigarette in between his index and middle finger, the smoke emitting from the embers on the tip. Even though Dallas liked the idea of visiting his home town, he was definitely more interested in the Northern Line. Besides, he always wanted to see if it ever rained in the USA, and the northern line would be the best way to help his theory.