New Vegas, 2290

“The King” - Lucky 38

War Never Changes… If it was truly unable to change, then the world it lived in would simply have to adapt. The King took a deep breath before shakily reaching for his martini and smothering his cigarette on an ashtray. From his balcony, mid-way up the impossibly lush architecture of the Lucky 38, he could see all of it – the entire sprawling landscape of New Vegas. Years removed from the Treaty of Goodsprings, the splendor of Robert House’s fingerprint was no longer confined within the Strip. The blinding illuminations had spread throughout New Vegas like an airborne parasite. The entire city had become an amalgamation of powerful neon lights, and The King could never quite get adjusted to seeing it this way.

He could somewhat discern Freeside from this spot, too; almost every time The King took the time to gaze upon his old home, he failed to recognize it. In the years following Mr. House’s brilliant-yet-highly-suspect powerplay, the Mojave unified under a collective lust for a carefree, consumerist existence. With that came House’s stake and signature; everywhere he touched became filled to the brim with power and wealth, Freeside especially. The buildings had been restored, the vagrants had been given dangerous jobs in Quarry Junction or forced out, roads had been re-paved, and above all else, The Kings were drowned in House’s wealth. Everything that had given New Vegas its identity had been lost – everything about the shining jewel of the Mojave was now coated with a meticulous and ornate finish. The King had not yet been able to decide whether this was a welcome or regretful change.

However, despite his newfound power, The King was powerless against the tidal wave of the old world. This was all there was; he could choose to become part of it or be thrown into irrelevance. It was an easy choice to make. Now, nine years removed from the simultaneous defeat of the Legion and NCR, he had become Robert House's right-hand-man. He didn't much care for the digs, but it was, above all things, his vehicle to leave a legacy.

The King watched as the delegates finally started to sift in. They weren’t difficult to spot; a great many of them arrived with gigantic traveling parties. A few had flown the whole way there, landed in McCarran Airfield—restored to its former use—and arrived via monorail. Mr. House had arranged for many securitrons to standby inside the gate and next to McCarran station, each outfitted with a different hand-crafted personality to suit the timbre of each faction.

Finally, The King let his martini breach his lips and cleared his throat. It was time. The delegates would be led by their respective secuitrons to The Gourmand inside the Ultra-Luxe, where a massive table had been set up in the middle, and a dozen masked waiters stood at the ready. Each faction would be granted an exquisite penthouse suite on the top two floors on the hotel and issued a welcome-bag from the front desk, each equipped with a time-schedule, a bottle of scotch, a hundred universal casino chips, and a holotape labeled “The Future”.

The King finished his martini, stood from his plush armchair, and ignited another cigarette. This was it. Mr. House would be watching. It was time to change the world.

Gloria Van Graff - Higgs Village, Big MT

5:00 AM

Gloria Van Graff had woken up at her normal time, eager to get operations underway and finish preparations for the New Vegas summit. It had been called with the idea of bringing peace to the nations of the wasteland but she knew better, the NCR and the Legion were going back to war as soon as the meeting ended and everyone went home. It was useless… well, to them at least. It was an easy way for the Van Graffs to continue expanding. All the representatives of the world, in one place, just ripe for the picking. In fact, this summit could speed up operations by 10 to 15 years. Originally, the corporation hadn’t planned on making its way further east for another 5 years, and not to the east coast for another 5-10 years after that. But with wars waging all over the continent, she was sure she would be able to make some arrangement to get weapons to the east within the year.

She left her house, looking around at the beautifully restored executive housing for her family and the elegant fountain centered in the middle. The building was filled to the brim with Van Graff security standing at every door as well, though in all honesty, Gloria hated it all. It was mostly established by request of her brother and sisters. Gloria preferred the harsh lifestyle she used to live, she felt like the luxury of it all was making her soft.

Gloria looked across at her father’s home and noticed he too was leaving his house. He held a cane at his side which he used to walk, and had 2 guards at either side of him. He was dressed in a perfectly clean black suit with a overcoat (looks like this: media.istockphoto.com/photos/old-scho…) Salvatore was old, but the man was pretty much the genius behind every operation, he was ruthless, merciless, and the reason the Van Graffs were in power. Gloria may manage Van Graff operations, but her father was in charge of every strategic play that they’d ever made. He was actually the one whom originally accepted House’s deal, and he was the one who ordered the countless attacks on Caravans throughout the NCR and the mojave such as Cassidy’s Caravan and other lesser brands looking to make a name for themselves. Though he may look like a shell of his former self, he’s still as ruthless as before and nothing big happens with the Van Graffs unless he’s first consulted. Even Gloria knew not to mess with her father, he’d as quickly order her death as he would any other one of the workers in this entire facility. The Van Graff family was really family only in name and blood, it just meant loyalty, nothing more.

Salvatore approached her
“Is the shipment ready for departure?”

Gloria nodded,
“I had it prepared yesterday, though, I’m heading over to ensure everything is loaded onto the plane and accounted for before we depart”

Salvatore began walking away,
“See that it is. We leave at one”

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2:00 PM

With the shipments of newly manufactured Energy weapons and explosives in tow, the private Van Graff executive plane arrived at McCarran airport. Gloria brought her own private security guard, Jean-Baptiste, her brother whom she consulted and trusted with everything. Salvatore brought four additional guards as well.

As they left the plane, a personalized securitron with the cartoon face of a mob made-man approached them “The Van Graffs… welcome back to Sin City. The summit meeting as I’m sure you know is at the Ultra Lux Gourmand.”

Salvatore shook his head,
“For Fuck sake… plan on feeding everyone some human meat to bond over?”

Gloria looked up at the robot,
“Cancel any meals pre set for us… we won’t be eating”

The robot responded,
“Very well. I'm sure you aren't here for the food anyway. Do you have any weapons that need to be moved?”

Gloria nudged her head towards the back of the plane,
“We’ll have our men handle that, the weapons in the back of the plane are not to be touched by anyone but my own. Understand?”

The securitron turned around,
“Very well. Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to the monorail”

------------------------------------------------------
The Strip
After exiting the Monorail and entering the strip, it was obvious that House had set up a secure operation here. A large amount of additional Securitrons had been brought in to ensure the security of the diplomats. Gloria never truly felt any awe for the strip, sure it was wonderful, and Gomorrah was a fun time and a good way to get laid, but it always had this fake feel that she could never shake. It was largely the reason she didn’t frequent it much. It truly was a shining Jewel in the wasteland, though she certainly preferred the wasteland

When they finally reached the Gourmand, she realized that they were the first to arrive which was excellent for her. The Van Graff security quickly spread out throughout the room, the only one staying close was Jean Baptiste whom stood directly behind both Gloria and Salvatore. A number of masked men stood around the room waiting for orders. Salvatore immediately broke out the bottle of scotch which they had received when arriving and poured himself a glass and began lighting a cigar. All they had left to do was wait...

Legion War Camp: 30 Miles from the Colorado River, Legio I Arizona, Legio X Colorado, Legio IV Zion - Morning

Amid a peaceful valley in Arizona, war-drums filled the air emanating from a Legion war-camp at the center of the valley. Heavily guarded makeshift fortifications, the sounds of thousands of training men, and rows upon rows of hide tents was testament to the gathering strength of Caesar's Legion, with three full legions marshaled already at this single camp: some 15,000 soldiers. And many more camps to be found spread out among the lands that Caesar held.

At the center of this camp stood a large tent, adorned with hides, red bull banners, shields, and various accouterments of war. It was, in some respects, a deceivingly simple structure, especially when compared to those whom it gave shelter to. Inside the awning a small gathering of Legion commanders gathered around a simple wooden table on which was laid a great map of the American southwest and surrounding territories. The men huddled about the table, listening to a man wearing a a hood made from the skin of a coyote. Around them, the backdrop of the camp was filled with various treasures, armors, weapons, animals furs and skins, and other items that had been forcibly taken or presented as tribute during Caesar's conquests. Some of it was symbolic: a jar of salt from the salt flats of northern Utah, the hide of a chieftain's dog taken from Denver, a great vase containing water from the Rio-grande...symbols of triumph and the extent of Caesar's domain.

The soldiers huddled around the table however paid no mind to the splendors around them. Instead, they listened intently to the words of Caesar's chief Frumentarii as he gave his report. One which could alter the course of their history. One man, in particular wearing nothing but simple crimson garb of an off-duty Legionary, listened with an intensity and interest that was all-too common of him when dealing with matters of such gravitas,

"You are sure of this report Vulpes?" The man asked.

"There can be no doubt mighty Caesar," Vulpes's fingers drew imaginary lines on the worn map, down the length of California, "My frumentarii have reported that the NCR is mobilizing, and its impossible to completely conceal the movement of a nation of a million profligates. Troops are marshaling and supplies are being shipped daily to the east on a scale that can only mean an attack is imminent. I believe they intend to invade Legion territory within the next few days."

Silence followed from the gathered men for several seconds, before Lucius, Caesar of The Legion, gave his commands,

"Very well then. All of you know the plan. We have drilled it for years now in preparation for this very day. I have no doubt each and every one of you will give your utmost in service to The Legion and father Mars."

"Sir," one of the commanders reported, "I've already dispatched messengers to the east."

"Good. And send word immediately to Legatus Aurelius. Tell him to bring the third, eighth, and thirteenth legions west with all possible speed. With the combined might of the Legatus's armies, we will crush The NCR and send their army scattering to the desert sands. Legio invicta!"

At these words, the assembled officers stood up and at attention before their Caesar, and clasped a fist to their breasts.

"Legio invicta!" They shouted in reply.

"Dismissed." Caesar said finally, and the officers began filing out of the tent and dispersing about the camp. Vulpes, however, remained.

"I am not the one to question the mighty Caesar Lucius," Vulpes began, in his usual soft and almost sing-song tone, "But if war is your intention. Then why humor the profligates? Why attend this meeting at all?"

"Come now Vulpes, getting cold feet are we?" Lucius laughed, and gave the frumentarii a slap on the back.

"Hmm. You misunderstand me. I have no reservations with traveling into the profligates lands. I've done it many times and this..Vegas, well, I know it all too well. I only wish to know why you'd choose to even entertain the notion of discussion..."

"Because I don't intend to make the mistakes of Edward," Lucius replied sternly, "The Legion is not just the army of one man, it is a nation on the world stage. And so we must treat it as so."

As Lucius finished his sentence, he saw the tent flap open and a figure slip inside. A brown haired woman in a white and gold dress in the Legion style entered and gave him a smile. Lucius's eyes lit up.

"That's a very grand notion," Vulpes had started to say, forming his response to Lucius's statement, "But consider that...."

"Ssh sh," Lucius said mockingly to his old friend, "Later you may nag me Vulpes. Leave me be for the moment. Make yourself ready to travel."

Vulpes then noticed the woman standing at the front of the tent, sighed, and then saluted his Caesar before leaving the tent. Once alone, Lucius took the woman in his arms and stroked her hair lovingly as they stood in an embrace,

"Do you have to go?" Hannah asked, in a pleading tone, "Vegas seems so far away and..."

"Yes," Lucius interrupted, "I must," He tilted up Hannah's head and kissed her before continuing, "But I will return to you as quickly as I can. I promise you that."

"Unharmed?"

"Unharmed?" Lucius laughed, "My love I will have Vulpes with me. The man can sniff trouble from a league away, much to my annoyance sometimes. I am in no safer hands."

Hannah nodded anxiously and then placed something in her husbands hands. A small leather bound book, "I know you will not read it," she said softly, but please....carry it with you all the same."

Lucius grinned as he took his wife's own copy of scripture, and the kissed her on the forehead, "I will."

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

Exiting his tent, bedecked in his armor and helmet and followed out by Hannah, Lucius made his way towards a group of well armed Praetorians mounted atop fine New Mexican steeds with Vulpes at their head. He swiftly mounted his horse and took the reigns, giving one last look towards his beloved,

"Keep watch for me until I return," He said and turned his steed around and began riding out of the camp at a gallop followed closely by his retinue of bodyguards. The hoofs of the horses kicked up a cloud of dust as they went and Hannah followed the shrinking cloud until she couldn't see it anymore against the horizon.

----------------------------
Sometime later- New Vegas

Caesar's entrance into New Vegas caused quite a stir as he rode down the streets of Freeside with his horses and men, and all the panoply of The Legion. Before the gates of the strip, they dismounted and some of the Praetorians were left to guard the horses while Lucius, Vulpes, and the others entered into the strip and towards the location that they'd been invited to: a place called 'The Ultra Luxe'. Lucius had to admit, that the building was splendid, and the tales of Vegas's famed wealth had not exaggerated the opulence on display here. Certainly, he could at least understand why Edward Sallow had expended so much effort trying to conquer it.

The Legion group made their way inside The Ultra Luxe and left their weapons with the door keeper, before entering The Gourmand and taking their seats. By Lucius's own orders, no announcement was made, and no big fanfare given to his arrival.

Lucius simply sat, declined the offer of a glass of wine offered to him by one of the servers, and asked for water instead. Vuples meanwhile, declined all food and drink, and simply brooded next to his Caesar. Watching the rest of the delegates intently as they began to arrive....

President James Kimball- Bear Force One en-route to New Vegas

Nine years

It had been Nine years since James had been to Vegas. Back then he’d been a recently promoted 23 year old lieutenant in the NCR Mechanized division. Thankfully he’d joined the military under his mother’s maiden name (to avoid the press and accusation of favouritism) or perhaps some nosy reporter or republican trying to blackmail his father would have ruined that “interesting” night

Wonder if they still work here?

Things had not be going well for James in the NCR and his reforms (most notable limiting the amount of land one person could own) with the fucking land Barons and their republican allies doing everything possible to block or derail him and it had only gotten worst since he had Shillary arrested with some jackass spreading rumours had he was an House puppet...

Thankfully the public could see though this bullshit and for now alteast he still had the general public’s supports but that would not last..... If things didn’t change soon James would be joining his father in Portland

Rather shoot myself than end up in that shithole..... Too weird

And thus James had decided to launch a surprise attack on the legion. Partly because it would be only a matter of time before the legion, now roughly back at full strength would attack them but also because with the land and follow up colonisation he could temporary halt the job/ food storages until he got his reforms pasted congress, A task that would also be easier with the Arizona silver mines under his control.

As the vetibird landed James looked down at his watch... the invasion would start soon, shortly after the convention started if everything went to plan.

Hiding the troop build up from the legion was unlikely if not impossible but by attending the American Convention himself (which was publicly announced) they may be fooled into thinking the invasion would start afterwards once the president was safety back home and thus not be completely prepared/ caught off-guard when they attacked later on today...

Timing is everything But if anyone can pull this off it's Shu

It would also be a chance to gain allies with other nations and perhaps convince the NWBOS to back away from the legion.... The legion invasion only planned on taking Arizona in the hopes that the NWBOS would not get involved or that if they did they would be supplied properly to deal with them.

Moore's mistake was to stretch the army too far. this time the troops will be supplied and have my full backing.

Leaving the Bear force one vetibird with small group of Veteran rangers Bodyguards and his counsellor/assistant Kelly Hopeway President James was met by a small crowd of NCR citizen which he happily mingled with as he slowly walked towards the Monorail scuttle. Meeting and chatting with Citizens would have to end once war was declared and the legion (properly) started sending assassins after him but for now he liked to meet the general public and get their views on things.

“Is it me or does something look off with the president?” One of the spectators asked his friend.

“Yeah I know what you mean... But it’s him isn’t... Has to be?”

The strip
After a short ride on the monorail The president’s group arrived at the strip where they were greeted by a personalized securitron with the cartoon face of a solider “President Kimball welcome back to New Vegas, Mr house has instructed me to guide you to the summit meeting at the Ultra lux.”

“The president knows where the Ultra Lux is and will make his own way there; a robot escort is not required.” Hopeway Barked at the robot. “However could you inform Van graffs representative that the president would like to privately meet them after the meeting. Thank you”

Leaving the robot where it was the presidents group slowly made its way to the Ultra Lux stopping a few times to briefly chat with the few people on the strip before reaching the Ultra Lux casino. Despite liking the strip overall the Ultra Lux was too... elitist for James taste, reminding him of the land owners back home....

Although they do have a nice fountain I guess.

Entering the Ultra Lux and disarming most of the rangers began to mingle in the casino as the president, Hopeway and his personal bodyguard made their way to the Gourmand with James telling the mask guy not to announce his arrival when he noticed it was only the legion and Van Graff there...

Skirt doesn't deserve it

Sitting down at his Seat James ordered a bottle of Rum & Coke as Hopeway, sitting next to James began to prepare some notes for him. Watching the rest of the delegates arriving James turned to the legionaries delegate... the “New” Caesar himself and that spy guy who wore a Jackal head as hat.

“Qui audet adipiscitur”

Most Serene Key Republic delegation- Bartholomew Hemingway

“Landing in just a few minutes, Mr. Hemingway and Mr. Suttbray.”

Bartholomew was jostled out of his daydream by the announcement sounding over the interior speakers of the repaired Vertibird. Out of habit, he inspected his watch, which was just as broken as ever, and gave it his regular taps- once, twice, and a third time. The news imparted to him by the pilot was certainly welcome, as he’d been stuck on this chilly, sterile craft for much too long with little more than a couple of books and his thoughts.

Technically, he had more company than just that, but he was hardly worth mentioning given the fact that he had slept nearly the entire flight. Bartholomew cast a gaze at his companion, looking across the dark and polished metal surfaces of the Vertibird’s interior. Alexander Suttbray cut a dapper figure, clothed in a fine black notched lapel suit over a black waistcoat and white dress shirt, complete with a white linen handkerchief and a peculiar greyish-purple tie. Above this all was a mustachioed young gentleman with closed eyes, handsome and debonair. Bartholomew was not tricked by this outer appearance of civility and culture however, as he had heard the rumors.

Alexander Blacktongue, the Dark Disciple, Horror of the East- these are the names which were assigned to him in hushed tones back in the Keys. Bartholomew didn’t believe the rumors, of course, as no sane man could believe that some eccentric nut could make people blind with his words or walk into the sea each night, but that didn’t mean that the man wasn’t crazed in some way. But no matter, money and favors went further than rumors back at Key West, and so Bartholomew had been doomed to a boring flight with one of the damnably mad Suttbrays.

There was a jarring jolt as the wheels of the Vertibird made landfall, prompting Alexander’s eyes to slowly open, immediately locking with Bartholomew’s own. A smile which most would find handsome and welcoming crawled across Alexander’s face, and Bartholomew did everything in his power to avoid visibly shivering. The Suttbrays had always been an odd bunch, and Bartholomew was none too pleased with the Senate’s Convention Committee and their contribution to this delegation.

“Seems we’ve arrived,” Alexander said with a smooth southern accent. “We should make haste and meet our security detail, we wouldn’t want to stall the negotiations.”

Bartholomew only nodded in agreement, undoing his safety harness and standing. He straightened his suit and fixed his button in one fluid motion, following it up once again with a quick glance has his shattered and gleaming watch. He had had an entire flight of silence to mull over the possible outcomes of this Convention and the goals which had been assigned to them. The world was moving forward at a rapid pace, and the Most Serene Key Republic was not to be left behind. Establishing itself as the major power in the East and making trade viable with all foreign nations would be vital in the coming years, and this Convention provided the first steps towards achieving those goals. Taking a deep breath, Bartholomew stepped out of the Vertibird after its door was done hissing open, and was immediately bombarded by the bright sun of a new age.

Most Serene Key Republic delegation- Alexander Suttbray

“Welcome to New Vegas, my most honored guests. I pray your trip was an absolute pleasure.”

Alexander looked at the large, awkward robot with a look of amusement as it sported a picture of a gentleman in a white suit with a distinct North Floridian accent. The robot was a nice touch, not to mention in great condition and seemingly identical to the numerous others which wheeled around this bright city.

“You can call me Mr. Cook, if you please. I’ll be your guide today- follow me if you would be so kind to.”

The two delegates, who had left their visible guards behind after they had gotten off of the monorail, followed the rolling robot as he lead them down the newly paved streets of New Vegas, which radiated heat. The temperature didn’t bother him as much as the dry, life-sapping air. Alexander found himself thinking of the sea longingly, already missing its proximity.

The city the delegates found themselves in was certainly one of splendor and prosperity. Even Key West was as impressive as New Vegas, with its shining towers and burning neon lights creating an image which almost approached something one would find in a pre-war publication of some sort. His companion on this trip, Mr. Hemingway, seemed to be completely enraptured by the sights all around him, looking every part the tourist. His tan suit stood out in the crowd, matched only by his similarly tan skin, and his brilliant smile almost seemed to ooze the tropical niceties of Key West. Alexander was not necessarily a fan of his ilk- politicians with little ambition beyond the office above theirs.
He, on the other hand, had important business to sort out here, and he had worked hard to put himself into the position to do it. Numerous gifts including a gunboat and a diamond necklace for someone’s dull wife, a couple of promises for support as a patrician, and even an entire small island in the Broken Banks just to solidify himself as one of the delegates. He intended to expand Key influence in the northeast- but only if the Suttbrays could monopolize trade in the region. In addition, he had more personal goals- but those were best thought of out of this oppressive daylight.

Eventually, the pair made it to the building which would contain their rooms as well as the Convention area. They had already received a briefing from the preliminary Republic personnel who were sent to the city under the guise of traders three weeks prior, and were assured that no foul play seemed to be involved. The building itself was particularly impressive, being of sleek and sophisticated design and preceded by a fountain which was obviously of pre-war design opposed to those found in the villa courtyards of the Republic which he was used to seeing.

Still in mutual silence, the pair ascended the marble stairs outside the Ultra-Luxe behind the jolting motion of the wheeled box who served as their guide. Immediately, the door opened before them and they were greeted by multiple waiters in masks akin to those Nawlins patricians were wont to wear. Behind them was a scene of ultimately luxury  and indulgence, but Alexander was more welcome by something else entirely, air conditioning. While Bartholomew did what he always did and spoke at length with one of the waiters, Alexander stepped inside, already seeing the scattered groups which he could only assume were the other delegates. One party in particular caught his eye, a pair of men in robes similar to the garb of the Judges of the Highest Court- Caesar himself, if he assumed correctly. Before he could take any longer to inspect, however, one of the waiters gently brushed passed him smelling strongly of cologne and announced their arrival.

“Introducing Bartholomew Hemingway and Alexander Suttbray, head of the Concordant House of Suttbray, who are here to represent the will of His Serenity Horace Wilson IV and the Most Serene Key Republic!”

Alexander gave an almost unnoticeable scowl of disapproval at the booming declaration, but followed Bartholomew as he lead them to the seats and shot every delegate a wide smile accompanied by a nod.

High Elder Gladstone – Electric City, Washington State

He felt tired.

So, so tired.

He had striven as best he could. He’d never wanted this, never wanted any of it. He’d never wanted to be the man who bore the crown.

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”

A small wry smile upon a gaunt face. His reflection tilted its head in the mirror. Grey hair, tired brown eyes, not to mention the unshaven face. A small sigh, before he set to work shaving. His morning ritual was ingrained into him. And not five minutes later, he was striding down the streets of the new settlement. Electric City had once been a small settlement of under two thousand people before the war, after the war, it had fallen again. But now? It had its highest level of population it had ever seen in its existence.

The streets bustled with citizens, his fellow comrades. A phalanx of Power-armoured paladins marched in lockstep down one side of the street. A hollered command, a dozen arms snapped to salute him as he passed. A return salute, Gladstone paused to watch them pass, before nodding to himself and continuing on his way. Along the grey tarmac roads until, at last, he reached his destination. A simple building, with a single large banner of white bearing a red cross hanging from the upper windows. The Hospital.

Stepping inside, the High Elder was immediately met by a Scribe, Gwen, he’d visited a few times, Gwen was the nurse for the patient he was visiting. So he’d learnt her name by now, he doubted he'd remember her after the purpose of his hospital visits faded away.

“How is he?”

They walked through the corridors of the building, the harsh clicks of his shoes in contrast to the soft footfalls of the woman beside him.

“He’s, not long for this world Milord.”

Gladstone sighed.

“A shame for sure, would that he was able to regain his youth.”

A pause.

“And Gwen, it’s fine to call me Atticus, I’d like to be humbled once in a while. Lest this position go to my head a little too much.”

A smile from the nurse, before they reached their destination. Hesitantly pushing the door open, his eyes were met with half a dozen others. Ah, the family was here. One pair of eyes fell upon him, a gruff voice grinding out through the air.

“Ah. You made it did you? Come to die boy?”

A smirk from Gladstone.

“No sir, I am yester-die.”

A shared laugh, the rest of the visitors looked on perplexed by the interaction. Making his way forwards, an apologetic look at the rest of the family as the patient angrily motioned for them to move over to let him through. A teary eyed laugh from the dying man on the bed.
“Ah, you were a little runt back then Atticus. Remember it? Redding? You were a knight fresh, and then you were thrown into one of the largest battles of the war.”

A nod, the High Elder took a seat next to the man. He could see the yellowing skin, the taught features, the cancerous form before him had once been a roaring titan. A beard now willowy and white had once been a mane of curled auburn. Tired clouded eyes had been sharp and clear full of fire and zeal. He hated it. To see the Warriors of old brought low, by nothing more than the passing of the years. Where was the dignity in that? To die frail and weak?

“I remember well Gawain. It was a glorious day.”

A weak sigh from the weakened form before him.

“Aye, that it was. That it was.”

Clouded eyes closed, before opening, a little clearer, a command was given.

“Leave us. I’ll not die yet, have no fear, but this is business among Elders.”

Even dying, the man still had authority, and within moments, they were alone. Gawain beckoned at him to help him sit up. Atticus did so, before suddenly finding himself being pulled close, Gawain’s rasping voice next to his ear.

“I was your last ally boy. And I was a traditionalist. I voted for you as High Elder, and what you’ve done for the Brotherhood has saved it. But know this Atticus, beware the Lodges.”

“Why Gawain? Why?”

A final sentence, the last words of the dying man to him that would haunt him ever after.

“It’s not my place to speak.”

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High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood – En Route to New Vegas

The words were ringing in his head. Driving him slowly more and more insane.

Gawain had been an Elder. The Elder. He should have been High Elder, not him. The Council was smaller once again. And for once, it had been at full strength but a few weeks again. Already, the position was being fought over. Gawain might have been Traditionalist, but he’d been willing to compromise in the name of survival. Now though? The Traditionalists and the Reformists were at each other’s throats. So, he’d decided to attend the summit in New Vegas to get away from it all.

The two factions would counterbalance each other out. If one tried to make a move against the other without him there, they knew that he’d be likely to use what little influence he had to tip the balance against them and in favour of the defendant.

Leaning back in his head, the High Elder jumped as the intercom crackled and a voice broke the silence in the cabin.

“We are approaching Macarran. Seatbelts advised.”

Looking down, Atticus noticed that he hadn’t unbuckled his seatbelt for the entire journey, he’d been too deep in thought. Not a word the entire trip from him. Grimacing as the Vertibird executed a sudden turn as it brought itself to bear for landing, Atticus wondered if maybe it would have been better to have come by truck, or even by one of the APC’s they had. Suddenly, there was a judder, and then that was it. They’d landed. Unbuckling his seatbelt, the High Elder stood, and glanced at his retinue. If House wanted to kill them, there wasn’t much they could do, but short of bringing the whole army, the most they could do was one transport vertibird, six paladins and two scribes.
It’d have to do.

The rear ramp lowered with a pneumatic hiss, and hot Nevadan daylight streamed into the cabin, he winced, before adjusting to the change in environment after a moment. A Securitron rolled up to greet them. The face of a pre-war police officer greeting them with an official tone.
“High Elder Gladstone. This way if you please.”

The Journey took fifteen minutes. The two scribes came with him, the rest stayed with the Vertibird. The Monorail was immensely enjoyable, and Gladstone made a mental note to see about having one built at Electric City. At last, they managed to reach the Ultra-Luxe. Entering the room, Gladstone let out a small frown as his appearance was announced by Herald. Before making his way over to an empty seat and seating down.

OOC: https://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/fallout/images/0/0b/Arthur_Maxson_concept_art.png/revision/latest?cb=20160105235107(Top Left) is what Gladstone looks like.

Lucius, Caesar of The Legion

“Qui audet adipiscitur”

A grin spread across Lucius's face. A grin that only comes from an odd sort of mutual respect for ones hated adversary. The Legion and NCR had been fighting so long that well....they'd become the perfect anti-thesis of each other. Just as Sallow had always said during his long philosophical rants to his Praetorians. Thesis and anti-thesis would inevitably collide and wage war. Perhaps in some strange way, this was the NCR president's recognition of that.

"And to the victor belongs the spoils," Lucius said with a sly nod. Both men knew that in the coming days, a bloodbath would erupt. How much blood would be split to prove the issue....well neither of them could say, but there would be war either way. And they both understood that, even accepted it.

"The profligate speaks the Legion tongue as one would expect...boorish, provincial, and clumsily," Vulpes whispered. Which elicited a short chuckle from the Caesar.

Lucius then turned his attention to the new arrivals. Strange individuals from the far south had arrived shortly after the NCR President, and been declared representatives of the 'Most Serene Key Republic',

"A mercantile nation to the extreme south of us, or so I've been told," Vulpes explained, "They ply the southern sea with ships laden with various goods from all over the continent. Lucrative trading partners perhaps...they will be quite interesting to keep an eye on here."

"And I see The Brotherhood has arrived as well," Lucius remarked, as he saw the High-Elder enter and take his seat.

"Hmmmm yes. Profligates no doubt, but there was a time when they'd eagerly slaughter NCR soldiers by the droves. Far too reliant on their technology however." Vulpes replied.

Lucius nodded in agreement and stroked his lightly bearded chin in contemplative thought. So many representatives from nations across the wastes. Such a grand display of wealth, power, and military might in a Vegas restaurant. It was almost....auspicious.

The King - Lucky 38 Hotel & Casino

You know what to do. Robert House’s words reverberated through the corridors of the King’s mind as he straightened his tie and gazed into his own hypnotic blue eyes in the mirror. He looked different. House had torn the ‘greaser’ gene out of him. Donning a sharp grey suit and a fedora, he now looked the part of a gentleman. The image unsettled him and simultaneously filled him with a distinct sort of confidence. The Kings had metamorphized under Robert’s watch, and so had he.

The King took a deep breath and fixed himself a glass of ice before filling it with brandy for the road – the extremely taxing, two-or-so minute walk that it took to get to the Ultra Luxe. Whether he liked it or not, this was his home now. He wasn’t going to bring an entourage. Just himself. He took the elevator down to the Lucky 38 lobby.

“I know it’ll be a good’n!” hollered a familiar robotic voice, bellowing from the dark expanse of the Lucky 38’s lounge. The King turned around and locked eyes with the always-unsettling digital image of ‘Victor’, a jolly cowboy personality that Mr. House had crafted.

“I…I hope so,” muttered the King under his breath. He couldn’t continue to look at the screen. The concept of Robert’s creepy array of handcrafted robotic personalities made him shiver. He had learned early on that ‘Jane’, House’s personal ‘assistant’, was fashioned after a woman whom had enthralled his affections before the war. He wondered who Victor was based off…A long-dead movie star, perhaps, who now lived on through Robert’s unsettling perpetuation of his image. The King wondered, when the right day came and he took his leave from the world, if House would fashion one for him too – an exaggerated, embellished image of his face. A lost ghost for House to add to his collection. Enough. He had a meeting to attend.

“I’m sure it will. Nothin’ beats the charm of good ol’ Mr. House, eh?!” Victor clapped his steel claws against his own hull and chuckled.

“Uh huh…” hollered the King unconvincingly as he swung open the massive door to the Lucky 38 and became one with the splendor-ridden street of the Strip.

Ultra-Luxe Resort & Casino

Upon arriving at the Ultra Luxe, the King was nodded at by the various white glove employees. He was calm. Even in this creepy-ass casino he was dwelling in his own stomping grounds. He made a beeline for the Gourmand and calmly walked inside. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his pocket-watch. He was early – very early. In addition, the table had already been colonized by a few early-birds. The Legion, NCR, and Brotherhood of Steel had all already shown up. Typical.

As The King made his way to his assigned seat at the table, a securitron began to bellow. “Please welcome…the representative of the F.Z.M…The…King!” The King covered his face with his palm and deeply sighed as he sat down at the table. Back at the Elvis School of Impersonation, he lived for this sort of shit. But now he had become a different animal, one that dressed, talked, and perceived a lot more like Robert House.

That was a scary thought – The King himself becoming the physical manifestation of Mr. House. He wouldn’t let it happen. Never. His mind raced and attempted to distract itself from the sheer amount of power that already rested at this table. He straightened his hat, took off his coat, set it on the chair, and slowly slipped onto its cushion. He was as ready as he could be.

The Cult of Ug-Qualtoth, was little more then the kind of rumor that people share over a drink, only to remember it in the depth of night, fearing that it might be reality, for the people of Vegas. Stories, brought in from traders and Mercenaries, from a strange new faith, far in the north, a city covered in a Dark Mist, and nightmares about a black Monolith, often circulated for a while, before they were seen as ridiculous overstatements. Yes, there were barbarians somewhere out there, with strange believes and a fanatic devotion to something above them, yet as seen with the Legion, these primitives could be beaten back, crushed under the returning might of civilization!

It was unknown to most people, yet New Vegas had indeed more history with the cult, then met the eye at first glance. Ten years ago, before the battle of Hoover damn, a Missionary had arrived in Freeside, robed in black, with a crude copy of a book, with letters that hurt in the eyes, and some even claimed made their eyes bleed. It was this very Missonary who would preach among the Junkies and the filth of Vegas, and soon even be able to win the first Converts among the Downtrodden. Yet most mistrusted the strange preaching about the uncaring deity called Ug-Qualtoth and were keen on seeing this new faith vanish as quickly as it had appeared
It was the brutal murder of a young girl, which escalated the tension. Even through nobody could proof any connection with the Missonary, a angry Mob, lead by the mother of the murdered girl, stormed the Quarters of the Missonary, killed some of the Converts, before setting the Missionary himself ablaze and throwing him into the sewers. Most say that his corpse still lays below the now restored Streets of the city of Light, while some say that he has survived, forming a cult below the city, in the sewers, waiting to one day return to the surface.



Warleader Dosh-Novan had lived three lives. His first was as a bright eyed boy in the Capital Wasteland, helping out at his parents trading caravan, Haggling for a minor profit with the Settlements around. It was a good life, as good as a live could be in the wasteland, until the day his parents were murdered by raiders. If it hadnt been for the Patrol of the Brotherhood of Steel, his first live would have been his only live. But they took him in, cared for him, giving him a new home, and a new Purpose. It was here where his second live began, the day he swore to Uphold the codex, and his Loyalty to Elder Lyons. What a fool he had been!
For his third life began when the Cult pushed into DC, when he had been blessed to lay eyes on the Monolith, in all his magnificent glory! How pathetic the Brotherhood was, how insignificant their ideas and values! To turn on them, and cut down his former brother and sisters in arms with his Mini-gun had been no betrayal, it had been an act of Mercy!

"We have Arrived, Warleader!"

The words of the Warrior were soft, as the Plane slowly began to lower it altitude. Dosh-Novan had been lost in thoughts as he once more had played with his dog-tags, the last reminded of his second life. "So foolish.."

"Good!"

It had been tempting to arrive in his old Power armor, now decorated in grim trophies with a cloak made out of the Skin of worthy opponents, yet the Pure One had forbidden such an open display of might and terror. An so, the Warleader had to wear the humiliating clothing of the world before the great fire had been scourged the world! A black suite, with a suitable trench coat and leather gloves, to hide the Tattoo´s on his hands.
The Pure One demanded it, and the Warleader would follow! As such, the Warriors who he had personally chosen to serve as her guard, all wore a similar attire. Black Suites, with polished metal chest-armor and clean-pre war rifles. The only thing, that the Warleader had been insisted on, was that his men could keep their Rebreathers, allowing them to keep on breathing the blessed Miasma of the monolith.

As the Plane landed, and finally had reached a halt, the Warleader got up from his seat, and passed his men, who, like naive children, stared out of the Window, glaring at the city in the distance, so unlike anything they had seen before. Their enthusiasm for this place was worrying, and the Warleader would keep an close eye on them, that they would not fail in their Duty to the pure on.
Reaching the enclosed Compartment in the Back, he wanted to Knock, yet the door opened on its own, and Marie Ashur, Adopted Daughter of the Prophet, stepped out of the room. She had chosen a modest, yet still quite suiting dress, in a pale white, that matched the snow-white of her skin.

"Yes, Warleader, i share your opinion!"

Leaving the Plane, they quickly could hear the rolling of a single wheel, and soon the securitron had reached them.
Mr. House seemed to enjoy a little joke, that only few chosen or especially literate would understand. For the Face on the screen was nobody else but the Pre-War Horror-Writer Howard Edgard King, famous for his dark Short stories of the Cosmic Horror. Later in his life, he was unable to make the jump to Cinema, and had to do a wide range of humiliating Commercials, leaving him mostly remembered after his death in the year of 2051, for the Penny Gram Fishsticks.
The Warleader was bit tense as he mistrusted the Machine, yet the Pure one simply made a step forward.

"Welcome, Travellers, your journey has ended in one way, yet just began in another! A meeting is held in the Ultra-Lux, a place of glamour and luxury...yet some may rumor of it Dark Secrets! I may indulge you with the story of their heritage on the way there, so stay a while, and Lisen..."



Many eyes had looked for the delegation of the cult, yet many that had seen them, didnt realized it. Marie Ashur, who lead the group, didnt looked like the representative of a dark faith from the north. More like the daughter of an NCR Brahmin Baron, who lost all her caps on the first day, and would have to write a tearful letter to her father to came and take her home. Yet on the second look, the ones that werent distracted would notice that something was off about her. The very way she walked seemed off, and strangely weightless. The ones that would continue on watching, would meet the Iron glare of the Warleader, and wouldnt be able to stand it long. As such, the delegation soon reached their goal, entering the Ultra-Luxe.

"Introducing the honored heiress of Dunwich, Marie Ashur, who are here to act as Representative of the Faith!"

The young pale woman was the first to enter the building. Her eyes wandered over all who had arrived so far, while the Warleader placed himself to her side, making her look even smaller and thinner. Resting them for a moment on the Legion, especially on Lucius, she shortly whispered into the Warleaders direction. "I want you to talk with this man! Warrior to Warrior!"
Raising an eyebrow the Warleader just let out an accepting grunt, as her eyes wandered towards the freshly elected President of the NCR. A smirk layed on her face, as she seemed to wave away a thought, before looking further.
Yet it was the Warleader himself who spotted the High Elder first. His lip began to twich, as he took a deep breath, before the Pure on turned her head.

"Tempted to Salute your old masters, Warleader?"

"They never were my "Masters"! They are from a chapter far from the pathetic rabble Lyons has led! They mean nothing to me, Pure one!" Crossing his arms, he couldnt help but think, what a wonderful trophy the head of an High Elder would make.

"Well, look what we have here..." Marie´s suddenlty began to step towards the delegation of the Keys, a broad, slightly unsettling smile on her lips. Her eyes had focused on Suttbray, yet her feet firstly guided her towards Bartholomew Hemingway. Slightly annoyed, the Warleader followed, his eyes still on the High Elder.
"It is always a pleasure to met our honored trading Partners.." Bowing her head slightly she offered her hand to both, before taking a seat right next to them, making sure that she sat close to Suttbray. "..and interested souls in the one true faith! Ug-Qualtoth smiled upon you, Alexander!"

Taking a stand behind the Pure one, the Warleader refused to sit, until all had arrived. Even then, he would just be a silent watcher, guardian and servant for the pure one! His true mission would begin after this charade had ended!

Pontiff Cromwell- McCarran Airfield

Above McCarran Airport, a brown, battered Vertibird descended. A far cry from what would be expected for an attending delegate, the aircraft- marred with scratches, dents, and welds- looked more suitable for a scrapyard than the VIP-hosting airport it was landing in. After touching down, one of the side doors creaked open, and Pontiff Cromwell stepped from the craft, clad in the ragged robes and scrap metal miter of his station, followed by the armored form of Grand Zealot Richter.

Neither of them had ever expected to be invited to a conference of nations. For that matter, neither of them had expected to live to see a conference of nations across the nation. While the Church of Atom was not a nation in its own right, it was evidently influential enough to have gained the attention of Mr. House, the ruler of New Vegas. While many felt it was too risky to attend a supposed meeting on the other side of the continent, it was Atom's will that they attend, Cromwell determined.

"Praise Atom we have arrived safely," Cromwell spoke, raising his hands in praise. Even by air it had been a long trip, one that would normally be far too great for a Vertibird, but the Children of Atom were a resourceful group. Unnecessary components such as weapons, ammunition, and reactor shielding had been stripped out to make way for greater stores of coolant and fuel, permitting a range sufficient to attend this meeting so far from home. As a welcome side effect, these modifications also caused the craft to radiate Atom's holy light.

A Securitron bearing the face of a soldier approached them. "Sir, this aircraft is emitting unsafe levels of radiation and constitutes a major safety and health hazard to the airfield. Please step away.

"Do not worry, robot," Cromwell replied. "This is our vessel, and we are not harmed by its glow."

"He's right, the radiation doesn't affect us. We are here to attend the delegation, representing the Children of Atom," the Grand Zealot explained.

Despite its lack of facial expressions beyond its default facial image on its screen, the Securitron seemed dumbfounded, as if none of this made any sense. While it stood there silently, another Securitron, this one with a police officer's face on its screen, rolled up.

"Welcome to New Vegas, Pontiff Cromwell. I will be your escort in New Vegas. Follow me." Cromwell and Richter followed the robot into the airport, while the first Securitron continued to blankly stare at the Vertibird, seemingly still trying to process what it had just witnessed.

Within the airport, the robot led them to a decontamination arch. "Before we can continue to the Strip, you must be decontaminated. Please step through the arch one at a time," it ordered .

"Is this necessary, Pontiff? Must we be scoured?" protested Richter.

"Do not feel shame in it," Cromwell advised as he ducked through the arch. "Scour oneself and embrace the Glow anew." Richter reluctantly followed suit. Having Atom's Blessing, they did not require scouring, but it was a necessary gesture of goodwill that would go a long way.

After decontamination, the robot led them to a monorail, which ferried them to The Strip- a sight unlike anything Cromwell had ever seen. It was nothing like the scrap cities of the Capital Wasteland, or the re-purposed ruins of the Commonwealth. Robots kept watch over the streets, elaborate neon signs glowed brightly even during the day, and finely dressed men and women walked to and from the various businesses.

It is a city frozen in time, as if the Great Division had never come to pass here...

Once they reached the station, they followed their escort to the Ultra-Luxe. After Richter (somewhat reluctantly) handed over his Radium Rifle to the doorman, they were led by one of the masked attendants to the Gourmand.

"Introducing Pontiff Cromwell and Grand Zealot Richter of the Church of Atom," the attendant dryly announced.
The two delegates took their seats at the central table and began to wait. Richter said nothing as he looked over each of the other delegates.

"You you recognize anyone, Grand Zealot?" asked Cromwell.

"Not specifically, Pontiff, but the robed man is with the Brotherhood of Steel, and judging from those rebreathers I am fairly certain those ones are representing the Cult of Ug-Qualtoth. Be wary Pontiff, for we are among enemies," Richter advised.

"Indeed, we are far from Atom's light," Cromwell assessed. The city was flashy and beautiful, but it was a false glow, where none knew of the glory of Atom and of his holy glow. Perhaps, however, this meeting would give them an opportunity to spread his word across the wasteland.

OOC: I'm having the church of atom sitting next to the NCR if that's okay :)

President James Kimball

"Introducing the honoured heiress of Dulwich, Marie Ashur, who are here to act as Representative of the Faith!" one of the masked waiters announced

James turned to see who was entering and was surprised to see rather young looking and extremely pale woman with a bunch of oblivious suspicions goons in black suits and some sort of gasmask.. Also notable in the group was big man in a trench coat who did not seem to like the brotherhood with some sort of argument occurring when “Marie” woman spotted him staring at the brotherhood elder.
Interesting

Turning to Hopeway James whispered “what do we know on these g-guys?” as he felt a slight pain in his eyes from looking at the woman put simply shook it off.

“Cult of Ug-Qualtoth based out of the Pittsburgh and currently fighting a war with the mid western brotherhood... Worships some sort of “Dark god” Hopeway replied

“Dark God?”

“Supposedly this “Ug-Qualtoth” but we have little knowledge of whom or what is it.”

Guess We shall soon find

James turned back to face the legionnaire “vultus amo vestri competition habebit ad Deûm Deitas.” He chuckled before adding on “sed videtur quod non mulier ex novis ...” As his eye briefly stung again

"Introducing Pontiff Cromwell and Grand Zealot Richter of the Church of Atom," the attendant dryly announced

Jesus they really have a cult problem out east don’t they?

Compared to the other cult this group appeared to be less. Well... suspicions with the representatives being a friendly looking old man and a tattooed man in some sort of advanced but heavy looking combat armour. Judging by the way the man stood he had seemlying been (or was) in some sort of military group.
No doubt the Pontiffs bodyguard

“So what do we know about this bunch?” James whispered to Hopeway

“The Church of the Children of Atom we know even less about them that the “Ug-Gualtoth.” but they supposedly worship radiation which apparently granted them immunity from it although a number of their followers are supposedly also ghouls.”

May as well introduce myself... might get along with these guys if they sat them next to us.

James turned and spoke to the Cromwell “welcome Pontiff Cromwell, My name is James Kimball president of the NCR... I must confess we know little of your church but am I correct in saying you are welcoming to ghouls and mutants?”

“It is good to know that there is alteast one of other nation that is not run by bigots and shows some compassion to our mutated comrades and Citizens ”

OOC: Latin chat

Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel - Brother Martin Wilson

15,000 feet above Northern Arizona

Far above the Grand Canyon flew a jet black Pre-War airliner, one of the small "puddle-jumper" types used in happier days fo flights between regional hubs. On it's tail and wings were the insignia of the Brotherhood of Steel, painted in blue marking it as that of the Midwestern Order. The aircraft was flying West, in the distant horizon the glow of the lights of New Vegas were just starting to become visible. Inside, in a cabin in the rear, two men kneeled on one knee before a humanoid robot, seated in a chair and wearing a seat belt. It was smaller than the typical humanoid robot the Order had inherited from the Calculator, only slightly larger than a average adult.

"The latest word", Barnaky's gruff voice emanated from the seated robot, "is that Kimball's Vertibird left NCR airspace two hours ago. He should be there when you arrive....if not, report immediately."

"Yes, My Lord", said the two men in unison. Both were elderly, in thier late fifties or early sixties, in simple black robes. "Should we return if that is the case?".

"Only if the conference does not go forward without him", Barnaky replied, "House has too much to lose for you to be in actual danger there, no matter what Kimball chooses to do, and I need to know what support we can expect from the others regarding the Cult. Hopefully the Atom Cultists will be willing to share what they know about them."

"We will seek an audience with them, My Lord", the elder of the two said, a tall, guant man with a distinguished air. "But given the confirmed accounts of them deploying atomic weapons against their enemies, I cannot recommend you grant them toleration in Order lands."

"Your objection is noted, Brother Joshua", Barnaky retorted. "Their faith...if you can call it that...is ridiculous, but those same reports indicate they are mostly harmless if not persecuted, and they hate the Cult even worse than we do." He then added, "In any case, if I'm wrong, I know I can rely upon you, my Inquisitor-General, to deal with them appropriately."

"Yes, My Lord", Brother Joshua replied. "We shall do as you command."

"Steel be with you", Barnaky concluded, "Closing connection".

With the link to the robot closed, the robot froze, then a moment later spoke in an entirely different and mechanical voice.

"Your orders, please, My Lords", the robot intoned obsequiously.

"Enter hibernation mode", the younger man said as he rose back to his feet. He then turned to look at Brother Joseph, who had also stood.

"Why do you keep questioning him about the Children of Atom?", he asked. "Their cult has not even spread out this far yet"

"Because it's my job to ask questions, old friend", Joseph said, "As it is yours to win us allies." He took a seat and continued. "The Children of Atom are dangerous, Martin, even if they do have potential value as allies, it is my duty to remind him of that."

The cabin PA crackled into life

"My Lords, Brothers and Sisters", announced the pilot. "We are beginning our descent to McCarran field. Please take your seats and fasten your seat-belts."

As Martin took a seat next to Brother Joseph, Joseph slapped his college on the back in a friendly manner.

"Into the snake-pit we go, old friend", he said with a wink.

Arrival Terminal - McCarran Field

The Nevada heat hit Martin like a wall as he stepped out of the open door of the air-conditioned aircraft and descended the stairs towards a Securitron waiting below, Joseph and their aides, and the robot behind him, carrying Martin and Joseph's suitcases. As Secretary-General of State, he was in charge of the Mission, with Joseph, his equal in rank as the Inquisitor-General being in an advisory role.

Stepping off the stairs, Martin approached the Securitron, which had a cartoon image of a pre-war policeman on it's view screen.

"Secretary-General for State of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel", the Securitron said, reciting his title. "Welcome to New Vegas. How do you prefer to be addressed, sir?"

"Brother Martin will do", Martin replied calmly. "with party of three and one robot."

"Very well....Brother Martin", the securitron replied. "Please be advised, by order of Mr House your robot is subject to search for weapons and is to be confined to your assigned suite unless otherwise authorized."

"That is acceptable to me", Martin said, "Have reservations for the Aircrew at Vault 21 been arranged?"

"Affirmative", the securitron intoned.

As the robot was led away for security checks, Martin and the others entered the terminal and made their way to the monorail, and the short trip to the Strip. Disembarking from the monorail, they made their way past the milling crowd, Joseph shaking his head sadly at the spectacle of tourists plopping coin after coin into the slot machines even here. exiting the monorail station, they entered the Strip, ablaze with lights.

Martin conceded it was a truly impressive sight, in a few short years House had turned this city into something resembling the old pre-war images of the "Sin city" of the Old World. Striding beside him towards the Ultra-Luxe, the aides several steps behind, Joseph leaned towards Martin and quietly said something that made Martin wonder if he could read his mind.

"Look at this", Joseph said, "How can the NCR let it's people throw away their money like this? House is sucking them dry, can they not see this in Shady Sands?"

"They certainly don't have their priorities straight", Martin grimly agreed, "but then we knew that five years ago, didn't we?"

"Yes", Joseph replied with a chuckle, "and they appear to have learned nothing since then."

Walking past a massive water fountain, which a securitron was vainly trying to order a half-dozen people stripped to their underwear playing in it out of, the party made their way to the door of the imposing edifice. A shocking waste of resources...but it was not their problem nor their place to make a fuss about.

Entering the Ultra-Luxe, he was grateful for the cool blast of air that hit him, eliminating the oppressive heat outside. the four checking in their 10mm pistols at the coat check, the aides made their way to prepare their rooms while Martin and Joseph strolled about the casino floor. The luxury here was a stark contrast to what they were used to, even senior Order leadership such as themselves...it would take some getting used to.

Arriving at the Gourmand, a waiter led them inside, as their arrival was announced.

"His Excellency, Brother Martin, the Secretary-General of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel, and party."

Looking around as they were ushered to their seat, Martin noticed a group of delegates he did not recognize (the Key Republic?), then saw that Caesar Lucius, accompanied by Vulpes, was already present and seated. He nodded respectfully to Lucius to acknowledge him. He also saw President Kimball was present, currently speaking animatedly to a man in brown robes that he did not recognize, who he suspected might be from the Children of Atom. Also seated was the Van Graffs, Gloria, Jean-Baptiste, and their father were present, to Martin's mild surprise. He did not expect that their entire leadership would be present. He nodded to them as well. Sitting alone, he spotted a man in the garb of a Brotherhood Elder...most likely the new High Elder, Gladstone. He nodded in recognition, curious if there would be a reply....he knew they wee still angry with the Lord Paladin even after nearly a century.

Then he saw them, and one side of his mouth momentarily curled in distaste before his self control assumed itself and he regained a blank impassive expression.

"So the Cult arrived after all", Martin thought darkly to himself. "Putting your best face on for those who know not yet what you really are...."

Martin and Joseph took their seats, each requesting a glass of water, calmly waiting to see what occurred next.

Commander John Fulman- Leader of the PMC 'Arctic Haven'
10,000 Feet above the Mojave desert

"Boss, why are we so far from home?" One of the masked soldiers in the Vertibird asked, looking out the window to the desert below. John took a puff from his cigar and looked out the window with him, the sunlight hitting his aging face, the brown-grey beard shimmering in the sun. "We got wind from the Intel team that a bunch of self-avowed nations are calling a big conference in Las Vegas, or 'New' Vegas as the locals seem to call it now. Either way, it means a chance a profit for us. We've done enough work in the Bering Sea, Alaska and Russia, but now it's time we focus on the old heartlands of America." He looked back down to the deck of the Vertibird and fell quiet. The silence didn't last long as the Vertibird lurching him forward violently alerted him back to the present out of reliving his past battles. The pilot, codenamed Randoplh, called to him from the pilot's deck, "Boss! We have a problem! Duststorms over Hopeville! We'll have to fly around or this storm will take us down!" John looked out of the window, the 3D map at Haven Command had a Pre-War America map, this wasn't the site of an urban metropolis in the desert. This was a violent gash in the earth, as if God himself had cut her face with a machete and with it was spewing a dust storm and small human dots below impossible to make out. One of his bodyguards looked out below, a look of terror on his face, "What the hell do you think happened here?" John shook his head, unsure, "I don't know. Looks to be an explosion. Can't have been The War. Look at those houses, they're still standing. If this was an ICBM landing, the city would be vaporized. This is something else. Something worse. Randolph, take us around this storm. Don't try riding through it." Randolph nodded, his face still forward on the controls and out the window as he said, "Sure thing, Biddle."

New Vegas, Aerospace Offices

The Vertibird landed to a small base with room for a helicopter, five trucks a command setup and eight tents. John jumped out onto the earth as thirty men and women in olive drab BDUs stood with their weapons and saluting. "WELCOME, COMMANDER!". John raised a hand, signalling them at ease and to go back to their duties. One of the officers who'd been given command until he arrived, saluted him when he arrived at the command trailer, "Boss! Welcome to the New Vegas TCC. I hereby relinquish command of this base to you, sir." John nodded curtly, "Thank you, soldier. What do you have to report?" The officer stood at parade rest before the command desk inside, giving the report. "Upon arrival to San Francisco, we traveled as a small armed convoy, with a two man NCR team with us to watch us to ensure we weren't trying anything funny. Upon arrival at the Mojave Outpost, we were inspected, paid the border tax and made our way here. We found the securitron of House waiting for their cut too. We've been given permission to temporarily to business here and on The Strip as a business, but we're not permitted to carry a gun either. Otherwise, we're permitted to offer our services on the Strip in a small stall we've set up beside the McCarran monorail and on flyers. We're also permitted to do our exercise drills outside of the city itself, doubling as security during drills in return for a discount on lease. They said only the commander is permitted to enter the meeting though, so we're not permitted inside except you, Boss." John nodded in confirmation and reached for a bottle of refrigerated water, "Thank you, soldier. Dismissed." The man sharply saluted and left the office. John poured a glass, savoring it going down his throat, forgetting how how the south could get. He was impressed at the sight of the bright tower in the distance, not many places with electricity to waste like that.

The New Vegas Strip

John arrived on the strip via monorail to reach the meeting dressed in a Pre-War general's olive green overcoat and an officer's uniform. He walked down the stairwell, passing a snack vendor and a soldier serving as a crier who quickly saluted him. John nodded, "As you were, soldier" and she went back to calling out to gamblers and vacationers. Meanwhile, John went down the street, stopping before this monstrously large hotel. Once inside, the desert heat was washed away with the cooling relief of air conditioning, but his military bearing kept him from showing the relief it felt on his skin, long used to the arctic climate he grew up in. He was escorted to the conference room, but as a non-nation, felt would be over presuming his place there and instead sat at a table with the bodyguards of the invited and decided to help himself to a stew and a glass of milk and quietly at the table since the conference was yet to start. Clearly he looked out of place to them in his officers uniform, but he was there as an observer. He was no nation, he had no positions to take and none to give. To him, his purpose was two-fold: To find out about the world east of Alaska and who could use their services.

Joshua Graham, Christine Royce - New Vegas Strip

The four individuals of the Ghost Traders, drew many looks as they approached the Ultra-Luxe Casino. Namely was their weirdness drawn due to the fact, that in the sun of the Mojave sun - all four of them wore what looked to be gas-masks and clothing, that one might consider too much or too strange. Two of them, wore heavy-duty chemical suits, that looked to be made from a heavy leather. Most people dared to avoid them, namely cause they carried two nasty-looking and green-glowing plasma rifles - the same hue, that also their lenses glowed with.

The other two people, that were amongst them, looked somewhat normal. Albeit they wore cloaks that covered their bodies, one looking to be heavily bandaged and with signs of machine parts - while the other looked normal as well - except for the large gas mask worn as well. Whatever the case was, they made their way to the Ultra-Luxe - without much trouble or issue. The bandaged one - pulling his cloak more tightly around his body, to cover himself. Whatever was their business, they were allowed inside the Ultra-Luxe Casino, meaning they were part of the many factions invited to Mr. House' meeting - while being asked to leave their bodyguards outside and also their weapons.

The two, 'normal' dressed folks soon stepped inside the Ultra-Luxe - while keeping their cloaks on at that. Making their way to the conference - the bandaged one speaking up. "Do you think it be wise, to have so many gentiles, former allies and enemies - all together under a single roof? It is as though the Lord, has a sense of humor - and is awaiting the one, with the least control to spark the flame and consume this house of sin."

"Be patient...this is for the good of the Ghosts. I have no wish, for them or our home to be assaulted - for the 'treasure' inside of it. The Legion, thou they may be friendly now - there is no guarantee upon the future," replied the other one, sounding feminine underneath the mask.

"As you wish so...you are the Mother of this tribe," humored the bandaged on in reply - using a nickname, she disliked - but it had been given to her, by the Ghosts tribe and she wasn't about to mess with their wish. They were delicate and young as they were - no effort to try and erase human nature at this point. Only to make the best of it.

When they were asked to speak their identities - the bandaged one chuckled underneath his breathe. This would be most hilarious, he couldn't wait to see how the gentiles reacted to his presence at that. As the female in question, whispered their names and faction at that - taking several tries, before the waiter nodded in reply and spoke.

"From the Ghost Traders - we have Christine Royce, former member of the Circle of Steel-" spoke the waiter. The name Christine Royce, likely would turn some heads - as that group had been responsible for hunting down Father Elijah. But it would be the second name that would likely turn several heads. "-and Joshua Graham, of New Canaan."

He figured, there was no need to hide under the cloak anymore - as Graham soon pulled back his cloak, revealing the Burned Man underneath the cloak. Only this time around, he looked more machine than man. His hands were replaced by ones from a surgery bot, pristine and white - a Protectron chest-plate screwed onto his chest, the feared 'SLCPD' marks inscribed on the metal. His legs refitted with an Assaultron model, welded down and hammered to look more natural legs at that. One might think, it was a trick or scam - until Joshua opened his mouth and spoke.

"It has been far too long, it always nice to see so many familiar faces in one place. Almost feels like a sermon...too bad I left my book outside," he hummed - his voice the same, untouched by the flames of betrayal or the radiation of humility. As both Christine and Joshua calmly took their seats. Graham folding his hands together, elbows on the table, in a prayer fashion and resting his chin ontop of them.

---

---

Nestled in the valleys and ridges of Yellowstone National Park lay the Enclave Headquarters, which had an unusual sense of urgency about it on this particular day. Within the deepest vaults of the base lay the briefing room - with walls of cold steel, lit by dim-blue lights and several chairs scattered around. Maps and reconnaissance reports were plastered across the large table, which itself functioned as a large map of the known wasteland at the front of the room. Standing around the table were the four leaders of the Enclave, having made the rare decision to gather for but a day.

"It's settled then," remarked President Gethen with his usual air of confidence and authority, "Mallory. You will go alone to this meeting. Make your presence known, let those present gaze upon the Enclave, and let them be reminded of the true power across these wastes." The President gave a nod to those gathered, picking a brown, paper folder from the table before flicking through its contents. "Sawyer - return to Langley as soon as you are able. Keep us updated on the progress you are making," snapping shut the folder and raising it in gesture towards the Cheif Scientist, he continued "Judging from the developments you have made so far, I expect our best days do indeed await us." With the other leaders nodding in agreement, the President finished, "You all have your orders. I will not accept failure from any of you, the best this accursed land has to offer. God Bless America. God Bless the Enclave." With that, the President re-opened the folder and examined its contents once more whilst exiting the room, followed not long after by the other leadership.

---

Only a few hours later, Mallory was ready for departure. Standing before a mighty vertibird of the enclave, he felt a firm pat on his shoulder. "Ah - sir. Here to wave me off?"

"Only to remind you of your duty - Mallory. No deals - no pacts. Remember that. The Enclave does not, and will not, enter into any form of negotiation with these mutants. They are all pretenders, and that must not be forgotten."

The cold of the mountains whipped through the air as the vertibird began to power up its propellers, generating an almighty wind. Raising their voices to be heard, the two men spoke briefly about the exact arrangements for Mallory's arrival and stay, before the President returned to the base. Alone, Mallory passed the guarding Enclave sentries to board the vertibird, prepared for the long flight ahead.

---

---

"Approaching the McCarran Strip, sir."

A grainy voice spoke through Mallory's headset as he awaited landing. It still felt odd to him, attending this meeting in the first place. The Enclave was the government, and attending such an event seemed to him almost a recognition that they no longer held the power they once did before the bombs fell. Still - he had his orders, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to follow orders. Especially those from Gethen. He had never before seen such drive, such pure ambition in a man. He held faith in that fact, for if Gethen had sent him here, it was surely with purpose. Fishing around in his pocket, Mallory withdrew a small pill-bottle, swallowing one before landing. The Enclave doctors had prescribed him an altered form of Rad-Away for the duration of his stay, and instructed him to take one every four hours to avoid the effects of the radiation. He had decided to take one every two hours.

Landing softly, Mallory removed his headset and stepped out of the Vertibird, shielding his eyes momentarily from the sun. The airfield brimmed with activity. With wastelanders, and mutants. Without barely a moment to examine his surroundings properly, a securitron approached him. "Vice President Mallory of the United States." Cocking his head at the machine, he understood this must have been one of House's tricks, to calm and ease the participants of the upcoming convention. Responding with a simple nod to the machine, it continued, "Please, accompany me, sir. I shall escort you to the convention." Taking a final look at his surroundings, it wasn't as if he had much choice. The Enclave had taken the decision not to send troops with him, for one very simple reason. Should a wastelander ever lay eyes upon a soldier of the Enclave - it is to be the last thing they lay such eyes upon. Still, he couldn't help but feel particularly vulnerable.

---

Approaching the city of New Vegas himself, Mallory couldn't help but be slightly taken aback. He didn't know whether to be disgusted, or slightly impressed by the state of the city resembling something almost that of one pre-war. At the very least, he found himself disappointed it was inhabited by those unfit for such pleasures.

Walking the steps of the Ultra-Luxe Casino, Mallory scanned the room. He recognized the various factions presented - though some names were lost to him. The Legion, NCR, Brotherhood... Many of the current players in the post-war America had gathered, as well as some undesirables. Standing for but a moment to scan the room, he found a seat surrounded by no-one as of yet, and sat himself there. Not a few moments went by before he heard the leader of the NCR address him directly,

The blind ignorance of the man was infuriating. Mallory locked eyes with the man across the room with a dark intensity for only a few seconds, before breaking into laughter with a wave of his hand. "The might of the New California Republic tempered by a city of drunkards, and brainless machines. Do not speak to me again - James." Mallory wagered it would be this undeserved confidence that would be the undoing of the most vile entity in the wasteland - the New California Republic. He despised it, more than the rest, because it pretended to stand for the pre-war America. Mallory knew better.

Content with James turning his attention to the Legion, Mallory sat quietly, observing the conference as the remaining leaders funneled in, seemingly uninterested.

Lucius, Caesar of The Legion/ Vulpes Inculta

Lucius and Vulpes both watched as new arrivals continued to enter the restaurant. Strange men from the east came first, religious figures it seemed, and from the looks they were giving one another, not cordial ones. Lucius was particularly perturbed by the young girl that appeared to be giving orders to those around her, as if she had some sort of unnatural power of them. Young leaders was nothing new to Lucius, he'd seen a tribe in Colorado which had worshiped a young boy as a deity, but there was something...off about this young lady, and the entire group in general. Could this be the representatives of the cult that Barnaky's order had been fighting so fiercely against?

His suspicions were confirmed once the representatives of The Midwest arrived, and Lucius observed Brother Martin giving a brief, but visible, flash of disgust across his face when he saw the cultists. He would have to have a word with Brother Martin about these people and about the young girl. For the moment however, he simply returned Martin's respectful nod. A signal that they both understood.

More groups continued to enter, one from the north, and then a strange group covered in cloaks and rags that Lucius and Vulpes immediately recognized. When one of their number revealed himself to be Joshua Graham, the members of Lucius's Praetorian guard were immediately set on edge,

"Qui succendit..." one of them said, "The fire..."

Lucius turned and calmed them,

"At ease Praetorians," He ordered, "Joshua and I have come to an....understanding." Caesar then looked towards Joshua and gave him a nod, "Its good to see you again Joshua. My wife sends her good will, and wishes you to know that her people....your people....flourish in Zion."

Vulpes did not say a word, but gave a nod of his own. His frumentarii had been training with the 'Burned Man' now for some time. It had not been easy to accept the man that Edward Sallow had tried to erase from history. But Vulpes had a new Caesar now. Vulpes instead turned his attention to the next group to arrive, a man who announced himself as the Vice-President of The United States. Vulpes turned a smile when the man put the NCR President in his place after the foolish President had made some outlandish boast that he could never hope to back up. Many in the Legion knew of the 'Enclave' for one reason only: they'd arrived with a fury at Hoover Dam, and slaughtered many NCR profligates even while The Legion was being pushed back. The NCR blood they'd spilled that day had earned them The Legion's begrudging approval at least.

"Hmm. I like this man already," Vulpes whispered with slight chuckle to one of the nearby Praetorians, "Anyone who speaks like that to the NCR President...well, they'll be someone to speak to."

"The King" - FZM

The King had taken a seat at the end of the table, acting as the representative of the meeting's host, Mr. House. He sat up straight, took off his hat, and set it on the table in front of him. The other representatives looked restless, to say the least, having disintegrated their concentration and manners in favor of whispering and occasionally bickering among themselves. He had been eagerly awaiting to see the sort of entrances that the big personalities were going to make, and he had not been disappointed.

After a few moments of staring down each and every representative -- particularly the young woman from The Cult, whose enigmatic features and mannerisms perplexed him from the moment she walked in -- The King cleared his throat and motioned toward one of the guarding securitrons.

"PLEASE BE SILENT." each securitron belted out simultaneously. The room quickly fell silent, and The King cleared his throat a second time.

"Welcome to the 'New Vegas Convention'," said The King as loud as he could without seeming brusque. His deep husky voice distinctly cut through the awkward air in the room and his eyes narrowed in focus. He then adopted a fake, warm smile and clapped his hands together. "Robert House, President and C.E.O of the FZM, is pleased to be hosting you tonight, so that we may discuss the future of our homeland."

The King turned and winked at one of the securitrons. He knew for a fact that House was remote-controlling at least one of them, in order to hear every word uttered at the meeting. "Before we get down to business, let us discuss etiquette, as many of you have traveled a long way from faraway lands that might not have the same sort of gatherings..." He paused. "Firstly, rules -- any act of aggression will be suppressed by one of these fine gentlemen in the room." He pointed at the various securitrons stationed next to the doors. "The Free Economic Zone of the Mojave is a place where any man or woman from any place...any background...can enjoy the sanctuary of Mr. House. In addition, any vulgar or completely unnecessary behavior will be documented and may result in a revoked invitation, in which you will no longer be welcome in this room."

After speaking for what had seemed like years, The King paused. The room stayed silent. "Mr. House sees a future where we can work past our differences and rebuild -- back to the way things were before the bombs. We can only accomplish this if you--our guests--promise to behave and be respectful. I enjoy a good debate, but if you become a nuisance in this hall, I will eagerly rescind your invitation."

The King sat back down in his seat and allowed the room to digest the wall of speech he had given them. He hated to be that guy. He had rehearsed those lines a dozen times before the meeting and they had caused him to cringe on each read-through. Why House couldn't have just addressed the group himself was beyond him. It had to have been ego -- Robert always wanted there to be a haze of mystery around him. It is hard to predict a man if you never have a chance to confront him directly. Either way, The King had been appointed judge, jury, and executioner of the etiquette at the convention. He knew very well in this new age to do exactly as was told.

Gloria Van Graff - Ultra Lux, New Vegas

Gloria watched as the nations of the wasteland began filling in and taking their seats at the table of diplomats. The first to arrive following themselves was the Legion, they’ve proved.. difficult to make contact with in the past and Van Graff attempts to expand their trade network into Legion territory had been met with heavy opposition. So heavy in fact, that trade trade networks in Legion territory had to be slowed and all shipments had to be moved in secret. Though, Gloria was satisfied to see them, hopefully she’d be able to get through to the leadership and have them open their borders to trade. And if not, she was sure there was something of value they could do that would convince them.

The next to enter, almost ironically following the Legion was the NCR. While they’ve had their troubles, the NCR was the Van Graffs most profitable market. Gloria nodded at the president as he came in and took his seat. Quickly after, one of the masked men of the Ultra Lux came and approached her and her father. Jean Baptiste stepped in front of the man and placed an arm on him to stop him from furthering.

Jean Baptiste looked at the man angrily and asked him in a equally angered voice, “What?”

The masked man looked at the massive Van Graff security guard blocking his path in fear and hesitation
“A thousand pardons sir. A message from one of the delegates for the Van Graff leadership”

Gloria who hadn’t even looked in the direction of the masked man behind her, raised her hand
“Let him by. This is a Diplomatic meeting brother, I don’t need you stopping everyone that tries to speak with me. Not a single person in this room would dare an assassination attempt.”

Jean-Baptiste gave a heavy push on the man before taking his arm away and allowing him to pass. He came and whispered into Gloria’s ear. “The NCR delegates wish to speak with you privately following the meeting” he then began walking away.

Jean-Baptiste quickly placed his hand on him once again, “Never approach my family again without permission” he then let him by

Gloria looked to her father and spoke in a quiet voice to ensure the delegates around her couldn’t hear. “It seems the NCR wishes to meet with us privately”

Salvatore nodded. “I assumed they would. Meet with them after and see what they want, I’m sure they have something up their sleeve. Either way, you know our plans. Follow them”
Gloria nodded, this summit was something the Van Graffs had been planning for, for weeks now. Every discussion had been thought out, and every move they were willing to make had been calculated.

The next to enter was the delegate from the south-east. Gloria knew little about the nation other than the fact that the nation was a trading haven. Which meant a lot of competition… however, it’d be worthwhile to speak with them about possibly opening up stores either way. Soon after the West Coast Brotherhood chapter entered. In the past they’d been a threat to the Van Graffs though in their weakened state, and with their new reforms that have been rumored to possibly be occuring, it’d be possible that trade networks could be opened or perhaps direct trade with the Brotherhood government would be in order. Though, in all honesty, they are far more of a risk then a benefit, the Van Graffs would be better off without them.

House’s little helper was the next to enter the fray. Gloria and Salvatore gave a nod to him as he walked in, relations between House and the Van Graffs had been extremely beneficial and Gloria intended to keep it that way. Not only did House inform them of the Big MT research facility but he had also given them the land as sovereign territory, which came with the protection of being in his territory, and the added benefit of his territory not having taxes on trade. Overall, it was a good set up and the Van Graffs had every intention of keeping the deal running.

The next group to enter had a strange air about them… she’d heard of a dark cult in the east and it was immediately obvious to her that these must have been the cults envoys. Gloria couldn’t help but get chills as the young girl in their party entered the room. While she wore a elegant dress and looked fine on the outside, something about her simply felt off. Salvatore had made it clear however that no one was to open discussions with them, they were currently at war with the MWBoS apparently and the Van Graffs did not need a reason for the midwest to deny trade deals. Seemingly on cue the other cult from the east. The “Children of Atom”. This group was also an overall unknown to the corporation.

After a little time the Midwestern Brotherhood entered the room. As they walked in, Gloria noticed them acknowledge the Van Graff leadership. Gloria nodded in return. The MWBoS was the next market the Van Graffs hoped to open up. Given their technological prowess they’d likely be open customers to the new energy weapons being produced at Big MT and their nation was known to have the materials needed for the corporation to increase manufacturing capability even further than they already were. She felt compelled to move over and open discussions immediately though she decided it’d be better to allow the meeting to occur firstly, rather than be interrupted by it mid-conversation.

The Arctic Haven mercenaries showed up next, a group to the far north that was relatively small. However, given their presence at the meeting it seemed likely they were trying to expand into the west, which was a threat to the Van Graffs market and if it came down to it, would likely need to be eliminated.

A man named Joshua Graham and a woman named Christine announced themselves as leading the Ghost traders. Gloria didn’t even have knowledge of such a nation, though she did know Joshua Graham from the rumors that everyone had heard by now.
‘
And finally the Enclave entered and made their presence known. Gloria had assumed that they had been destroyed given their lack of a presence in the west, though perhaps this would prove beneficial to the Van Graffs. The Enclave technology had been a mystery since their disappearance and perhaps a deal could be struck for it.

It had taken a while but the nations of the world had actually decided to show up to the summit. She had expected far less delegates to actually show, though perhaps the nations of the world were serious about achieving peace after all.. Though she still doubted it. In all likelihood most people were just here to make alliances against the nations they wanted to destroy. Which is something the Van Graffs could easily exploit.

The King then announced the rules of the discussion and Salvatore snickered as he read them. House really expected people to follow this bull shit? He invited nations that had been at war with each other for years and yet House was acting like he was hosting a tea party amongst old friends.

John Fulman- The Ultra-Luxe, New Vegas

John was messing with an old Pipboy that linked up with the nearby TCC they'd set up, since none of the other factions were here yet, he figured now was as good a time as any to update their Haven Command satellite's Pre-War map with Post-War map data collected by the Pipboy en route to Vegas. It was depressing to see the once pristine US layout become filled with pockmarks, divides and empty spaces where forests had once stood. He had an itch in the back of his head and looked up as he scratched and noticed members of the Enclave arriving. Of course, he'd never seen these individuals before, but it didn't matter. Even when he was a kid, Enclave vets all carried themselves with that same 'stick-up-the-ass' pomp as if being born on an oil rig made them superior, despite losing to a tribal. For a minute, he worried if they'd seen those Vertibirds of his, that were really just Enclave vertibirds from an abandoned base and re-painted, but then he figured given all they've lost and suffered, two vertibirds are likely the least of their concerns. He'd seen a younger soldier in NCR gear watching him as he transferred data. "What is that thing?" John shrugged, it's just an old Pipboy. Not as fancy as the 3000 series, I won't lie, but it's definitely sturdier. Our maps in our base in Alaska are outdated. Our journey here gave us a chance to update our maps." He watched as Kimball's procession came in and he gave a snort of derision.", which clearly didn't sit well with the kid next to him. He looked at John angrily, but wasn't about to embarrass his nation here, but he still confronted him. "You think something's funny, merc?", the young man said, clearly expecting this old coat to flinch. John didn't even react with hostility back, he just put his cigar in his mouth and lit it before he responded calmly, "As a matter of fact, I do. I'm wondering how a pissant like Kimball keeps his office when the man can't fight his own wars anymore and sends kids off to die for him." That really didn't sit well with him and he almost stood up before he composed himself. "And who the hell are you to judge us, old man? At least we fight for good. What the hell does a mercenary know about loyalty?" John smiled, the scar running across his lip parting with it.

John put the cigar at an angle on the ashtray and halfway took off the right side of his overcoat, revealing his BDUs and an old service patch with a blood-red ruby chip sparkling in the light of the room, "Read that." he told the boy. He mouthed out the words and his eyes grew wide. Twentieth batallion? Your unit were some of the first units to see action during the first Battle for Hoover Dam." The soldier looked at John with reverence but John didn't acknowledge it. "That's right. That fleck of ruby is what they added in honor for all the blood our men and women shed for NCR. But do you know what I learned after that battle?" John didn't wait for a response, he simply continued, "I learned NCR doesn't care about us soldiers nor the people they claim to protect. All that matters to them is the power of NCR. And this patch...." His hand curled into a ball as he fought back anger. "This patch meant everything to us, but nothing to the NCR politicians back home. 'Nice job soldier, glad you survived, now go fight this next set of bad guys and hopefully you wont die there either'. This patch is in honor of my brothers. My sisters. They bled for that damn Dam just as much as I did, only they paid the ultimate price...." John noticed his cigar starting to burn out and took a puff to keep it lit. "I left when my enlistment was up and never looked back. I found my place among a bunch of mercs in the Alaskan seas and I've been there since. Ever since I found my place among the Arctic Haven soldiers, I realised we were a people all our own. Former Brotherhood, Veteran NCR, even old Enclave soldiers and their kids. They put that past behind them for the Haven, a place for us soldiers. Where we're wanted and appreciated." He slipped the kid his business card and soon after, all the Securitrons belted out an order of silence, the older man in the suit calling the factions at the bigger table to order, so he put his Pipboy on the table, allowing the audio feed to be recorded by the troops at the TCC to archive the data of what is discussed here for analysis and how to use that information reliably.

Marcus Renault awoke slowly as the sun peeked over the horizon and shined onto the mirror that Renault uses as an alarm clock. He set it so the mirror faces the horizon and shines the sun directly into his eyes as it crests the horizon, something he regrets every morning. He sat up and yawned loudly before standing and doing his morning stretches. Before the war his girlfriend had been big into gymnastics and he found that being limber was a great boon in combat as well.
As he was stretching his hamstrings a man barged through the door and stood at attention in the doorway.

“What?” Renault demanded angrily.

“The Senate has decided that you and Lenix will be flying to New Vegas in the P-60 fighter craft to participate in the First American Conference. Planes are being prepped as we speak. Lenix is waiting for you in the mess hall.”

The man promptly spun on his heel and walked away as Renault pulled on a plain white T-shirt and black cargo pants under a black trench coat and quickly finished his stretches.
Why does it have to be me? Can't they just send Lenix and be done with it? Renault thought to himself as he stepped out of his room deep inside the bunkers buried under the massive fortress that was Fallback Alcatraz.

This base has had stood up to any invasion since before the Great War and this conference could possibly determine whether it must weather another. When the others had awoken early seventy years in the past they told him they had found the base in ruins, the seawall crumbling and many of the fortifications destroyed or irradiated beyond salvage. Today, the base is reminiscent of its prewar glory with artillery and troops manning the battlements once again.

Renault finally reached the mouth of the bunker complex and nodded to the gate guard stationed in his booth who then pressed a few buttons and turned a key on a big panel which sounded the door alarm. It was loud and abrasive as Renault waited for the large steel door not unlike a vault door to slide out of its place. It made a high pitched squealing sound as steel the steel door pulled into the room and rolled out of the way to reveal blinding sunshine and a blast of sweltering, humid sea air struck Renault like a wall.

Instantly he started to sweat as he walked through a courtyard that was outside of the bunker doors to see a platoon of infantry training drill. They marched in perfect unison around the courtyard but stopped to salute him as he strode past. He noticed they all wore the skull patch of the 8th Infantry Battalion.

The 8th. Fine men. They fought hard under my command during the War for Hoover Dam.

He saluted them back and continued on his way. He saw many artillery pieces sitting pointed out to sea, though he could barely remember the last time they were used. Renault could smell the mess hall before he saw it, it had the familiar aroma of cooking meat and the sound of animated chatter that was associated with good food and good friends. The mess hall was a squat single story building that was made of concrete with a corrugated metal roof that gently curved like a parentheses mark.

Renault strode in and immediately saw John Lenix sitting at the officer table eating a slice of bacon with french toast sitting on his plate. The man was in his mid fifties with silver hair and wearing a simple gray suit without a tie. The mess hall was about half full of men eating and joking while the unlucky boys who got kitchen duty were still back there cooking. Everyone in the military got a ration card every month with enough dots for three meals a day for 32 days a month as part of their pay. Every time they came in for a meal they would get one dot punched out and got that meal. Anyone who wanted more food than they had dots would pay for the food in caps. Renault got himself his breakfast and sat next to Lenix at the table and began to scarf his food down.

“You should enjoy your food while you can kid. When war breaks out again food will be scarce and you'll miss the taste of a good slice of Brahmin bacon.”

“ We don't have time to waste enjoying our food Lenix, we can’t be late for that convention. Besides, how are you so sure that War will break out again?”

“We've been selling weapons by the crateload and our Infiltrators have been reporting massive buildups of troops and supplies, especially by the NCR and the Legion.”

“So? We’ve done it too but we aren't looking to pick a fight with anyone.”

Lenix sighed heavily and finished his food before setting his plate in the dish sink and washing his hands. Renault hurriedly did the same and followed the older man as he walked towards the hangar. The four P-60 fighter-bombers were beautiful and sleek as they taxied out onto the runway, their rumbling engines dominating the air. Each plane generally carried six .50 caliber machine guns and a pair of one hundred pound bombs but today was different. Each plane has a crew of two men but today each one had a pilot and a passenger, a Republican Guard without power armor and an Infiltrator rode the escort planes along with the delegates in the other two planes. Renault and Lenix boarded different planes and taxied onto the runway as well when the onboard radio crackled to life.

“Delegation this is Control Tower, youre wearing drop tanks to make sure you have enough fuel to get there. You have clearance to take off when ready. Good flying guys.”

The six hour flight was dull and boring, Renault had no contact with anyone but the crew of the four P-60 aircraft until they were near McCarran airport.

“ McCarran Control Tower, Angels of War delegation requesting permission to land.”

“Angels of War delegation, this is McCarran Control tower. You are cleared to land.”

Renault and Lenix dismounted along with their companion Republican Guard and Infiltrator after they landed and told the pilots to stay with the planes and refuel them before being greeted by a securitron with the cartoon face of a soldier.

“Welcome to New Vegas Commander Lenix and Lieutenant-” Renault cut the machine off.
“Major Renault. I was promoted.”
The machine’s face blinked into an embarrassed expression for a moment before reverting back to its original face. “Major Renault. You must be here for the American Convention. It is being held inside the Ultra Luxe Gourmand. Follow me please.”

The two soldiers looked at each other before motioning for their companions to follow and accompanied the machine to the monorail. Lenix was fascinated by the monorail, but Renault just sat back and waited as he had ridden monorails many times before the Great War. It was a simple mode of transportation to him.

Upon arriving at the strip the delegation was asked to disarm much to the discomfort and annoyance of the Republican Guard. As the delegation walked towards the Ultra Luxe Renault turned and talked to his two companions.

“Guardsman I need you to find the representative of the New Texas Confederation and tell him I need to meet with him after the main conference. You, Infiltrator, I need you to go gather intel however you deem best.”

Both men nodded and peeled off. The guardsman went into the Ultra Luxe while the Infiltrator walked towards a group of people standing on the street. Renault and Lenix looked each other in the eye

“Ready old man?”

“Always.”

The two men talked up to the desk and told the receptionist who they were and collected their bag before accompanying a masked waiter to the room in which the conference was being held.

Renault dismissed the waiter before he could introduce them to the crowd of frighteningly powerful men and women sitting in front of them, preferring to simply sit in their booth and open the bottle of scotch they received in their bag. Renault took one swig straight from the bottle before making a sour face and handing the bottle to the older man and swallowing.

“This jet fuel is shit.”

“This isn't jet fuel, Marcus.”

“It tastes like it.”

“Shut it kid. Don't offend the host.” Renault grumbled under his breath a little before quieting down. They two men surveyed the room and recognized few people among the crowd. They instantly recognized the Legion delegates as they had fought against these very men five rears prior during the War of Hoover Dam. Renault lost a very good friend during the final battle, cut down by the Legion’s legate.

The only other people they recognized was the heads of the Van Graffs, Salvatore and Gloria Van Graff. They knew of the Van Graffs only as they were the reason they couldn't gain traction in the energy weapons market.

Renault saw a young, pale girl who seemed like some of the NCR’s de facto nobility had gotten lost and wound up here. Flanking her was a massive man wearing a black trench coat and gloves. His gaze rested on the girl for but a moment before it was drawn to her companion. The man had noticed his look and was staring him down with a look of pure malice.

Renault felt something in the back of his mind telling him to look away and that something wasn't right about these people, but he forced himself to meet his stare unflinchingly and unafraid. Renault’s composure held firm for the first ten seconds but then the feeling of unease started to grow. Renault was about to look away but luckily the girl nudged the man and started talking to him, causing him to break their stare.

Renault looked over the girl one more time before looking down at his table.

Something is very wrong with those people, I can feel it. I should stop looking at people.

Renault sat back in his booth and tuned out, preferring to dwell in his memories of the world before the war.