“I wouldn’t, if I were you. The boss is in a foul -fucking- mood.”

O’Leary took a step back, the ghoul tilting his head to address the doorman.

“Who's got the boss’s panties in a bunch, this time?” He asked, his necrotic voice a guttural rasp.

“One of the NCR patrols grabbed Chaves and his prospectors. Sounds like the republic wants to make an example of them.”

O’Leary sighed.

“Motherfucker. I guess all this shit with the Lazzari family has got the good people of California breathing down their necks.”

“Pretty much,” the doorman grunted “President Bailey needs to show the wasteland that he’s still the one calling the shots.”

“What am I supposed to do with the prisoners, then?” O’Leary asked, his rot-riddled face twitching with annoyance.

“Improvise,” the doorman shrugged “just give them the bare bones version.”

“If I get strung up for this I’m gonna be fuckin’ pissed.” O’Leary grumbled, turning on his heel, and stomping off back through the bombed-out hallways which ran like a web throughout the Pagan’s temporary headquarters.

The walk back to the makeshift holding cell was a brief one, past peeling plaster and cracked brick. Grey hunks of metal were sprawled out across the floor, and centuries old electric cabling hang from the ceiling, swaying in the air like trails of frayed rope.

The Holding cell itself was fashioned from a Pre-War Freeze Room, with a humongous metal code-locked door guarding the way.

O’Leary punched the code into the keypad.

1-3 1-3

The door let out a deep groan as the lock steadily undid itself; its internal mechanisms dulled by centuries of neglect.

Inside were the prisoners; all bound and bagged, and knelt down on the floor. They were arranged in a line, stretching across the tiled floor of the now inactive freezer.

O’Leary set about taking the old sacks off of the prisoner’s heads, but made a point of keeping their wrists bound.

“Under normal circumstances we’d have shot you the moment you set foot on Pagan land,” the ghoul began “but these ain’t normal circumstances.”

O’Leary paused, taking a moment to look over the ragtag bunch of prisoners.

“Someone’s been killing our guys, and the boss reckons Donna Lazzari is behind it,” he explained “of course, we can’t be seen to openly oppose her ladyship. We need some nondescripts to head over to Reno and see what they can find out. The pay is two thousand caps, and your freedom.”

The Ghoul looked them over once more, carefully watching each prisoner.

“Who here plans on living to see another sunrise?”

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.

Most people, when trapped, would try and keep a cool head. Maybe they would be quiet, and try to observe their surroundings. Dusty was not like most people. Before the freezer door was opened Dusty was thrashing and snarling, trying to free her hands or uncover her face.

The Raider could barely remember how she had gotten into this situation. Punching? Some Chems? Eh. Whatever. That wasn't important.

And then the doors began opening. Again, a normal prisoner would keep quiet and calm, and not move. Dusty did the opposite of this. She snarled, the sound muffled by the bag on her head. She again tried at her binds, and then the sack was off.

Dusty looked more like a trapped animal then a human. Eyes wide and darting around, looking for an exit. Hair tangled and matted, pressed up against her forehead with sweat. Her teeth bared and clenched, a bit of spittle flying from her mouth as she spoke.

"When I got out of here I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill every last one of you fuckers!"

She yanked at her binds, her arms threatening dislocation.

Her voice was straining and growling, as if she had been screaming for the past few days and her throat was begging for some rest. But the scratching along her arm, the wild look in her eyes, and the cold sweat she was in told a different story. Withdrawl.

Dusty let out a growl, thrashing in her binds.

It was pretty clear that she didn't care about what this person was saying.

Freddy was in truth sleeping most of the time. He did not know how he got here, probably kidnapped while trying to play poker with the sharks or something along those lines. He dreamed a good dream, of Brotherhood Paladins burning down a village of ghouls and supermutants, with a synth smashed here or there. The flames of their incinerators made him feel warm, until some sort of rally, some sort of counterattack with shouting began. "Oh." He thought, "A poor conclusion to a dream if there ever was one." as some man began addressing him. He only now realized he was imprisoned, and had a bag taken off. It was going to be one of those days.

What was this though, some rebellious shouting. The voice was definitely recognizable. Perhaps one of the working girls he wasn't too shy to ask the services of? No, they would not be imprisoned like this. Perhaps the owner of some place he stayed at? Equally silly. Then it dawned on him, and he grinned. Coincidences such as these always put a smile on his face, he wondered if Dusty knew he was here. Yawning a little he turned his head a little to look at the assembled company, and noticed a ghoul; two of them. His face twisted a little at the sight of the revolting things. After sighing, he took a breath to speak and sat up. He picked his words carefully, trying not to reveal anything he thought - a simple task with what little he said - in case they would make his life a whole lot worse.

"Well sir, I don't mind." he replied. He wondered if he should try to help out his friend somehow, make sure that her disobedience doesn't leave her as radroach chow. For now he just gave Dusty a light tap with his foot, smiling with a wink should she look at him.

Dallen opened his eyes as the dawn began to break through the sky. It was a long cold night before, as all he had was his trench coat and a fire pit to keep him warm. As he remained lying down he looked to the dead fire, with only clunks of ash remaining. His eyes turned as he saw an approaching radroach wandering aimlessly in his direction.

'Breakfast,' he thought as he sat up and pulled out his tactical knife. The roach was stopped dead in its tracks as he brought the knife down onto it, holding it firm until the disgusting thing finally died.

By noon the sun was shining brightly and raged down on him. The wasteland landscape looked endless and dry, with small peaks of mountains far off in the distance. After a few more hours he reached one of the formerly distant pinnacles. He climbed its' rocky surface and eventually made it to the top. The breeze was cooler up there and the vegetation around him seemed to change greatly.

After a brief rest he continued through the rocky slope, searching everywhere for signs of water. He found a small crevice that looked corroded, so he dropped his backpack and jumped down into it. The dirt formed into clay clunks, which was a good sign to him. He took off one boot and a sock, then dug up some of the moist clay and dumped it into the sock. From within he squeezed the moisture of water out of the bottom and drank into it, it wasn't nearly enough but it gave him a slight boost of energy. Dallen then cleared out of the hole and continued onward, hoping to find something a bit better.

By dusk he was traveling through a mountain pass. His stamina was low and he wanted to stop, but he kept going anyway. He had maybe an hour left of light in the sky, and knew he had to think of something quick, as a noticible change in the weather could be seen ahead. It seemed luck was on his side, though, as he crossed over into an open desert field. There was an abandoned train station in the valley below him. An old cargo train was set on the tracks, dusted and worn.

He scouted the area. It seemed safe enough to sleep, but he still had to be extremely cautious. He looked in one of the train carts to find it empty, with dirt strewn on the floor. After he climbed in he shut the cart door partially and sat down, taking a much needed rest.

He had fallen asleep, unaware that a rad storm had blown in and out during the while. When he awoke the sun was up again as if it were midday, as it shined through the crack he left open from the cart door. He got up, then took out a cigarette from a wringled up pack and lit it with a match. He took a moment of relaxation as he finished the smoke, calming himself more so than he already was.

He got out of the train cart and looked up to the sun. Judging from its placement in the sky he figured it was only eight or nine o'clock in the morning, it just felt later. He cracked his neck and began to scavenge the barren train station. Soon realizing this was just another dump, he decided to head back out into the great nothing. If he hurried, he might make the next town or settlement by nightfall, though whether the people down here were good or bad remained to be seen. He was aiming toward bad.

Suddenly, the roar of gunfire took to his attention. Dallen quickly exited the station from the rear, climbing up the rocks behind it to get a decent vantage point. His ammo was low, having only his .357 with him, holding 12 rounds. He had hoped to reach a town for resupply by now, but he apparently had been taken off the main route at some point. Probably when he avoided that large group of scavengers back a few days ago.

Dallen watched patiently as raiders moved up to the area. He laid flat and tried to stay silent. Minutes felt like hours as the group searched the place, just as he had moments before. Just another gang, just another day. Dallen waited until they all were on the other side, setting up a camp for themselves. He slowly rose to his steel toe boots, then backed away, wanting to avoid the entire situation.

He made it up the hill, but just when he was about to scale the top and be out of these raiders area for good, something big tore through the earth below him. Just a few feet away, a radscorpion surfaced and stared directly at him. It was as large as a brahmin and as black as the night, with red dots spotted all over it.

"Shit!" Dallen said, then immediately went on the defensive. He backstracked his steps as the giant creature lunged forward. Narrowly missing an attack from the radscorpion's stinger, he fell, back down the way he came. He landed on a flat rock, seeing the thing jump after him. Quickly gaining control of his firearm, he had no choice but to let it loose and open up some rapid fire direct into the radscorpions face. It backed the creature enough for him to roll off the flat ledge and down onto the next one below it.

Dallen quickly reloaded, dumping out the shells he had just fired and tossing in new ones. The radscorpion again followed, scaling down the side as Dallen shot more into it. The two kept going down the unsturdy hill, until Dallen reached the bottom and fired his last shots into the weakened thing. It still attacked, but it wasn't fast enough. Dallen sidestepped an oncoming stinger thrust, picking up a fist sized rock, and then bringing it down with all his force and onto the radscorpion's skull. He continued to keep bashing the rock against the creature, smashing its head into the hard ground beneath it. When he felt satisfied that it was dead, he backed away and layed down, staring up at the sky to catch his breath.

"Pretty impressive showing."

He didn't have to look up to know that it was the raiders, all standing over him with their weapons drawn. Yet, he did anyway, only to receive a boot to his face. Then darkness.

When he came to, his hands were bound and a bag was over his head. Feeling that the bind around his wrists was tight enough to keep him there, he had no choice but to wait and hear out whatever came next. He remained silent as he heard others in the room with him, one of them a very vocal female. When the bag was lifted from his head, he blinked his eyes a few times and then observed everyone around him, as well as what was being said. There were easier ways to obtain his services, however Dallen accepted this as the way it played out. It was either go along with it all, or wait longer and kill every last one of them in their sleep. Cracking his neck, Dallen just slightly nodded and let the ghoul continue.

Horus continued on his way towards New Reno. The trip gave him much time to think about what he was doing, and if he should continue on this path of a mercenary or go back to scavenging.

He considered the dangers, death at the forefront. He knew mercenary work was going to be bloody, and being a ghoul meant he'd likely be considered for more dangerous tasks where expendable employees are preferred. That coupled with the fact that he would now be actively seeking danger rather than avoiding it as he was accustomed to gave him pause for thought along the way.

On the other hand the life he had chosen up to this point had brought him no end of strife. Living in constant worry and fear for how he would make the following days meal and just trying to stay out of the line of fire had begun to wear him down. When he tried to gain support and a sense of security by trusting in others he found himself betrayed. His old life had seen no improvement to his sense of safety and he knew something needed to change.

He finally resolved the conflict and told himself the only way he'd get his security is if he earned it. Through the bloody work of a mercenary he'd raise the caps to make something of himself. He hadn't quite worked out what he'd do with a fortune's worth of caps yet, but he knew well enough that money meant power, just like it did in the old world.

---------------

Arriving in New Reno was a dazzling sight for Horus. Every turn felt like it welcomed him with new lights and fancy signs for casino with criers calling out to passers by in an attempt to usher them into the casinos. He quickly noticed however that none had called out to him.

It didn't take long for Horus to be turned away from the first bar he sought entry to. He scoped out a few more but saw them adorned with "No Ghouls" or "No Zombies" signs at the entrance. He had begun to lose hope when finally he found a small bar without a doorman to refuse him, "The Fast Fix". As he entered he felt a few glares but not every patron payed him mind or made him feel unwelcome. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. As the bartender approached him he noticed the man take a visual scan, though he felt it was directed more at his attire rather than his decaying flesh.

"What blew your corpse into town ghoul?" The man barked.

"Looking for work." Horus croaked.

"Yeah? You planning on being an exhibit of the human body for school kids?"

"Looking to make an exhibit for whoever pays the most."

The bartender cut his laugh short after Horus sharply replied to his insult. The man scanned him a second time, leaning over to get a better look at Hours' weapons.

"Head out to these coordinates and ask for a guy named Mercutio, tell him Earl sent ya. They might have something for you."

The man passed Horus a slip of paper.

Horus quickly slammed back the last of his drink and snatched up the paper with a quick "Thanks." before briskly walking out of the bar.

Horus felt pure excitement as he set foot from the bar's entrance but quickly brought himself back to reality. The man could have gave him phony coordinates just to send him on a wild goosechase or could be trying to set him up for pure hatred of ghouls. However, this was the best shot he had been given. It had been the only bar not to refuse him entry and the only man who didn't refuse to speak to him.

He plotted his route and began the journey to meet Mercutio.

The trip was a reasonably long one and would take 2 days. On the first night Horus made camp sheltered by some rocks out in the wasteland. He dreamt of the old world and his life before the bombs fell before his dream was interrupted by a sharp pain followed by black nothingness.

--------------------

Horus groaned and croaked as he awoke, still looking into a void of darkness. He quickly realized his head had been covered and his hand bound with wire. He attempted to struggle for a moment but only felt the wire dig into his rotting flesh. He could hear the thrashing and shouting of a woman nearby and the heavy breathing of others in the room.

His mind began to flood with questions. Where was he? Who had knocked him out? Was he set up? Who else was prisoner with him? Where had they put his hat? He began to doubt himself and cursed his ridiculous idea of becoming a mercenary.

He suddenly felt the material over his face pulled away and met eyes with another ghoul, clearly his captor.

Horus scanned the room and took note of the other captives.

His eyes were first drawn to the woman thrashing in place and wondered if the other ghoul planned to shoot her on the spot. Glancing at her face he saw she looked a bit ragged and unkempt. He was about to assume she was perhaps a slave or a captured drifter until he saw her build. He quickly realized an individual doesn't gain muscle mass on a slave's diet and and his mind only filled with more questions as to how she had found herself here.

He noticed a man in a heavy black trench coat. Judging by the man's attire alone he certainly had the look of a mercenary but for a 2nd time Horus retracted the assumption upon seeing the man's face. He had an almost dashing appearance to him and reminded Horus of the old adventure serials he watched before the war. The man's look gave him a sense of too good to be true and following suit with the woman, only raised further question.

Horus met eyes with another captive and saw the look he gave at the site of a ghoul. He had grown to pick up on the face people made when they saw a ghoul and were unhappy with the encounter. Horus ignored the unspoken comment, over the years he'd grown accustomed to it and began to expect it as a first reaction from smoothskins. The man looked offset to the rest of the captives, not boasting any obvious astounding physical fitness but appeared to dress the part given their situation. Horus associated the leather jacket as a sort of 'tough guy' trope given all the films he viewed pre war.

Horus ironically noticed the most obvious captive last. A man who looked as if he had been a bear in a previous life. He looked tough, both due to his obvious physical fitness and intimidating scars across his face. The man certainly looked on the older side but still gave the impression that he could fight like a 27 year old. The sight of him gave Horus a sinking feeling that if this man was captive alongside him, his captors meant business.

Horus' attention turned back to the ghoul. The ghoul went on to explain that he had a job for the group, involving tracking down people who had murdered members of his own group. Horus' ears pricked up at the mention of 2000 caps. 'This was it' he thought. The beginning to his fortune.

"I'm in."

“If you scream and shout like that, you’re gonna get yourself shanked real fast-like, kid,” O’Leary scowled, gazing down at the girl with tangled hair, before adding “I’m glad to see the rest of you are a bit more...agreeable.”

The Ghoul cracked his fingers, dead nerves brushing over rotten flesh.

“Anything you had when we picked you up will be returned to you on the way out. Don’t fight over shit, I don’t have time for that kind of headache. You’ll get a thousand caps now, and the other thousand once the job is done. Bianchi will take you to New Reno in the Old Highwayman. Once you’re there, you’re on your own.”

O’Leary reached down to his belt, removing a pair of plyers.

“Try anything stupid and you’ll end up full of lead.” He snapped.

The Ghoul stepped cautiously towards the former prisoners, slowly cutting through the wire which bound their wrists.

“There,” he grunted “now get the fuck outta here.”



New Reno. A city of vice and sin, even before the bombs fell. Within the concrete streets of this grimey labyrinthe, trash can fires flicker, and huge neon signs bathe the sidewalks in an electric glow. You can barely walk ten paces without passing a hooker or drug dealer.

The word is out that Donna Regina, and her associates within the Lazzari crime Syndicate, are looking for hired muscle to escort a courier up to Vault City, on some kind of clandestine mission. Donna Regina can be found at the Shark Club, one of the many casinos controlled by the Lazzari family.

Elsewhere, there are whispers of a planned insurgence against the Lazzari family, by the Torres family, who supposedly have the silent backing of the NCR. You can make contact with them at the Last Call, a bar in downtown.

Your driver, Bianchi, mentions that he has a cousin working for the Lazzari’s, by the name of Mancini. Mancini is a captain within the mob, who Bianchi says has work for those who’re interested. Mancini hangs out at the Desperado, another of the Lazzari’s casinos.

Whatever course of action you take, whether you split up or work together on the same lead, is up to you. Just remember that the Pagans have eyes everywhere...

Dusty's face visibly twitched with anger when she was referred to as kid. She didn't care of the walking sack of minced meat was hundreds of years old, no one called her kid. Throwing all caution, not that she had any to begin with, the raider snapped back.

"Yeah? Well hows about you go do something more productive? Like deep throating a cactus!"

But something interrupted, or at least redirected, her rage. Someone was tapping on her. Dusty whipped her head around, lips curled back in an almost animalistic snarl, ready to lash out at whoever was bothering her. But then realized she recognized him. It took a moment for her eyes to focus on who was sitting next to her. His face, and the smile and wink, was very familiar. A person she had brushed paths with for quite a few times. Them meeting like this would have felt strange, but the two always collided at the strangest of times.

The Raiders face changed for a moment, from anger to confusion. She wasn't confused about seeing him, it was bound to happen eventually, but his name was escaping her. More often then not she was high when she saw him. His name wasn't all important, especially when he was feeding her bad habits. She finally spoke, her angry tone replaced by one laced with interest.

"Uh...hey there doc...?"

Dusty took this lapse in her withdraw filled anger to take in her surroundings. She was with several other people, more then she could count. A clean looking man, a ghoul, a man with a gnarly looking scar, and doc. Oh and another ghoul, who was being an asshole. She felt the rage returning, her vision focusing on the ghoul standing over them. He had been talking, but she wasn't listening. And now he was leaning down with wire cutters.

It took nearly all her self control to not attempt to slug the ghoul in his wrinkly face. But the rattling of caps kept her from succumbing. She could punch people later, right now she wanted caps. The second her hands were free Dusty began digging through her bag, trying to find something...anything...to get rid of the itch in her veins. She didn't get to search for long before the group was being moved along.

---

New Reno. And even though she couldn't read the sign Dusty already knew she loved this place. Dirty. Bright. Crowded. And with a fuck ton of caps in her pocket she knew what her first stop would be. She could see them, chem dealers, lurking along the sides of the roads. She was hoping to find someone more...credible, but eventually she would just get what she gets.

The Raider broke away from the group a few times to blow kisses and wink at the passing hookers, not even remembering how she got the caps and what they were even doing in the city. She didn't even know who the people she was traveling with were. Dusty coughed, scratching at her arm for a moment before turning to the group.

"So...where we going?"

He was glad Dusty's shouting got them in no trouble, and the disgusting corpse-man did not remove their important bits. He quietly gave the ghoul the finger while he wasn't looking, rubbing his wrists. He did not appreciate what he did. The Highwayman was an interesting experience. He reckoned things would have been better in the Mojave if they had a few of these. Well, what could one do. He remained quiet during the trip, trying to finish the dream. Where was he? Oh yes, stomping on that one ghoul's face, yes indeed.

---

When they finally arrived, he stood up, and stretched, yawning a little. He would experimentally blast his recharger pistol into the night sky a few times, with a little maniacal laugh coming from him while doing so. The thugs did not damage the thing, excellent! As far as he knew, recharger pistols only appear in the Mojave. He laughed a little more as he strolled around shooting the thing, like a strobe light. Sighing happily, and looking about, he finally said to the group: "Hmmm?" Getting a grip on himself, he took another pause to think.

After quickly weighing the options, he spoke up. "Well, first we enjoy ourselves a little, get some chems, booze, girls, gamble. Get ammunition, fix up our gear, I think I might need a little more armour than this here. We get to know each other, and finally...." He took a dramatic pause, letting everyone know that was what he was doing through means of a drum-roll on his lap. "We decide if we are doing this, or just getting the hell out of Reno."

Sin City. The glamor and lights brought a smirk to Dallen's face as they finally got to town. It felt like a place he could get used to, maybe in another time period, perhaps before the bombs fell. He looked over to the ghoul in the group as he lit up a cigarette and cracked his neck again. In a way he envied the ghouls, of how they got to witness the world the way it used to be. The way everyone these days were trying to make it look again, at least in this town.

His focus shifted back toward the loud mouthed raider as she blew kisses toward a group of hookers. He sighed and rubbed at his temple. Great, not only was this girl loudmouthed and batshit crazy, but she was also a chem addict. He could tell by her movements, plus she was just downright truthful about it. Looking over the others, Dallen gave out an optimistic shrug. At least there was only one crazy person in the group.

Then the other guy starting shooting off his recharger pistol. Dallen sighed again, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it off and away. Quickly he checked his magnum again, the pagans were kind enough to refill his chamber. Be it only 6 bullets, it was enough to get started.

"We can do those things and find a lead on the Lazzari's at the same time," Dallen said. "Meet me at the poker tables in an hour, I might have a lead then. Or, don't." Dallen then made his way to the Shark Club to try his luck at some poker, while also hopefully finding out some information.

Horus had to restrain himself with every fiber of his being to keep his eyes from widening at the mention that he'd receive 1000 caps up front for the job. He'd never seen that kind of money all in one place let alone expect to get it as an advanced payment on his first job. For a moment he arrogantly thought his makeshift desperado costume might have given the impression he knew what he was doing but knew deep down that probably wasn't the case.

He followed his captor out of the holding area remaining silent. Collecting his things Horus eagerly reached for his hat and snugged it down atop his bald head with gusto. After fashioning his weapons back in their place and quickly checking his medical supplies to ensure nothing had been stolen he followed the ghoul outside to the Highwayman.

Horus stood away from the vehicle and admired it for a while whilst the others took their seats. It felt like an eternity since he'd seen one in working order, not since the bombs fell. He closed his eyes and listened to the familiar hum of the engine. His father had owned one when he was young and Horus felt he had caught a familiar glimpse of his old life before his skin withered and his voice decayed. The driver called out to him as the others stared from the back seats and Horus quickly snapped himself out of the trance and took a seat in the Highwayman.

Horus listened intently to the leads the driver offered as they drove to New Reno. Horus wasn't sure where he would begin and instead took the time to close his eyes and daydream, feeling the familiar if ruined upholstery and vibration from the engine block he thought back to his days riding in the back seat as a boy with his father driving.

------------

Upon arriving in New Reno Horus stuck with the group for a while. A few of them broke away at moments and did what they could to cause a fuss but Horus quickly learned it mattered little in a town like New Reno, it took a lot to draw attention in a town like this. After walking a bit farther the group stopped and began to weigh their options.

The action movie hero spoke up and offered that they should meet him at the Shark Club to pursue a lead.

"Maybe I'll see you there." Horus said in a crackly voice.

"Need to pick up a few things first."

He broke away from the group without another word. He knew that if he was tasked with snooping around for the Pagans he'd need to do something about his appearance. If his first trip to New Reno taught him anything it was that like many places in the wasteland ghouls were not welcomed with open arms. Still, it was better than the 'shoot on sight' policy of other places.

During his first visit he spotted an equipment shop and began making his way there. He figured his only hope was to disguise himself as best he could in the hopes of getting into some of the casinos and bars to pursue the leads he had been given. The lead on Vault City was out of the question, he'd heard stories from other ghouls that they shoot on sight and didn't want any part of that, even if this was mercenary work. With that option out he was left to join the other Merc at the Shark Club or try his luck at the Desperado.

Once he found the equipment shop Horus picked out a bandana for his face and an old pair a riding goggles. He figured he would look enough like and adventurer that the casino guards would give him a pass without prompting him to speak and blow his cover.

Exiting the shop he still couldn't make up his mind on which lead to pursue. At his wits end he fell back on an old tradition of his to coax him to make up his mind. He'd flip a coin. Heads, he'd join the other Merc at the Shark Club, Tails, he'd head to the Desperado.

Dusty frowned, looking almost disappointed. Leads? They were looking for leads on someone named Lazzari? Well that's boring. She hated the whole 'figure out who you need to beat up and then find them' sort of junk. She liked the people with the big brains and stuff to figure out the who and the where, and then she could do the punching. Boring. Dusty was about to just take a breather and let the men do the sissy work, until one of them suggested combining work and play. The well dressed man suggested the group met up with him later, so even if Dusty found nothing then he might have something. Good. That means she wouldn't have to work as hard.

The Ghoul was the next to scurry off, to do whatever it was ghouls did. Which left her and Doc, as well as the older man who had yet to make himself known. And since none of the other mercs decided to introduce themselves, nicknames it is. Dusty turned to her long time acquaintance, giving him a mock salute.

"Well, Doc, I guess I'll see you in an hour! Gotta go collect..."

Dusty forgot the word for a moment, snapping her fingers until the phrase completed itself in her head.

"Leads! Yeah. Leads."

But by now Dusty was already wandering off into the city, excited by the possibility of girls, booze and chems. And where to get all of that? And maybe even a lead if she was lucky? A bar. A seedy and nasty bar. She would have to find one based off the smell and the sound, as reading the sign was out of the picture. She stood outside The Last Call, strtching her arms above her head before seeking out a woman outside.

Dusty knew a thing or two about hookers, mostly that they knew more then they led on. Women of the night often heard more then most. But Dusty also knew a thing or two about caps, and that was to always keep an eye on your pockets. She might keep the air of an unobservant addict, but she knew that money was the most important thing around. The Raider happily sauntered up to a woman, standing a bit away from the entrance to the bar. Dusty smiled, a look that looked pretty good on her, as she spoke.

"Hey Darlin' hows about you and I get a drink?" Dusty said, beckoning over her shoulder at the bar.

"I'll cover the costs, and you can tell me all about this fine city."

Fred, or Lee as he would call himself to them only half listened. He wondered what to do. He was alright at cards, though most likely worse than the other gentlemen in the group. It seemed that they did not want to leave Reno. This confused him; the job was a clear trap. He scratched his head thoughtfully before replying with an "Uh-uh." and wlaking off.

In the first order of business, he would go to a shop selling arms and armour, and get a ballistic weave sewn into his jacket, undershirt and jeans, along with steel caps and plates for his boots. He would go to a bathhouse and take a shower meanwhile, singing some pre-war song. When freshened up and with his clothes, he would spend a few caps to gel his hair, and shave, and clean his clothes along with polishing his boots. Satisfied, he would stock up on every sort of chem he could, and buy some remote-detonated explosives. He had very little money left, so he finally went over to the meeting spot. He would lean on a wall, drinking a nuka-cola and rum and wait to see the others, ocassionally snatching something insignificant from the pocket of a drunk thug, or someone who he would not feel any moral reprimand from robbing.

Dallen fit right in to the Shark Club as soon as he entered. He didn't even need to show his caps, as a well dressed guard came over and took his coat and weapons. Dallen was directed to the poker tables, of which he saw that there were many openings. He chose the table closest to the wall, in case of a firefight, which at this point was very likely to happen. There were three other men at the table, all seemingly talkative and aware of the city. Dallen sat down with them, tossing half his caps in for poker chips.

"New blood," one of the rugged man spat as he almost choked on his own cigar. "Pretty boy, whatchu doin' in Reno?"

"I thought it was obvious," Dallen answered. He called the hand on the table and tightened up his black tie so that it was straight again. "Let's play some cards."

Just a nod of approval came from the other guys, then the game started. Fold after fold, after a call that turned into a fold, Dallen finally felt comfortable. The guys sitting with him all drank heavily, shot after shot after shot. Dallen partook in a few of the whiskeys, but whenever he felt his mind slurring away from him, he'd order a white russian to calm himself back down.

His father taught him how to play, and also how to not get cheated. There was a lot of free time back at his father's old ranch, in which the two would play a lot of card games. His father also taught him how to cheat, so that he may never be cheated himself. Such a simple, once useless talent, he decided to use here and now. Once it was his turn to deal, he took two pair of kings from the last hand and stuck them at the bottom of the deck. He began to shuffle an indian shuffle, keeping the kings at the bottom while making it seem he was shuffling all of them. Then he dealt. There was some random small talk about absolutely nothing, which was good. It meant they didn't notice his shuffle cheat. Once he felt he was in, he played fair and occasionally joined into some small talk. He would, over the time played, give winnings to those that were losing, as well as keeping himself above what he bought in for.

Time passed by fast, as one by one the players went, until it was just Dallen and some fat guy, who wore a monocle and a black and white striped suit. Dallen was up, having won most of the games thus far. He noticed that as the other players left the game, more guarded men approached the table. It was obvious that whoever this guy was, he had a lot of caps.

"You're not bad pretty boy," the thug spoke. "Been a while since I've been challenged."

"Must be hard to find a real opponent," Dallen replied. "You know, when you're with the Lazzari's. No disrespect, I just mean you have a secure brotherhood. Look after another, you know..." Dallen took a sip of his whiskey, pretending to be drunker than he actually was.

"Ha!" the man spat. "I've nothing to do with that lot, though they are here. My crew is a bit smaller, though more loyal. We keep it in the family."

Dallen realized he was at the wrong table. He simply nodded in respect, then when it was his turn to deal again, he held two aces on the bottom of the deck. It was time to end this, then move on to the higher ups. Dallen sat back and looked at his two aces as the flop was dealt. Ace of hearts, king of diamonds, and a jack of spades. Dallen raised 100 and it was called. The turn was a ten of clubs, killing any chance of a flush. After the round was called, a 3 of hearts came as the river. Dallen raised another 100, as the large man threw all of his chips in.

"ALL IN!" he shouted.

"Call," Dallen replied.

The other guy threw down a jack and a king, giving him two pair. Dallen threw down two aces, giving him the win with three of a kind. But just as Dallen reached over for his winnings, one of the fat man's men walked toward the table.

"Liar!" he said, loud enough to hear but not enough for the loud room to notice. "I've been watching..."

As the skinny red haired man put one of his hands on top of the table, Dallen grabbed at his wrist and twisted. Before the man could let out a full squeal, Dallen quickly kicked his legs out from under him and let him topple to the carpeted flooring. He then stomped hard on his face, knocking the man out cold.

"No one calls me a liar," Dallen said, then got up and took his earnings with no problems. He lit up another cigarette as he walked away. He was up on caps, but down on information. Realizing the hour was almost up, he decided not to jump into another game of poker and instead down a few more whiskeys. He walked over to the bar within the Shark Club, sat down, and ordered a drink. Maybe the others found a lead.

@Dragonbud

The woman smiled at Dusty, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Heya, hotstuff,” she said softly “that might just be the best darn thing I’ve heard all week.”

He voice was quiet, almost nervous. Was she new at this? Or was something else on her mind? It was hard to say.

“So where do you wanna-”

“OI! CORINNE!” A gruff voice barked from across the street.

In a flash, four scruffily dressed men, wielding chains and wrenches, came stomping over, sliding out of a patch of darkness.

“You think you can fuck with Mister Torres and just walk away, you little cunt?!” The biggest of the men snarled, barging past Dusty, and yanking hold of the woman’s wrist.

“You’re a dead woman, whore!” Hissed another of the thugs, as their leader shoved Corinne up against a wall.

---

@Sol Grim

“You’ve got some serious cajones, friend,” the bartender let out a gravelly laugh, sliding over a glass of rum, mixed with Nuka Cola “I’ve seen Regina’s Sharks throw folks out for less. Guess they don’t have an issue with you. Heh, just be glad you didn’t spill any blood; that never ends well.”

The big man picked up a glass off of the grimy counter, giving it a quick wipe over with a damp cloth.

“Speaking of spilt blood, the boss is always after folks who can handle themselves in a fight,” the bartender said, looking Dallen over “If you’re looking for work, I can always buzz you up.”

Dusty smiled back at the woman, especially when the woman fluttered her eyelashes and expressed interest. It struck her as odd that the woman, while interested, seemed nervous. Maybe it was her first time being approached by a woman? Or maybe she was new at the whole 'being a lady of the night'. Dusty's smile relaxed a little, loosening up her posture, trying to make the woman feel more safe.

The raider extended an arm to the woman, hoping she would take it.

"Come on, lemme get you some food while wer' at it."

But before the two could move any closer to the tavern the two of them suddenly became a group. Four men, gruff, came out of seemingly nowhere. And before Dusty had a chance to comprehend what was going on there was shouting and cussing and violence. One of the men, likely the leader of the pack of mutts, pushed his way past the raider and grabbed at Dusty's potential lunch date.

Dusty, slightly knocked askew from the man pushing past her, slowly stood up straight. She could feel the blood boiling in her veins, the anger of being bossed around fueling her strength. Dusty took a deep, slightly shaky, breath as she moved up behind the man grabbing Corinne. She curled her fingers into a fist, her Spiked Knuckle Dusters glinting in the low light.

And without saying anything Dusty let out a shout as she swung her fist at the side of the mans head, aiming right for his temple.

The Spiked Knuckle Dusters collided with his skull with a satisfying crunch as his bones cracked from the force. A twisted smile spread across Dusty's face as the man began collapsing, a trail of blood flying from his scalp. The man fell to the pavement, Dusty was unsure if the man was unconscious or dead, right now it didn't matter.

"Dang, are you always an asshole to women? Or is today a special occasion?"

Dusty turned to the remaining thugs, standing over the fallen leader, keeping herself between Corinne and the other men.

"Now, I'm not gonna pretend that I know what's going on, but you assholes better fuck off before I send you for a dirt nap."

In the following silence Dusty swore she could hear the sound of blood dripping off her knuckles, landing on the hard ground. She smiled.

"He called me a liar," Dallen replied to the bartender. He gladly took the rum and coke, tossing a few caps his way for the trouble. He kept one single casino chip out and flipped it across his knuckles with relative ease, something he used to do with old world change, mainly just to relieve stress or pass the time.

The bartender then did exactly what Dallen had hoped would come out of the situation, by giving him a direction to take. Finishing off his cigarette and taking another drink, he looked up at the bartender and gave a nod.

"I suppose a job would serve better than going from town to town trying my luck at poker," he said. "Yeah, I'd like to meet the boss. What can you tell me about him?"

Fred looked about and noticed a funny fellow who he could rob when he - oh - the creepy guy who said he'd go gambling. He followed the man to the bar, quietly and sat not far off. He was certain he would be recognised, and would look to the ceiling and sniff if looked at. For now though, he kept quiet and would stir his drink with a swizzle stick.

He thought this was to do with the job; perhaps it was, so he decided to listen in, even if not as best as he could from this distance. He would put some caps on the table, in case later he was too drunk to pay, and to keep the barman's attention on the man, knowing Fred had paid.

While waiting he wondered what the others were up too. Dusty was probably lying in a puddle of her own making, be it chems, vomit or piss. The Ghoul, well he was probably being a ghoul and eating someone. He pulled his recharger pistol and started spinning it in a cowboy manner, and shot it at the nearest dartboard in use hitting the very centre; it was hard to miss with a weapon of that quality but he had not even seen one of the beauts outside of the Mojave. Point - or simple show of masculinity - made, he put the weapon away and awaited the next item of interest.

Horus caught the coin in mid air and took in a deep breath before opening his fist. The coin was revealed to show tails, focusing Horus towards 'The Desperado'.

He remembered passing the casino during his first visit to New Reno, it was hard to miss. Located on Virgin street right beside the ancient 'Reno' sign the casino was a glowing beacon of bright gold lights attempting to steer any travelers through its doors. As Horus made his way there he tightened the bandana around his face and made every attempt to conceal his misshapen flesh. He hadn't attempted to enter 'The Desperado' during his first visit but wasn't willing to take a chance on his first lead and be refused at the door.

As he approached the casino Horus could feel the heat emanating from the hundreds of lights that lined The Desperado sign. Had he not been wearing tinted riding goggles Horus would probably be squinting in his admiration for the sign. Walking closer to the front door Horus' heart began to speed up. He'd never been one for subterfuge and just kept trying to remind himself not to speak. There were 2 bouncers at the door, both seemed like towering giants to Horus. They seemed disinterested in him from a distance and as Horus nervously stared at them through his goggles he hardly noticed them even crane their neck towards him as he walked through the massive double doors.

Horus had to restrain himself from letting out a sigh of relief as he passed the guards for fear that his exhaling decay into a gargle. From the moment he stepped inside the casino Horus was overwhelmed by the heat and noise of all the patrons within. Shouts of anger and cheers of joy rang out from the roulette tables as the *pinking* of the roulette ball ended in a fast vibration signaling the spin had concluded. Various electronic noises rang out from the slot machines accompanied by the satisfying sound of coins paying out into a metal tray to a lucky patron. All the sights and sounds were strangely calming for Horus. It felt like another glimpse into the memory he had of the world before the bombs fell. Almost every square inch of the casino felt and looked just like the casinos did back before the war.

Gathering himself Horus recalled Bianchi's description of his cousin Mancini. Horus scanned the casino floor and noticed a man who fit the description sitting over at the bar chatting to a few other men. As Horus approached he overheard bits and pieces of their conversation and heard one of the other men call Mancini by name. He knew he had the right man.

Horus approached Mancini and waited for him to take notice. After a few moments the group ceased their conversation and acknowledged Horus.

"You need something?"

"Had a chat with your cousin Bianchi. I'm looking for work."

Horus' heart raced again as he spoke. He knew he wouldn't get through this whole job miming everything he did and secretly prayed Mancini wouldn't just turn him away for being a ghoul, or better even notice he was a ghoul through voice alone.

@Dragonbud

“You’ve got more balls than brains, lil girl,” snapped one of the thugs, giving his knuckles a sharp crack “This little whore has crossed one too many lines, and I’ll be fucked bloody before I let some white knight come between us and our caps.”

One gnarled hand shot into his jacket, and remerged gripping a stocky 10mm pistol.

Most people would’ve found staring down the barrel of a gun more than a little intimidating, but it wouldn’t take an experienced raider like Dusty very long to figure out that her assailant had made the rather fundamental mistake of forgetting to turn the safety off.

---

@Sol Grim

“Hey, we all gotta look after our reputations,” the bartender nodded his agreement “a man’s reputation is all he’s got, out here.”

The big man listened intently, keeping his focus fixed on Dallen.

“Well, for starters ‘he’ is a ‘she’,” The bartender laughed “the one and only Donna Regina. She’s a practical woman, but she’s not accustomed to taking shit from anyone, so watch your mouth around her.”

He cocked his head slightly, nodding to the elevator at the far end of the room, passed the throng of junkies and gamblers, which was guarded by two mobsters in dark suits.

“They’ll buzz you up, just tell ‘em Adrian sent you.”

---

@Andreyich

“Hey, asshole!” Snapped the bartender “Put the fucking weapon away, for atom’s sake! You're paying for that dartboard!”

The big man scowled, before returning to tending the bar.

“Fuckin’ hell, the nerve of some people…”

---

@Dismas

“That so, huh?” Mancini, a skeletal-thin man with a wiry moustache and a mop of greasy black hair, gave Horus the once over, looking him up and down with beady, vulture-like eyes

“Don’t bother hidin’ it, friend, I know you’re a corpse-man,” he laughed, a dry, wheezy, laugh (the distinctive laugh of a Jet addict) “but that’s good...I can use that.”

Mancini pulled a small scrap of paper out of the breast pocket of his suit, offering it to Horus.

“The Donna has dealings with one Murilo Esteves, the biggest Ultrajet kingpin in New Reno. Problem is, Esteves is caught up in a feud with Darlia, the Donna’s little sister. Darlia thinks Murilo wants her dead, so she’s gone into hiding until he calls the feud off. We’ve tried getting through to Mister Esteves, but he’s not big on us smoothskins.”

Mancini nodded to the piece of paper.

“That’s got the address to the Old Wright mansion over in East Side. That’s where you’ll find Esteves. If you can convince him to call off the feud, they’ll be a lot of caps in it for ya.”

Dusty rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her lips and cheek, clearly showing disinterest and a lack of fear. The Raider cocked an eyebrow at the thug who called her out.

"I think I gots more brains and balls then this sorry sack of shit."

She snarled, kicking the fallen thug leader and splattering some of his blood across the pavement. Dusty wiped the bottom of her foot on the ground as the thugs mentioned caps. Dusty took a moment to look back at the girl. So the men were after caps? Dusty wondered how much they were being payed? Maybe Dusty could get in on the caps if she let them have the girl? Eh...naw. She got plenty of money today, and it would be more fun to fight the rest of these thugs. Also, the lady was kinda cute.

Dusty turned back to the thugs, only to be met with a gun in her face. It wasn't the worst thing she ever had shoved in her face. Dusty smirked, looking the gun over. Poor bastard didn't even get his gun ready before whipping it out.

The Raider looked from the man to the gun and then back to the man. She winked at him and swung a fist at the outside of his elbow, aiming to break his arm inward. The man quickly went to pull the trigger, only to be stopped by his own forgetfulness.

His elbow joint broke with a satisfying snap, the twisted grin spreading back across Dusty's face. This was a good day.