It was unusually cold, on the decks of the relatively recently constructed flagship known as the Prydwen. It's halls were dimly lit with cool blue hues as it lumbered through the airspace of western California into Nevada. Onboard intercoms roared to life, calling the various dedicated aircrewmen known as Lancers to action, a caste of soldiery brought about during the recent Maxson reformations. The Lancers, like any other of the other chains operated like one of the well oiled machines they so revered. Scurrying about with a silent, eerie efficiency even in spite of their various flight suits and recon armour. In the shadows of the airship's halls, amidst the darkness; an electric blue LED display buzzed to life. Before showing an image of the famed "Vault-Boy" smiling.

"Is that our signal for departure, Miss Sinclair?" came a synthetic voice, with almost playful tones. A creepy silence ensued, before the rustling of gloved leather hands rubbing together became audible. The EyeBot seemingly replied to nothing. "As you wish, so shall it be Miss Sinclair."

Gentle footsteps began to beat the grated steel deck of the Prydwen as out from the shadows stepped a woman whose usually pale skin was wrought with patches of sunburn. Her fine, dark brown hair fell behind her shoulders, despite one side being shaven. And a red cotton underlayer beneath a tanned leather vest bearing various nicks and burns from obvious combat duty and wasteland survival as she stepped into the light. She gave an almost child-like grin as she began to clap to her EyeBot, before signing to the machine, as she had done so before in the midst of the shadows.

"Yes yes, of course Sarah. Virgil said, before it's display abrudplty shut off. Almost instantly, Sarah Sinclair's face went from childish glee to a murderous thousand yard stare. With hands like lightning, the Alaskan native drew her signature revolver, a heavily modified Colt Navy, a famous handgun from a conflict long before the Great War. and began to spin the weapon on her index finger as she broke into a lengthy, yet almost silent stride. Her meeting with the Brotherhood Elder earlier in the day replaying in her mind.

"We may have exiled you from our chapter for your actions that day Sarah; but I see in hindsight you did what needed to be done. Granted it was reckless, and you nearly got yourself killed merely because you cared about her...but I am man enough to admit that I was wrong. The steel was, and still is strong within you. We need that steel for this mission, if it is to have any hope of success."Elder Maxson had said, placing his large, gloved hand on the woman's shoulder as the comparatively gargantuan man stepped closer to his guest. Enveloping the whole thing in his grasp of camaraderie.

The Anchorage native's brow furrowed in anger as she pushed his hand away, backing up and rapidly signing as she did so, before sticking the middle fingers of both of her hands up at her former Commander and giving a sarcastic smile. Virgil's voice had sparked up after the fact, with almost a tone of worry in his vocaliser as he had chimed in. "I'm not sure I should translate that one sir."

"You don't need to Virgil. Activate protocol six subroutine twenty four." Maxson ordered, after a heavy sigh. The AI within Sarah's droid was limited, and prone to bouts of forgetfulness due to limited memory processing and storage outside of it's translation matrix. It had been a long time, but the Elder had always assumed the bot would remember who his original master was. Apparently he had assumed wrong.

"Negative." Virgil responded, leaving Arthur Maxson in utter disbelief at what had just occurred, his eyes widening as the EyeBot continued. "A very good friend of ours had my systems upgraded even further before we came here. To account for the event that you should try to reclaim me. I'm afraid you would now have to destroy me to prevent me leaving with Miss Sinclair, sir."

"I see...I can't say that I'm surprised. You always were resourceful, Sarah. But listen, the opportunity to rejoin the chapter isn't the only thing I'm offering here. I believe, that this would mean a lot to you." Arthur said, with frankness and sincerity in his tone as he reached behind his back. The slip of steel against leather was audible as he had pulled forth a handgun which was all too familiar to Sarah Sinclair from it's holster.

By the time she had snapped back to reality, she had found herself on a scaffolded balcony in the Prydwen's main hanger, overlooking the vertibird that was being prepped for her deployment into the Mojave. "Are you sure about this Miss Sinclair?" Virgil had asked as his master rubbed her index finger across the suppressor, the name 'Charlotte' engraved in cursive text into the right hand side. With one final spin of the esoteric weapon, she holstered it at the right side of her hip and made a right angle with the tips of her index finger, tapping them together. Positive

"As you wish."

Sam did his best to move softly in the growing night. He’d been tracking an ex-Legion Raiding party for close to a week now, purely of his own accord; he’d discovered the remains of a small caravan, 3 adults 4 children, all butchered…among other indignities, and marked with Legion iconography. The group hadn’t been bothering to hide their tracks, so the only reason it had taken this long to catch up was the head start they’d had.

Now he picked his way slowly through the scrub, ever so often catching a hit of wood smoke and voices that bit by bit grew louder. Bearing wide of the camp once he saw it not too far off, he made his way along a nearby ridge until he found himself overlooking the raider’s overnight camp. It was a small party of four, sitting around their fire, eating and talking about how they ‘struck a blow’ against the profligates and bragged to each other about what they had done. It took almost all his self-control not to open fire right then, but they were all still awake and in the ensuing confusion one might escape and he wasn’t going to allow that. Instead he made himself rest in his perch, try and quiet the voice that raged for their deaths, and waited for the right time.

To his surprise he actually dozed off, though he only realized he’d done so after he woke up to the sounds of the sentries below him trading off. It was now well into the night and the moon was now starting to set, though it would still be a while before dawn. Shifting forward he brought his rifle to bear, flicking the switch to run it on ‘hot shot’ mode; he didn’t want to take chances.

Below him, the newly awoken sentry stood before the embers of their fire and stretched, his back to Sam’s position, what little glow remained enough to just outline him in Sam’s eyes. Sam settled the sights and fired, closing his eyes as he did to save his night vision. He’d intended to kill his target outright, but several factors interfered and instead the flash of energy struck the Legionnaire in the small of his back and burned a hole straight through skin and bone.

The man screamed in pain and terror as he pitched forwards, unable to stop himself from falling into the embers.One. The recently relieved sentry, still being partially awake most likely, reacted faster than his still sleeping companions, though that just sealed his fate faster. A twitch of movement in the gloom caught Sam’s eye and he fired again, this time hitting his target square in the face killing him instantly. Two. Over the screams of the first man, he heard crashing in the brush and realized the two sleepers were trying to run.

The low moon was casting deep shadows, and either on purpose, or through sheer luck the pair had bolted into a low crease that gave them decent concealment from Sam’s position. He lanced the dark with a couple of speculative shots at likely targets, his third one drawing another shout. Three. He was annoyed that it looked like the last one would escape, he could still hear someone crashing through the scrub, but the shadows were too deep to see anything, when he heard a short ‘yelp’ of surprise followed by more crashing and then quiet. Four.

Picking his way down, he swapped to his pistol and went to investigate the camp. His first target had stopped screaming, having lost consciousness even though he still lay on the coals, he wouldn’t last much longer. After confirming the fate of his second target, he cautiously followed after the remaining two. The third one he appeared to have hit in the upper back, possibly through the heart and left lung as he was dead by the time Sam got to him. The fourth he found just as dawn broke, laying at the bottom of a small crevasse having obviously fallen while running at full speed.

Both his legs were at decidedly unhealthy angles and smears of blood marked his passage down. Following the sounds of wounded sobbing, Sam stuck his head over the edge of the drop and looked down. Upon seeing the dark silhouette of Sam, the Legionnaire called out between gasps of pain. “Bastard..just...just end already…” Before he could reply, Sam heard a sound, geckos, probably awoken by the noise and smell of blood. It was still a bit too cool for them to be very active, but once the sun was up they’d be swarming this whole area. The Legionnaire had heard the sound too, fear now etched on his pain wracked face. “P-please…just do it…you can’t, you can’t leave me like this!”

Sam studied him for a moment then shrugged. ”Why not?” He said before turning away, it would still be awhile before it was warm enough for the geckos and he wanted to be well away from here before then. Tuning out the shouting and invectives from behind him he started making his way North.

((Collab Post between @Letter Bee and @DirtyDingo.))

Raven Rivers x Albert Brosnovic

In hindsight, returning to duty was merely the best of many bad choices.

For Raven Rivers, what he really wanted was cash and a plot of land to retire on, but apparently, escaping from The Regime did not qualify one for a large-enough pension from the bureaucrats. And his relatives didn't have enough cash to support him for the rest of his life while the job market for civvie work in the NCR was worse than ever. So he had to return to Ranger Station Foxtrot, where he had nothing to do except read books he bought from traveling merchants, shoot at passing raiders and Legion remnants, and lose himself in depression over a literal decade spent as less than nothing in others' eyes.

At least he had free time, at least he had some choices in what he can do with said free time. But right now, he was lonely, the memories of his dead boyfriend Timothy still fresh after all these years. Raven Rivers might not find a man like him again, while as for women, well, he liked them as well as men, but he did not know how to talk to them anymore. He did want to have a son to name Timothy, though.

Shaking his head, Raven observed his surroundings; he was in a watchtower in Ranger Station Foxtrot, where he was bored out of his mind scanning the desert for any sign of raiders, Legion, or Regime troops, whether Securitons or organic 'auxiliaries'. In the distance to the north, Raven saw a cloaked silhouette, smoking what appeared to be a disproportionately large cigar. Candidly patrolling the outskirts of the station alone. The unmistakable outline of a Van Graff made tri-laser rifle resting on his shoulder.

The man was no stranger to the station, his gruff and rugged appearance complimented by faded tan ranch wear, and a leather cowboy hat to complete the set. There was no mistaking who the man was. It was him.

Albert Brosnovic grunted as his knees buckled with every step, the years of enforcement work had taken it's toll on the aged man turned mercenary. His eyes scanned the horizon as he strode, ever since the second battle of Hoover Dam and the formation of The Regime; he had struggled to find anywhere true to settle. The truth of the matter was, Albert greatly missed his home in Freeside. Hell, he even missed the pompous assholes he had to deal with at the Lucky 38 when they'd get too rowdy. There had always been a charm to the violence of his line of work. Even if it rarely had to come to taking lives. Out here, in the wastes of the Mojave however, it just felt empty. No raucous laughter, no beautiful women and not a goddamned sip of good whiskey to quench his thirst within thirty miles.

"Fuck this, ain't nobody comin'." he had said to himself, before tossing his cigar to the floor and stomping it out. Albert had been given honorary Ranger status after the uprising of The Regime. Although he hated the thought of being responsible for more than a building with very little to compensate for it. Truth be told, if he'd had anywhere else to go. He would have abandoned Foxtrot months ago.

With a deep sigh, he gripped his modified rifle in two hands. Pumping it's lever a number of times in order to detach the microfusion cells which operated it. Catching each one as they fell with his off-hand before resting the weapon on his shoulder once more. Giving a two fingerer salute to the watchtower, wherein he surmised his friend Raven had been keeping watch; as he often would.

Albert was a bright spot in his life; the old man was a good friend indeed, in Raven's views. Either way, he waved at the Honorary Ranger as he appeared and gave the signal to let the guy in. As the outpost gates opened, the no-longer-young soldier, who had earned some respect from the Rangers despite not being one himself, went to gesture Albert in, before asking, "So, you doing all right? I presume that things are still going bad in... That City?"

Then he remembered, "Oh, where are my manners; let's have a cup of coffee; it's on me - I no longer drink more than a few bottles of beer a week."

"Long as you don't stop me putting a couple shots of this sweet stuff in mine, kiddo." Albert laughed as he pulled his canteen from his hip and swished it's contents around before ruffling the significantly younger man's hair as he walked past him with a a jovial grin slapped across his face. "How's them things I tended to for ya holdin' up? Need me to take another look?" he continued, his smile seemingly vanishing from his face instantaneously as he changed the subject to Raven's hidden scar tissue.

Raven cringed at that and said, "I honestly don't like taking off my shirt again, even in private, to a doctor." He then looked at Albert and said, "But if you want, we can do it in the infirmary."

The man had suffered much. First under the Legion then under the Regime, where, and he had told Albert this in private, he had... served in Gommorah and that had entailed some things that would have gotten him scorned or pitied even in the NCR Army - Mostly pitied. But he didn't give any specifics, same for how, as his fame as a gladiator had risen, other unspeakable things had become the norm.

But it was best not to elaborate on that. Point was, Raven was adverse to close contact, even with people he trusted. "As for your earlier question...my mole's gone dark. Haven't heard a lick off the guy for a week now. But it seems like shit keeps gettin' worse back home. Just wish we had a way to pull the plug on that fucker and turn him to scrap that he is. I - Albert had begun venting, his anger and hatred for The Regime beginning to slip from his usually calm and collected demeanor when suddenly the unmistakable thrumming of a Vertibird in the distance became audible.

"Sounds like trouble."

Raven nodded but said, "Perhaps, but let's wait for my superiors to give the order to fire; it might be Bear Force One for all we know... I'm joking."

Walk. Stop. Walk. Grunt. Scream. Walk. Stop. Walk. Grunt. Scream. Walk. like a mantra
the words rang in Ashe’s mind. The same ones, on and on. A way to keep herself sane. A way to keep herself safe.

Follow. Horde. Walk. Stop. Grunt. and again and again and again and again!

It was easy to lose one’s mind while walking between thousands that lost their minds to the radiation. Follow the horde, guide the horde. One dies, one stands up. Human, synth, mutated creatures…it mattered not. Guns, bombs, swords, stingers or teeth…it mattered not. They all fell in front of the horde. They all get consumed. Death is nature and nature doesn’t stop. Nature doesn’t slow down. Nature is relentless and merciless. Hundred of years ago we tried to kill nature and each other with the bombs. We only managed to anger it. Nature finds a way, nature survives and adapts. The mutated animals are nature’s way of eliminating the human oppressor.

Yet. Yet, humans endure. Humans adapted too. Some of them at least. Ghouls are humanity’s answer to nature’s attacks. Not smart, not dumb. No feelings, no remorse. Just hunger and hunger is a good motivator. That’s what Ashe felt most of the time, hunger. Food was scarce, they made sure that not even scraps were left. But true to her nature, Ashe adapted too. Dead or alive, human, ghoul or anything in between, they were food and food kept her going.

As Ashe guided them or they guided her through the wasteland, she couldn't help but wonder what their lives had been like before they had become feral. This was a game of hers that she played ever since she was a child. Figure out the ghoul. Had they been like the normal ghouls, still clinging to their humanity despite everything and eventually succumbing to the radiation? Or had they been like her, angry at a world that had betrayed them? Not that it mattered how she felt. They weren’t the problem.

The other humans. They try to resist the horde. Some run, some join later. Most end up food but they all die_diediediedie eventually. In the face of the horde, none can stand. Not for long anyway. But, even with their numbers and tenacity, some factions of the wasteland would pose a big problem. Too many to be overwhelmed. Too well their locations fortified. Too human, the leader of the horde. Too many feelings. Too many innocents. No one is innocent in the wasteland.No one is _{innocentinnocentinnocentinnocent} in the wasteland. Not for long anyhow. .

There! Movement. To the north. The Horde didn’t smell whatever moved yet. It then starts. One lone gunshot. A ghoul falls. One more gunshot. The screaming soon followed. Thousands of ghouls shouting, grunting, screaming. A wall of dust rose as they started running in the direction. More ghouls from the surrounding area would join them. In the end, nothing would remain. No bodies, no traces of past settlements, all would be wiped out under the feet of the horde.

More gunshots. Rapid succession. One, two, three, four, five…now, two steps to the right, one forward. Dodging bullets when you’ve got a thousand bodies around you was easy. Left-right, duck. Run. Don’t get caught up. Move…there, 4 people. The horde is close to them. They start running. Too late. Too late. More screams now. Human screams. Blood everywhere and then silence. The silence of ghouls eating.

Forward. Keep moving with the horde. No time to rest. Sleep later, walk now. They don’t tire. They don’t sleep, they just walk. The horde is always moving. A trick Ashe learned in her first days was that ghouls don’t care what they’ve got on them as long as they walk, as such, Ashe created a stretcher of sorts that she tied to four different ghouls. All tied up together. A walking bed. If lucky, Ashe could sleep for hours. If not, she’d fall.

Not the best life but the only one that Ashe knew. Only one that she cared about it. Again. Movement.. More screams. More dead. More food. An endless cycle.

---

In collaboration: @Product as Katherine Green

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---

The sound of a ratchet can be heard over the wind blowing across the dusty wastes and the sound of music. With it a whistling was heard from the man who was right now kneeling next to what seemed to be a 3 wheeled motorcycle that was put together with many different pieces of other vehicles. The man was right now tightening the wheels as the sound of liquid poured into an empty gas tank. The man seemed to have finished with what he was doing before he called out to his compatriot, ”Hey Katie, you done filling the tank?”

Katie turned to face him, her arm visibly tired from manually pumping the gas from the prewar station. "That's the last dribble," she replied, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Since Desmond finished with the tires, she stepped away from the gas and offered her handyman a cigarette while she took one for herself. Her lighter sparked four times before finally firing. "The bike is supposed to sound like that?" she teased after exhaling the first drag. "This place is pretty much tapped out," she added, referring to the fact that it had been years since the war ended, and these prewar gas stations and highway buildings were likely picked clean by other wastelanders and prospectors over the years, something she was sure Desmond was painfully aware of.

Desmond took the cigarette Katherine offered and gave a nod of thanks before he took out his own lighter and lit the cigarette. He took a drag as he looked off into the wastes taking in what Katherine said. He breathed out smoke as he nodded his head, ”Yeah, I assumed it would have been”. Desmond takes another drag as he seems lost in thought for a moment. He breaks the tense moment with another smoke cloud leaving his mouth and saying, ”Welp, we really only got 2 options. We can fuck around here and think about what to do next, or we can do a quick joyride with what we got left and see where that leaves us”. Desmond shrugs with a smile as he looks at Katherine, ”Honestly, a joyride doesn’t sound so bad to me. Might even be a little fun”.

Katie paused for a moment, contemplating the risks of taking a joyride on a makeshift motorcycle in the middle of the wasteland. But the thrill of the adventure was too tempting to resist. "What the hell, let's do it," she said, mustering up some courage. As she finished her cigarette and flicked the butt away, gave a confident thumbs up to Desmond and strode towards the bike. With the wind whipping against her face and the dust kicking up around her boots, she carefully removed her glasses and tucked them away in a safe pocket on her jacket. "Show me what this baby can do."

Desmond’s grin stayed plastered on his face as he tossed the last bit of his cigarette on the ground as he heard Katherine seem for the crazy idea. Desmond takes the few solid steps forward to the motorcycle as he gives the large fuel tank a few taps and chuckles before he takes hold of the handle before quickly throws himself onto the machine with a solid lands as he looked to Katherine, ”Let’s see where she leads us”, as he lets out a laugh, asa it dawns on him how hilarious the situation is.

The moment Katie mounted up behind Desmond, he looked over his shoulder with a smile as he said, ”Let’s hear her purr”. Desmond lifts himself up slightly as he stamps down onto the starter as the engine roared to life. A laugh left Desmond's mouth as he took hold of the handlebars and revved a few times before he looked back with one last smile as the motorcycle roared and the wheels squealed, launching the vehicle forward.

On the back of the bike, Katie’s blood was pumping with anticipation. The doctor held her doctor's bag tightly on her lap, knowing it contains fragile and precious contents, but is confident she can keep them safe. After she wrapped her arms tightly around Desmond's waist, she could feels the prewar power of the machine coursing through her body. An excited whoop managed to escape her lips while they take off. With her eyes closed tight and the wind whipping through her hair, it felt like flying. As they hit the open road, she couldn’t contain her laughter, exhilarated by the sheer speed and freedom of the ride. It's like nothing she's ever experienced before, and she hoped that tank would last.

The motorcycle purred and roared as the wind howled and blew. The sun was still blazing down, even as it was getting later into the day, the heat was still visible across the desert, yet for Desmond and Katherine, they felt nothing but the chilling wind. The wheels tore up the little asphalt left behind as the motorcycle began to climb in speed as they had begun to find straighter and straighter ways. All Desmond could do was laugh as this was absurd, stupid even. Yet that didn’t matter, they were right now using the little bit of gas they had left and blazing past ruined vehicles, roadways, and…a sign?

"Las Vegas Exit," Katie squinted to read the sign without her glasses. The wind howled in their ears and the heat of the asphalt radiated beneath them, and the two sped past ruined vehicles, crumbling buildings, and towering rock formations, pushing the makeshift bike to its limits. Katie had never visited Las Vegas before, but she had travelled the Mojave enough to know that the road ahead was full of dangers. She was getting used to the wind in her face now, and was beginning to look ahead on the road, scanning for any signs of trouble. Whether it was with a Brahmin or a bike, the caravan life was all the same, and Katie knew better than to let her guard down. "Hey guy!" She raised her voice again, trying to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Do you see a lot of raiders on this thing?" Subtlety didn't seem like an option on the bike, but Desmond seemed to get the message. This was exactly what she had signed up for.

Desmond turned his head when he heard Katherine speak and answered her fair question, "Oh yeah, but mostly they are afraid of-" Desmond's eyes instantly flicked back forward and yanked on the handle bars, swerving hard and fast.

Desmond abruptly swerved the motorcycle, causing Katie to fear he had lost his mind. However, the sound of a gunshot ahead revealed the reason for his maneuver. In front of them lay a primitive bunker made of rusted cars. Based on the size of the thing, only one raider could fit inside, and the rate of oncoming gunfire only further proved her suspicion. Desmond hit the accelerator, expertly dodging the incoming bullets as they flew past the obstacle. Meanwhile, Katie readied the fuse of a stick of dynamite from the back seat. With perfect timing, she managed to throw the explosive through a narrow opening in the raider's barricade just as they zoomed by. The resulting blast echoed through the air as Desmond let off another laugh as if he was just made a fool by fate itself.

As the demolition duo rode further on, it came apparent that the little fuel they had had finally ran dry. On fumes alone they had made it another mile, Desmond sighed he looked back to his passenger and said, "Well guess we'll be coasting from here on, damn. I swore I had a good-". In that moment a loud whistle blurred as their attention was instantly drawn to what seemed to be a convoy of NCR troopers. Many of them were walking as next to them was a large and imposing vehicle. A four wheeled personnel carrier that seemed to have a large gun atop it, baring down onto them.

Desmond sighed as he stopped and turned the engine of the motorcycle off. Leaving about 100 feet of distance from where stood who he assumed was the commanding officer, a taller man grizzled from the wastes and wore a stern face as he called to the two motorcyclists, "What in the sam hell are you doing out here like that?"

Desmond looked to Katherine and said, "Here, let me talk". Desmond gave a wink before turning to the NCR soldier, "Oh just enjoying the sun set as we race across the desert with the no fuel we got left".

The older NCR soldier responds, "Well that sounds like one tough pickle son, sadly we ain't got fuel to spare to-". In that moment a loud bang and pop came from the engine of the NCR vehicle the grizzled soldier was standing in front of as his eyes widened and turned. Multiple soldiers began clambering out as smoke began to fill the air as there a smile grew on Desmond's face as it seemed fate still did favor him.

"Well, if you can't give the fuel, you wanna trade? I get some fuel and you don't get stranded?"

The look of pure anger and shock filled the man's face as he felt as if the incompetence of some fool nearly stranded them with priceless military hardware in the middle of the Mojave. Yet the young man seemed to offer some trade, skeptical the man asked, "I can tell you may know a thing or two with your bike. You sure you can do this?"

Desmond responded simply, "A Handyman can do anything", as he stepped off his bike and grabbed his toolbox to begin getting to work on the NCR vehicle. Just like any other day.

It felt strange, being back in the innards of a vertibird in flight and not being it's pilot; which was made even worse without the comfort and stability that power armour used to provide in such situations. Humans were never meant to fly, and the harsh airspace of the Mojave reminded Sarah of that fact as vicious turbulence and savage winds buckled and bent the craft's flight path as it traversed the Nevada airspace. The Alaskan native gave a silent sigh as she flicked and scrolled through digital pages on the PIP-pad, which had been given to her by Elder Maxson during their earlier meeting. Glyphs and symbols of both a foreign language and of the English lexicon appeared and disappeared rapidly whilst she skimmed through their contents; dossiers on two men named Raven Rivers and Albert Brosnovic. Of the former, very little was known to the Brotherhood or NCR forces, or at least very little had been disclosed in the file.

Of Albert, however. There was much to be said amongst the files. If anyone were to be instrumental in the operation she'd been tasked with completing, it would be him. She doubted there was another in the entirety of the wasteland who'd know the ins and outs of the strip as well as him. Virgil hovered closely, almost seeming to be reading over the woman's shoulder as the hovertech built into the EyeBot shifted and weaved to keep itself eerily steady in the hold as everything around it.

Their first target? The Ghoul.

As part of the Treaty of the Iron Bear, the diplomatic answer to the previous hostilities between the NCR and the Brotherhoood of Steel, the Brotherhood had agreed to find a solution to the gargantuan horde of ferals that had roamed it's way into the Mojave; although given the minimal resources that had been provided to her it was clear that the horde was incredibly low on their list of priorities. Arthur knows of my past, of Anchorage and of Little America. Is it possible that this is the only reason he has chosen me for this mission? Standard procedure for such circumstances as this, the vertibird would have been given to a knight squadron and the horde would be gone in an hour at most. After all, ghouls can't fly. And they certainly are not immune to massed missile fire. Sinclair began pondering to herself, something wasn't adding up. Least of all how the Brotherhood had even managed to find her in the first place. She'd been navigating the western coastline, through NCR territory on her way back to Anchorage when they'd picked her up and taken her to the Prydwen.

But none of that mattered now, as she and her ever faithful robotic companion made their descent. "Five minutes out Sarah. You know what to do...wait...what the hell is that on the ridgeline?!"



"Yeah I know kiddo, we really gotta get to work on them comedic timin' skills o' yers-" Albert had begun in jest as the two exited the , chuckling lightly before a 7.62 round careened straight through his left shoulder. Growling in agony, the grizzled wasteland veteran was knocked to the ground from the sheer velocity of the round. Legion...Dangit, if I'dve stayed out there a little longer I'd have spotted them bastards. He thought to himself as he pulled a fresh cigar from his case, clenching it between his teeth.

A grunt and a moan signalled Brosnovic's return to his feet, slamming a freshmicrofusion cell into the breech of his trusty tri-beam rifle. With a flourishing spin of the weapon he cocked it's lever, locking the cell into place and initialising the weapon's charging sequence. Almost on queue, the gates from which he'd previously entered through blasted open with the furious detonation of a man portable missile. Shortly afterwards, came the first of the attackers. The first of the dead. He thought to himself as he unleashed a salvo of laser rounds into the chest of the first through the breach. Six more beams made impact whilst the foe fell from the initial grouping, as the honorary ranger let two more trigger pulls be the legionary's end before he'd even finished hitting the floor.

Age had truly caught up to him, in his hayday he'd have emptied the whole cell into both of the attackers before they'd even crossed the line into Foxtrot. But that had been forty something years ago, and old dogs can't learn new tricks. Before he had a chance to make a witty remark, the second man was upon him, swinging his machete wildly overhead. With a dishonorable, yet swift kick to the groin, Albert felled the man to his knees before unleashing a trio of lasers into the legionary's face at point blank range. Killing him instantly as his skull exploded into a sea of gore. He'd lost track of Raven at this point, and as concern seeped into his mind. Four more legionaries came rushing through the gate, however with the crack of rifle fire in the distance, two of them slumped to the ground holding their throats.



Sarah gently exhaled through her nose as she let the two rounds fly at lightning speeds. Her hands almost untraceable by the human eye as she reracked the bolt on her chinese-made rifle twice in rapid succession. The side doors of the vertibird now open despite still being airborne. With a menacing smirk, the woman lowered her rifle and made a series of gestures with her off hand. "Miss Sinclair requests that you move us closer, Lancer Adams." Virgil translated, and without a word in response and the bay doors still open, the pilot shifted the bird back into motion and darted towards the ongoing battle. Readying her signature handgun with a spin on her middle finger as she pushed her rifle onto her back, Sarah pulled her length of rope from her satchel.

"Oh no, do we have to do this one again? It's been so long. Virgil had begun to chime in, when a missile sailed through the air and in a freakish stroke of luck, passed straight through the open hold and out the other side. "Yes, I guess we do."

He approached Camp Foxtrot cautiously and off the main paths to it, keeping eyes and ears out for local wildlife; he came and went from the NCR outposts somewhat regularly, trading on his ‘friendly’ reputation with the NCR to use them as safe spots to rest. That said, it’d been some time since he’d stopped at Foxtrot and given the state of the Mojave at the moment he couldn’t say for certain whether or not the station was still under NCR control.

His musings were interrupted two fold in a matter of moments; first was the distant sound of a verti-bird of all things, something he hadn’t heard in years, but the second and much more troubling was the much closer ‘cough’ and explosion of a missile launcher being fired. A large outcropping of rock still blocking his line of sight to the camp, he rushed forwards to get a clear view.

”Fan-fucking-tastic..” He growled, finally getting eyes on the scene. A Legion Remnant was hitting the camp hard, the earlier explosion must have been them blowing the gate open. Part of him was really tempted to just take a knee where he was and start shooting; the range was not too long and he was a good enough shot that missing would be tough…but there were enough asshole that getting all of them before he got rushed wasn’t a given, and while he was tough in a a close up fight, those weren’t odds he wanted to test.

Overhead the sound of the vertibird got louder, punctuated rifle fire; whoever was up top was trying to provide air cover. Watching the aircraft start to circle, he heard another missile fire and flinched as the smoke trail converged on it, only to let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as the shot managed to sail clean through the ‘birds open doors.

Looking back along its path, he saw that the shot had actually come from the top of the outcropping he was up against. From there he set to work; dropping his pack, he pulled out his FC adapter and strapped it to his waist before popping out the seated MFC and plugging in the adapter. Weapon ready, he started to climb, banking on the sounds of the fighting covering the noise of his assent. Now was a time for speed, not stealth.

Pre-War he’d never been one for rock climbing, it seemed like a damned foolish way to die, but since then circumstances had forced his hands (and feet) into accepting such a necessity. Now he scrambled up the rocks and through the brush, dried branches and thorns picking at him, but he was too busy to pay them much mind.

Reaching the top, he spotted the backs of two legionaries’ heads, obviously crouched down and from what he could tell by their body language and movement, they were having trouble with the launcher. Standing for a clearer shot, he shot the one actually holding the launcher in the back of his head. At this close a range it was an easy target and he fired a couple shots in quick succession, to burn through the first man’s helmet. As he pitched forwards, dead, the second leapt to his feet in surprise, he spun towards Sam; but before he could do much else, Sam burned him down with three to the chest.

With the pair dead, Sam took up their position, and after a moment of getting him bearings on the camp below, he opened fire. Tracking across the camp he started to target anyone of authority or those with significant weapons.

Raven Rivers

"Albert!" said the soldier as he took out his Hunting Rifle, crouched, and fired at the Legionnaires, trying to cover his friend as he tried to get a feel for the enemy's numbers. It seemed as though the Legion's tattered remnants were not done yet; they had sent a force to besiege the camp. Well, like heck they're gonna take him again; he needed to clear his head and more importantly, clear the way for the clearly-allied Vertibird to arrive and land. Gritting his teeth, he dived behind a stack of boxes as he realized that the gate had been blown open; he had to hold back the enemy lest they slaughtered everyone inside - Or worse.

He was unlucky enough to be cut off from the other NCR troops, but Raven had learned to live with his lack of fortune a long time ago. Not caring that he might be in the midst of a Legion onslaught, he fired at a Recruit Legionnaire coming through the gate and shot the foe dead in the eyes; a merciful fate for someone who had lived knowing nothing but inflicting and taking torment.

This did result in him getting the attention of what seemed to be, in this fog of war, an entire squad of Legionnaires rushing towards him, turning themselves into 'bullet sponges' so that a couple of their remaining Veterans can shoot at him with their caravan shotguns and cowboy repeaters. It didn't matter; he will survive this - His luck was abysmal but it would not grant him the peace of death as long as there were more opportunities to suffer more.

He remembered Timothy's face and their stolen moments, he remembered slaves throwing away what they had believed before to join the arena in hopes of getting an 'amnesty' and a chance to join their tormentors. This was time he could have used to throw a grenade if he had carried one, but alas, such was his luck and the influence of PTSD; Raven endured it nonetheless.

Drawing his Service Rifle now, Raven shot again, perforating a machete-wielding Legionnaire in the gut - It wasn't going to be a clean death this time.

Legion as well as NCR soldiers began falling around him, but Raven held out, having learned a perverse trust in his bad luck that he would be spared in order to be tortured more, and until that time, he'd survive what the Wasteland had to throw at him.

There was one Legionnaire facing him, one last survivor of the squad that had rushed him. It might just be a trick of his mind, but that Legionnaire looked like him, like the son he could have had if he had stayed behind and married a woman -

Raven was already instinctively dodging the foe's attempted stabbing with a gladius, before focusing long enough to score a gash on his opponent's armor and ripping off the breastplate through the gash. Then he stabbed again, burying his switchblade inside the enemy's guts; he'd requisition a new one later on. Were the NCR counterattacking? Had he bought them enough time and space, or did they misuse it?

He did not know...

Jeremy Kürten

NCR Ranger Camp Foxtrot

Jeremy was wandering the wasteland, having found nothing of use inside the surrounding buildings. He didn’t feel safe being outside of his workshop. But he needed to meet with someone there who said they are willing to trade valuable tech with him. Usually, he would set up a meeting point. But this person wanted to meet near Camp McCarran. He didn't have a good relationship with NCR or any other faction in the wasteland. But he didn’t think he would need to interact with them, or so he hoped.

The ghoul had a Mister Gutsy and a Protectron to protect him. He was not very good when it comes to combat, so having two robots protecting him made him feel some comfort. If his robots were to be disabled, he had a laser pistol to protect himself. He had the radio and was enjoying some of the songs. He didn’t know why they needed to play Johnny's Guitar all the time., it was starting to become quite irritating. After a while, he turned off the radio and opted to listen to the ambience of the wasteland. The walk towards Camp McCarran was uneventful except for the occasional bug extermination.

Walking past an NCR Ranger camp that seemed to be in a bit of trouble, noticing there were more people guarding the front than usual. He then quickly noticed the small garrison of Legion remnants attacking the camp. He was just going to ignore the conflict since it was not his battle. However, he would feel guilty if he didn't help them. Mauling over what he should do and how he could even help. Jeremy looked over at his robot companions. Coming to the realization they could tip the scale in NCR's favour.

Although he had no love for the NCR, he had a greater hatred for the Legion. He thought that perhaps he could get some sort of reward for helping. So he quickly came to the decision to help the NCR. Ordering his Mister Gutsy and Protectron to fire their weapons at the legion remnants. While he would bring cover fire with his laser pistol, he sure hoped his target practice would be useful.

Before it'd had another opportunity to complain, Sarah latched the end of her rope to a notch upon the back of the eyebot, which was seemingly designed with exactly the eccentric manoeuvre that was about to be attempted in mind. Without so much as the slighest pause, the Alaskan native leapt from the bay door of the Vertibird; and Vergil's hoverpads shifted into overdrive as the pair began to slowly but surely descend into the chaos of the battlefield below. Raising her revolver, Sarah let loose one of the forty-four magnum rounds, which sailed into the groin of one of the legionaries which had made it into melee range of the lone ranger at the forefront of the siege. The man rolled out of the path of the returning gunfire and into cover as submachineguns were unleashed in the direction of the woman. It was clear that these men were inadequately trained, as she was far from their effective ranges. With a violent tug of her off hand, Vergil and Sarah were forced to the ground, the woman releasing her grip on the frayed length of rope at the last moment in order to hit the ground in a combat roll.

Two men rushed her as she rose to her knees, but Sarah's hands moved so fast that if an onlooker had blinked, they would have surely missed the movement of her bringing the colt navy to her hip, fanning it's hammer four times as she held down it's trigger. The fusillade of magnum rounds was inaccurate for sure, but at this distance accuracy was not what she required. The high powered rounds ripped a pair of holes through the midsection of one of the attackers, felling him instantly. The second was undeterred by the savaging pf his comrade however, and continued his advance. Sarah had tried to raise her handgun for a more accurate shot, knowing that the final round in the cylinder needed to count. But the legionary was too swift, managing to close the distance between them in a mere second. With a thunderous pushing kick to her chest, Sarah was knocked to the ground. She'd had to concede to him, despite the horrific stories she'd been told of these men. They were nothing if not relentless. As the woman tried to bring her revolver to bear, the masked legionary whom was clad in the customary crimson of his faction stomped on her arm, pinning her arm to the ground as she made all the bodily motions of a guttural scream of pain. Yet no sound passed from her lips. She'd thought it may have been the end for her, as the man held aloft his machete for the killing blow.

The sickening crunch of a shattering skull soon put an end to that notion however, as the ranger she'd covered not moments ago slammed the buttstock of a laser rifle the likes of which she'd never seen before into the back of his unarmoured head. Knocking him to the ground as a sea of crimson erupted from his skull. Taking no chances, the grizzled veteran un loaded a salvo of lasers into the legionary's back. Making sure he'd not rise to his feet again before offering his hand to the grounded Sarah.

"Now what's a pretty lil' thang like you doin' fallin' from the sky like that in a place like this?!" Albert asked, his tone joking but also clearly grateful for her arrival on the battlefield. Seemingly in the nick of time. Without a word of response, and not seeming to acknowledge Albert in the slightest beyond accepting the help to her feet. Sarah retrieved her revolver and holstered it, and it was in that moment that energy munitions began to rain down on the remaining legionaries from a distance, finally forcing the scum into a retreat, just as Sinclair had pulled her own machete from it's sheathe with her left hand. "Hold on there missy, ain't no use chasin' em. More risk than it's worth." Albert had said, grabbing Sarah by her forearm as she had attempted to give chase, in an effort to run down the fleeing men. As her advance was entirely halted and the unbelievable grip of the clearly older man, she was forced into a spin. Causing her to instinctively turn the weapon on the man. Fortunately for Albert, it was in the realms of close quarters where he had always proved to be most dangerous. In a blur of motion, before she'd even realised what had happened, Albert had relieved her of her blade, and sat her ass back down in the dirt. Leaving her completely confused.

"I'm not yer enemy darlin'." he said, with a half smile as he spun the curved machete around, handing it back to Sarah. Before asking her name and giving her his. To which of course the woman gave no reply. Fortunately, Vergil found his way over to the pair in the nick of time, as the honorary ranger was clearly losing his patience by the second. "This, is Sarah Sinclair. Here on behalf of the Brotherhood of Steel. Apologies for Miss Sinclair's seeming lack of manners. She is a mute. I am her personal Vocalisation and Interpretation Robot, Given in Love. You may call me Virgil for short. We are here seeking a Raven Rivers, and an Albert Brosnovic. Could you please point us in their direction sir?" Virgil had said, seemingly easing the tension as Sarah snatched back her blade from the man.

"Well, you happen to be in luck. Albert Brosnovic, reporting. Although not too sure what one of you steelers is after me fer. I'd suggest you get explainin' real quick, mind." Albert had said, finally formally introducing himself as the fires of battle around the group came to a close, and the remaining NCR troopers stationed at Foxtrot surrounded the woman and her robot. Sarah looked to the sky, and noted that the Vertibird which had carried her into the Mojave, was now nowhere to be seen.

"My, this could prove to be problematic." Virgil had said, prompting a sly chuckle from Albert, as he brought a fresh cigar to his lips. Lighting it with his still searing rifle's barrel.

Raven Rivers

Did they win? Raven was uncertain at first, then as whoops of victory were heard from the NCR lines, the man crawled forward to where the Vertibird had left and the Brotherhood woman - Why was she silent? - was facing down NCR guns. That was strange; didn't the NCR and Brotherhood mend fences after the Courier set up The Regime? Either way, he waited for things to progress, not knowing what he could do to advance the situation without making things worse; he knew his luck.

Then he realized, and this realization prompted him to step forward, that this woman was seeking him out. So he lifted up his right hand and said, "Miss Sinclair; I'm Raven Rivers. What does the Brotherhood of Steel want with me and Albert here? Aren't we all enemies of the Big Guy in Vegas here, or is that why we've been called?"

He was not stupid, just traumatized, as he looked at Virgil and continued, "Virgil, right? Can you confirm this speculation as to why the Brotherhood is seeking me and Albert out? And if so, how exactly can I be useful? I'm a traumatized mess but Albert is one of the most competent people I'll ever meet."

A vision. A flash of that boy again; the son he could have had had he married a woman. The son there was a chance he could have had in Vegas; his time in Gommorah and the Gladiator Pits had plenty of encounters with the fairer sex. Why was it that almost anything reminded him of a hypothetical son? Did he really want children that badly?

The son I might never have or never meet. Andrew Rivers, were his thoughts. Am I self-centered or unfocused to keep thinking about him? There is a high chance he does not even exist.

"So," he continued, "You aren't hostile, right? Right?"

@DirtyDingo

With a disapproving and almost childish frown, Sarah returned her curved machete to it's scorched leather sheath at her hip as she allowed herself to be surrounded by the NCR remnants. She'd been given a census on the garrison of Foxtrot, and if these men and women were all that remained, she'd have to admit that the Legion raid had been successful, to an extent. As the negative expression faded from her face, Sinclair swept her ashen brown hair away from her brows and nodded to the two men she had been dispatched to recruit, before proceeding to make a series of hand gestures directed at Brosnovic, with Virgil seeming to commence a scan of her hands as she did so. "I am here on behalf of the Brotherhood and NCR coalition, under direct orders from Elder Maxson at the request of the council. I've been tasked with the gathering and formation of an elite team. Your President Kimball and Colonel Stanstead have seen to it that the two of you should no longer be assigned to this garrison. I have the order in writing here." She had signed, with Virgil translating the movements into English as she did so. Before reaching into her satchel and pulling forth the PIP-pad which had been bestowed upon her by Arthur Maxson.

"As for why you, Mr Rivers. Your dossier informed those in the know within the Brotherhood that you have had extensive...shall we say, experience? With the Legion. This will be invaluable for the mission." Virgil had stated, seemingly of his own accord as Sarah's hands were otherwise occupied with revealing the reassignment order to the two men. This prompted a wry grin from the grizzled Albert, as he exhaled a plume of smoke one would expect from a combustion engine. Not a cigar. "Well now ain't that just sweet, but what about me. I ain't sure if ya noticed. But I'm a long ways past my prime. What'cha want with stiff old board such as meself?" Albert had joked as he threw the remnants of his cigar to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his cowboy boot. Prompting a jingle from the rusted spur at it's back.

Sarah simply looked at the man, her expression changing from neutral, to one that screamed it's own accusation. Virgil didn't speak any further, instead merely hovering closer to it's master. "Oh, so yer lot knows about that huh? Well. Guess there ain't much more needin' to be said. Raven, we oughtta pack'r shit. I'd wager this is gonna be a long trip.

He did really know how long he’d knelt there, or how many shots he took, only that now the Legion had broken and were fleeing. Pushing himself back up with a groan he spotted one last fleeing figure, the ragged plume on his helmet bobbing and dancing through the scrub.

Heat shimmers radiated off the lensing ‘barrel’ of his weapon as he took aim once more, and one last flash tore across the desert. Chance alone saved the runner; the fellow stumbled as Sam fired and thus instead of the shot catching him square in the back, it instead hit his right shoulder. The man screamed in pain as he dropped out of sight, probably into one of the innumerable crevasse that crossed the landscape. ”Dumb bastard,” He muttered to himself, lowering his weapon. "Gonna take a while to die now..."

With the camp seeming to be secure, he started to pick his way back to where he’d dropped his gear. Slinging the still hot laser, he unplugged the belt pack and made a face as he checked its charge. Forty percent…shit. Have to try and find a new FC soon. Getting down wasn’t nearly as easy as going up had been, especially at his age, but after a bit of trying and a rather undignified slide on his backend, he dropped back down to the same level as his stuff.

Taking off and stowing his power pack, he pocketed a fusion cell before shouldering his pack and heading for the camp, deciding to let his weapon cool a bit before recharging it. Approaching the camp he saw a few folks gathered around, a couple of them he knew at least enough to give a nod to as he passed, but the others were new, especially the bots.

”Hey kid!” He called out once he spotted Albert. ”Good to see the bull botherers didn’t get ya’.” Reaching the group, he pulled out his flask and took a long pull before swapping it for his pipe. A moment's work had it drawing nicely and he exhaled a cloud of smoke upwards before turning his attention to those he didn’t recognize. ”Sam.” He said by way of introduction.

Jeremy Kürten

NCR Ranger Camp Foxtrot

Jeremy focused his shots toward the leader of the Legion remnants. He was firing his laser pistol at this particular individual with some accuracy. While he was doing that his robot companions were trying to protect the NCR rangers and those affiliated. His Mister Gutsy was doing most of the work. The Protectron was no slouch either he had given the slow-moving robot a plasma weapon. Mister Gutsy was armed with a laser weapon that could hit a target more accurately. A few bullets flew passed his head which caused him to use Mister Gutsy as cover.

A few of those bullets hit Mister Gutsy but the robot didn’t seem phased by the Legion’s attack. The Protectron, Mister Gutsy, and Jeremy were moving closer toward the camp. His robotic companions were helping along with turning the tide of battle. The Mister Gutsy shot down a few of the Legion remnants with its laser weapon. The Protectron was shot a few times making it stumble a little. However, it kept moving along with Mister Gutsy. Jeremy continued to use Mister Gutsy as cover. Trying to fire his own laser weapon at the leader. Hoping that his shots would bring down their leader.

The trio was getting closer to the camp, eventually stepping foot inside the camp with his robot companion. “Hallo, I would like to offer my services to help you combat these barbarians.” His tone of voice was oddly very plain and businesslike manner.

”Hey kid! Good to see the bull botherers didn’t get ya’.” Sarah had heard the raspy and almost dead voice say from behind her. She'd have been lying if she'd said the sudden unimpeded entry of a ghoul to the scene, had not surprised her. As far as she had experienced, the NCR had an...unfriendly policy regarding their kind. However, given that it seemed that this 'Sam' character appeared to be on friendly terms with one of her recruits, she'd question the issue no further. I'm sure it has it's uses. She had thought to herself, before turning to address him. As the former...no...current; Paladin did so, she noted the arrival of yet another person to Foxtrot. Sarah would have to get used to that title again, it felt like it'd been an eon since she'd held a sense of pride for the association. However she snapped out of her thoughts as with an almost unnerving candour this Jeremy person had offered his services to the group. An anomaly she had not prepared for, additional crew members.

Stashing away the PIP-Pad with a deft and smooth motion, Sarah began to form hand signs towards the two new arrivals. Which Vergil translated in real time. "If any of you should be brave enough to join us, you are of course welcome. I cannot agree to nor promise any quantified payment, but I can give assurance of some form of compensation for your service. However, as you are unknown entities to my mission, until clearance is granted by my superiors. You will not be extended the same clearances and details as Raven and Mr Brosnovic here-" She had started, before being sternly interrupted by Albert from behind a tipped hat. "Albert is jus' fine missy. Ain't gone by my surname in a looong time. Fer good reason." he explained, as a slight tension began to fill the air once more. Sarah's right hand began to instinctively hover above her Colt Navy's grip in it's holster at the mounting discomfort, though she had not realised she had done so. With a laugh from Albert, the tension was diffused as the man turned away, heading off towards the Foxtrot barracks.

"Anybody whom is so brave enough to join our cause, aside from those whom have been conscripted, reconvene at the gate within twenty minutes. Time is of the esssence. Vergil announced, without any signal to do so from Sarah. It was as she did so, that the woman had realised she had readied herself for a gunfight in plain sight of the NCR. Clearly, she had spent too long alone. Not that it wouldn't have ended extremely badly for the NCR stationed had the situation escalated...

Jeremy Kürten

NCR Ranger Camp Foxtrot

Jeremy was glad to have helped the NCR rangers fight off the Legion remnants. After that commotion, he was prepared to move on toward Camp Mccarran. But before he could do that he would need to repair his robotic companions. The damage on his robots was minimal but they would still need some repair. After fixing his robot companions he heard the announcement from one of the rangers about joining their cause. Although he didn’t want to get involved in any politics he knew that the Legion would be quite a nuisance if left unchecked. He would need to let his contact see that he would have to reschedule their meeting. Using his pip boy to send a message to change the date of their meeting.

The ghoul’s robots were moving closer so they were standing beside him. By the way one of the other rangers spoke to him, it didn’t seem the pay would be good but overall it was a good cause. The Legion has been quite a nuisance for many years and personally, he wouldn’t mind them going the way of the dodo.

---

Desmond had made a far rock toss across the Mojave, going from one outpost to the next. He moved from the outpost he had assisted in the maintenance of one of their technicals, then to the next outpost where he heard they needed a technician to repair the electrical in their med bay. A constant string of work and leads, taking jobs that would give him food, supplies, fuel, and information. This was the life of a wanderer, wandering from place to place, doing work to live. Yet being skilled like Desmond was one thing that made him special. It allowed him to work among many groups, interact with many people, and learn many things most would never even know about.

Like the fact that something had gone down at Ranger Camp Foxtrot. Legion had attacked and was repelled, leaving Desmond to believe that whatever there was minorly important. Yet, still important enough for the legion to attack it, even in its weakened state. Which in its own right could give some leads and information. So, as his nature dictates, Desmond let the wind take him to the camp and into the unknown, as no matter how one wanders, the wind will blow them as it pleases.

Jeremy Kürten

NCR Ranger Camp Foxtrot

Jeremy left with the others after finishing the small repairs he had to make on his robotic companions. In the back of his mind, he was worried that perhaps he shouldn’t have taken the ranger’s offer. There was a definite possibility that he would be shot or killed being on this mission. A part of him wished he just continued towards Camp Mccarran. Going to the ruins of Vault 11 seemed quite worrying. He had heard of the many people going into Vault 11 scavenging for treasure, but many of them would never come back. But he thought they would not mind a ghoul wandering around, or so he thought. So having the others with him would be beneficial for his survival.

The ghoul noticed a large amount of his feral brethren coming toward the group. He tensed up and typed the screen of his Pip-Boy. His robots prepare themselves for combat by readying their weapons. He had dealt with feral ghouls before. They were easy to deal with alone but in groups were quite an issue. He promised himself he would not turn into one of them. He would rather shoot himself before turning into a mindless cannibal.