Ambassador Benjamin “Benny” Watts - Strip Eastside Gate - Sunset, October 16th

Benny couldn’t help but grin as the gates swung open and the full splendor of the Strip was revealed. The crimson haze of the sunset seemed to only enhance the vibrant display of flashing neon lights and extravagant signage that enveloped the entire street. After having trod through the miserable slums of Freeside for close to an hour he had begun to worry that there would be nothing but further poverty and filth to await him. Instead there was fanfare, an audience that had gathered to welcome his arrival with a dozen or so well dressed individuals waiting to greet him.

Benny hadn’t been impressed by what he’d seen of New Vegas thus far; corpses left to rot in the street, armed gangs openly operating their illicit businesses and an utter lack of public infrastructure. The only gem he had found in Freeside was a small ghetto filled with NCR refugees. It was little more than a walled-off street near a casino called the Atomic Wrangler but it hosted a few minor businesses and a small clinic. Benny had wanted to show some face and so his escort had briefly stopped there and they were given a warm welcome. It was difficult to avoid questions about when the annexation would be formalized and what that would mean for them but Benny had tactfully given a politician's answer. He spoke a lot about nothing but it sounded good and the people smiled even if they didn’t understand him.

The well dressed people who now greeted him at the entrance to the Strip would be a more critical crowd. Benny wouldn’t be able to sway them with empty platitudes and patriotic phrases. No, he had heard about the ‘Families’ of the Strip and though he didn’t know much about them he knew they were dangerous. Of the ten men in front of him out stepped a woman. As sharply dressed as the rest and carrying a holstered firearm. It told Benny that the dangers of the Mojave were present even in this neon paradise. Around the men were a few heavily armed mercenaries, equipped nearly identically in armor and weapons to the CSF agents who escorted him. Though these mercs lacked the distinctive black paint job that branded Benny’s security detail as Van-Graff associates they were a grim visage nonetheless.

“Lucrezia,” the woman said simply, offering a wry smile to Benny. He returned the smile with his own wide, white grin. “Or Lucy for short.”. She stretched out her hand “Consilegere to the Omerta Family and a personal representative of Don Dominic Omerta. Welcome to the Strip. Our boss offers his sincere greetings, and hopes you will join him for a chat at the Zoara Club at Gomorrah at your earliest convenience.”

Benny had heard of the Omertas before as the president had offered him an intelligence file about them before he left Shady Sands. From what he read they were gangsters masquerading as business people. Benny knew their kind well, he had history with similar folks in New Reno. They were like knives and no matter how elegant a knife appeared, it was always capable of killing you.

He stooped in the saddle to accept her hand and shook it gingerly. “An absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Benjamin Watts, or Benny for short.” He gave her a quick wink as he tipped his hat. “I do so appreciate the extravagant entrance you all have afforded us this evening. Please do give my sincerest thank you to Mr. Don Dominic.” Benny offered a light bow. “I must see about settling in for the evening, however I would like to speak with Mr. Dominic soon.”

The woman was graceful but Benny could tell there was an edge about her. She was alluring and he could see himself even becoming interested in her but she would need a better hat. Something large and black and felt like Benny’s own hat would do her well. She had real potential for personal presentation with her silvery hair and that was not something Benny considered lightly. She offered the CSF agents and NCR soldiers in his escort vouchers to either gamble or spend at two of the premiere casinos on the Strip.

Benny thought it odd that the Omertas would offer a voucher to a rival family’s casino but it told him there was more politicking on the Strip that the NCR was ignorant to. Not too surprising considering the lack of influence the Republic had here. The soldiers with him broke rank readily at the offer of these vouchers. Their sergeants had to work to get them back into formation but eventually reneged and told the squad they would be allowed to go out after they checked their weapons and gear at the embassy.

Benny knew that Colonel Abernathy had done his best to avoid dealing with the families of the Strip but they had come to agreement upon at least one well understood code of conduct. No NCR troops were to be armed when on the Strip. This gave the families peace of mind that armed soldiers would not be wandering into their businesses. However, it also ensured that Denver had absolute justification to bring his wrath upon the Strip if any of his soldiers were harmed while on leave there. There could be no argument that they were a threat while they were disarmed. It was a tenuous peace but one that ensured not a single NCR soldier had been assaulted or killed on the Strip since Denver’s governorship took effect.

Peter took all the vouchers for the dozen CSf agents under him and stuffed them under his armor. He barked back at his men that they would be allowed leave only when given permission by the Van-Graffs. They were stoic but the disappointment was visible on some of them.

Having made their acquaintance with the Omertas, Benny and his escort made their way down the Strip to the NCR embassy. The street was awash with colors and alive with music, dance and the smell of street vendors and fragrant perfumes. Gone was the unwashed press of bodies they pushed through in Freeside and instead high-rolling gamblers and fashionable socialites swaggered their way in and out of casinos, hotels and bars. Benny didn’t even try to hide his ever widening smile. He had almost started to hate his assignment but this was truly something to be excited about. They glided down the street until they arrived at a squat gray concrete building that looked more like a bunker than an embassy. It was a far cry from the glimmering towers that surrounded it and Benny let out a sigh as he dismounted and entered the gate.

The embassy staff were a nervous looking bunch of civilians with a gaggle of troops for guards. The compound had clearly been neglected by the past ambassadors and Benny would need to do much to bring it back into shape but any hope of making it fashionable was gone. A shame considering how well he was dressed, it was almost an embarrassment for him to be spending the night here. He greeted a few of his new subordinates while SSG Keyes and SG McKinny had their soldiers check-in and disarm before cutting them loose for a night on the Strip. Benny thanked the NCOs for their hard work on the escort and though he could tell neither men had much respect for him they conducted themselves professionally.

Before he could begin to settle in and unpack Peter approached Benny.

“We got a guy here asking for you Mr. Ambassador.”

“Well does he look important?”

Peter shrugged, “Calls himself regional commander of the pinocchio expedition.”

“Pinocchio expedition? What the hell is that?” Benny had hoped it would be another casino head offering him free vouchers.

“Fucking I don’t know Benny you go talk him.”

Benny sighed and lit his last cigarette as he approached the man waiting at the gate to the embassy flanked by CSF agents. He was short, heavier than Benny with a blond beard that lacked a mustache. The biggest offense of the man however were his large brown galoshes. Criminally out of style and unsuited for an environment like the Strip. Benny took a long drag as he looked the man up and down before smiling. The man introduced himself.

"Daniel Floyd, regional commander and envoy of the Pinochle Expedition. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Benny shook the man’s hand, he wore black gloves like a worker and not like the smooth suede ones Benny had stuffed in the pocket of his coat.

“Ambassador Benjamin Watts of the NCR.” Benny chuckled a little, Pinochle not Pinocchio. Peter really was a dumb brute. “With a name like that I would assume you a casino man but, well.” Benny motioned to the man’s attire. “You’re not really dressed for the part. So please, why don’t you join me inside and let me know how I can help you.” The CSF agents disarmed the man and Benny led the way as they headed into the embassy.

The interior of the embassy needed just about as much work as the exterior. Clearly the place had become little more than gambling den in the past few years and the staff did little to hide their games from Benny. The two men headed back to the ambassador’s office. It was a moderately sized room dominated by a large wooden desk and deep leather chair. Paintings and pictures of past NCR presidents decorated one wall and other patriotic memorabilia was haphazardly placed around the room. The rug was an ugly army green and overall Benny was repulsed by the space.

“Please Mr. Floyd, do not judge me based on the decor. I assure you my tastes are far more refined than my predecessor.” Benny sat in the large chair and motioned to one of the plush red seats across the desk from it. “Or should I call you commander Floyd?” He extinguished his cigarette into an overflowing ashtray and shuffled about the desk drawers until he found a bottle of brown liquor and two glasses. He poured one for him and his guest and sent one of the CSF agents to find something to smoke.

“How can I help you?”

Lucrezia "Lucy" - Ultra Luxe Penthouse Suite

“So what are your impressions of the man?” Fat Dom asked as he wolfed down a late evening snack consisting of a slice of mutfruit pie and a glass of cold brahmin milk. He was still within Marjorie’s penthouse suite and in his bathrobe, but Marjorie had stepped out to head to the Ultra Luxe sauna. That was probably for the best, since Lucy had arrived to give her report and Marjorie wasn’t particularly fond of her. The two women often butted heads for various, often rather petty, reasons.

“We might be able to work with him, you should have seen his eyes when he came onto the Strip: big as saucer platters. I think he’s a man who certainly enjoys his creature comforts…but beyond that I’ll leave it to you to judge. He’s at the embassy right now, ” Lucy replied with a casual shrug.

“What about his escort?”

Lucy smiled wolfishly, “I offered them the voucher and they couldn’t drop their weapons fast enough to hit the casino. Of course, like always, we’ll see if any of them have loose lips.”

“They always do,” Dominic grinned, “Soldiers love to brag to whatever guy or gal they’ve shacked up with for the night: missions they’re on, enemies they’ve killed, plots they’re a part of. I’m sure we’ll get some sort of info.”

“We already have. Two of the soldiers appear to be a couple,” Lucy said with a chuckle, “We’ve already recorded an….interesting conversation between the two. I think they believed that we’d be prudish enough to turn off any recording equipment in their room while they were….indisposed..”

“They do know what city they just walked into right?” Dominic laughed, “What did they say?”

“Well, either they are flat-faced lying to throw us off or they’re plotting to kill Colonel Abernathy,” Lucy said flatly.

Dominic sat down his fork, and looked at his Consigliere with an aghast expression, “What?”

“Like I said…could very well be a flat faced lie. Or perhaps even a plant by Abernathy to see what we would do with that information. I’d be surprised if the NCR would be that….blatant…but I also wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Regardless…could be valuable to us at some point. Not much to work with right now, but we can certainly file it away for later,” Dominic said with a sly look that told Lucy he’d already begun plotting something, “A bit of blackmail is certainly on the table….but we could use it to ingratiate ourselves with the new Ambassador….show good faith and all.”

“And then if it is a plant….we’ll have tip-toed around that little landmine,” Lucy said, finishing Dominic’s thought.

Dominic finished the last bit of pie with a satisfied sigh, and let the fork fall to the plate with a resounding ‘clink’, “Exactly ... .though depending on if the Ambassador is in on it, that could end up hurting us too. Either way, there’s no real benefit to us making a move now, so we’ll just sit and wait for an opportunity to present itself.”

“Shrewd, “ Lucy nodded.

“Anything else?”

“Well…there is the matter of what Maurice and Paulie THINK they saw in The Green,” Lucy said hesitantly, she wasn’t sure she really even wanted to bring this up to Dominic at all, but felt she had to.

Dominic lowered his gaze, and turned around in his chair, his full attention now devoted to her next words, “What did they see?”

“They think they saw a creature….a huge claw or some other nonsense. They were babbling like idiots.”

“Hmmm,” Dominic mumbled and turned back to the table. He stared off into space for a bit, following an unknown train of thought.

“What? You think they’re right?” Lucy asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve heard similar rumors from people who’ve come back from there, “ Dominic uttered with a hint of nervousness, “One of these days I have a feeling we’re going to have to deal with The Green…and it's going to get real ugly, real fast.”

Unknown Radio Signal - 2am - October 17th

Just after midnight on a frequency channel between radio New Vegas and the Mojave Music station a male voice breaks through the crackle of dry static. He is whimpering and mumbling incoherently to himself.

“I’m all alone.” he sobs. “All alone because they left me.”

The broadcast returns to empty static for several minutes. If one listens closely they can hear faint crying.

“Mother! Where have you gone!” The voice is enraged and there is clamoring in the background as they thrash about. “Alone!”

Static returns and there is no longer crying but the sound of something heavy being dragged. The static begins to fade out, replaced by labored breathing.

“All around me the skies weep and I can hear them. Always there. Watching! Waiting.” The voice is agitated and speaks in between breaths. “And so I offer this sacrifice that they might spare me.”

There are the sounds of a struggle and commotion and another muffled voice. The words are nearly incomprehensible but it sounds as if the speaker is fighting with someone else.

“Mother! This blood lays on your hands!” The man screams and the sounds of struggle are replaced with violent wet thrashing like someone whipping a soaked towel against a concrete floor. The sound continues for several minutes interlaced with heavy breathing until finally there is a click and only static comes forth. Static remains.

Sentinel Derek Irving- Hidden Valley Bunker

Irving and Hardin stood near the exit door of the firing range and watched the Knights and Paladins practicing. A veritable light show of red lasers lit up from a variety of energy weapons pummeling the targets. With the promise of combat coming soon, the Brotherhood had to be ready. Even though the output of the weapons had been greatly reduced to slow ammunition consumption and put less strain on the targets, it was clear that these targets would need replacing soon.

"That's not an AER9, the cell is on the drum," Hardin berated a Knight who was struggling with reloading a Laser RCW. "You fumble a reload like that on the battlefield, and you're dead. And Paladin, don't concentrate all your fire on the chest piece, shift your aim for unarmored spots like the head and gut," he corrected a Paladin using a Gatling Laser."

Irving watched silently as the Head Paladin corrected them. They were just about out of time to prepare these boys and girls for battle, this was their last chance to get these mistakes fixed before real combat.

The door to the firing range opened as a scribe burst in. "Sentinel, Scribe Hoss has just radioed in from Freeside, it's about the NCR VIP."

Derek was relieved- ever since their grocers had been arrested by the NCR, they had been maintaining radio silence with their undercover man in New Vegas. Fortunately, it sounded like Hoss' cover- a humble radio repairman operating out of a small Radiation King store in Freeside- had not been blown. No real surprise- Irving knew Hoss as a cautious fellow who didn't like taking unnecessary risks or doing anything that might compromise his cover. It was also evident that Hoss was staying on top of things, since due to the radio silence, the Brotherhood had not been able to alert him to the incoming VIP.

"Head Paladin, keep an eye on things here, I'll look into this." The Sentinel followed the scribe back to the comms room, where a robed radio operator was awaiting them.

"Ah, Sentinel, Hoss just finished his message a few minutes ago. This is what he sent." He reached over to a holotape player and pressed play.

Dad, do you hear me? You receiving this? It's your son in Freeside.

Business is.zzzt...good. Had to make a few trips to the Strip since those folks don't like setting foot in Freeside unless they really have to.

Things have been interesting in Freeside today. A bigwig from California showed up in Freeside today. An ambassador, if you can believe it. NCR isn't too popular around here, and I hear talk that some local roughneck mercs tried to make trouble for him. No worries, though, the ambassador had escort with him, and one of the mercs got his head blown up for his trouble. Those Van Graffs and their plasma weapons...zzzt...sure aren't something you want to end up on the wrong side of.

I...err...probably shouldn't have told you that, I know how you worry about me. Relax, I'm doing well in Freeside- no trouble with the locals or NCR. Speaking of which, I got some radios that need fixing, so I'll sign off. Give mom my regards!

Irving pondered this news. From what he could gather from Hoss' message, the VIP was an NCR ambassador, making his way to the embassy on the Strip, escorted by Van Graff subordinates.

"We also picked up something else," the scribe revealed. "A signal on a frequency that could be picked upon any home radio, but the contents are...I don't know how to describe it, best if you hear it for yourself." The scribe seemed slightly spooked at the mention of it.

"Very well, scribe, put it on," Irving replied, somewhat confused. The scribe pressed a button, replaying the message.

Irving listened to the audio, his face slightly discomforted as it went on. As it stopped, he silently pondered for a minute, before relying.

"Keep tabs on that frequency, let me know if there's any more of these messages. In the meantime, we have other business to attend to."

With the revelation that an NCR ambassador had come to New Vegas, Irving saw an opportunity to propose a ceasefire- or at least convey the Brotherhood's willingness for peace- to the NCR. For all the warring against the NCR that he had participated in, for all the scars and marks that the war with the NCR left on Irving, he was in the Mojave to deal with a far more dire foe.

And if the NCR wasn't going to agree? Irving had plans ready for that possibility.

Chez Nathan -- outside New Vegas Medical Clinic

“Chez?”

Chez’s head jerked up as he snapped out of his doze. He was in one of the tents set up as a waiting room for relatives and visitors to the clinic. Workers drifted in and out, while worried locals sat or leaned against the canvas walls in small groups, speaking softly to each other.

“Oh…,” Chez said, recognising the young Follower who had just approached him. “Jerry. Glad to see you.”

“You too!”

It figured that Jerry the Punk would be in the wards. Jerry was an able student, especially in the classics and arts, where his real interests lay. Unfortunately for Jerry, in the aftermath of the Old Mormon Fort’s loss, he had been forced to apply himself more to medicine and the hard sciences, to address the Followers’ shortfalls.

Recently, Jerry had been experimenting with music therapy. His attempts had been met with surprising success. Exposure to Jerry’s singing seemed to cause patients to recover and leave the wards as swiftly as possible.

“Did you hear about the new ambassador?”

“I did,” Chez replied. “That’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“They say he came into town with a CSF escort, and his bodyguard took a merc’s head clean off!”

Chez exhaled heavily. “Not a great start, is it? Especially for those of us who wanted change. It’s getting hard to hold our pro-militant comrades back. Whoever this guy is, walking into Freeside and shooting a man’s head off is not the message we wanted to hear from the capitol. This is just more proof the Republic is unable or unwilling to rein in its people in the Mojave. ”

“Speaking of which, Lettie wanted to see you.”

“Oh God.” Chez rubbed his eyes. “Where is she?”

“In Usanagi’s office.”

“All right. Catch you around, Jerry.”

Chez left the tent and threaded through the crowd of Followers and Freeside residents. Entering the clinic, he made his way to Usanagi’s office. He had already lifted one hand to knock, when he paused, listening to raised voices from within.

“... done for you what I can! There are people here in need!” That was Usanagi.

“There are people in need everywhere, Emi. And they’ll keep coming to you, and the victims at your door will flood this clinic and burn up all our resources… until we address the problem at its root.”

“I’ve already given you my answer. I joined the Followers as a doctor. I respect your right to help the Wasteland as you see fit. But I’m not joining your crusade, and I’m not giving you any more of my medical supplies. These people are civilians! They’re just trying to survive. You’re choosing to put yourself in the line of fire - I can’t prioritise you over them--”

“You’re just the same as Chez. You stand there in your white coat, refusing to get your hands dirty… thinking you’re morally superior to me. You’ll let the Mojave die at the hands of autocrats, if it means you can hide in here and play nursemaid. You’re responsible for these people’s injuries, just as much as Denver is! You’re letting these people die. You’re treating their symptoms but refusing to address the illness! Denver and his kind are a cancer in the Mojave, Emiko! The leadership is diseased and the rot is spreading. Do your duty.”

Chez pushed the door open. Lettie and Dr Usanagi were standing almost face-to-face. Usanagi’s cheeks were flushed with anger, and her chest rose and fell with each breath, but Lettie was calm, though drawn up to her full height. They both turned to look at him.

Lettie said, “Speak of the devil, and the devil appears.”

“Nice to see you too, Lettie,” said Chez.

Dr Usanagi turned and headed for the door. As she brushed past Chez, she said, “I’m done with this conversation. You speak to her,” and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

-Deleted-

Chez Nathan -- New Vegas Medical Clinic

They sat across from each other at Dr Usanagi’s desk. Lettie fixed Chez with her steely blue eyes. She had always unnerved him with her intensity.

“How goes your work in New Vegas?” she asked.

“As if you don’t know,” Chez said. “You have informants everywhere. I reckon you know my business better than I do.”

“I probably do. And that should embarrass you. You’re supposed to be one of our senior members, remember? Much as you pretend to hate responsibility, you seem happy to invoke your father’s memory and your long history with the Followers when it comes to opposing me. But tell me, in your words, what you’re achieving here. I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“What is this, a performance review? You’re not my supervisor, Lettie. If you want inferiors to lick your boots, join the NCR or the Brotherhood. You seem to be an admirer of their ethos.”

“The NCR and the Brotherhood have a hierarchy, which at its worst devolves into tyranny. At its best, it prevents them from being overwhelmed by the inaction and short-sightedness of their least competent members. I’m beginning to suspect they will outlive us in the Mojave for that reason. We are not at our full strength here, Chez. We are one of the weakest players and the softest targets in this godforsaken desert - and that was before the NCR brought the Greenlung to infest the heart and soul of our organisation. We cannot afford to play the naive peaceniks here. You may want to roam around Freeside wearing flowers in your hair and kissing bighorn ranchers’ stubbed toes better-”

“Listen to yourself,” snapped Chez. “You’re mocking one of the oldest and most sacred missions of the Followers. ‘Into whatsoever houses I enter, I will enter to help the sick, and I will abstain from all intentional wrongdoing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of men and women, bond or free. I swear by Apollo the Healer, by Asclepius, by Hygieia, by Panacea, and by all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses-”

“And have you forgotten the other core mission of the Followers? The Green is spreading. It’s driven countless refugees into our heartland - or at least whatever of our heartland is left, after Denver and the Greenlung finished with it. People say the plants are dangerous. No merc or prospector has gone into an area with substantial growth and survived. But on the outskirts, in its initial stages, the Green… is fertile. It’s almost like a rebound effect from the five years of drought. The desert is blooming, in the midst of radiation, without human toil or effort. Do you know what that means?

“Nowhere in the Mojave was fruitful without human labour or technology, not even before the War! ‘Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; by the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground…’”

“What do you want me to do, Lettie? The Greenlung took down Camp McCarran and the Mormon Fort. It gutted the NCR’s forces here, and took our most senior members. And we weren’t even looking for it, researching it - we were trying to treat its victims! Don’t make this my problem. You haven’t convinced any of the others that we can divert manpower to this.”

“Pedro is still doing his research in Westside.”

“Good for him. Why don’t you go ask him how much progress he’s made in studying the Green. That is if it hasn’t killed him yet. I’m not sending any of my students or the new recruits we’ve made here to that death-trap. I’m in the business of saving lives, not throwing them away. Hell, why don’t you and your men go study the Green.”

“Because my people and I have another mission, one that’s equally important. We’re monitoring the political situation here in Freeside. You know, the district that you’re supposed to be in charge of? Have you reached out to our new ambassador? Have you gathered any intel on him? You’re a de facto leader of the pro-NCR appeasement Followers. Did you know that, before the ambassador got to the Strip, one of his CSF goons blew off a mercenary’s head? Did you know that he made a pitstop in the NCR enclave in Freeside, and made some noises about how the annexation is coming? He said this in front of a ragged mob of NCR folks - in Freeside!”

Chez averted his eyes. Goddamit, he had been lax in his duty. He had never wanted to be in a leadership position in the Followers. He had just wanted to live a quiet life, do some good, and enjoy the bright lights and chaos of Vegas. It was a magic city. Time never passed here. Outside in the Mojave, bombs fell, presidents got elected, armies grew and shrank -- while in Vegas, the showgirls danced, the mobsters flaunted their wealth, the high rollers spent their caps, and everyone forgot their troubles. And then one day you looked up, and the storm was upon you, and you couldn’t ignore it any more.

“You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about,” said Chez. He had never wished for this. One day, they'd lost the Old Mormon Fort, and their leadership was decimated. And suddenly, people like Lettie were talking about abandoning civilians in the Mojave, stopping their humanitarian work, and going underground. And Chez had spoken up, and he was one of the few remnants of the old guard who still believed in the Followers’ original mission. He wasn’t more competent than anyone else - he’d just survived, when so many better men and women had died. And suddenly he was responsible for a whole lot of people – when he felt like a boy who couldn’t even run his own goddamned life.

“Yeah?” said Lettie. “Well, here’s something else to think about. Someone on night shift picked up a radio transmission. You’re going to want to hear this. The whole town will know about it soon - nothing moves faster in the Mojave than hearsay.”

(Commander) Danny "Nines" Floyd - New California Embassy - Evening, October 16th

"I'm certainly no casino man," Daniel quipped with a smile. With all the duties of outpost maintenance, he couldn't allocate time for gambling, not that a massive waste of caps interested him. "But I shall follow in regardless."

Danny passed through the games hall, peering over shoulders at the amounts of capital spent here. It surpassed his personal budget; he feared that he'd have to engage in card play to impress the citizens around here. He'd be a laughing stock if he went broke. The Ace of Clubs probably could spare him a sizable sum should the situation require it. Diplomatic efforts and whatnot.

Daniel perused the tchotchke organized around the office. It might have been slightly tacky, and wholly inappropriate for his own abode, but at least something covered the walls and floorboards. He wished the Meld had similar decoration. "Oh, either works. So long as you don't call me Flo." His guffaw skirted the border between fake and genuine. He was, in fact, called Flo by a particularly annoying superior back home, and Danny was helpless to reciprocate in the pre-Hinshaw era. How times have changed. He sat in the red plush chair.

"And, on a personal basis, let me know if you require any assistance renovating your space." Perhaps he could acquire the green army rug from the ordeal; Charlotte likely wouldn't mind. He thought his next comments out loud, a taboo in diplomatic circles. "With such short notice, we haven't had the opportunity to fetch you a proper gift. You've highlighted a need, so we can provide you with a more suitable present: classy, but emblematic of your new home." Nines had absolutely no taste, but Amber excelled at that sort of work. Doubtless the Happy Trails Caravan had something in its inventory. Amber would be ecstatic that she had license to splurge without restriction. And a pleased girlfriend had its benefits.

Floyd folded his hands together and kicked one leg atop the other. Barely acknowledging the weight of the encounter, he'd assembled some loose ideas while traversing his route, but he hadn't settled on a specific line. Still, the vague shape of conversation slowly manifested as he spoke. "The purpose of this engagement was largely introductory. You've recently arrived as an ambassador, and we wished to send our warmest welcome. I hope you understand. We're an emerging power, and it's better to grow with friendly neighbors than without.

"I represent an organization that reaches north to the Bishop area. We're a common trade hub." "Vault" had an extremely negative connotation in elite circles, so Floyd avoided such terminology. "If you'd like to set up a regional network, feel free to ask us. In the meantime, though, we ask that you refrain from sending a military presence north of the Tools Factory. Be advised that we will be engaging in construction projects, but there's no reason why they cannot be joint development. We can split costs and share benefits. The Mojave needs manufacturing; I'm sure you agree."

He relaxed in his seat. "As for yourself, does your administration have particular intentions? I'd like to relay them back to my superiors, and we can assist as needed."

Ambassador Benjamin “Benny” Watts - NCR Embassy - Evening October 16th

Benny smelled the liquor in his glass before taking a small sip. He choked a bit and checked the label on the bottle. It was rum. He hated rum. Benny set the bottle back and pushed his glass aside while the commander offered their assistance in the renovation of the office. Benny smiled at the sentiment. It was rare for someone of power to offer assistance without expecting something in return. Benny was trying to decide exactly what kind of person this Mr. Floyd was. The man folded his hands together and crossed his legs, settling into the chair in a very casual manner. The calmness presented by Floyd made Benny’s assessment difficult. Was the man truly at ease in this encounter, had he really just come by to introduce himself? Or was this commander a representative for a powerful organization that Benny was ignorant to.

"We're an emerging power, and it's better to grow with friendly neighbors than without. I represent an organization that reaches north to the Bishop area. We're a common trade hub.”

Benny’s ears perked up at the mention of Bishop and he re-adjusted himself in his seat to get some of his anxious energy out. It took him a moment to realize that the commander referred to an area called Bishop and not the Bishop family. Benny wasn’t too familiar with Californian geography. But the name seemed almost an omen and Benny was unsure about what it would mean for this new relationship.

“If you'd like to set up a regional network, feel free to ask us. In the meantime, though, we ask that you refrain from sending a military presence north of the Tools Factory. Be advised that we will be engaging in construction projects, but there's no reason why they cannot be joint development. We can split costs and share benefits. The Mojave needs manufacturing; I'm sure you agree. As for yourself, does your administration have particular intentions? I'd like to relay them back to my superiors, and we can assist as needed."

The man seemed sincere enough but Benny was on edge. He hadn’t expected to be intercepted on the Strip by a representative of an organization other than a casino, especially not on his first night in town. Much less one that would simultaneously offer assistance, opportunities for trade and a thinly veiled warning against sending armed forces near their territory. Clearly these people were ones Benny should be cautious with. Though they dressed differently from the gangs of New Reno and Shady Sands, Benny had met enough gangsters to know they came in all different styles. Benny folded his hands and shifted them about nervously, he needed something to smoke.

“Well uh Commander Floyd, I do so appreciate the kind offers for assistance.” Benny smiled and in almost perfect timing the CSF agent returned with a half pack of cigarettes. Benny grabbed one out, lit it and took a deep breath. “The name of your organization, Pinochle, what is that? A card game correct? Tell me, if you will, how did you all settle on such a name if you’re not in the casino business?” He offered Floyd one of the cigarettes.

“In regards to your construction projects I’m afraid to say that it will be some time before I am able to engage in anything of the sort. With my uh, recent arrival, I’m sure you can see there is much to be done. Not least of which is a deep clean and redecoration.” He motioned to the overflowing ashtray and the drab green rug. “My intentions first and foremost is a formal establishment of public relations with all reputable organizations and businesses operating in New Vegas and the greater Mojave area. I’m sure you’re curious about annexation? Seems about all that I’ve been asked about since my arrival. Unfortunately I cannot divulge anything specific on the matter. Colonel Abernathy remains the military-governor of this territory and until I can speak with him privately a timeline for annexation remains unknown.” Benny knew that was only mostly true, the president didn’t want a timeline for the annexation of New Vegas to be publicly known. She had been concerned about riots in the city and how she may have to rely upon the colonel to put them down. Benny didn’t know much but he knew the president wanted to do everything possible to avoid including the colonel in the process. She simply hadn’t enough CSF enforcers in the region to enact her will. At least not yet.

“In terms of manufacturing in the Mojave I do agree that with the influx of citizens into the territory the concern over gainful employment has come up. I will contact Gloria Van-Graff, the regional manager of the Mojave branch. They are operating out of an old Repconn building just south of the city. She has been looking to acquire custom machined parts and I believe that his tool factory may be a good place to start.” Benny sat up a bit and leveled with Floyd. “Obviously she is a private business owner so any work she is involved in would be separate from our own public works.” He smiled sheepishly. It was a lie but one Benny had to keep repeating for the near future. The Van-Graffs had bought up so much of the Republic during the famine that to try and separate where the family business ended and government work began was nearly impossible at this point.

“Now Commander Floyd I’ll be working with my staff to draft up some more official agreements in regards to our new relationship. Taxation, property rights and the like. Is there anything specific you’d like us to address ahead of time?” Benny shifted himself before motioning for the CSF agent to leave the room.

“And on a more personal matter I was wondering what your impressions have been of New Vegas thus far.”

Colonel Denver Abernathy - Fort Golf - Mid-Morning, October 17th

Denver rubbed his eyes and sat up from his desk and stretched. It had already been a long day. At this point in his life they all were. Rising an hour before dawn Denver worked through the day, retiring only an hour or so before midnight. If he was lucky he got about two hours of time in his garden before he was called in for meetings, judiciary work and intelligence coordination.The garden nourished him mentally as he found the meditative work grounding and humbling. Warm soil in his hands returned him to his roots as the son of a dirt farmer. The life of the majority of people back in California. It was a brief and treasured respite from his burden of command.

As military governor Denver was expected to not only maintain NCR domination of the region but to oversee all legal proceedings occurring under the Articles of Incorporation. Murders, abductions, robberies and other grand criminal behavior was judged and enforced under his authority. After drafting the AoI he had created an organization of frontier marshals to exert NCR law at a local level without the need for interference by the 3rd Infantry. The bureau of marshals was slow to act at best and corrupt and ineffective at worst. More often than not to achieve the results he desired and maintain cooperative relationships with the towns under the AoI he had to deploy his own rangers to find and bring the perpetrators to justice. Enforcement of NCR law under Colonel Abernathy was short, harsh and too often lethal. Lack of resources and suitable detention facilities required his rangers to enact a brutal form of frontier justice. Summary executions, usually in the form of a hanging, were common punishments for criminal violators in the Mojave.

Denver had received another missing persons report from Mayor Meyers of Primm and a plea for intervention. For weeks he had lacked the personnel required as all available rangers were involved in the hunt for the Brotherhood provisioners. Now with the two young members captured and secured in the basement of his headquarters, Denver had a ranger to spare. He had informed Ranger Richard Holmes that he was to accompany SSG Keyes’ squad from Delta Company on their way back to the Mojave checkpoint. Richard would help ensure the safe delivery of the male Brotherhood provisioner to the NCRCF and then continue with Keyes’ squad south until Primm. There Richard would branch off and pursue leads on finding the cause of the disappearances in Primm.

Richard and Denver had known each other for decades and the old ranger was the only peer of his that Denver considered his friend. They had met as rangers before Denver assumed his officership and after the departure of NCR forces from the region Richard and a small platoon of rangers remained behind to assist Denver in his command as governor. They had proved invaluable and over the years Denver had become fiercely loyal to them and them to him. He trusted Richard would complete his mission as directed and return before the month was out.

The old ranger was spending his morning trying to convince their Brotherhood prisoner to accept food or drink. The young man had been stubborn in his refusal of any refreshment but after two days of captivity severe dehydration was apparent. Neither Richard nor Denver wanted the young man to die. As a corpse he was useless and any chance of negotiation with the Brotherhood of Steel would be critically damaged. Denver hadn’t gotten much information out of their female prisoner but it was enough to help clarify the strength of the Mojave chapter. They had used plain clothed provisioning agents to secure groceries through barter, never resorting to open banditry or raids. It told him that they weren’t desperate for supplies but also that their population remained low enough to be unable to recuperate any losses that may be incurred by such aggressive actions. That they had remained undetected for so long yet still able to raise up young men and women like his prisoners informed Denver that they held a secure location large enough to allow for training facilities. It would have to be located among the mountains, canyons and hills of the central Mojave. Probably between Helios One and Black Mountain but to try and find the entrance would be nearly impossible. Sandstorms, radiation, narrow gulches, deathclaws and now the growing Green prevented any concentrated investigation of the area. This rendered the chapter untouchable and any chance at eliminating them nonexistent.

Denver was divided, his gut told him that the NCR’s occupation of the Mojave would only be secure once the Brotherhood in the region were eliminated as they had been back West. However, all evidence pointed to an unassailable enemy that could hold out indefinitely. Any action against them would at best waste resources and at worst waste the lives of his soldiers.

He rubbed his face and looked out the window of his office at the grounds of Fort Golf. SSG Keyes’ squad would be arriving this afternoon and Denver still had to set up a debriefing for them. He had received radio confirmation last night of the Ambassador’s arrival to the Strip Embassy but a detailed report was needed to ascertain more information about who exactly ambassador Watts was. Denver had heard little about the man’s political past aside from being a vocal proponent of the Van-Graff family corporation. Watts had appeared suddenly on the political stage during the famine and worked to justify the growing corporatization of the republic. It sickened Denver to see his country slowly become the personal property of the Van-Graffs. They were little more than common gangsters, their wealth and influence only serving to allow them to operate more discreetly and thus more sinisterly in Denver’s eyes. He couldn’t express it but within him grew a vague nausea of dread that the greatest threat to the NCR lay not hidden in a bunker in the mountains of the Mojave. Rather it lay to the West, in the presidential office of Shady Sands.

Marisol Gutierrez - Strip Embassy - Morning, October 17th

Marisol held the syringe of ink carefully as she slowly filled the barrel of her fountain pen. Once the ink reached the threads she returned the syringe to the ink pot, applied a dab of grease and then screwed the end of the barrel on. She set the pen down on her notepad and wrote out her name. The ink ran smoothly and she blew lightly on her signature. Even after ten years she found delight in her ability to write. Born to a small tribe in Arizona she hadn’t the luxury of an education and had only received literacy instruction shortly before her employment at the embassy. She had been hired as an assistant receptionist but in the years since her role had expanded to almost every layer of the embassy. She arranged public correspondences, compiled reports to send back West and often ghost wrote the speeches of the last three ambassadors. As the other staff members constantly cycled out due to systemic corruption and incompetence it wasn’t long before Marisol found herself the most senior member of the embassy. It gave her great personal satisfaction to be the last one standing and she knew she would outlast this new ambassador as well.

She’d had only a brief interaction with Mr. Watts the night before when his escort arrived at the Strip. He looked weary from the road but was well dressed and conducted himself with decorum. More so than could be said for Marisol’s co-workers. Many of whom had continued their games in front of the ambassador and several hadn’t even risen from their poker tables to greet him. She didn’t mind their conduct, the worse their behavior the more elevated she would be in his eyes. By being the most competent and disciplined person in the building she had gained the trust of the past ambassadors and planned to do the same with Mr. Watts.

It was nearing nine thirty in the morning and yet Marisol was the only staff member at their post. Heading the large receptionist’s desk at the entrance to the embassy she was the first and last person any visitor saw and spoke to when visiting. She was able to curate who the ambassador met with and at what time She was even able to alter the mood of the interaction by unnecessarily delaying the meeting if she so desired. Through these actions she was always able to play both sides, blaming the guests for their tardiness and then turning around and blaming the ambassador for being unprepared. It had earned her a positive reputation throughout the Strip as the only competent one in the building. She had received offers of employment at several of the casinos, principally the Tops and the Gomorrah. She had rejected them of course but utilized those connections to ingratiate herself with the families of the Strip.

She heard footsteps and looked up from her scribbles. The ambassador was quickly walking down the hallway toward her desk, his expression was dour. She smiled.

“Good morning Mr. Watts.”

His face remained stern. “Good morning. Where the hell is everybody?” His agitation was clear to read on his freshly shaved face. His thin mustache formed a tight black line on his upper lip. He held a large felt hat in his left hand, his hair was slicked and heavily styled with a single pronounced curl that bounced with every step. He put far more effort into his appearance than the last few ambassadors had.

“I would assume they are asleep sir, or out to breakfast.” She held her smile as she looked at the brightly shone leather shoes Mr. Watts wore.

“Why are they not at work? Is this what they call professionalism here?”

“I’m afraid so sir.”

He looked about the empty halls of the embassy before sighing. “Looks like I’ll be after some new staff members.” He smiled at her weakly. “It's a relief to see someone who takes this position seriously.”

“Oh only when the boss is looking.” she teased. His smile grew.

“Well don’t worry I won’t let you too far out of my sight.” He gave her a wink. “Well Miss…” he looked over at the nameplate on her desk “...Gutierrez, would you be able to send a call over to the Gomorrah for me?”

“Of course!” She wheeled her chair closer to the phone and poised herself ready to dial. “What should I tell Lucy?”

Mr. Watt’s expression softened. “You know Miss Lucrezia?”

“It's a small town.” She waved her hand in jest and he chuckled.

“Well go ahead and call her up. Let her know I’ll be over in about an hour to meet with Don Dominic. I had planned to invite him here but,” He looked about the empty, dilapidated embassy. “This place doesn’t exactly scream class. Or professionalism.” He looked back at Marisol. “Except for you of course.”

She smiled and dialed up the reception desk at the Gomorrah and after identifying herself was patched through to the consigliere’s office.

“Lucy? Hey good morning! This is Marisol, just calling in to let you know Mr. Watts will be over within the hour. Yes. Alright. Yes I’ll let him know. Alright take care.” She hung up the phone and jotted something down. She tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to the ambassador.

“These are a few of Don Dominic’s favorite desserts, you can find them at the Ultra Luxe bakery. They’re baked fresh everyday. Lucy suggested you begin the meeting by offering him one. He is known for his sweet tooth”

Mr. Watts read over the paper and a wide white grin grew across his face. “Well thank you so much. Miss Guiterrez, this is most helpful.”

“Please, call me Marisol.”

He tapped his hat to his head before heading towards the door. He stopped after a few steps and turned back around. He pointed to the name she had written at the top of the page.

“Now I recognize these other desserts, but what’s this one?” he pointed to the name Marisol had written at the top of the page when testing her pen.

Dawn Song

“Oh that,” Marisol’s face went red and she moved her hand in a nervous dismissal. “Just something I write down as morning warm up.” She smiled sheepishly. Mr. Watts gave her a wink, folded the paper and walked out of the embassy. Marisol took a deep breath to calm herself. What stupid mistake that had been. She had become too lax over these last few ambassadors who were content to drink and gamble their days away. If Mr. Watts wasn’t so clueless, if he wasn’t so new he may have suspected something. She could have truly put herself at risk and the last seven years of work would be for nothing. Marisol left her desk and headed to get herself a cup of tea, she needed to be more careful, failure wasn’t an option.

Gomorrah - The Den of Sin

Lucy was waiting at the reception area of Gomorrah to greet the Ambassador when he entered the Casino; every so often she checked her gold-plated pocket watch for the time. Once Ambassador Watts arrived, everything beyond that point would be a well-planned bit of theater: not fake, but certainly a “curated” experience. Gomorrah had been suitably cleared of the most debauched of its offenders: the chem and sex addicts had been tossed out onto the streets of Freeside alongside the anyone else who’d succumbed body and soul to Gomorrah’s many available excesses. The funny thing was that sort of treatment wouldn’t even deter those types either, they’d always be back for more. What was left then were just the usual drunks, gambling fiends, and rich sex tourists; the typical barons of sin in other words. Couldn’t have too rosy a picture after all: this was still Gomorrah and they had a reputation to uphold.

Lucy looked around briefly at the morning crowd and smiled contentedly at the money being raked in all around her. For most Casinos, business was light in the morning hours, but at Gomorrah things went hard practically 24/7: the party never really stopped . Nobody who worked for a living got up and decided that they wanted a 400 cap steak for breakfast at The Gourmand, but more than a few could go for a cheap drink and an even cheaper lapdance at Brimstone.

When Ambassador Watts finally walked through the doors, Lucy was surprised to see that he had traveled here alone without a security detail of any kind. That was actually somewhat impressive since he was either supremely confident that he wasn’t in any danger on the Strip and was trying to send that same message of confidence to his staff, soldiers, and NCR citizenry....or he was remarkably naive. Lucy decided to settle on the fact that in all probability it could be a little of column A and B.

“Welcome Ambassador,” Lucy said with a warm smile as she greeted him, “Ah I see you’ve brought a dessert - excellent choice. The Don is always appreciative of guests who come bearing food,” she chuckled and gave him a sly wink, “I trust your stay in Vegas has been satisfactory so far? If there’s anything I can do to make it more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to reach out. The Omertas are always happy to accommodate our NCR friends. Please….follow me.”

Lucy led Benny through a winding circus of luxury and debauchery that was Gomorrah. She took him past rows of slots and casino games packed with gamblers shelling out their money while dancers in various stages of undress swayed and sauntered from table to table, every so often picking someone out from a group and leading them away. Among the crowd they passed watchful Omerta soldiers in pressed suits who tipped their hats to the Ambassador and greeted him with subtle nods of approval. One of the dancing girls even approached Benny and rubbed his shoulder with a seductive smile,

“Don’t be a stranger Mr. Ambassador...it’s all on the house...” the girl whispered, before sashaying off leaving the scent of her perfume trailing in her wake.

Lucy continued on and led Benny down towards the depths of Gomorrah where The Brimstone Bar and Strip Club was located. Here was a large open area packed with patrons and swarming with dancers some of whom were performing onstage to the whoops and cheers of various appreciative patrons. Lucy took Benny around the Brimstone and ushered him down a secluded hallway where more Omerta men stood guard. At the end of the hallway was a door protected by a hulking Omerta soldier who stepped aside once the Ambassador arrived. On the other side of the door, boisterous laughter could be heard alongside the deep voice of a particularly loud man. Next to the door, emblazoned on a black and gold plaque, were the words “Zoara Club - VIPs ONLY."

“Dominic is inside,” Lucy said with another wink, “He’s the loud mouth you can hear from a mile away,” She joked with a small giggle, “I hope you enjoy your time here in Gomorrah…” With that the beautiful Omerta Consigliere turned and walked back down the hallway, leaving Benny to step inside to the club.

Once he was inside he was greeted with the sight of Fat Dom lounging about with a few of his ‘inner circle’ at a large table in the center of the Zoara club room.

“...and so then I told him, I told him ‘Johnny...now you know that ain’t chocolate....that’s molerat shit! HA!”

The Capos around him burst into a peel of laughter and Domonic continued, “Ahh sometimes I miss the old neighborhood. Good times, oh now look what the cat just dragged in! Heyo its the new NCR Ambassador himself!” Dominic said, turning to Benny as he stepped forward. Dominic immediately rose to his feet and walked over to him, extending his hand and greeting Benny warmly with a jovial grin, “Welcome Mr. Watts welcome. Please…sit down and take a load off. Oh, what’s that?” He looked down at the dessert Benny was holding, “Black Forest Cake? Ah you sir are a gentleman. Hey fellas look at this guy bringing cake to a meeting. Now why the hell don’t youse guys ever bring me anything? Huh?” He laughed followed by more boisterous guffaws from the seated Captains.

“Now I hope you’re planning on helping me out with eating that,” Fat Dom chuckled as he pointed to the cake, “What, you didn’t think I could eat that all by myself did you?” He patted his large stomach for a moment and then laughed again, “Or maybe you did. HA!”

“Alright, alright g’ahead and sit down. Boys,” he turned to his captains, “Why don’t youse make like a tree and leave eh? I wanna have some quality one-on-one time with the Ambassador here. Plus he don’t wanna hear you loudmouths talking.”

“Hey say no more boss,” One of the Capos said with a laugh as they all got up and left the Zoara room.

Dominic then sat down next to Benny and leaned back in his chair, “What can I get you eh? Got a breakfast buffet over there,” He pointed to a long skinny table at the other end of the room where a huge spread of breakfast food had been placed in warmers along with coffee and a variety of other beverages. No need to get up, Sally will get you anything you want. Yo, Sally!”

A topless redheaded waitress approached the table with her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Get Mr. Watts here whatever he wants. Or just a helping of everything if he can’t decide HA! Grab him whatever drink he wants too. OH, and slice me off a piece of that cake, will ya?” Dominic said with a snap of his fingers and the waitress bowed before quickly leaving to fulfill their requests.

Dominic turned back to Benny, “So Mr. Watts, mind if I call you Benny? You're welcome to call me Dom if you like. I get tired of stuffy formalities sometimes. First things first, is Vegas everything you hoped it would be? Anything not meeting your expectations? Hey if Sin City ain’t up to snuff, you let ol’ Dom know and I’ll make sure you get the full experience.”

Chez Nathan – Tent outside New Vegas Medical Clinic – Morning, October 17th

There were twelve students in the tent that morning, ranging from ten years old to almost 60. For this meeting the desks had been pushed to the side, and Chez and his pupils sat on old mats arranged in a circle on the floor. The Followers preferred not to recreate hierarchy during lessons except when necessary.

“I’m glad to see you all again,” Chez said. “Let’s continue from where we left off last week.” He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a large circle on the slate before him, then held it up. “Does anyone want to share what they remember about cell theory?”

Tina’s hand shot into the air. She was a bright twelve year old, and she hadn’t yet lost the enthusiasm of a child. Chez dreaded the day she’d hit her teens. He’d seen so many of his students change overnight, drifting towards the bars and the excitement of the city’s nightlife.

Chez made a mental note to start sending Tina to Abby’s classes to get the talk about drugs, boys, and protection. They couldn’t stop teens from taking risks, but with a Followers’ education, a young person was less likely to fall prey to Vegas’ many dangers. At least, Chez hoped so. The city had a way of drawing so many bright young people into its glittering web, then sucking them dry and leaving only withered husks behind, like the carapaces of a spider’s victims.

“Yes,” he said, nodding at her.

“Cells,” said Tina excitedly, “are like little boxes. Everything alive is made up of cells - plants, animals, people!”

“That’s right,” said Chez.

“Now hold on a minute,” said Hank, a handyman who salvaged junk in Freeside. “There’s somethin’ queer about that. I couldn’t make sense of it the last time. Way I see it, you’re sayin’ most of the cells is made up of empty space.”

“Not quite empty,” said Chez. “There’s something important inside it.”

“Well, it ain’t solid. Now machines, they’re efficient. You wouldn’t catch them runnin’ about with a whole lotta hollow space inside ‘em. They’re full of stuff.”

“The empty space inside a cell,” said Chez, “is to make room for something very important. Not just to our body, but to everything that lives. Who can tell me: what’s the most important thing in the Mojave?”

The hand of Rick Rafferty, a picturesque 14-year-old street urchin, shot up. “Caps?” he ventured.

There goes a true child of New Vegas, thought Chez. “Not quite,” he said.

It was Old Lady Mary, who’d grown up on a Bighorn ranch, who saw it right away. “‘T’s water,” she said. “Ain’t nothin’ in the Mojave can live without it.”

“That’s right,” said Chez. “Water is the critical factor for survival in the Wasteland. Five years of drought taught us that. Water was precious even before the Great War. Now that so much of it is tainted by radiation, its value is unimaginable. It’s essential for the chemical reactions that make up life. Not only that, water in motion, harnessed by the tech of the Old World, generates the electricity that keeps New Vegas alive.”

There were murmurs of agreement from around the circle. Much of biology was not intuitive to people who lacked formal schooling. It certainly didn’t seem to the naked eye, or hand, that human flesh was made up of lots of little hollow boxes. The importance of water to life, however, was something everyone grasped.

“Next week,” said Chez, “Dr Usanagi will lend us one of her light microscopes. I’ll prepare a sample of plant tissue in front of you and fix it to a slide. You can see the structure of a plant’s wall for yourself. It’s always good to observe something directly when you can, instead of relying on second-hand reports!”

They continued with the lesson, Chez drawing and labelling the organelles and other cell components.

“Cells can teach us a lot about working together,” Chez said. “You see these things that generate energy in animal cells? The mitochondria? We can’t observe them with the equipment we own, but we have images of them from Old World scientists. The mitochondria have their own DNA. They were once separate entities from us, but they were absorbed by our ancestral cells.

"The mitochondria benefitted their hosts by making energy, and the host cells benefitted the mitochondria by sheltering them and providing favourable conditions for life. It’s a partnership that’s lasted billions of years, if you can imagine that. A similar thing happened with the tiny organelles that let plants eat sunlight - the chloroplasts.

“You know, the Followers say a human society is a lot like a cell. Each structure has its own function, and each contributes to the greater whole. In doing so, each entity gains more from cooperation with its peers than from competing against them. This illustrates the principle of mutual aid, which the Followers say is a powerful natural law. It is found at every level of nature, from tiny cells to entire ecosystems.”

Tina raised her hand again. “But the NCR don’t want to cooperate with us. They almost destroyed the Kings, and Freeside.”

Chez hesitated. “It’s important to remember that the actions of the 3rd battalion don’t represent the entire NCR,” he said. “However, it’s true that the current NCR regime in the Mojave enforces a social model which sharply conflicts with the Followers’ vision for society.

“The NCR did not create all of the Mojave’s problems. Outside of New Vegas, warring factions had by no means entered into a voluntary network of mutual relationships. Most of them were bent on destroying each other. These conflicts were only intensified by the drought. Perhaps under these conditions, we can understand why Colonel Denver felt the need to impose a Pax Californiae in a top-down fashion, backed up by military force.

“In Freeside, however, and the surrounding areas, the Followers and our allies had reached a stable social consensus… the NCR’s actions were heavy-handed and destroyed a peace which had evolved organically and sustainably. More proof that a single strategy, political or biological, will not lead to optimal outcomes in every environment. We must be prepared to adapt to changing conditions.”

Old Lady Mary asked, “And how do you propose we adapt to the NCR?”

Chez thought, we pray they don’t consume us. Or if they do, we become like the mitochondria, and make ourselves useful enough that they have to keep us around. Or else, we mutate… like Lettie wants us to do. And we become something else, something deadly enough to kill the host that ingested us.

But out loud, he said nothing.

The warm glow of a campfire lapped at the cold desert darkness encroaching on a ramshackle circle of tents. Shadows of those tending it were plainly visible in the stark contrast it painted across the landscape. Faint voices could be heard while a group of rough-cut men played cards and another few laughed and joked around the fire. An animal of some description was skewered over the flames its savory smoke carried up into the hills where the eyes of coyotes laid in wait with bated breath and gunpowder.


“They’re awfully brazen, aren’t they? You can probably see their fire from Laughlin.” Despite the vocalizer on his helmet the absurdity of the situation still carried through in his voice. Nestled into the rocks high up on the jagged slope above the campsite was a posse of Rough Rider mercenaries. This one adorned in their Desert Ranger armor with a high-powered rifle trained on the figures around the camp below. One of their compatriots lay next to him, his throat slit, eyes staring lifelessly at the sparkling sky above, his mouth agape as if to call out in warning while his blood soaks the sand around him.


“They were probably hoping that your friend was going to make a little more noise before he died.” Gloriana’s voice carried a bit of levity, but the seriousness of the situation was not lost in her tone. Among the bandits at the campsite were settlers from Cal-Nev-Ari, a village 12miles south of Searchlight. They were strewn about the camp, their clothes in tatters and most of them looked too exhausted to stand lying in disheveled heaps on the ground. These raiders had already slaughtered 4 of the youngest when they caught wind of their tail. Turning a week-long mission into one that’s lasted well over a month but too much blood had been shed for them to turn back.


“Gloriana, it’s Josey. We’ve dealt with the patrol. You guys have them all to yourselves now. Over” A man’s haggard voice crackles through the headset inside Gloriana’s helmet. Josey and two others were with the horses at the foot of the mountain. Their call on the radio was the signal they needed to strike.


“Good to go Josey. We’ll see you at the bottom. Out” Gloriana stowed her binoculars and came up to a knee checking the chamber in her service rifle for a round in the chamber. There were 5 of them up here including herself, 2 would stay on the slope and provide covering fire while Gloriana and 3 others moved down into the camp. She wanted them close before everyone started shooting, they couldn’t take any more chances. “Rangers lets wrap this up.”


Gloriana started moving down the mountainside towards the camp wholly enveloped in darkness while the other two Rough Riders chirped affirmatives over their headsets. She was within 10 feet of the ring of tents when the deafening roar of a double barrel shotgun broke the stillness of the night and sparked a chaotic exchange of gunfire. From a distance it must have looked like the mountainside was spitting fire into the night offended by their presence. They still had the drop on the raiders making them easy targets while they scrambled from their tents, some panicked into the night only to be shot down by the Rough Riders up above. Others blindly fired into the night in an attempt to repel their spectral attackers. Although just as quickly as it started the cacophony of chaos was silenced.


Gloriana was standing at the rim of the campfire with one other Rough Rider across from her. Without saying anything the two of them started scanning around the campsite. Out of the corner of her eye Gloriana caught a flash of white light shinning straight up into the sky. She shouldered her rifle and headed towards the light source, it strobed on and off at irregular intervals while she approached. At the edge of the tents, she found its source. One of the Rough Riders was laying on their back weakly signaling with their helmet mounted flashlight. When Gloriana approached them, she immediately recognized him as Dutch Berm they had been together since the NCR. He meekly turned his head to face her as she approached him. Croaking a labored “Hey Gia.” Gloriana turned on her flashlight and immediately dropped her rifle. His pants were soaked in blood and when she got down to render aid, she found out that his pelvis was riddled with buckshot. She hurriedly tried to pack his wounds with wads of bandages from her first aid kit, but she couldn’t stop the bleeding.


“It’s bad, isn’t it?” He wasn’t looking at her, instead he was staring up into the night sky. His voice was calm, almost peaceful. “I slipped coming down. Hell of a way to go. Gia?”


Her concentration was broken almost as if his question shocked the adrenaline out of her body. She gripped his hand tightly, both of their gloves soaked in blood. He was facing her now and even through their helmets she felt his eyes piercing through her. Gloriana’s heart was pounding into her throat while she stammered for her words, his grip was losing in hers. “They got you pretty good Dutch, but you’ll ride again.” He let out a guttural sigh and his grip slid loose from hers.


Another Rough Rider came up to the scene, this one a woman in their companies fatigues her face painted black with grease. She kneeled next to Dutch and removed his helmet. His eyes were closed, and he had a smirk across his face, but his pulse was gone. “Camp is clear boss, just the settlers left. I signaled for the rest of the team already.”


Gloriana hadn’t even noticed the red flare slowly falling above them painting the cliff face like bloodied teeth. She reached in to grab Dutch under his arms with the other Rough Rider following suit. They staggered to their feet his dead weight making it difficult to stand on the rocky terrain. Steadying her footing and her voice Gloriana started carrying him back into the camp. “Don’t worry Dutch. We won’t leave you behind.” As they broke past the tents some of the settlers, having been cut free, offered to help carry him but Gloriana couldn’t hear them.

With the camp secured the posse snaked down the side of the mountain. Dutch’s body draped over the back of Gloriana’s horse. A raging inferno had begun to engulf the camp, the mountain appeased with its sacrifice. Allowing them to begin their long trek back home.



Their ragged band approached the gates of Wolfhorn Ranch, its sheet metal and razor wire exterior welcoming only to them. Gloriana was at the head of the group Dutch’s body still draped behind her as the gates groaned open to meet them. As they rode through the sentry’s snapped to attention and saluted the solemn cargo that rode with them, knowing only that it was one of theirs. Stopping in the main courtyard everyone began to dismount their horses.


A man approached Gloriana his hair unkempt and ashen gray a contrast to his otherwise neat appearance. He looked up at her and saw the pain in her eyes no matter how deeply she tried to bury it. “You alright Gia?” He knew the answer, but it was all he could offer her, his own eyes being just as bad at hiding it. He put his hand on her leg as if attempting to draw her pain into him, but they were both too full of it to matter. His attention shifted towards Dutch “Welcome home brother.” A group of Rough Riders had gathered to help him carry Dutch off into one of the buildings.


Gloriana felt like she couldn’t move from her saddle. She played it off like she was attempting to fix something with her gear, but it felt like a hundred pounds of lead was in her gut. Daisy the woman that helped her when she first found Dutch came alongside her horse. “You need some help? We’re all a little run down, no shame in it.” Gloriana accepted her offer of help off her horse. Her feet felt like they landed on shifting earth, needing a minute to get her weight under her.


“I appreciate it, Daisy. I can manage it from here.” Daisy gave her a nod before heading off towards the bunkhouse. Gloriana turned to grab her gear from off her horse and a few of her men were already waiting to take it off to the stables. While she was offloading her gear, she noticed that Dutch’s blood had matted the hair on her horse’s backside. She looked down at herself and remembered that she was covered in his blood as well. Grabbing her gear, she headed to her quarters, a small wooden cabin situated away from the other buildings. Everyone was too preoccupied with the morning tasks to notice the state she was in as she headed inside. Collapsing in a heap as soon as the door closed behind her, too exhausted to cry or maybe she forgot. Either way all she could muster was to lie in a mess on the floor of her cabin for a few minutes until she began stripping her uniform off.

Her clothes ended up in a soiled heap inside her door while she headed outside to shower. She had her own shower attached to the outside of her cabin. So early in the day the water was still ice cold but after months without one it didn’t matter. She did her best to wash the grease out of her hair and scrub Dutch’s blood out from underneath her fingernails but all she wanted to do was sleep. After a few more minutes she called it quits and wrapped up in a towel headed back inside. Barely dried and her room still a mess, Gloriana collapsed onto her bed a naked heap.

Waking up to a knock at her door she wrapped herself in her towel and went to answer it. “Hey Gia. Sorry to catch you like this.” It was the same gray-haired man from before, Josh. If there was a second in command in the Rough Riders, it would be him.
“It’s okay Josh. What’s going on?” Gloriana kept one hand clasped onto her towel while she pressed her door closer to her side with the other. She didn’t want him to see the mess she left this morning, if it wasn’t still morning. It didn’t feel like she fell asleep but the sun was high in the sky so she must have.

“Doc finished getting Dutch cleaned up. We’ll do a service for him tonight…”

Before he could ask Gloriana interjected. “I’ll be there.”

“I know you will be and listen I didn’t want to jump you with this but we’re sending some guys out to Camp Golf in the morning.” He looked a little concerned that maybe it was too soon to be talking to Gloriana about work. She still had heavy bags under her eyes, and it looked like she was long overdue for some rest.

“What for?”

“Holmes radioed us. Needs some bodies but they’re being hush hush about the details. I’m sending some of the vets up there to sort it out.”

“I’ll go with them.”

“You sure?” He knew better than to ask. “We need to get you taken care of before you leave again Gia. Neither of us are in our twenties anymore. I’ll start with that mess you’re hiding behind the door.” Josh cracked a smile as Gloriana stepped aside revealing the disheveled state of her cabin. “I’ll get this stuff sorted, go grab some chow and try and get some sleep. I’ll come back for you tonight.” Josh scooped everything up off the ground and headed off towards the armory leaving Gloriana to tend to herself.

Later that night Gloriana was already at the door before Josh knocked. She hadn’t been able to sleep a whole lot given the circumstances.

“Everyone’s gathered up on the hill when you’re ready.” Josh was dressed in his Rough Rider’s fatigues wearing his navy-blue beret.
Gloriana had already gotten dressed in her fatigues, her beret clasped in her hands and followed Josh up to the hill at the periphery of Wolfhorn Ranch. At the top a pyre was built and most of the Rough Riders that were available stood waiting for Dutch’s arrival. She neatly placed her beret on her head as she approached and double checked her fatigues to make sure they weren’t messed up.

“You look good Gia. Do you want me to call formation?”

“No Josh, I got it.” She got the sense that she didn’t do a good job of bullshitting him this time, but he didn’t challenge her. Maybe he should have let him though because after she called them all to attention everything began to blur together. She remembers the procession bringing Dutch’s body adorned in his armor and draped in an old-world flag, the bugle playing all 24 notes of taps, and her picking up one of the three shell casings from the three-volley salute to place with him on the pyre. Although it all just feels like someone else’s memories.

When she went to bed that night she was tormented by the dreams of Teresa and a life long gone. In the morning she couldn’t leave fast enough. All she had to do was bury herself in work, then she would be too busy to remember. One more mission wouldn’t kill her but staying at the ranch certainly would. So, she and two other veterans rode out to Camp Golf on October 17th just as the sun was starting to come up over the horizon and before she knew it, they were at its all too familiar gates just before noon. Seemed the longer she stayed here the more she wanted to forget.

(Commander) Danny "Nines" Floyd - Embassy - Evening, October 16th

Floyd had tested a hundred separate explanations while experimenting with diplomacy. They either were insufficient or directed the listener too closely to his true origin. Nonetheless, he'd attempt his most successful. He scratched his head. "Pinochle is, in fact, a card game," Danny commenced. "We wanted to better resemble the general milieu. We were 48 strong when our faction first arose. We each had a designation." Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn Nine of Clubs. The plastic sheen bore nervous sweat which he wiped off. "But we are certainly a reputable organization, I assure you."

Annexation had remained a persistent rumor which NInes elected to dismiss. By merely mentioning it, the dignitary had given that speculation weight. Daniel swallowed. "Gloria van Graff. I'll keep an ear out for that name. Steelworks are expensive but lucrative; we'll manage."

He stood up. "I believe that's all the time I've allocated for this meeting. If amenable, please postpone zoning the northern reaches of town until an in depth conversation." His brief nod was an acknowledgment of respect. "My impressions are positive. New Vegas has a cornucopia of amenities and elements of civilization we'd consider exotic luxur-" Daniel paused. He was to hype his sponsors, not reveal it for its backwater nature. "Which we'd regard as unnecessary frivolities. Still, pleasure is indelibly linked to humanity. Expect future correspondence."

Daniel departed sheepishly. If the NCR was planning to claim the entire plot, he'd have to grease palms rather quickly.

Northwest Passage, "Meld" Outward Base: Midnight, October 17th

"So what's the plan now?" Charlotte asked.

The table was tense in the dim candlelight. The colony was on the brink of failure. Worse, Vault 48 might enter direct conflict with the Republic over territorial disputes. Floyd shrugged. "It's difficult to make friends with such a recent entry," he stated. "The best we should hope for would be for California to ignore us. They'd mark our territory as theirs on their map, but we'd control it in practice. No taxation, no regulations, et cetera."

"What 48 is to them already," Bradley commented. "We can handle that."

Daniel folded his hands. "There's a last element I've yet to mention. Benjamin Watts is a gentleman of immense culture, and he's looking to overhaul his office's aesthetic. I told him that we'd present something worthy of his stature. So," he turned to Amber, "no holds barred. Money is no object; Hinshaw would agree with me. Check with the Happy Trails Caravan, and fetch me a gift that will impress."

Amber lit up like a nuclear blast. "They informed me they'd return to Sacramento tomorrow; I'll rendezvous at dawn. I know precisely what to get him!"

Embassy - Noontime, October 17th

It was uncomfortably hot for an autumn day. Of course, it could simply be the additional workload that caused them the agony. The landscape oil on canvas was upright and covered by a tarp, and the two boys took one side apiece. Charlotte helped ease the burden and stabilize the procession. Amber, the expert, led the way, practically skipping as she strode down the streets. As they approached the embassy, Danny decided to voice his final displeasure.

"Damnation, couldn't you have traded for a nice small sculpture?"
"Hey, you instructed me to acquire an impressive work of art!" Amber defended.
"Yeah, but in terms of quality, not quantity! The confounded thing is seven by ten feet!"
"Look, once we unveil it, you'll see it's worth every bottle cap," she assured. "It's a gorgeous view of the Sierra Nevadas!"
"The caps don't even worry me," Danny complained. "Just how cumbersome it is."

Amber replaced Daniel as he entered the embassy and passed the casino area. He was flagged by a woman at reception. "Excuse me, sir. Where are you headed?"
Daniel casually saluted. "Business with the ambassador. We come to pay homage with an offering."
"He's currently away at the Gomorrah," the secretary revealed. "But if you deposit it by my desk, I'll ensure that-"
"Thank you, but we'll pass on that offer," Danny replied. Sunk cost fallacy: he'd worked so hard for the perfect moment; he'd settle for nothing less. He exited the building and hailed his people. "We're going to the Gomorrah."

Gomorrah - Afternoon, October 17th

The Gomorrah had seen strange sights aplenty, but this was unique among them. A crowd had gathered inside and outside the facility as four yokels blocked the doorway. The tall, flat cargo they carried wouldn't fit through without finagling. A man with a big blonde Dutch beard commanded from the rear. "No, turn it clockwise. No, that's counterclockwise; I'm doing it from your perspective. That's it. Reverse towards me; let's try this again." He looked around. "If someone notifies Ambassador Watts, we'd appreciate the gesture! He's negotiating here presently."

Gomorrah Front Entrance - Reacting to a Disturbance

“Sonny you better get down here, there’s something…weird going on at the entrance doors. A bunch of yokels trying to get some kind of package through the doors….I don’t like it.”

The frantic voice of Clarice, the head Gomorrah receptionist, caught the security chief off guard. He leaned into the wired phone receiver and whispered his next words a bit more cautiously,

“What you think it's a bomb or somethin’ Clarice, I mean what’re we talkin’ about here?”

“No but its just…odd they’re asking to see the Ambassador and they’re scaring off some customers. I don’t like it one bit. Just get down here as quick as you can, please?”

“Yeah alright I’m on it, be down there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail babe.”

With a frustrated growl Sonny slammed the phone down on the receiver and then quickly picked it back up again, spinning the rotary to dial a new number,

“Mikey? Yeah listen up its Sonny we got a situation at the front desk. Some backwater outfit is causing a ruckus. Clarice is all worked up and it's got some of the customers on edge. I don’t want any trouble with the Ambassador down in Zoara with Fat Dom this morning, so we gotta shut this down fast fast fast, capish? I’m gonna head down there with a few of my boys, but I need you to get off your tail and tell some of those Iron Forester mercs to meet me down in the lobby in 2 minutes. Got it? Good.”

Once more Sonny slammed the phone down and then quickly threw on his body armor mumbling expletives to himself,

“Goddamn it…and I was on break too….”

—------------------------------------------------------

When the sharply dressed head of security arrived with a group of Omerta soldiers and heavily armed mercs in tow, Sonny quickly assessed the situation and began grinding his teeth when he recognized the caravaners clogging up the lobby. The silver lining was that it, probably, wasn’t an assassination plot.

“Ah, I've seen these jokers outside the embassy. They’re with that Pinochle expedition,” Sonny growled as he walked up to the caravaneers, “Oh I’m going to give them a piece of my goddamn mind…” He fumed.

“Hey buddy, just what the fuck do you think you’re doing uh? Whatsamatter cat got your tongue?” Sonny shouted at the Caravan leader as he strode right up to them, “Or are youse all blind and deaf on top of being dumb? What the FUCK do you think you’re doing here blocking traffic with that….what the hell is that thing anyhow?” He said looking up at the tall covered package.

“This your idea of a bad joke? Cause I ain’t laughing. I swear to brahmin shit I’m THIS close to tossing you all out into the nearest deathclaw den with a buncha bbq sauce slathered on your backsides. Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn’t have my boys here toss your sorry ass out of my security perimeter HUH?”

Lettie Lawson -- North Vegas Square -- Morning, Oct 17th

The morning sun had crawled into the sky, like a trooper returning to base after a night on the Strip. By its light, the masses of people on Vegas’ outskirts could be seen, seething slowly around the city’s borders: refugees, caravanners, Followers and mercs.

Lettie had stepped back from one of the water distribution tents and was leaning against the corroded remains of a steel fence. She paused to take a sip of precious clean water, swiped the hair out of her eyes. She enjoyed the coolness of the morning breeze against her sweat-coated face, but couldn’t help thinking, I shouldn’t be working up this much of a sweat. There’s endless work to do, but the amount of energy expended in purifying this water versus the value of what I produce with my muscles… that can’t be an efficient exchange. I have to be better. Have to identify the weak points in the equation.

“Morning, Miss Lawson.”

She glanced up and saw Herb emerge from the crowd of aid workers.

“Morning, Herb.”

As he slouched into a spot beside her, Lettie looked up and out, beyond the surging crowd of people. She took in the broken-down public square, the roads radiating from it like cracked arteries from a stone heart. The husks of houses crowding the ghost highway, and beyond them the old factory and the rubble of the former industrial district. If she could look further, she knew, she would find the fragments of homesteads and the old railway tracks.

Railway tracks laid down and built by generations of labourers, following the old caravan trails. Following the lonesome roads carved by couriers and, before them, the old tribes. Lifelines into the desert, arteries which fed old Vegas, fed its rotten, bloated carcass, which consumed everything, and gave nothing back but glitz and gluttony. Railroads to nowhere, now.

Factories constructed and manned by generations of workers, toiling to build casinos they could never enter, produce goods they could never afford. Farms tended and harvested by homesteaders who would never taste the fruits of their labour.

All of them gone now, buried under piles of concrete, suffocated by the buildings they had slaved in. Incinerated by the atomic fire they’d never seen coming.

Mr House boasted, When the bombs fell, I saved the best of Vegas. I saved the city’s heart and soul.

This was the rest of it. This was… expendable.

“You look thoughtful today,” Herb said.

“I’m thinking,” said Lettie, “about the ambassador’s presence here. It deserves a response.”

“I agree,” said Herb. “But Chez and his friends are our usual point of contact with the NCR. We’d ruffle too many feathers if we acted independently of them.”

“I have no intention of interfering with the Followers’ official response to the NCR. What I’m talking about is the will of the people. Our comrades may have decided that the lives of countless Followers and Freesiders can be written off as a tactical error by the 3rd battalion. Whether the people of this city feel that way themselves…”

A change came over Herb’s face. “Of course.”

“Have you heard about the ambassador’s exploits so far?”

“That the first thing he did in Freeside was kill someone?”

“And went to the NCR stronghold to rile them up. And then he moved onto the Strip. He’s being wined and dined by the Omertas today. God knows how many years this one’ll last. It’ll be non-stop carousing, embezzling, kickbacks from here on out. The Strip gets money, independence, the ear of the NCR. Freeside gets bullets and riot control. We know the script well enough.”

“What are your intentions?”

“To remind him that Freeside exists! That we haven’t forgotten the injustice, the mistreatment, the murders. To remind him that the people are angry, and that anger doesn’t just go away when it’s beaten down by superior firepower.”

“But if the people poke the Bear…”

“I don’t want them to poke the Bear. I want the Bear to remember that it’s one apex predator. I want the Bear to remember that it can kill ten, or twenty, or thirty coyotes, but it can’t kill a hundred. Let it stay in its cave, and leave the prairie to us.”

“If Chez finds out about this-–”

“About what? The spontaneous expression of the people’s anger? This has nothing to do with us. It must be managed carefully. I have no desire to bring the anger of the NCR down on the innocent people of Freeside. But I have no desire to let the NCR think we’ve forgotten what they’ve done to us, either.

“Let the NCR see that they can’t send whatever two-cap Shady Sands political hack they feel like down here to stage a good photo-op and set up his pension fund. Let them feel the heat. I want Benny to sweat. I want him off-balance and nervous, and insecure about his bargaining position.

“But he mustn’t see enough to think we’re the primary threat. Not until it’s too late.”

Herb nodded. “I understand. It’s not difficult to hide things from a NCR politician. Not when half the job is learning to look the other way.”

“Then you know how important this is.”

“I do. Leave it with me.”

Lettie watched Herb go, melting back into the swarm of people.

One day, she thought. The Bear, big and blundering as he is, arrogant and short-sighted, confident in his power, will carelessly slip his paw into the vice. And on that day, I pray I'll be the one who springs the trap.

Corporal Yazan Mohammad - Gomorrah - Midnight, October 16th

Yazan had barely set his glass down before a waitress in a flashy cocktail dress came and replaced it with another tequila. Such had been the pattern since he stepped into the Gomorrah. He had rushed in with the rest of his squad eager to enjoy their first night on the Strip. Their eyes wide at the extravagant displays of revelry and debauchery that filled the casino. They were utterly intoxicated by the spectacle for the first few hours but after a dozen or so drinks and poor luck at the slot machines and card tables he was aching for sleep and quiet. The music was loud, the lighting garish and inconsistent and the press of perfumed dancers, entertainers and drunk gamblers left him feeling disoriented and nauseous. Sitting quietly on the bench his thoughts returned to the violence he had seen at the gates to Freeside. Yazan had seen more corpses than he’d care to admit during the famine but he’d never seen a man’s face vaporized in a plume of plasma before. The ghastly stench of melted flesh and burned hair still singed his nostrils even after six strong drinks. It had been a chaotic few moments but the sheer ease at which the CSF officer had killed the man deeply disturbed Yazan. He could still see his corpse sprawled out in the street and despite the loud music his ears rang with the snap of energy weapon discharging.

He took a weak sip of his drink and cringed at the strength of the cocktail. Yazan sat on a bench with two of his squadmates between two potted ferns. Emily was seated at the blackjack table in front of them. She was the last member of the squad still standing, the rest having left the casino more than an hour ago. She had made a remarkable turnaround from the start of playing and now was on a seven hand winning streak. Gamblers from several other tables had stopped and gathered around to watch the young soldier play. She wore a devilish grin and celebrated enthusiastically everytime she won. She had started with her own voucher but as the night wore on and the rest of the squad had begun to taper out they passed their remaining chips on to her. Now flush with over two thousand chips Emily had doubled down and begun to push her luck with increasingly higher bets every hand.

Yazan had enjoyed watching her radiant smile light up with every win but as he scanned the crowd gathered around he had begun to notice several faces which lacked the glassy eyed stupor of the average gambler. They wore matching pressed suits with their hats cocked ever slightly. He saw them exchange a glance before two of them broke off and maneuvered their way across the casino floor. Yazan took another quick sip, winced and then rose unsteadily to his feet. He shuffled through the crowd and grabbed Emily by the arm as the dealer laid out a fresh hand. Her sharp eyes met Yazan’s and narrowed. He felt a flutter of warmth in his chest.

“What?”

“I think we should go.”

She rolled her eyes and carefully slid her arm out of his grip. “It's bad luck to cut a streak short. Besides, I’m making new friends.” She winked at the patrons gathered around them. Yazan grabbed her arm again and tugged on it lightly. She cocked her head and stared into Yazan’s eyes. Her face was playful and expectant. “What?”

Yazan touched his head to hers and whispered into her ear. “They think you’re cheating.” His voice was breathy and he shook slightly as he spoke so close to her. He stood up and glanced back at the men in suits, he could only see one of them now. Her eyes scanned the crowd and he could see on her face as she began to register the situation. She began to scoop up the chips with her when the dealer motioned for her to stop.

“The cards have been dealt, you cannot back out now without forfeiting your bet.”

Emily looked at the dealer and the other men at the table. Her tongue stuck to the corner of her mouth she flipped her cards. A king and an ace of hearts. The other gamblers swore. Emily feigned a bow before she grabbed the chips and scooted off the stool and into the crowd with Yazan. They weaved their way back to the bench and Yazan grabbed his other squad mates on the verge of sleep. He jolted them awake, spoke a rushed word of caution to them as quietly as he could. Together they pushed their way across the floor towards the cashier’s cage. Yazan looked around searching for anyone who might be tailing them. Only one man met his gaze, a dark dressed man in a black fedora with the stub of a cigarette in his mouth. The man winked. Yazan looked away and pushed for Emily and the others to move faster.

“Cashing out?” asked the cashier behind the bars. She was a young woman with a bored expression and finely styled hair. Emily nodded enthusiastically.

“Yessum ma’m.” She dumped the chips into the trough and smiled at the cashier, proud of her haul. The cashier’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly and she began to sort the chips with practiced fluidity.

“Quite the haul for some young troopers such as yourself.”

“Just me.” Emily beamed and Yazan couldn’t help but smile. He scanned the casino floor once more but couldn't see the man. Hopefully they had lost him. The cashier was quick and was already asking Emily what currency she wanted the payout. Emily paused for a moment.

“I’ll take caps.”

The cashier nodded and disappeared for a moment, returning with a silver tin in her hands the name Gomorrah emblazoned on top. She slid it open to reveal neatly wrapped rolls of caps.

“Five thousand two hundred and fifty five caps.”

Emily’s grin encompassed her entire face and there was a spark of pure delight in her eyes. Even with the tension in his chest Yazan was enamored with the simple beauty of her joy.

“Christssake Emily! Hope you’re gonna share that.” said David, a private in their squad. Like Yazan and Robert they had given Emily the remainder of their vouchers after several bad hands at the tables.

“When have I ever been a selfish winner?” She smiled devilishly and David just rolled his eyes. Once she had her hands on the tin the group ambled their way to the casino doors and stepped out into the brisk October air. Yazan scanned the guards at the door. They looked tired and indifferent, as if they didn’t even notice the squad of young soldiers. It was a relief to Yazan. Together they began to walk their way down the Strip back towards the embassy. Yazan watched contentedly as Emily bickered with David and Robert. She worked to justify her right to the entirety of the winnings while the young privates simply wanted a return for their offered vouchers. Just as she had won at the card table she was winning the argument. Yazan smiled, admiring the way the neon lighting illuminated her high cheekbones and strong jawline. She could do no wrong in his eyes, at least not tonight.

“Easy there corporal.” came a cool voice from behind him. Yazan turned and his stomach dropped when he recognized the man from the casino floor. The man was holding a cigarette with his right hand while his left hand fingered a pistol tucked into his waistband. Emily and the rest of them continued on for several feet before they noticed Yazan had stopped and turned to see what held him up. She held a smile on her face until she noticed the fear in Yazan’s eyes.

“Who are you?” She asked the man.

“John Luciano.” The man said proudly, he flashed an identifier too quick for them to see clearly. “I’m here on behalf of the Gomorrah.” A dark grin grew on the man’s face, he spit and took a long drag. “Got quiet the tin there don’t ya girly?” Two other men appeared at his side with matching suits and hats.

Emily scowled.

“Now we can do a whole song dance out here where everyone can see but I think it's best for both of us if you go ahead and hand that over.”

“Get fucked.” said Emily and Yazan looked back at her with surprise. He knew she had a penchant for gambling but he hadn’t considered that behavior may extend to situations where their lives were on the line.

The man clicked his tongue and wagged his finger. “That's no way for a lady to speak, especially after cheating away an evening at the card table.”

David and Robert flanked Emily and did their best to try and appear tough but Yazan just wished she would hand it over. John threw down his cigarette and held out his hand expectantly.

“Do the right thing and I won’t have to let the Omertas know.” He looked her up and down. “You’re not much to look at sweetie but they have uses for young women who cross them.” He looked at Yazan and the others “Not so much for young men.”

Yazan thought of the man he had seen killed earlier and now imagined himself, sprawled out in the street. Another corpse to be picked over. The image was revolting. Emily looked at him and the other before she meekly handed the tin over. Yazan held his gaze on the man.

“Smart move.” The man said with a wicked smile. “Now enjoy your night.” He tipped his hat and walked back towards the doors of the Gomorrah. Emily stamped off towards the embassy with David and Robert rushing to catch up with her. Yazan stood still for a moment, trying to process what had happened before he moved to catch up with them. He stopped and looked back and noticed as the man kept walking past the casino. The man was speed walking towards the north gate of the Strip. The two men with him kept their eyes on the Omerta guards. Yazan didn’t understand but he turned and walked back to the embassy.

Once they arrived Emily avoided him and the others and went straight to bed. Yazan couldn’t sleep, his heart still raced at the shame and humiliation and fear. He kept thinking about what the man had said about the Omertas. How they had walked past the casino and headed to the Strip gate. He tossed and turned and got up to walk the halls of the embassy when he knew he couldn’t sleep. The building was dimly lit and dilapidated, most of the rooms having been converted to ramshackle gambling dens. It was far too late for gaming and most of the staff had gone to bed so he walked alone. He paced around for a while before the exhaustion of the day’s march and the liquor of the Gomorrah began to pull at his eyelids. Yazan yawned, stretched and headed back to his bunk. He lay there for a few minutes and his thoughts returned to the man he had seen killed. How easily that could have been himself and Emily and the others. How close to death they had been it was as if he could smell it. Like the horrid scent of burned flesh and human hair. He could see it clearly even in the dark room, his body doubled over in a heap with brains and blood leaking from his head.

Then it struck him and he almost shot outta bed with anxious realization. The men hadn’t been with casino. They were conmen and Emily had been their mark. Humiliation and rage boiled within his chest, red-hot and nearly blinding. He wanted to run. Run out onto the Strip and search for the men. But then what? What could he do? If he even found them they’d gun him down and rob his corpse. Yazan nearly cried in frustration. He had never felt so powerless and alone.

Gomorrah Front Entrance - The Disturbance

Charlotte appeared more disgusted by the concept of barbecue sauce ruining her dress than fearful of the threat of deathclaws. She dusted off her apparel at the mere thought, as if the condiment was already upon her. It seemed that Sonny struck a nerve, in multiple ways.

"'That thing' is a priceless, centuries old Bierstadt," Amber hissed, attempting to return the insult she was dealt with full (hundred fifty) honors. "I bet it's worth five times your annual-"

Amber wasn't helping. This security guard wasn't bound by inner propriety, and Daniel effortlessly imagined him punching a hole in the canvas to "ruin your day, see how youse like it, huh bub?" Danny regarded it as the worst case scenario not for the permanent, irreparable loss of culture from the world but simply because he'd have spent a King's ransom of caps and an entire morning of labor for naught. That situation would really crease his cards, and was becoming increasingly likely.

He lifted his open palm gradually. "Relax, sweetheart; I'll handle this." He raised his other to pose a casual surrender. "This was a simple matter. We had no intentions of interrupting your business, and we can compensate. If you're willing to throw hands and risk a scuffle from the North for fifteen minutes of pause, I'm sure your patrons will appreciate the sudden uptick in violence in this quiet haven." Nines trusted this man to detect the tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah, I always wanted to make an example out of an Omertas thug!" Bradley shouted; putting up his dukes, wholly ignoring the rifle slung over his shoulder. Apparently he hadn't gotten the message.

Daniel closed his eyes. "Brad, shut it. In fact, drag the frame outward." Brad hesitated but complied, Charlotte managing Danny's side. Gamblers started shuffling in, while spectators gathered around and watched the powder keg in keen anticipation. Daniel reopened and shrugged. "Not even an half hour, well before tonight's peak. All we desired was to visit the ambassador. Perhaps when we unveiled this here painting, it would have been a spectacle unto itself—a crowd pleaser—but you're preoccupied enforcing the status quo." He shook his head. "So be it. If you could at least point us in Benjamin Watts's direction, we'll vacate the premises." He stepped lightly from the doorway to the breezy October gusts beyond.

Charlotte was silent but now offered an apologetic nod. "Sorry, we're new in town."

Danny bowed in social courtesy. "So, in what manner might we pay respects to a reputable institution such as yours? Name your price; the Pinochle Expedition is a boon to its friends. If you're unable to negotiate, maybe we can work it out with Fat Dom himself." Just for safety's sake, he murmured to his girlfriend, "You told Happy Trails to summon Vaulters down, correct?"

Amber was slightly perplexed yet reflected Daniel's volume. "Well, yes, but they won't arrive for several days."

Nines's countenance hinted at a wry smile. "Not for immediate reinforcements; only that we won't have perished unnoticed should things turn south."

Gomorrah Front Entrance, Head of Security “Sonny” Santino - Dealing with the Disturbance

“Bunch’a fuggin’ nutcases,” Sonny couldn’t help but mumble under his breath as he heard the back and forth between caravaners. He even heard a chuckle emanate from behind him from his soldiers as he heard one of the group want to ‘make an example of an Omerta Thug.’ It was all like a bad dream to him, why the hell did he have to have a shift this morning? Why couldn’t Lucky be the one down here right now dealing with these lunatics?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a few deep calming breaths just like that quack Follower therapist said to do, and he breathed in and out a couple times before counting to ten in his head. Back in his Slitherkin days, these yokels would’ve been marked for death the moment they started flapping their yaps and he would have taken his sweet time finishing them off. These days, he couldn’t just go around slaughtering people no matter how much they annoyed him. For all the trouble they were causing, they were clearly harmless, albeit a giant pain in the ass.

“Alright I’ve heard enough. First off: that’s Don Dominic to youse. Only members of the family call him that, of which you clearly aint, ” He said finally after a few tense moments of silence, “ Secondly…look around, what do you see? Does this look like a friggin’ art gallery to you? This is Gomorrah. We deal in only one thing here and that's sin. People come here to gamble, get piss drunk, get laid, get high, or any combination of those together. Understand? So unless you’re looking to take part in any of the above, or your pretty lady-friends there are looking for job applications, then youse got no business here? Capish?”

“I don’t know no Benjamin Watts neither…” Sonny added, “Now….you wanna do business with Don Dominic? Well that’s another matter. BUT you want to talk to the Don? You make an appointment like everyone else. You don’t come barging in the front door unannounced causing a ruckus and scaring my gal over there half to death.” He said, motioning to the Head Receptionist.

“Now since youse are being cordial,” He continued, looking to Daniel, “I’ll let you off with a warning and won’t make you pay out your ass for the crime of ruining my morning. But if any of you pull a stunt like that again I’ll make sure that none of you ever set foot in Vegas again,” he snarled, saying the word “Vegas” with emphasis as if to make a point that the Omerta’s controlled much more than just their Casino, if that wasn’t already plainly obvious, “Now either head back to the embassy or wait at the Vault 21 hotel or something. But you ain’t gettin’ in here unless you do things the proper way.”

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Gomorrah Exchange Desk, Abraham “Honest Abe” Rockford, Omerta Family Enforcer - Honor Among Thieves

“So let's go over this: you were outside sitting by the Strip on a smoke break. You saw it all go down, but you didn’t get a clear look at him?”

“No Mr. Rockford, but I heard him give his name as ‘John Luciano’ and said he was there on behalf of the family. Then the young lady gave him her caps and the three gentlemen just ran out the north gate like bats outta hell,” The Cashier woman explained with a scowl, “ They looked the part, but I knew something was wrong. We don’t take cheaters' money and leave them be, for starters..”

“No we don’t, they end up as molerat food…” Rockford agreed. The middle-aged enforcer looked the part of a grizzled pre-war detective, with a long black trench coat and matching silver-gray fedora. He thoughtfully pulled at his pencil mustache and then jotted down a few notes in a small red notepad.

“Don’t know what the big fuss is,” A nearby Omerta soldier scoffed as he stood listening to the pair's conversation, “I saw her playing here. Looked to me like the bitch was a cheater anyway. She was too friggin’ lucky at the tables for a first-timer. Why bother?”

Rockford sneered at the man and then walked up to him, getting right into the soldier’s face and making the man shrink back in fear at the imposing enforcer’s stern gaze, “Why bother? WHY BOTHER? Are you fucking kidding me? Someone waltzes onto the Strip, impersonates members of OUR family, steals a customer's money, and then brazenly walks away and YOU don’t think that’s a problem? You wanna go tell that to Fat Dom himself asshole? Maybe see how he feels about that opinion of yours? Or should I just shoot you myself right now and save you the time? “

“No…I mean…” The soldier lowered his gaze, unable to respond.

“That’s what I thought,” Rockford growled, “Keep your thoughts to yourself next time idiot. Now Cindy, anything else you can tell me about these impersonators?”

“No sir Mr. Rockford that’s all. The NCR soldiers seemed pretty shook up, I will say that.”

“Well I’ll pay them a visit at the embassy, see if we can’t sort things out,” Rockford replied with a sigh, stuffing the notepad in his coat, “And we’ll find this asshole and his friends. I’ll send word to every thug in Freeside on our payroll to be on the lookout for anyone spending an unusual amount of caps. They can’t hide forever…if they’re in Vegas…they’re dead men walking.”

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Rockford stepped into the NCR embassy a short time later, tipping his hat to the secretary as he did so, “Good morning Marisol. I’m assuming the Ambassador’s escorts have already returned to Camp Golf? I feared as much....would you please add this to any outgoing mail being sent to the Camp? It’s for Corporal Yazan Mohammad, courtesy of the Omertas. It's not sealed or private, you may inspect it yourself before sending it along if you like.”

Rockford handed an envelope to her and with another tip of his hat, he left the building.

Contents of the Letter:
Corporal Muhammad,

The Omerta Family was made aware of an incident that occurred on the Strip involving yourself and members of your squad. We were told a member of your squad was forced to hand over a substantial sum of caps won at the tables after being approached by a so-called Omerta affiliate. We want to assure you the individuals you encountered were not members of the Omerta Family and did not represent us in any capacity.

You have our deepest apologies for this unfortunate event. Rest assured, the individuals in question will be found and punished.

Should you or your squad choose to patronize Gomorrah again you will all be given rooms for a night, free of charge, and your squad member will be fully compensated for her loss.

Abraham Rockford - Internal Affairs
The Omerta Family