Ambassador Benjamin “Benny” Watts - Gomorrah - Mid-Morning, October 17th

Benny had been shocked to see the Gomorrah as busy as it was so early in the morning. In New Reno casinos weren’t bustling till the sun had begun to set. Hell, some of them didn’t even open till nightfall. It was even a stark contrast from the other casinos on the Strip. The Ultra Luxe had been quiet and unnerving when he entered searching for the bakery. The place smelled delicious but the mannerisms of the staff and those masks and gloves. They were polite and prompt and professional but the whole package of the casino had creeped him out. He was happy to not be having a meeting there this early into his assignment. When that time came he would definitely be bringing security with him.

He was greeted by Lucy when he arrived at the Gomorrah and he was pleased to see her. Her clothing was pressed and fitted and her platinum blonde hair was clean and well combed. She had so much potential and Benny thought it a shame he was an ambassador and not a stylist. The wonders he could work in this city if only he was able to follow his heart's desire. But then afterall it was following his desires that landed him in his current predicament. Perhaps he had better keep his mind focused on the task at hand.

All eyes were on him as he followed Lucy across the floor of the casino. Perfumed dancers led patrons away to private rooms and gangsters nodded with respect at his passing. One scantily clad woman even touched his shoulders and offered her services for free. It was a show that much he was certain of, but a little flattery never went unappreciated. Benny enjoyed the company of beautiful women but he knew in places like Vegas such company always came at a price, even if it wasn’t in caps.

They moved further into the Gomorrah and Benny was treated to an idea of just how large some of these casinos must be. A vast sprawling area packed with gamblers and lecherous drunks who hooped and hollered at a stage where entertainers twirled and contorted to the rhythms of the music. Benny realized Lucy was taking him on a scenic tour of the facilities offering a preview of all that could be found and enjoyed behind the leather padded doors of the casino. He would be lying if he said it was an ineffective strategy. And yet he couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease as he was led further and further into the Gomorrah. There were no windows and every door seemed to only open to a new artery of sin and vice. Benny looked carefully at a few of the patrons who lingered about the edges of the room. Their eyes were sunken and glossy, their movements soft and languid. They looked like they had been trapped in the casino for days and Benny considered the very real possibility that they had been. How many others met that same fate? Lured in through those large black doors like flies to honey only to get lost in the rush of ecstasy and thrill of danger and sex until they could no longer find their way out.

Lucy brought Benny through another side hallway and down a corridor lined with Omerta thugs to a singular dark door. It was blocked by an incredibly large man with the demeanor of a guard dog and the build of a wild bull. Yet as Benny approached the man slipped aside and left the door open. Next to the door, emblazoned on a black and gold plaque, were the words ‘Zoara Club - VIPs ONLY.’ Inside Benny could hear laughter, curses and the clinking of silverware and crystal glasses.

“Dominic is inside,” Lucy said with a wink, “He’s the loud mouth you can hear from a mile away. I hope you enjoy your time here in Gomorrah…”

Benny smiled and nodded his thanks. “Always a pleasure Lucy.” He thought her charming and it was good considering her role within the Omerta family. This Dominic surely chose his employees carefully. Once he was inside he was greeted with the sight of a well dressed fat man lounging about with a few others 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 men burst into a peel of laughter and the large man 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!” the man said, turning to Benny as he stepped forward. Benny assumed correctly this was the infamous Don Dominic he had heard so much about. Dominic rose to his feet and walked over to him, extended 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,” Dominic 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!”

Benny smiled. He was uncomfortable with how forward the Don was. Benny knew gangsters and he thought he read them well but the absolute jovial greeting of Dominic had thrown him off balance. This man was the king of sin city and yet he acted like a kindly father. The Don ordered his men to leave the room and with but a word of confirmation the other Omertas were gone. He hadn’t needed to raise his voice or threaten them. Whether it was respect or fear that kept them so utterly subservient Benny was afraid to find out.

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. Benny was unable to contain the astonishment that showed on his face. He hadn’t noticed her when he entered the room, had she been there the whole time? Benny looked around trying to see if there were any exits he might have missed. Avenues of escape maybe but escape would be nigh impossible this far in the labyrinth of the casino.

“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 asking Benny what he liked.

“Just some coffee please ma’m. Thank you.” He smiled and returned his focus on Dominic. Benny knew better than to deny hospitality from a host like the Don but he also didn’t trust the man and he needed to be alert and focused not immersed in a plate of grits and beans and bacon.

“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.”

Benny placed his large felt hat on the seat next to him and crossed his legs. He produced a cigarette from a pocket in his jacket and lit it.

“Pleasures all mine Mr. Dominic. I truly appreciate you opening up the Gomorrah to me so early in the day. It was a spectacular experience I was greeted with upon my arrival this morning. Likewise,” he took a drag and exhaled to the side away from the Don. “I want to thank you sincerely for the greeting my escort and I were given upon our arrival to the Strip last night. As I’m sure you are aware we were not so kindly received on our entrance to Freeside.” Benny grimaced at the thought of the mercenary’s death. It had been so needless and violent it sickened him. Returning a smile to his face, “Especially your employee the lady Lucrezia. She is quite the woman, you should be proud to have her in your staff. She represents your business and your interests well.”

Benny allowed himself a moment to fully take in the Don as the man dug into his slice of cake. He was fat but wore a tailored pinstripe suit that held his girth in an elegant manner. His hair was thinning on his head and he wore a thick black mustache that was a contrast to Benny’s own thin line of a mustache. Dominic wouldn’t look out of place seated beside Mr. Bishop back in New Reno and that thought brought fear to Benny’s mind. He had to be careful, he had to keep a close eye on this Dominic lest the Don find out about Benny’s own connections to that small city of sin to the North. If the Omertas were as unscrupulous as their reputation then Benny knew he could at best expect to be black mailed and at worst…well it was best he didn’t dwell on that, especially now.

“I hope the cake is to your liking sir. The barista at the Ultra Luxe refused to let me pay for it when I informed him who it was for. I’m assuming you have a connection with that casino as well? In any case I hope we can be candid with each other and open up an easy line of dialogue. You’re the first family representative to invite me to a parlay upon my arrival. I’m sure you’re curious about annexation, taxation and what all the NCR has planned for New Vegas. I will answer these questions to the best of my knowledge and as far as my professional discretion allows. However,” Benny leaned in close. “I want to assure you that the president has no intention of dismantling the authority held by the families of the Strip. It is only with mutual respect between our organizations that we can make this annexation a painless process.”

It was a lie and an egregious one at that. But given the fact that Benny lied for a living and had only just met the Don he hoped the gangster would believe it.

Chez Nathan – New Vegas Medical Clinic – Mid-morning, Oct 17th

There was a knock at the door as Chez was finishing up with Mrs Munroe.

“I’m with a patient,” he called.

The door opened and Jerry the Punk stuck his head in, looking sheepish. “Sorry to disturb you, Chez. Lettie said this couldn’t wait. Urgent message for you from the higher ups. There’s been a communication from the 3rd infantry they want you to deal with.”

Chez sighed and shut his eyes, massaging his eyeballs. “All right, Jerry. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

Jerry retreated, closing the door behind him.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time as it is, Doctor,” said Mrs Munroe apologetically. “I want to thank you for being so patient with me. These talks we’ve had… well, I just don’t know where else to turn. You see, I don’t really have anyone else to speak to. But we both know the issue won’t be solved until he comes in himself.”

“And you don’t think that’s likely to happen.”

“No more than when I first came to you three months ago. I can’t even raise his problem with him. He flies into a rage. He was never like this before… before his service. The man I knew would barely touch a drop of drink. He’d never raised a hand to me or the children. I didn’t think he had it in him. But the man who came back from Bitter Springs, discharged… he wasn’t the man I’d married. It’s like living with a stranger. A frightening stranger.

“Three years of risking his life, serving the NCR, and this is what they’ve given him for his loyalty. It’s been left to us to pick up the pieces, and… I just don’t know how much longer I can go on for. I don’t blame the children for walking out on us.”

“I’m going to ask you again,” Chez said. “Will you consider moving somewhere safer? We could make space for you here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Doctor. He has no one else. No one but me. I’m afraid to leave him alone, you see. The children are gone, the army abandoned him. I’m the last thing in the world he has. I couldn’t leave him now.”

“Your sense of wifely duty is admirable, Mrs Munroe. But the problem your husband has makes him a danger to himself and the people around him. You have to think about what’s best for you as well.”

“Oh no, Doctor Nathan,” Mrs Munroe said firmly, rising to her feet. “I said my vows -- in sickness and in health, for better or for worse -- and I meant them. Loyalty may not mean much to a lot of folks nowadays, but it means something with me.”

After Mrs Munroe had left, Chez sat at his desk, staring at nothing for a few moments, toying with a pencil. A peculiar numbness had stolen over him. He felt almost as though he were in an old moving picture, and the frame rate was slowing down. At times he thought he could step out of the frame, detach from the events around him, and walk… where? Into another time? Another place?

He comes into the house. He can hear the sound of his mother’s jewellery tinkling, as it always does when she’s on the move. She is never still, always working at something. From the radio, the deep, rich voice of Ella Fitzgerald is pouring into the air like honey, and his mother’s high tones are sprinkled on top like spices on one of her desserts.

‘Summertime... and the livin’ is easy...
Fish are jumpin’... and the cotton is high...
Your daddy’s rich... and your mama’s good lookin’...
So hush, little baby... don’t you cry...'

He goes to the door and sees her at the sink, stirring a big pink mixing bowl with a wooden spoon.

“Dad said Mr Stanley passed away this morning,” he says.

She turns the radio down. “I know, child. I knew before your Pa left. Knew it was coming for some time.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I saw Mr Stanley. Saw him passing by our house, sweetie, just this morning.”

“But he’s been in bed for days.”

She shakes her head, her dark curls bouncing from side to side. “I ain’t talking about his body, child. I’m talking about… something else.”

A tingle runs down his spine, and he feels a prickling, as goosebumps stand up all over his body. His mother rarely speaks about these things, and never in front of his father. It’s like there’s another side to her, something beyond his understanding, something she hides from the world. He can never predict when she will say something fantastical… but when she does, he feels a thirst, as though part of him needs to understand her in order to know himself.

‘One of these mornin’s... you’re gonna rise up singin’...
You’re gonna spread your little wings... and you’ll take to the sky...
But till that mornin’... there ain’t nothin’ gonna harm you...
With your Mama and Daddy... standin’ by...’

The door slammed as Jerry the Punk came back in, and sat across from Chez. He slid an envelope over.

“Julie Farkas wants you to handle this,” Jerry said. “Came in with an army caravan this morning.”

Chez picked the envelope up. It was heavy, official-looking, and bore the stamp of the NCR military. It was addressed to the Followers, and the return address was… Fort Golf.

There was no question of slipping away from the present moment now. He was very firmly back on solid ground.

Gomorrah, Zoara Club - Dominic "Fat Dom" Omerta

“Pleasures all mine Mr. Dominic. I truly appreciate you opening up the Gomorrah to me so early in the day. It was a spectacular experience I was greeted with upon my arrival this morning. Likewise,” he took a drag and exhaled to the side away from the Don. “I want to thank you sincerely for the greeting my escort and I were given upon our arrival to the Strip last night. As I’m sure you are aware we were not so kindly received on our entrance to Freeside.”

Dominic nodded as Sally swiftly returned carrying a tray filled with two large slices of cake which she deposited in front of the Don and Benny. She also set down a cup of coffee in front of the NCR Ambassador.

“Oh yes I heard about that,” Dominic sighed as he excitedly dug into the cake with his fork, “ I assume your man was given some reason to turn that mercenary into all of swiss cheese, but if not, I’m sure he won’t be missed. Luckily those particular guards were not Omerta,” The Don said casually, stuffing a slice of the cake into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, “Although, to be honest I’m not sure Freeside will be as forgiving about it...they tend to be a bit more…tribal…about these things. Well, in any case, I’m still glad we could right that little wrong and give you a proper welcome.”

“Especially your employee…the lady Lucrezia. She is quite the woman, you should be proud to have her in your staff. She represents your business and your interests well.”

“Why thank you, I’m happy to hear you say that. Hey, I’m told she has quite a high opinion of you as well…maybe a little toooo high… ” Dominic laughed heartily, then slapped the Ambassador lightly on the shoulder, “Ah I’m just bustin’ your balls. Actually I’m more proud than you can imagine my friend. Lucy is a firecracker, a fighter through and through. I’d like to say she gets it all from me, but the truth is her mother was quite the pistol….nearly shot me the day we met if you can believe it. HA! Needless to say, Lucy will make a fine leader for the Omertas when it’s time for her old man to retire and grow old and fat…or rather grow fatter and older. Eh?”

“I hope the cake is to your liking sir. The barista at the Ultra Luxe refused to let me pay for it when I informed him who it was for. I’m assuming you have a connection with that casino as well?”

“Oh you ain’t heard? Bah..I’m surprised, word gets around fast here but maybe not fast enough for the Embassy,,” Dominic replied with a sly wink, “The White Gloves and the Omertas are going to be one big-happy family soon. Marjorie, their leader, is soon to be my wife. Oh boy let me tell you…it’s going to be quite the event. That woman has done nothing but wedding plan since I gave her the ring. Don’t you worry, you’ll certainly get an invite.”

“In any case I hope we can be candid with each other and open up an easy line of dialogue. You’re the first family representative to invite me to a parlay upon my arrival. I’m sure you’re curious about annexation, taxation and what all the NCR has planned for New Vegas. I will answer these questions to the best of my knowledge and as far as my professional discretion allows. However,” Benny leaned in close. “I want to assure you that the president has no intention of dismantling the authority held by the families of the Strip. It is only with mutual respect between our organizations that we can make this annexation a painless process.”

Dominic suddenly sat down his fork and looked up at Benny, his steel-gray eyes boring into the Ambassador with an uncomfortable intensity, as if to subtly warn him about taking the veteran criminal leader for a fool. He did not appear angry, nor even disappointed, but instead just seemed oddly serene. Nobody in New Vegas, not even the Chairmen with all their blind trust in old Not-At-Home, would believe any part of the lie that the Ambassador had just told. The NCR never recognized any authority but its own.

There was probably some sort of wise cautionary tale to be remembered here: about how foolish it was be to try to beat the devil at his own game with a lie….and inside his own home.

All of a sudden though Dominic’s expression lightened and he gave him a smile that rapidly grew into a wide jovial grin, “Ahh, that’s good to hear. Very good to hear. I must admit that we’re all very concerned about what our NCR friends have in store for us. Tell me Benny, man to man, what does the NCR have in mind for New Vegas? What do you see for Sin City in our future?”

Veteran Ranger Richard Holmes - Fort Gulf - Afternoon, October 17th

Richard carefully rolled another cigarette and offered it to Gloriana as they waited. The last of SSG Keyes' squad was assembled behind them and were being briefed about the escort. The sun was high and beamed down hot on the soldiers gathered before the gates of the fort. There was a slight breeze but not enough to keep the sweat away and Richard wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his oil slick duster before returning the wide-brimmed hat to his head. Between him and Gloriana was their prisoner. A young man with his arms ahead of him and bound together at the wrists. Two leads branched out from his bindings, one of them held by Richard, the other by Gloriana. Ahead of them were two of her Rough Riders who would serve as forward scouts for the escort. Richard looked down at the young man, a linen hood made from a sack covered his head and eyes. He wore a jumpsuit with the sleeves of the forearms cut off and the zipper removed. He had been granted a pair of boots and rough spun wool socks for the journey but they would be taken upon his arrival at NCRCF.

As Keyes finished the briefing, Richard gave the all clear sign to the watchmen ahead and the chain link gate was slid open. As one the company of soldiers moved out and headed due west across the Mojave. There was sparse chatter among the infantry mostly about the previous night they had spent on the Strip. Richard noticed several of them were especially quiet and sullen. Bad luck at the tables he had guessed, sooner or later Vegas got the best of everyone. Only way to win was not to play, that's why Richard never entered the city unless on an official mission. He lit himself a cigarette and puffed it slowly as they made their way southwest along the road. In all their years spent together Denver’s conservative beliefs had begun to rub off on Richard but smoking, he took a long drag, that was something he would never quit.

He looked at Gloriana, her eyes focused on the road ahead. She had been quieter than he’d seen her before and hadn’t asked many details about the mission but she had raised an eyebrow at seeing the size of the escort provided for a single prisoner. Richard had wanted to tell her the identity of the young man, that he was a Brotherhood captive but Denver had expressly forbidden it. He understood why they couldn’t allow that information to get out, especially with Denver’s command over the region in question now more than ever with the new president. Richard trusted Gloriana and he knew Denver did as well and that trust was hard earned. They had all served as rangers together and saved each other's skin more times than any of them would like to admit. But years of command had taken their toll on Denver and he had become ever more grim and morose. Gloriana too, after Teresa’s death in the battle for Hoover Dam she had become withdrawn, her smile ever harder to find. Richard understood and he held sympathy for both of them, God knew that few others did.

“It’s gonna be a long ride, Gloriana. Care to let me in a bit?” He was careful with his choice of words and kept a soft but even tone. Richard genuinely wanted to know what aggrieved her but he knew they must be careful with their speech with the prisoner between them. “I heard ya’ll just came back from hunting just south of the Mojave. I appreciate you recovering so quickly and joining us out here. It's good to see an old friend. I get sick of looking at Denver frown every day.” He said with a dry chuckle. Richard looked out ahead of them and saw the outline of the Follower’s Outpost in the distance. It was gonna be a long day.

Sentinel Derek Irving- Hidden Valley Bunker

Sentinel Irving stood next to Head Paladin Hardin in the radio comms room, looking down over a map of the Mojave with various pins sticking in it. He always preferred to lead from the field rather than hidden away in a bunker. Even so, he was able to recognize the need to coordinate forces from a command center, and this particular instance definitely called for it. This was going to be a busy day for the Brotherhood. They were performing simultaneous several surface operations in broad daylight, making preparations for what would lie ahead. Their surface teams consisted of knights and scribes, disguised as wastelanders, with a few eyebots. Encrypted radio signals, routed through the Black Mountain facility, would be their means of communication with the bunker. Even so, their orders were to use radio minimally.

The Sentinel was still looking over the map. It had four locations pinned- Primm, NCRCF, REPCONN headquarters, and the Strip.. With the Brotherhood's presence no longer a secret, they needed to be able to act, and to act, they needed intel. Irving was looking over the map locations when one of the teams radioed back.

"This is Veronica. I've got all of your Brahmin Burger orders, I'm heading home now."

"Knowing Veronica, that means she's completed her objective without any problems," Hardin remarked, unsure if the Sentinel was already familiar with how goofy that particular scribe could be.

Despite Irving's frustration with Veronica's tendency to joke around in very serious situations, this was good news. Since the Battle of Helios One, Veronica probably had spent more time on the surface than the rest of the chapter combined. Irving didn't like risking her for grocery duty when the NCR had clearly caught their scent, but that was why they had sent her to Primm. She already had a bit of a reputation in the town as a tinker and scavenger. In fact, it was in Primm, and by Veronica's hand, that the Brotherhood obtained the Enclave's prototype Eyebot, an act that may have very well convinced the western Elders of the worth and usefulness of the Mojave chapter.

"We can't risk her doing this routinely," Irving remarked. "The NCR will notice, but it should help buy us some time while we sort out..."

He was interrupted by one of the radios crackling to life.

"Command, this is Kristof. Surveillance completed. Awaiting further orders."

"Hardin, what is your assessment of the NCR presence in the Mojave?" the Sentinel asked the Head Paladin.

"You're referring to Colonel Abernathy's 3rd Infantry Battalion? They are a far cry from the mismanaged conscripts that made up much of the NCR's occupying forces at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam," Hardin answered. "They've spent the last several years occupying the Mojave without support from either the NCR or the local population, so most of them are hardened veterans."

"However," Hardin continued, "Much of the 3rd's military might is tied up maintaining order. He and his troops are very unpopular with the local population, so Abernathy must commit many of his troops to keeping them under control. If we were to face him, he could not bring the full strength of the 3rd against us without inviting considerable unrest among the locals. If he were to sustain enough casualties, or if his army's grip on the region was otherwise weakened, his ability to project his forces would be diminished even further."

"And what of the Van Graffs?" the Sentinel asked. "What do you think of them?"

"Filthy arms dealers," Hardin replied in a disgusted tone. "Back when we first went underground, their only presence in the city was a small weapons facility in Freeside, but the Elder refused to allow me to take action even when it became clear that the NCR did not have the strength to stop us. Now there's a damned Van Graff president in California, and those in the Mojave are sitting on the REPCONN Headquarters and whatever pre-war tech that may have survived the bombs."

"Yes, they're definitely a serious threat," the Sentinel remarked. "On a regional scale, their energy weapons could provide any fool with enough caps a weapon that can potentially punch through power armor. On a larger scale, they have the NCR's army at their beck and call. And...on a global scale, I fear they may be foolish enough to meddle in forces that they do not comprehend, like the Green. Abernathy may be ruthless, but he and his troops have experienced firsthand the ruination that playing with The Green will bring and so far appear to have learned their lesson. The Van Graffs back in California, by contrast, have not."

The radio once again crackled to life.

"This is Redmond. Surveillance completed. Awaiting further orders."

"I wonder, though- if the Van Graffs were to assert their authority in the Mojave, would Abernathy comply?" Irving asked. "He and his battalion predate the Van Graff administration, and they've been been cut off from the NCR for quite some time. Long enough to discard many of the NCR's purported values. Long enough to forge bonds between each other rather than their distant rulers."

"Do you truly believe that the Colonel might resist?" Hardin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure, but it's happened before in the Brotherhood," Irving answered. "But if we are able to avoid uniting them against us, it would be to our benefit, especially if..."

"It's your son again. The Strip is really something. If you're important enough, you'd never have to actually sleep in your own bed."

"That's all of them," Hardin reported, glancing at the scribe operating the radios, then at the Sentinel. "What are your orders?"

"Recall Kristof and Redmond back to base," he ordered. "And...inform Sato and Hoss to keep a radio tuned to that strange signal we picked up. If it fires up again, I want to triangulate it."

Edit: Double post.

Ambassador Benjamin “Benny” Watts - Gomorrah - Morning, October 17th

Benny nearly choked on his coffee when Dominic mentioned Lucy being his daughter. He hadn’t expected the Omerta family to be a literal genetic family and the revelation of that information startled him. First the Bishops, then the Van-Graffs and now the Omertas, why couldn’t he get away from families of gangsters? Benny cursed his luck but was able to play it off. Wiping his mouth he uneasily made a joke about the temperature of the coffee and took a bite of the cake to wash it down. He had greatly underestimated Dominic. The man filled his ranks with his own children and was now marrying the head of one of the other families. Dominic wasn’t just some gang leader in a suit, the man was angling to become lord of Vegas. He wouldn’t be a speed bump for the Van-Graffs to roll over, he was a wall. A very thick wall that would be hell to break down.

When Benny tried to reassure Dominic that his authority would not be dismantled the Don grew quiet for a moment. He looked oddly serene and stared directly at Benny who smiled nervously. Then all of a sudden Dominic’s expression lightened and he gave a smile that rapidly grew into a wide jovial grin.

“Ahh, that’s good to hear. Very good to hear. I must admit that we’re all very concerned about what our NCR friends have in store for us. Tell me Benny, man to man, what does the NCR have in mind for New Vegas? What do you see for Sin City in our future?”

Benny had thankfully taken another bite of cake, it would give him a few moments to conjure up a response. He needed to walk a fine line between truth and fiction. Dominic clearly wasn’t the fat fool he wanted to present as and Benny knew that the old gangster would see through any blatant lie. However, Benny wouldn’t be able to tell the whole truth of what he knew and get to walk out of the casino after. At best they’d used him as a hostage, at worst they’d kill him in this very room. Thankfully Brianna had kept her cards close and since he was only a pawn in their schemes he wasn’t privy to the full plans the Van-Graffs held for New Vegas. If he could simply play into his ignorance and offer what secrets he did know then he just might get out of here with his life and dignity.

“Well Mr. Dominic, as a territory of the republic the Mojave has been able to benefit from the protection provided by the military for the past few years without paying taxes. One of our first orders of business would be the implementation of a tax bureau for the region in order to facilitate the effective taxation of business and settlements. Of course, as the population center of the region,Vegas itself would be subject to republic taxation as well. The exact rate and scale of this taxation is beyond my purview and is, as I understand, yet to be determined. I’m sure after careful consultation with yourself and the other family heads we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. As for plans for the city itself, the president has expressed to me her desire to keep Vegas as an oasis. An outlet for citizens and travelers to entertain themselves and enjoy a respite from day to day affairs. Obviously some of the rougher edges, like Freeside, would need to be smoothed out but overall I believe there is great promise here. The influence of the Green on the city has thankfully been limited to its wider suburbs and a few isolated locations as I am aware. This is good as with a growing influx of republic citizenry in the area there can be a concentrated effort on limiting further growth.” Benny had started to ramble a bit and it was intentional, he wanted to bury the lies within the truth. He spoke quickly, giving Dominic no chance to respond to his individual points and hoping to overwhelm him with information.

“Obviously the greatest asset of the Mojave remains the Hoover Dam and Helios One. These are essential generators of power for both the NCR and New Vegas.” He motioned to himself and then Dominic. “Over the past several weeks the president has reassigned many of the engineers and advisors stationed at these sites. They have been replaced with those from the La Brea Institute, a state-sponsored research center from back west. The current division in the Mojave is headed by a Dr. Zupan who arrived at Helios One sometime last week. Currently both these sites are protected by infantry under the command of Col. Abernathy. Now, the president and I both are aware that the colonel has created…well lets just say a hostile relationship with many in the region. As an act of good faith to the people of the Mojave and Vegas in the next few weeks the president will issue a changing of the guard order for those infantrymen. Going forward both the Hoover Dam and Helios One will be under the protection of the Van-Graff corporate security forces.” This was the nugget of truth Benny offered. A valuable piece of knowledge that only a few knew. The Don would be smart enough to realize how sensitive this information was and though Benny didn’t trust the gangster he knew it was in Dominic’s best interest to keep quiet about it. He hoped the revelation of this secret would distract from the other more worrying lies he had slipped in. Benny smiled slyly as he dropped this information.

“Now that last part is hush-hush for now Mr. Dominic, so it would be in both our interests if this information didn’t get leaked before the transfer happened. The president is expecting that the colonel will not be happy with this information so we hope to catch him by surprise before he can react or resist. The CSF is well trained and well equipped and will be more than able to protect these valuable sites. My own security detail consists of CSF agents and I’m sure Lucy let you know that they are not to be underestimated. Come to think of it, upon our arrival last night I saw several mercenaries with your own men that were outfitted with similar gear. I didn’t recognize them, but then again, guns for hire aren’t too uncommon out here on the frontier.” Benny smiled again, he had found his verbal footing and felt more confident than before. He patted around his coat but realized he had left his cigarettes at the embassy.

“I hate to be trouble Mr. Dominic but do you have anything I could smoke?”

Freeside - Santelli’s Deli, Abraham “Honest Abe” Rockford - Sniffing out a Con

Rockford took a long drag on his cigarette as he walked down the broken sidewalk of some nameless filth-covered street in Freeside. He kept his free hand stuffed in his pocket fingering the handle of a loaded snub nose .44, a necessary precaution venturing anywhere in the ghetto. Even an Omerta enforcer had to keep his wits about him, because while the Omertas had plenty of friends in Freeside, that was no guarantee that some foolhardy idiot wasn’t going to try his luck anyway.

Generally if you kept to the Boulevard and the area of Fremont Street itself, then you were relatively safe. Plenty of mercenaries and Omerta-hired goons patrolled those two streets escorting tourists to and from the strip. Once you started venturing off from that well-trodden path though? Well that’s where things got interesting.

As he continued down the street, Rockford stepped over the body of some poor schmuck lying face down in a puddle of his own making. Seemed obvious that the guy had OD’d at some point recently, given the empty syringes littering the ground around him. Rockford stooped down and observed the detritus, giving a rueful smile as he realized it was all Omerta-made. That wasn’t surprising though, most if not all the chems flowing into Freeside and Outer Vegas were somehow connected to his family. He felt a twinge of guilt at seeing how young the guy looked, but swiftly pushed it aside. Someone in his position couldn’t afford to feel sympathy for these addicts, otherwise he’d be spilling his heart out all over Vegas.

As he walked away, he looked behind him and saw some opportunistic guttersnipe run over to the corpse and start rummaging through the dead man’s pockets, then the kid kicked the body and ran off having apparently found nothing of value.

Just another day in Freeside, Rockford thought bitterly.

He tossed his spent cigarette to the side just as he arrived at his destination. It was a small red-bricked building that was squashed between two dilapidated apartment buildings. A large red and white sign above it read “Satriale's Pork Store” but that had been crossed out several times by crude streaks of black paint and underneath it, in bright bold red letters, was spelled out the place's new name “Santelli’s Deli”. Outside of the place, a few rough-looking men and women in tattered leather jackets and t-shirts wielding baseball bats were loitering around. They all sported tattoos and a wide variety of garish hairstyles that would not be out of place among raiders. As Rockford approached, one particular thug who looked like the leader of this misfit gang gave him a friendly nod, then opened the door for him.

Wanna-be gangsters, Rockford thought as he stepped inside, Probably somewhere on the Omerta payroll.

“Oh, hey Abe,” A rough voice greeted him as Rockford entered the worn-out interior of the deli. A ghoul in a blood-stained appron stepped around the counter, “Guess you got my message?”

“I did,” Abe nodded as he pulled out his red notepad, “So..what’d you got for me Tony?”

“Well I might have overhead somethin’ a couple nights ago,” The old ghoul said as he scratched at his necrotic chin, “Had a guy in here - well dressed. I figured he was a tourist at first, which was odd because tourists don’t come out this way - I only ever get locals. Anyways…I strike up a conversation with him and ask if he’s new around here: he says that used to live in Westside. I asked him, well then what do you do because you’ve got some fine fancy digs. Then I asked, ‘You workin’ for a casino?’”

“What did he say to that?”

“Eh he kinda chuckled weirdly at that then said, kinda, and that he’s got gig that he runs up on the strip. I asked him what kind of gig: he says ‘the kind that makes me a butt-load of money without having to lift a finger.’ I says to him, well that sounds like a good deal for you then. And he says ‘yeah it is, but not for the suckers.’”

“Suckers?” Rockford asked, eyebrow raised.

“I figured he meant tourists,” Tony replied with a shrug, “You know, gamblers and what-not. So anyway, he pays for his meat and leaves and I don’t think much of it, until I heard your little APB this morning..Got to thinking maybe it was connected.”

“Certainly sounds like it could be,” Rockford nodded thoughtfully as he jotted down a few notes, “Get a good look at him?”

“Yeah I did, scrawny little fuck with blue eyes. Maybe 25 years old, with a scar on his left hand.”

“Was there anyone with him?”

Tony shook his head, “Nah just his lonesome.”

“Alright well that’s something to go off,” Rockford said, giving the ghoulish butcher an appreciative nod, “Thanks Tony, I’ll check into it. Give my best to the Mrs. eh?”

“I’ll do that thank yeh,” Tony said with a grin, “And please, tell Mr. Dominic that business has been good lately. Gotten plenty of customers for that new party chem your Family is cookin’ up. Could use another shipment soon actually.”

“I’ll make sure one gets sent,” Rockford said, tipping his hat, “See ya around Tony.”

Rockford stepped back out of the Deli while reaching for another cigarette as he considered what to do with the information Tony had given him. It wasn’t much, and it was entirely possible it was completely unrelated, but he’d heard nothing else from any of his contacts so far. So it was truly his best lead, or rather, it was his only lead.

“Going somewhere Mister?” One of the female gangsters asked with a cock of her tattoo’d head, almost as soon as he stepped out the door, “You with The Family right?”

“Maybe, what's it to you?” Rockford replied. He reached for his lighter and lit up on his cigarette. He puffed steadily on it and narrowed his eyes at the unlikely quartet. All their eyes seemed to light up, and they eager looked to one another with excited expressions,

“Oh man I knew it,” One of the males said with a goofy grin.

“Hey’d we’d be…uh…honored to escort you around Freeside,” the female wanna-be continued, “And anything else we can do for you….just let us know.”

“I don’t need an escort,” Rockford replied, blowing smoke in their direction. Their expressions sunk for a brief moment as they no doubt thought perhaps they’d lost out on a chance to impress their criminal overlords, but then Rockford gave a grin, “But I might have some other uses for you. Interested in a little undercover work?”

The gangsters' smiles returned.

“Anything for the Omertas.”

Zoara Club VIP Lounge, Don Dominic - The Benny Situation

Dominic listened with a bored expression as Benny rattled off a long list of planned bureaucratic changes to the Mojave. He wanted to give Benny the immediate impression that nothing of what he said interested him, or that he simply had no interest in the politics of it all or the machinations of a national scale that far outclassed his own simple criminal ambitions.

The reality was nothing could be farther from the truth. He hung on Benny’s every word as the neurotic ambassador rambled off the so-called 'vision' for the future. Some parts of which were undoubtedly half-truths or even outright lies, but even under that consideration the plans Benny laid out infuriated him to no end. He’d expected Benny to lie, to give some indication of how the Strip and the Mojave wouldn’t *really* change, but the Ambassador had not seemed to bother with that. Or rather, the lie he told wasn’t even attempting to placate or assuage doubts about the continued autonomy of Vegas. If this was what Benny was attempting to spin to him, what was the NCR’s actual plan?

None of that will come to pass, Dominic wanted to growl out. He wanted to punch Benny’s face in and have his men haul him off to a fate worse than death. The Legion used to crucify their victims, leave them up on that cross of wood for days on end before they expired, that seemed a fitting punishment for the little weasel sitting before him. With a snap of his finger it could happen, Benny could disappear, and some excuse could be cooked up to the NCR brass about how their new Ambassador ran into an unfortunate bit of ‘trouble’ after he’d wandered into Freeside unadvisedly. Excuses would be made, apologies would be offered, palms would be greased, and retribution would be forgotten.

Yet, much to his chagrin, he couldn’t, not yet anyway: not now.

So instead he had to play along.

His ears perked up at the mention of CSF security taking over control of key NCR installations in lieu of Colonel Abernathy’s own men. It was a strange bit of information to add, and it immediately got him intrigued. Had Abernathy finally lost the support of the NCR brass back home? Or was something else afoot here?

“I hate to be trouble Mr. Dominic but do you have anything I could smoke?” Benny asked as he patted down his suit in search of a pack of cigarettes.

Dominic smiled and reached into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a long black slender object that looked not unlike the handle of a blade, then offered it up to Benny in one smooth motion which, had it been a knife, could have torn into the Ambassador’s chest. Instead, Dominic pressed a button on the case and a cigarette popped out like a switch. He offered it up to the Ambassador, then took one for himself.

He then stuffed the case back into his jacket and withdrew a gold-plated lighter and flipped it open. He lit Benny’s cigarette before igniting his own. Smoke wafted around them as the two sat in silence for a few brief moments while they both enjoyed the flavor of the pristine pre-war tobacco.

Finally, Dominic broke the silence, giving a slight shrug as he stared at Benny,

“Omerta,” He explained, “Means silence. You have my word, the Colonel won’t hear about it from me. Though I am curious why you’d trust me at all, I’m frankly flattered that you’d think little ol’ me important enough to hear details of what is obviously going to be a very sensitive operation before they even happen,” Dominic drew on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke calmly through the right side of his mouth, “But honestly, why should there would be any cause for concern at all? Colonel Abernathy is a loyal NCR man is he not? A patriot? Surely you aren’t suggesting he’d be capable of some sort of rebellion?”

Ambassador Benjamin “Benny” Watts - Gomorrah - Morning, October 17th

Benny was surprised when Dominic pulled forth what he assumed was the handle of the stiletto blade and angled it close to his chest. However, the Don pressed some hidden button on the object and it vomited forth a cigarette. Benny chuckled and took it gingerly. It was longer than usual, not unlike a cigarillo and he ran it under his nose to get a good whiff. It smelled strong and earthy with a hint of something almost spiced.

“Smells delicious.” He smiled.

The old gangster smiled and he pulled out a gold-plated lighter. He lit Benny’s cigarette and then his own. For a moment the two men smoked in silence and Benny felt himself transported to New Reno. Sitting in a dimly lit lounge with Mr. Bishop, it made him uncomfortable and he was relieved when Dominic broke the tension.

“Omerta. Means silence. You have my word, the Colonel won’t hear about it from me. Though I am curious why you’d trust me at all, I’m frankly flattered that you’d think little ol’ me important enough to hear details of what is obviously going to be a very sensitive operation before they even happen,” Dominic drew on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke calmly through the right side of his mouth, “But honestly, why should there would be any cause for concern at all? Colonel Abernathy is a loyal NCR man is he not? A patriot? Surely you aren’t suggesting he’d be capable of some sort of rebellion?”

Benny scoffed, “Rebellion? Not at all. While I haven’t met the Colonel personally I can attest he is a loyal son of the Republic. Very few members of the NCR military have been afforded the autonomy and power he was given with his governorship of the Mojave. The fact he hasn’t abused that power is, I believe, a clear indicator of his allegiance to the state. However,” Benny stated uneasily “As I am sure you are well aware through your own experience, when you give a man power and independence. He can sometimes be reluctant to see it lessen.” He emphasized the final word. Benny took a long drag and exhaled before a sip of coffee. The flavor of the bitter-acidic coffee paired well with the full flavor of the cigarette.

“To be quite frank Mr. Dominic I tell you this information because I know how important the Dam and Helios is to your operation here. Without the power provided by those facilities, well the caps won’t exactly be rolling in if those slot machines aren’t running and people can’t see those dancers on stage. I believe a wise businessman such as yourself is invested in knowing how these facilities are protected and by whom. As private contractors the CSF agents assigned to the security of these posts will be afforded a greater amount of discretion in how they apply force.” Benny hoped the indication was clear. There would be no warnings, no arrests made. Trespassers would be shot. He took another drag and before Dominic could say anything he pivoted the conversation.

“I came here today to do more than just establish a dialogue between the Van-Graff administration and the families of the Strip. I believe, and I hope you’ll agree, that the future stability and profitability of the Mojave relies on a strong central authority here in Vegas. Through your actions you have clearly made strides in securing swathes of this city under the control of the Omerta family. I hope that as things change and we move closer to annexation the Van-Graff administration can rely upon their friends at the Gomorrah to step in when certain misguided individuals show objection to the obvious betterment of the city and territory at large.” Benny gave him a politician's smile, full of nice white teeth.

Gomorrah Zoara Club, Dominic Omerta

Benny scoffed, “Rebellion? Not at all. While I haven’t met the Colonel personally I can attest he is a loyal son of the Republic. Very few members of the NCR military have been afforded the autonomy and power he was given with his governorship of the Mojave. The fact he hasn’t abused that power is, I believe, a clear indicator of his allegiance to the state. However,” Benny stated uneasily “As I am sure you are well aware through your own experience, when you give a man power and independence. He can sometimes be reluctant to see it lessen.”

“Ah that’s very true. Especially when that man has the complete loyalty, love, and full backing of a own personal army that he has shepherded through trials and tribulations on the frontier,” Dominic leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag on his cigarette, and giving Benny a wry smile as he exhaled the smoke, “The loyalty of such a man, of course, is beyond dispute.”

Benny then talked about how the CSF would have far more discretion in application of force, a fact that didn’t surprise Dominic in the slightest. But a more salient point that Benny almost certainly would never admit to directly was that it also gave the NCR plausible deniability when such force was actually applied in….unofficial ways.

It was a sound tactic, and one he was very familiar with. The mercenaries he hired for Vegas were always a very convenient option when he needed to keep Omerta involvement to a minimum. Sometimes you just needed someone else’s fingerprints on the guns.

“I came here today to do more than just establish a dialogue between the Van-Graff administration and the families of the Strip. I believe, and I hope you’ll agree, that the future stability and profitability of the Mojave relies on a strong central authority here in Vegas. Through your actions you have clearly made strides in securing swathes of this city under the control of the Omerta family. I hope that as things change and we move closer to annexation the Van-Graff administration can rely upon their friends at the Gomorrah to step in when certain misguided individuals show objection to the obvious betterment of the city and territory at large.”

“Oh I completely agree,” Dominic laughed warmly and gave Benny an approving nod, “And of course, of course, you and the NCR can always rely on my family when called upon. I said it before and I’ll say it again, anything you need, you just let ol’ Dom know, eh?”

Dominic took a few more drags on his cigarette, then smashed the remained of it into a nearby ashtray,

“Well that was a fine conversation Benny,” Dominic said with a grin as he stood up from his seat, “Hell I wouldn’t mind sitting and chatting all day, but I’m afraid I’ve got other things to attend to this morning and I’m sure you do as well. Shit I’m sure we could both sit here all day smoking like chimneys and eatin’ some of that fine cake of yours and play hooky on our responsibilities....oh well, maybe another time eh?”

Benny smiled and nodded.

“Indeed Mr. Dominic, I find your company, familiar, to say the least. Please don’t hesitate to contact me again if you find yourself needing some assistance from the Van-Graff administration. We are always happy to assist our friends in New Vegas. Simply send any requests through Miss Gutierrez” Benny paused for a moment as he stubbed out his cigarette. “On that note I would like to ask for a minor favor before I depart. Miss Gutierrez seems to be one of the only competent employees left in the embassy. The majority of them are no doubt holdovers from previous administrations and representative of their failures. If you know of any competent trustworthy individuals looking for employment please do not hesitate to send them our way. I do realize it's quite a big task. After all, finding someone trustworthy in this city is no doubt like finding water in the desert. And yet,” he smiled large and white “Here we are.”

“Now,” Dominic continued, giving Benny a friendly pat on the back, “I hope you know I’m not about to kick you out of my Casino though. Please, stay as long as you like, take whatever food or drink you’d like, and hook up with any working girl, or two, or three, that catches your eye. And of course….you’ve got a complimentary penthouse suit in Gomorrah that you’re free to use whenever, and however you like. Not a bad gig Mr. Ambassador,” Dominic said with a wink, “But if Gomorrah isn’t your speed and you’d prefer the Ultra Luxe…well no harm no foul…hell you’d be making my fiance’ a very happy woman, so just let someone over there know and they’ll set you up right quick. Tell em’ Dom sent ya.”

“Well I am partial to the splendors of life. However, it would be best for myself and my office if I kept my nose clean, at least for now.” Benny gave teh old gangster a wink. “I’m sure once I get settled and sorted within the month I can find the time to fully enjoy the liberties offered at your fine establishments.”

“Pleased to have met you Benny, my door is always open if you need anything. You know your way out?"

“The pleasure is all mine sir.” Benny shook his hand “I’m sure I can trust one of your associates to help me find my way out.” Benny tipped his head toward the Don. “Till next we meet.”

"Goodbye and arrivederci my friend.” Dominic showed Benny to the door of the club and once the Ambassador had left, he turned back to
the red-headed waitress.

“Sally, fill up my plate,” He growled, as he sat back down at the table, “I need to think, and I don’t plan on doing that on an empty stomach.”

Chez Nathan – I-15 – Early Afternoon, October 17th

The wind ruffled Chez’s hair as the carts trundled along the highway, wheels clattering against potholes in the road now and again.

He sat by the canvas opening in the rear, staring at the road. He had watched until New Vegas faded into the distance - at least the city proper, not its garish high towers, which reared into the sky like monuments to man’s hubris.

How apt, he thought. Here I am, being carried towards the future by other people, staring back at the way we came. I got them Old World Blues, sure enough.

He could have made the trip more quickly riding one of the horses the Followers had offered him - anything involving the 3rd Battalion’s officers was a priority, and Chez was senior enough to access almost any of the Followers’ resources - but he’d never been that comfortable on horseback. Besides, the prospect of riding into one of Denver’s bases on his own spooked him more than he cared to admit to himself.

Once he’d indicated his wish to bring a few bodyguards and medics, it had made sense for them to requisition a couple of carts. It wasn’t an unreasonable request – the roads had generally become safer wherever Denver’s men patrolled, especially near settlements, but more remote stretches were always risky. Chez was now one of the higher-ranking members of an organisation that shunned ranks, and sending a small team to protect him as well as indicate his importance had been Julie Farkas’ intention to begin with.

Chez thought, And if they also make me feel safer around Denver’s soldiers, so much the better.

The mid-October weather was pleasant: not oppressive, but warm enough that he could feel heat wafting from the bitumen’s surface like heat from a clay oven. Waves shimmered off the plains in the distance. Much as Chez thought himself a city boy, much as he loved the colour and character of Vegas’ concrete jungles, he could see the appeal of the desert on days like this. Just a road, stretching pure and clean into the distance, the wind at your back, blue sky above.

He missed having Ronnie beside him, though he knew the Followers who accompanied him were just as deadly as the Kings’ best men. It was too risky taking their Kings guards into an NCR military base, too likely to spark altercations on either side. The Followers had also lost many people in the Freeside riots, but officially they were neutral. They were always neutral.

For though I be free from all men, yet have I made myself servant unto all, that I might gain the more… I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some.

“Cap for your thoughts, Dr Nathan.”

The speaker was Beth Jansen, a farm girl turned combat medic. Chez had worked with her occasionally on both medical rounds and aid shifts, and he always appreciated her presence. She was respectful without being self-deprecating, did her job efficiently, and somehow remained cheerful and kind to both co-workers and the people she helped, regardless of how much stress they were under.

Chez smiled. “It’s Dr Nathan now, is it, Dr Jansen?”

“All right, I’ll drop your title if you’ll drop mine.”

“Agreed. And my thoughts aren’t worth a cap, I’m afraid. Just enjoying the big open space of the road, and trying to make the space between my ears just as empty.”

“Judging by your face, you ain’t doing too good a job.”

Chez smiled. “All right, you got me.” Concealing his emotions had always been difficult - another reason he always thought he’d make a terrible diplomat. The Followers had always believed in promoting people with expertise, even if they lacked political acumen. The idea that leaders could create effective change by explaining all the facts very clearly, being honest and direct, and fostering an open exchange of information in order to build consensus, was another one of the Followers’ quirks. Despite their scientific bent, there were some hypotheses that died hard with the Followers - mostly those connected to the fundamental goodness of human beings. They had countless data showing that selfish, amoral sociopaths performed well in politics, but they refused to give this up.

“I’m stressed, Beth. I don’t know what the military wants with us, but I don’t think it’s to sit down and discuss alleviating poverty and recycling sewage.”

Beth exhaled slowly. “I’m glad to hear you say that. A lot of folks think you’re too trusting with the NCR. I’ve worked with you, Chez, I know you’re not stupid.”

“But you’re wondering why I’ve taken a stupid stance on the NCR?”

“No! I’m the last person who thinks that. I understand the logic of your position precisely. That’s why I’m behind you. I’ve seen you work on patients, I’ve seen you at triage. You know when to take the soft approach, and when to slash and burn. You’re trying to heal the rift between us and the NCR, while Lettie wants to amputate completely. I trust your judgement.”

“I’m not sure you should. Medical decisions are one thing. I can say that I’m confident in my diagnoses. Politics is a different beast. It’s not my area of expertise.”

“Don’t put yourself down,” said Beth. “Listen, I grew up on a bighorn ranch. My folks knew a whole lot about farming and how to live a decent, clean life. They didn’t know about much else, and they didn’t care to. So when I joined up with the Followers and decided I wanted to do medicine, I had to learn everything from scratch. I know how huge the gaps in my knowledge were.

"I didn’t have a dad like yours. He didn’t just teach you medicine. You had access to his whole library, and it all went into your brain, Chez. You may not think you’ve been using it, but trust me, I’ve seen it in practice. When you speak, when you form opinions, when you explain something, I hear the wisdom of the Old World. That’s not something a lot of folks have, not even in the NCR.”

“Well, that is gratifying to hear. But there’s theory, and then there’s real-world experience--”

“Listen to me. Since we got to Freeside, we’ve almost been wiped out by the NCR. We rebuilt our alliance with the Kings. We’ve negotiated contracts with merchants and trade caravans, we’ve bribed and begged to stay on the good side of the Families, or at least stop them from taking an unhealthy interest in us. We’ve managed to build community, train and educate people, even work with the NCR. All while managing the dissension in our own ranks.

"You think you don’t have political experience? Anyone who’s stayed alive in Vegas as long as we have has taken a crash course in politics, Chez. We weren’t just practicing medicine or education or science all those years, we were learning how to negotiate our own survival. And you were there every step of the way. Hell, you were even leading us half the time -- leading from behind, in your own way, not trying to convince anyone else, but just being yourself. And you had no idea how much other people looked to you for guidance, even when you were just minding your own business.”

Chez smiled at her again, a smile of genuine pleasure and warmth this time. “Thanks, Beth. We may be riding into Hell, but I’m glad I’ve got you at my back. And all these other good people, too.”

Beth scoffed and slid a hand down to her holster. “Riding into Hell? Baby, we live in Vegas. Hell won’t know what’s hit it.”

Kedi - North of Black Mountain - After Midnight October 18th

Kedi crawled low and slow along the ridgeline as he followed the path of Khan in front of him. He was the second of eight and together they snaked their way closer to the NCR camp ahead. It was an auspicious night. The waxing moon above was covered by dense clouds that had rolled off Black Mountain, blanketing the Khans in the steely black of night. The lead Khan, Angel, felt his way forward and those behind followed his exact path. It was a terribly slow process and it had taken them hours to go only two hundred meters. They had started shortly after the NCR troops had rotated their guards and when the clouds started to cover the sky. The first shift had been veteran rangers. Though they had kept themselves well concealed the distinctive glimmer of moonlight on their wide-visored helmets gave their identity away. The Khans had been tracking the squad of NCR infantry troops for almost three days and saw them pick up the rangers at For Gulf.

In total there were sixteen of them. Eleven troopers, four rangers and one prisoner. The infantry troops had been part of an escort protecting an NCR big-shot to Vegas just the day before. Today they had met up with rangers and doubled back escorting a prisoner to the correctional facility. It had been easy for Kedi and the Khans to track them as they made little attempt to conceal their movements. The difficulty came in keeping a low profile. Since the Omertas took control of New Vegas the Khans couldn’t risk openly crossing into their territory without paying in caps or blood. Still the Khans had found a way, through informants and debtors Angel had got the intel they needed and were able to catch up with the squad just before dusk. The rest of the Khan hunting party was waiting with the horses near the east end of the Green’s growth on Black Mountain. Kedi and the Khans with him were to rendezvous with them at Novac after the raid. There, Angel would lead them south through the hills till they reached their campsite just north of Searchlight.

The NCR escort made a tempting target, despite having four rangers among them they were well armed and had with them four horses and a seemingly valuable prisoner. The man had been kept bound and blinded throughout the march. Whoever he was, he was no friend of the NCR. While that didn’t make him a friend of the Khans, it made him a worthwhile prize. The horses and weapons and gear they could take would be a bonus. Angel had organized the raid and was willing to suffer whatever repercussions he might.

Angel rounded a large angled rock and slid quietly up to his elbows then back down. Kedi did the same. Ahead of them the two troopers on guard duty were sharing a cigarette. It confirmed a suspicion, they were recruits, young and inexperienced. They would be easy prey. Kedi swallowed what remorse he had over the actions to come and followed after the Khan ahead. As the rest of them coiled their way around the rock, Angel pulled a knife from the folds of his vest. Kedi did the same. The blades were as long and wide as a man’s forearm and blackened with soot so as not to catch the light. Angel tapped Kedi lightly on the shoulder.

Three taps.

Two taps.

One.

They sprang from around the rock. Angel grabbed the helmet of the first soldier, yanked his head back and plunged his blade into the open throat. Kedi fell upon the other using his full body weight to drive his knee into the man’s gut knocking the air from his lungs. He stuffed his left hand into the man’s open mouth and plunged his knife into the soft flesh above the collarbone. He forced it deep and ripped it out quickly stabbing again and again until the man stopped twitching. Kedi looked around then jerked his head, giving the signal for the other Khans to make their move. Four moved towards where the horses had been tied together and set about stealing them. The other two linked with Kedi and Angel and moved in on the other troopers. They slept with no coverings or paddings, just bodies under the open sky. With vicious haste the Khans fell upon them. Two, three, four at a time. They stabbed and hacked and smashed. The carnage lasted mere seconds before the first shot went off. One of the troopers had grabbed their rifle and fired into the night. Then pandemonium as the other soldiers raised the alarm and began to fire as well. The Khans fought and looted as they went. Slinging rifles across their backs and stuff thing pockets with ammunition, grenades and what other supplies they could grab in the darkness and chaos.

Kedi swung wide and ducked a punch from one of the rangers. He dropped his shoulder and fell into the man, brought himself up and dropped his elbow into the man’s chest. He heard a pained grunt and scrambled to his keet, kicking the man as he rose. Angel whistled loud signaling the end of the raid and Kedi set off towards him. Angel had secured the prisoner and freed the man from his bonds. Around Kedi the other Khans peeled themselves off the NCR soldiers and sprinted full speed back down the ridgeline. The snap of gunfire hot on their heels they maneuvered through the rocks aiming towards the Green ahead of them. Kedi’s heart was racing, he tripped, fell into a roll and jumped back to his feet. Ahead of him Angel dropped to the ground and tried to rise but fell again. Kedi grabbed him by the right arm and dragged him into the undergrowth. The prisoner grabbed the other arm and they moved up into the thick coverage of the Green. Kedi couldn't make out the features of the man in the dark but he looked young and strong. His head was shaved and he wore a rough looking jumpsuit and boots.

Once they were out of range, Kedi dropped Angel and checked the man over. The Khan had been shot through the chest. His breathing was labored and bubbles of blood splattered at his lips. He gurgled and drowned in his blood before Kedi. A tang of disbelief bit at his heart but there wasn’t time to waste. Kedi called to the other Khan and they worked together to drag their dead leader further up the mountain. They only made it a few dozen meters before they were forced to abandon the corpse. They propped him against the trunk of a gnarled juniper and Kedi took the pistol at his hip stuffed into his waistband and kissed him on the forehead. Angel had been part of Kedi’s initiation and had taught him many valuable and painful lessons. He had died a warrior's death, one worthy of the Great Khans. Kedi would tell stories about him.

They ran further into the Green, skirted the side of the mountain the excitement was high among them but the adrenaline was beginning to drop. Kedi noticed he had been shot, it was graze on the shoulder but enough to be concerned about. Two of the other Khans had been shot as well, one in the leg another in the gut. It would be slow going till they rendezvoused with the rest of their party and Kedi wasn't certain they would all make it. Together they stopped and caught their breath, Kedi squatted and wiped the sweat from his face. Daniel held his belly and sat against a stump.

"I just need a quick rest." He said, his breath labored. Even in the darkness Kedi could see his face growing pale. Gut wounds took hours to die from, it was a slow awful way to die. Kedi knew from experience.

"We need shelter. Daniel can't go no further."

The gut-shot Khan tried to wave off the concern but only groaned.

“We’ll head up till we can find a vantage point where we can signal the rest of the party.” Said Kedi. He had never led a war-party on his own but his close personal relationship to Angel made him feel that it was his responsibility to take charge.

“Any signal that we send is just as likely to be seen by them rangers as by our own folks.” Grimaced Daniel. “Just go on yourselves.”

“Khans don’t leave each other behind.” Kedi repeated one of the codes of honor their people lived by. “We go together or we don’t go at all.”

"I know where we can find shelter.” The prisoner's voice was low and soft and very much unlike his appearance. "Top of the mountain, its safe there.”

Kedi eyed the man carefully. He had heard rumors Black Mountain was still haunted by rogue mutants and he didn’t want to find out in there present condition. But they were running out of options.

“How do you know?”

“I know people there.”

“Bullshit. Ain’t no one stays up there. Between the muties and the radiation there ain’t much in the way of living.”

“My people manage.”

“Just who are they anyway?”

“They aren’t friends of the NCR if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Well I figured as much. Still ain’t exactly illuminate who they are.”

The prisoner looked about the Khans around him, he rubbed his shaved head and exhaled slowly. “We should keep moving. Once those rangers recover they’ll be after us.”

Kedi knew he was right. He had only had one previous run-in with a ranger and it hadn’t been pretty. Still it was dark and the Khans had a head start. “What’s your name?”

The man didn’t respond, he looked behind them back down the slope of the mountain. “There’s no time for formalities. We need to go.”

“Fine.” Kedi barked, the pain from the graze was beginning to settle on his mind. “You lead the way.”

With a little help from the others Daniel was brought to his feet and they slowly made their way through the foliage towards the summit. The Khans kept quiet and their guide spoke little aside from advising which path to take. Kedi could see the man was familiar with the area. That much was beneficial but he wondered who exactly they were being led to. He looked at Daniel, slick with his own blood. He guessed it didn’t matter much now. Kedi would take the hand of anyone who offered if it meant he didn’t have to watch another Khan die this night. He jogged up closer to the prisoner.

“We’re putting a lot of faith in you right now. Tell me who you’re bringing us to.”

"My people.” The man’s reply was curt.

“Who are they?”

"The Brotherhood."

Freeside, The Atomic Wrangler - Now Youse Can’t Leave

“Another round for me and my boys James, keep the drinks coming.”

James Garrett eyed his three regulars suspiciously. They consisted of Tommy ‘Quickfinger’ Morales and his two cronies, Jack and Paul. The three of them had been at it practically all night, gambling big at the tables, drinking it up, and rotating between various hookers. They must have blown close to 4,000 caps by now. Tommy was notoriously lazy, so it was hard to believe they’d made those caps doing anything resembling honest labor. Not that it really mattered either way.

“You still good for it?” James asked as he placed three empty glasses on the counter.

“Eyyy who are you talking to here?” Tommy replied with mocking derision as he slammed a small pile of caps on the bar, “.....I’m always good for it.”

“Not always,” James muttered and poured the three their choice drinks, “Just where did you get all those caps anyhow? Didn’t steal it, did you?”

“Steal it? Fuck no. I won this fair and square on the Strip,” Tommy protested, he then gave a sly grin, “A lucky smoother-talker…that’s all I am.”

“Yeah whatever Tommy,” James sighed, “As long as you keep paying…I don’t care.”

Tommy shrugged as James walked away to serve other customers, and he then turned back to his cronies, “Drink up boys we earned it.”

Suddenly Tommy's attention was directed towards the front entrance of the Atomic wrangler where a pair of women entered the casino. Tommy was immediately intrigued, they didn’t look like tourists, in fact, they looked more like wasteland raiders with their punk hair and numerous tattoos. All that only made them stand out more to him though. Of course, the skimpy clothing they wore certainly added to their appeal.

Tommy’s eyes followed them across the Wrangler’s floor until they seemed to turn to look at him. He took a short sip on his whiskey as the pair appeared to chat between themselves, then they sauntered up to the bar and pulled up a couple chairs directly across from him. By this point, Jack and Paul were both looking at the two women as well, and immediately had their full attention. As always though, Tommy took to the lead.

“Ladies,” He said, trying to sound as smooth as he could through slurred speech, “Care for a drink.”

The pair let out a giggle, and nodded eagerly,

“James!” Tommy yelled out, “Two Atomic cocktails for these fine young ladies here.”

“Quit shouting Tommy,” James growled as he returned to fix the drinks. Once he sat the made cocktails on the bar and collected the caps, he was gone again.

“Plenty more where that came from,” Tommy grinned as he scooted close to the two women, “Now what are your names?”

---

Tommy, Paul, and Jack spent the better part of two hours chatting up the girls, each one trying to one-up the other in the tales of their exploits. Before long, Tommy had his arm around one of them, who he’d learned was named Lacy, and was acting like she was already his girl. That just left Jake and Paul to fight over the other girl, who’s name was Marissa.

Their good times were interrupted suddenly when a pair of men with the same sort of raider-look approached the group.

“Stealing our girls? Get the fuck away from them!” One of the men demanded angrily as he strode up to Tommy.

“WHOA WHOA back off asshole,” Tommy snapped back as he shoved the man aside.

Pretty soon Jack and Paul were also on their feet, ready to fight, and certainly it looked like one was about to break out between the five men.

“OUT! ALL OF YOU!” The shrill voice of Francine Garret rang out over the wrangler, “I’ve had enough. Get out or I’ll have you all thrown out.” The Garret twins hired goons immediately began making their way over, eager to do just that..

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Lacy suggested as she pulled at Tommy’s suit-coat.

“Yeah….no problem toots,” Tommy replied, “Jack…Paul…let’s blow this joint. We’ll just take out caps elsewhere.”

“Good riddance!” Francine called out after them as they left the Wrangler.

They stepped out onto the streets of Freeside, and the trio began following where the two women led. The men who’d confronted them appeared to just disappear into the crowd, and didn’t seem to be after them. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief, he talked a big talk, but when it came to actually fighting he was a complete coward.

“Where are we going?” Tommy finally asked Lacy, who was still hanging on his arm.

“This great place down the road, called The Rad Rat. Ever been there?”

“Huh, can’t say that I have,” Tommy said with a surprised look. He knew practically every place in town, so he was shocked he actually hadn’t. “Is it new?”

“Just opened,” Lacy replied with a suggestive look, “You’ll love it.”

---

The girls led them down several winding, twisting streets and back alley-ways until they came to a part of Freeside that Tommy had never been before. The place they stopped at was an unmarked pre-war joint, that looked like an old hole-in-the-wall bar.

“Classy,” Tommy quipped as they strode inside. There was no-one else in the bar, save for an odd looking bartender with a pencil-thin mustache, who was diligently cleaning a few glasses.

“Welcome,” the bar-keep said as they entered, “What can I get you?”

“Whatever drink is the most expensive,” Tommy said as he sat at the bar, “One for each of the boys, and two for the ladies,” he said with a smirk.

“Hmmm coming right-up."

“So baby,” Tommy cooed as he turned away from the bartender and pulled Lacy in closer, “What are your plans for tonight. Wanna shack-up at my place?”

“You’re Tommy Quickfinger ain’t ya?” The bartender suddenly asked, interrupting him as he continued making the drinks.

Tommy gave the nosy-bar keep the side-eye and growed, “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“I hear you got a really good hustle going on the strip.”

Tommy looked back and forth between Jack and Paul, and then turned back to the bartender, “Who told you that old man?”

“Oh…just a friend of mine,” the bar-keep shrugged, “But you have been conning customers at Gomorrah, am I right?”

“Shut up and serve the drinks,” Tommy snapped back, “The fuck you think you are asking me questions like that?” He then turned back to Lacy with a smile, “And what if I did? Not like those assholes don’t deserve it. I gotta better things to spend that money on…like this fine dame here.”

“You ain’t afraid of the Omertas?” Lacy asked, batting her eye-lids, “How brave...”

“Eh, I ain’t afraid of them. But why would they care? Not like I’m robbing them of anything,” Tommy boasted. In his half-drunken stupor, he couldn’t help but keep talking, “Just robbing NCR goons anyway.”

There it was. Big Mistake.

Lacy and Marissa immediately stood up and walked over to a side door. Tommy held out his hands incredulously, “Ohhh hey, where are you girls goin’?”

Lacy just gave him a playful wave in response. The bartender sat down the half-made drink he was working on, and rounded the corner of the bar. Then made his way over to the entrance of the building.

“The fuck you doin?” Tommy demanded angrily.

The bartender pulled out a key, and……locked the door.

Tommy’s heart dropped down right into his stomach. In that moment, he knew he’d fucked up.

Rockwood turned back to the three conmen, a look of pure hatred etched across his face. “Don’t bother trying to bluff your way out,’ The Enforcer said plainly, “We know you aren’t armed.”

Tommy could only look on in horror as Omerta thugs began rushing out the side door, bats and knives in hand.

—-----------------------------

Hours later, three badly maimed bodies had been piled up next to the Strip’s wall in Freeside. A hastily scrawled message had been spray-painted behind them,

DON’T FUCK WITH THE FAMILY

Herb Fernandez – Freeside – Evening, October 17th

That evening, they met in the old tin shack which served as a makeshift All Faiths chapel, one patronised by the Followers. There were many places of worship in Freeside, as there had been in Eastside before the Green. Many more than in the Strip itself.

The Strip had its own religion. Worship was confined strictly to the goddesses of Fortune and Desire, and their brother, the god of Commerce. The genius of Vegas was its construction of the casino, a temple in which all three divines could be propitiated at once, in rites which would put the decadence of the Old World to shame. Their High Priest, Mr House, had anointed the Three Families as his chosen people, and given them the Strip to rule over in his name. Each of them enforced his Law with a terrible vengeance - or at least they had until recently.

Mr House had been even more silent than usual, ever since Caesar’s Legion had departed. No loudspeakers thundered the decrees of the city’s Architect from on high. None dared voice the blasphemous thought that the Lucky 38 might now be empty, that the Throne of Vegas stood abandoned by its Maker. At least not out loud, and not while legions of heavily armed Securitrons hovered over the Strip, ready to visit their creator’s wrath upon his enemies, with machine gun fire and lasers, more terrible than swords flashing lightning, and whirlwinds of flame.

This particular All Faiths chapel was different from most. Herb had chosen it as a meeting place because its chaplain, Brother Marsilio, was sympathetic to Herb’s aims. Brother Marsilio believed that religion was the opiate of the masses, and that the same poverty and desperation which made Freesiders vulnerable to chems pushed by the Omertas, made them vulnerable to subtler poisons peddled by preachers and prophets.

“Never trust a pastor who teaches you to quietly endure the suffering of this world, for hope of something better in the Hereafter,” he would say to his flock. “Who benefits from such an attitude? Who benefits from conditioning you to be slaves, and to meekly obey your masters? If such a preacher isn’t in the pocket of Mr House, he may as well be. It wasn’t the plan of an omniscient, Divine Will which designed Vegas. This city was designed by wealthy men for their own benefit, not yours.”

Brother Marsilio was away now, ministering to the poor and sick. He had turned the space over to Herb, whom he trusted. And now Herb and his associates sat in a circle in the center of the floor, speaking of a different kind of judgement, a different kind of balm for the spirit, from that offered by spiritualists and believers in afterlives.

“Did you get Alphonse to change his tune?” Herb asked.

The question was addressed to Ralph Granger, a brawny man in the shirt, suspenders and cap worn by a particular class of workers in Freeside. Troublemakers, the Families called them.

Vegas was a city which ran on an illusion: that everyone could be rich and glamorous, or at least rent the experience for a time. Everyone came to Vegas with something precious to gamble with: caps, beauty, luck, youth, or musical talent. The city made their dreams come true, provided they worked hard, had faith, played their cards right, and cultivated the right attitude.

Even the poorest in Vegas desired to be cool. They spent what little they had imitating the fashions of their superiors, and if they couldn’t afford the clothes, the shows, or the status symbols, they still had the swagger, they spoke the right jive, they instinctively knew what was hip and what wasn’t.

The poorest beggar in Freeside was prouder than a wealthy Brahmin baron from out in the sticks. A Freesider could look at two men in rags and know which was a tourist, and which a local. The Freesider’s clothes might be just as poor, or poorer, but he wore his grimy, torn outfit with… razzle dazzle. That couldn’t be bought by any outsider.

In many ways, the city was a microcosm of the Old Republic’s promise. A promise that anyone could make it if they had the right stuff. Consequently, if you didn’t make it, you didn’t have the right stuff, and you had only yourself to blame.

There were some in Freeside who didn’t dress in the cast-offs of the wealthy, however. These were workers who did not consider themselves temporarily embarrassed millionaires, one roll away from their big break. These people dressed like workers who had the audacity to take pride in being working men. Their fashions were derived from the materials worn by caravan hands, porters and craftsmen. Their pants were of thick, durable fabrics originally designed to absorb sweat and stains. Their plain white shirts were woven to wick sweat and dirt away from those who moved heavy goods or bent at their work all day.

These were troublemakers. Of course, there were lots of poor people in Vegas, but they mostly had the decency to be ashamed of their situation, understanding that it was a personal failing. Those who did not desire to be rich, or worse, to even look rich, were not Vegas material. They did not buy into the Dream. More dangerous still, they made others lose faith in the Dream, wanting everyone to be as miserable as them.

Ralph Granger was one of these Red-sympathising, anti-social types. He paused to take a puff of his cigarette before replying to Herb.

“Alphonse,” he said, “is like a Brahmin whose two heads can’t agree. But he’s more amenable to workin’ with us now. I wouldn’t rely on him for strong support. But he’d be happy to put pressure on our NCR friends.”

Edith Summerton, a motherly looking woman in a neat but plain frock, spoke up. “You got Alphonse on side? How on Earth did you pull that off, Ralph?”

Ralph shrugged. “I can’t take credit for it. Alphonse genuinely cares about the welfare of his boys and girls, I’ll give ‘im that much. See, what you know full well, Edith, is that much as the NCR ‘as done to screw us over, a lot of folks see them as an improvement over the Families and Mr House. And they probably ain’t wrong.

“Lots of Alphonse’s people work in the Strip. Sure, they ain’t allowed to live there, or go in the front doors of the casinos. And a lot of them had families what was caught up in the Riots. But a lot of them was in the Strip when the worst of the fightin’ broke out. And since they was in Strip territory, workin’ in the casinos or under the protection of the Families, they escaped the brunt of the NCR assault.

“See, the trouble we all have with the Families is that they ain’t too keen on people beneath their station. Ain’t got no clue why they consider us beneath them - we’ve all heard the rumours. They was mostly swampfolk, or tribals, or cannibals, before Mr House showed up and put ‘em in sharp suits.

“Anyway, they’re happy for our boys and girls to do all the dirty jobs in the Strip, provided they stay in the kitchens and back alleys and don’t show their faces in front of them fancy folks. But the Families ain’t never let us organise. They never let us demand higher wages. We tried it a few times, and they made it clear the only way to terminate one of their contracts is at the business end of a bullet.

“So Alphonse, and a lot of folks like him, are thinkin’ the NCR is the lesser of two evils. They got laws in the NCR. Sometimes they even enforce ‘em. They got Merchant Houses. They got tradespeople, and Congressmen who are meant to stand up for ordinary folks occasionally. They certainly ain’t like Mr House, who gives the Families a free hand in doin’ whatever the hell they please to us.”

“Alphonse is thinkin’, if the NCR comes, maybe things’ll get better. And a lot of workin’ folks are thinkin’ the same.”

“And what changed his mind?” Herb asked.

The cigarette went back into Ralph’s mouth. He took a long pull, as if drawing strength from it, and then exhaled a billow of smoke as though expelling a bad memory.

“The fuckin’ Green changed it. All these people displaced from Westside and the surroundin’ areas – well, we could deal with that. At least they was from New Vegas. But this was on top of the drought, which brought all those goddamn NCR refugees. And then the Green kept spreadin’, and the NCR folks kept comin’ and comin’. Heck, you walk down a Freeside street these days and half the time you won’t hear goddamn Mojave accent.

“What the f–beggin’ your pardon, Edith – what the hell has the NCR done for these folks? Nothin’, that’s what. Yeah, I know Denver and his army have protected them from bandits, helped settle ‘em in available land - Mojave land, by the way. And this is the same goddamn army that tore up Freeside not long back. But here’s the thing, there are things an army can’t do. Can’t feed folks, educate their kids, teach them to farm or practice a trade, treat their medical conditions. So who’s been doin’ all that?

“The Followers, that’s who. One of the many reasons a lot of us have begun to question our leadership.

“Well, it turns out that if you dump a shi–a crapton of desperate refugees in an area over 5 years, that has an effect on the labour market. So now Alphonse and his boys – who couldn’t form a guild to represent themselves, because the Families believe they have a monopoly on organised crime in this city— are facin’ a situation. Turns out the Families would rather employ some desperate NCR asshole who’ll work for a tenth of the price and thank them for it. And these assholes are being protected by Denver, which we ain’t got the benefit of. All we got is the Followers— but they don’t turn the NCR folks away either, so the NCR folks are sucklin’ at both titt– at both ends of the bottle, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

Herb nodded. “So Alphonse is ready to work with us? To put pressure on the NCR?”

“Yeah. The fact is, the NCR wants to tax the hell out of this place, when we’ve been hosting their frickin’ parasites for years, at our own expense. If we’ll back Alphonse, he’s ready to demand the NCR will pass minimum wage legislation to stop their folks undercuttin’ our standard of livin’. Plus he wants them to guarantee the right to organised labour, and protection from retaliation by the families.”

Edith scoffed. “The NCR will never agree to that.”

Herb smiled. “Then the workers will know who to blame for their living conditions going to hell. And they’ll know where to direct their displeasure. I’m sure they’ll find a way to make their voices heard. Mr Ben Watts wanted this post. He can have everything that comes with it. If he thought it was all fine dining and champagne on the Strip, let’s show him the other side of this fine city.”

“There’s another point that occurs to me,” Edith said. “On the subject of the Followers’ leadership. We have quite a dominant pro-NCR faction in Vegas. I’m thinking of young doctor in particular.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Chez Nathan,” Herb said. “He’s been called upon to put his money where his politics is. The timing is quite fortuitous. He and some of his flunkies are going away to meet the good Colonel Abernathy. Judging by what happened the last few times the 3rd battalion rounded up some of our doctors for a friendly chat… I’d say that’ll give us plenty of time to put things in motion without interference from that quarter.”

The Meld - Morning

Lacking air conditioning, adequate plumbing, and electricity, the Meld greeted passersby rather inhospitably. Nonetheless, a pair of welcome signs (posted at the property's front and tacked onto the entrance) announced, "Now Serving: Breakfast Amenities, Six Caps."

One stranger accepted the invitation, a pleasant rarity, and sat at the table consuming eggs and bacon. The wayfarer ate quietly, nary a sound occupying the kitchen save the faint crackle of the furnace. He occasionally glanced at the opposite wall, on which a dozen small crafts hung from pegged nails. "Potholders, Handkerchiefs, Et Cetera: Fifteen Caps" was painted on a once discarded wooden slab beneath them.

Having concluded her occupational duties, Charlotte warmed her digits beside the dazzling glow, hesitant to choke the flame so soon after ignition. Amber rounded the corner, accidentally bumping her peer's hands into scalding metal in passing. "Ah, watch it!" Charlotte exclaimed, facing her assailant. Running water absent, she sucked the tips of her fingers to keep them from permanent burn damage.

Amber turned around and bowed meekly. "My apologies; I'm terribly sorry!" She bore a lavender dishcloth, presumably another item to hang from a nail. Resuming her haste, she rearranged each article for the seventh time that week and set the rag in its rightful position.

The stranger placed his fork down, the tips of its prongs touching the ceramic surface, as was proper etiquette. Searching his pocket for straggling caps, he inquired: "I don't recognize this location. You arrived in Vegas recently?"

"We've been active for several years," Charlotte commented, "But we established a restaurant a couple weeks ago. How was your meal?"

The patron perused his plate. "Nothing original or unique, but it was simple and nice: how I appreciate my eggs, usually. An excellent product, worthy of the caps."

A wave of self satisfaction engulfed Charlotte; compliments like those didn't generally come from her compatriots. This was validation of her place in the wider world. She suppressed her inmost glee, responding with a milquetoast, "Well, feel free to come back anytime!"

The diner scooted his seat out but was interrupted by a pompous rapping at the door. Sun rays pierced through the cracks made by each pounding on the doorframe. Amber exchanged looks with her peer, mild trepidation covering both. It wasn't the rhythmic taps of familiar residents, and the guests's entrances were rarely so forthcoming. Well, it might be... Charlotte eyed her husband's rifle and breathed carefully. "It's open!" she squeaked.

The door gave way. A massive, tall, olive skinned, dirty blonde, hulking female blocked the light. She stomped her way in. A male of similar build, height, and complexion followed, considerably gentler in entrance. The woman pointed at the client. "Who is he?"

Charlotte responded just as authoritatively. "A guest of import. Why do you ask?"

The consumer looked up at the two colossi. "If it's any bother, I can depart-"

"No, you're fine. Amber will run your tab," Charlotte assured. On cue, the redhead finished sprucing her arts and crafts section to assist the gentleman. "Isabel: It's an honor," Charlotte saluted.

Isabel responded coldly. "We are in a professional environment, in the presence of an outsider. You will address me by my title and suit, Queen of Hearts."

"Ages have passed since the Vault, eh?" Charlotte lamented. "Protocol demands that colony policies overrule Vault policy on colonial holdings. Danny has habitually addressed us by our given name as opposed to our title."

"Rules, not policies," corrected Isabel, looking down her nose at her colleague. "Unless expressly written, historical precedent will not forego decorum."

Potentially afraid of invoking the newcomers' ire, the customer murmured to Amber, "Are these prior patrons of yours? I've never seen them around the Strip."

The giantess did overhear him, walked towards him, and placed her hand upon his former chair. "I am Isabel Moore, Queen of Clubs." She motioned to the giant. "He is Justin Moore, King of Clubs."

"Are you two married or something?" was the obvious reply.

The chair creaked and groaned under Isabel's grip. Her eyes alit with flame and frustration, though she remained still and statuesque. "No, we are siblings."

"Good thing we had Hinshaw's reforms; otherwise, we'd have been both!" blissfully quipped the male, wholly ignorant of (or purposely ignoring) his sister's irritation. "Nobody expected brother and sister to draw a royal marriage; that's a one in seventy two-"

"Justin: Shut it," Isabel uttered through gritted teeth. "Especially not before outsiders." She returned to the matter at hand. "Our Happy Trails contacts informed us that you spent roughly five thousand caps on a painting."

"Yes, to improve relations with the NCR's recently appointed emissary," Charlotte countered.

"Be that as it may, it's raised concerns over your expenditures. I need you to open up your books."

Charlotte complied without hesitation, opening up a newly constructed drawer and pulling out a manilla folder. "If Henry-"

"The Ace of Clubs."

"If Henry didn't trust Daniel to make the right decisions, he would've sent an Ace instead." She handed the dossier over.

Isabel's pudgy fingers parsed the pages with surprising deftness, skimming certain contents but intensely scanning the numbers. The customer handed off six caps to Amber, questions blatantly lingering in his noggin. Amber noticed and encouraged him: "Feel free to ask!"

"I didn't peg her for analysis," he whispered. "What in tarnation is an 'Ace' in this context?"

Amber's eyes lit up. "Oh, we sort ourselves at birth by cards in a pinochle deck." She recited the ruleset in a manner resembling glee. "Nines do grunt labor, Jacks oversee transportation and storage, Queens are middle management, Kings negotiate and coordinate, Tens do clerical work, and Aces are upper leadership. Among other elements, as duties arise. She just happened to be assigned the role of Queen. It's not what she was built for, but what she was trained for. Potentially what she was born for!"

Isabel shot a momentary death glare at the Nine of Hearts for revealing the Vault's inner workings but resumed her analysis. She pointed to a number. "You spent eight hundred caps on bacon."

"An admitted mistake," Charlotte explained. "We anticipated an initial revenue stream far surpassing our actual. You'll note the same situation with other supplies. We managed to resell the surplus at a discount, as catalogued the following week."

Isabel grunted in acknowledgment and resumed progress. After a minute's silence, she closed the book and returned it to Charlotte. "Your affairs are mostly in order. The few discrepancies I discovered are negligible. That aside, the Ace of Clubs-"

"Henry," Charlotte prodded.

A crack emerged in the chair's woodwork. "The Ace of Clubs has seen fit to situate myself and my brother under the Nine's purview. I'm to acquire lodging immediately." While doubtless her voice would have boomed throughout the structure, she instead opted for a low, "Where is he?"

Amber escorted her client out the egress before he got any more uncomfortable. "Well, you see-"

The Queen of Clubs tolerated no dotards. "Where is he?"

Danny "Nines" Floyd - New California Embassy - Morning, October 18th

Daniel's mood had soured considerably. Sonny's threat was taken with gravity and sincerity, and the four had left silently and respectfully. As leaders ought, he didn't transfer the natural consequences of the day's mishaps onto his subordinates but took responsibility himself. That meant that, once the artwork was safely transported to the embassy's interior, he alone balanced the masterpiece atop its frame and guarded it from theoretical assailants as his underlings got well deserved rest. The only stimuli he faced, however, were weird glances and redundant inquiries, all of which were unfailingly dismissed with, "Business of the ambassador. None of your concern. Go about your day."

He attempted to avoid eye contact with the secretary while she worked the desk. He recalled her offer to safeguard his deposit; doubtless she thought similarly, she with mirth and he with remorse. He was mature enough to reverse a mistake when it mattered, but the small minutiae of presentation could afford his pride. Sunk cost and whatnot.

Nosy inquisitors gradually decreased in frequency. Casinos operated late into the night, but even then certain hours pushed their limitations. Daniel stayed awake the entire night, whether out of duty or sheer bullheadedness even he didn't know. He was made grumpy, but his senses had dulled him and prevented him from acting upon his foul demeanor. He simply lurked calmly above the jagged bedrock of his emotions, an unfortunate place to be.

When he spotted the emissary, he exercised his last remnant of adrenaline and strolled up to the gentleman. He summoned the finest salutation his fatigue could muster: "Ah, Ambassador Watts! Fancy meeting you here." He mentally cussed himself out for an introduction that asinine, but trudged forward regardless. "As welcome into the region, we present you this exquisite oil on canvas, to remind you of old culture and your new home. Right from the pursestrings of the Ace of Clubs-" ...Henry? "Henry Hinshaw, the Ace of Clubs, to your back wall! Let it be known that the Pinochle Expedition will move mountains for its friends: quite literally!"

Daniel's tiptoe didn't flatter as he snagged the top corner of the covering, and he had to repeat the action. Sky blues and white clouds peeked out at first until the entire cover collapsed altogether, revealing the vibrant Bierstadt landscape:


"If alternative decor can spruce up your office space, please contact us. We have connections and caps aplenty, and we'd love to share in our bounty." He felt his adrenaline's empty light blinking. "Unless there's further business, I must depart. Homesteading is unrelenting work!"

Head Paladin Edgar Hardin- Hidden Valley, After Midnight

The Head Paladin switched on his his T-51b helmet's headlamp as he stepped out of the bunker into the artificial nighttime sandstorm. Behind him was a procession of fifteen power armored Paladins wielding a variety of weapons, one field scribe, and three duraframe Eyebots. Hardin directed the group onward, trudging through nearly zero visibility even with their headlamps on, relying more on his helmet's HUD, bolstered by the Eyebots' sensors, than what he could actually see. In contrast to the powerful gauss rifle stowed on his back, Hardin led the procession with a humble recharger laser pistol in his hand, in case any of the mutated Bark Scorpions that frequented the valley were out and about tonight.

It wasn't common for the Head Paladin to head up to the surface, or for the Brotherhood to send this many troops up at a time. McNamara preferred to err on the side of caution and the Sentinel hadn't been much better. However, this was a very urgent matter and Hardin intended to see it done personally.

One of the captured Knights had escaped, and had contacted them using the Black Mountain radio equipment. The escapee didn't know if the NCR was still pursuing them, but if they were, Hardin was prepared to intercept and wipe them out. However, the knight had managed to reveal a very critical detail, one that demanded prompt attention- the Khans had rescued him.

The Brotherhood had largely ignored the Khans. Aside from their knowledge of chemistry, they were a low-tech group of minimal concern to the Brotherhood, and ever since Operation: Sunburst and the Bitter Springs Massacre, they didn't cross paths very much. Some might argue that their role in the chem trade constituted misuse of technology, but given the state of New Vegas, it really wasn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things. At the same time, however, the Khans' hostility against the NCR made them a windfall to the Brotherhood. Hardin was confident that this rescue was not planned, and was merely a fortuitous side effect of the gang's efforts to throw a wrench into their hated enemy's cogs. Still, savage and uncivilized as they were, the Sentinel believed they could be potentially useful allies of convenience against both the NCR and The Green.

The Brotherhood squad made their out of the sandstorm, and up the path to Black Mountain. It was fortunate that most people had made a habit of avoiding it even after the Super Mutants and that loon of a Nightkin had left. If the NCR were to examine the equipment closely enough, they might realize that the equipment was still being used. The Paladins kept a close watch on the surrounding area- even with the eyebots' sensors providing awareness beyond their own senses, they didn't want to risk walking into a trap- and Hardin still wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a trap.

As they neared the top, Hardin saw several marks light up on his HUD ahead. The Eyebots had detected something beyond the visual range of their headlamps. He signaled the Paladins to ready their weapons- he would not let himself be caught off-guard. He drew his gauss rifle and peered into its night-vision scope.

A man in a tatty prisoner's jumpsuit walked forward. Even beneath the grime, Hardin recognized him. It was Knight Keyes, one of the procurement specialists who had gone missing. Behind him, he could see several Great Khans lingering in the distance, weapons drawn.

"Don't shoot, it's me, Keyes," the man spoke. Hardin lowered his guard, and walked up to the approaching Knight.

"What was your temporary password, knight?" he asked bluntly.

"Give way your suspicions to the wisdom of thine Elder. Where he shows trust, so shall you," the knight whispered, keeping his answer out of the Khans' earshot.

"Welcome back, Knight Keyes!" Hardin spoke. "Jackson, Dietrich, take one of the Eyebots and bring Knight Keyes back for medical examination and debriefing. The rest of you, keep watch for any sign of NCR pursuers." He then turned to one of the Eyebots and directed it in the direction of the Khans, who were still up the slope. They had recovered the captive, and Hardin didn't even have to debase himself by interacting with the Khans. This had been a fulfilling mission.

---

Sentinel Derek Irving- Black Mountain, After Midnight

The Eyebot flew slowly towards the Khans, making little sound except for the gentle noise of its propulsion. As it got close, it suddenly began to speak in a surprisingly crisp and clear voice.

"I am Sentinel Irving of the Brotherhood of Steel, and I would like to extend my thanks to the Khans for this act. You may not have known it, but this was a high-value prisoner, and his rescue is of great benefit to our organization and a considerable setback for Colonel Abernathy and his superiors. As a token of my appreciation, please accept this Eyebot. It can make deliveries, serve as a highly perceptive sentry, or simply play the radio, and when needed, can serve as a line of communication with us. And feel free to subject it to your gang's initiation rites, because this particular model is quite durable."

With the Eyebot's offer, the rest of the Brotherhood squad would depart back to the bunker and disappear beneath the sands, where the captive could give his side of the story, and where the leadership could deliberate just where their current bargaining position stood with regards to Denver and the NCR Ambassador.

Gomorrah, Abraham “Honest Abe" Rockwood

Rockwood sat brooding within his office on the 4th floor of Gomorrah, the smoldering stub of a cigarette still clutched in his fingers. Since returning from Freeside, he’d been contemplating the information Tommy ‘Quickfinger’ had shared before his very sudden untimely passing. The arrogant conman had told quite the story before he’d died. Now the only question was what was going to be done about it.

His door opened, and Rockwood looked up to see Lucy striding in. The Omerta Family Heir apparent was looking as beautiful, and dangerous, as ever,

“You wanted to talk Abe?” She said as her high heel clapped against the floor leading to his desk. She took a seat in one of the nearby chairs, propping her feet up on a footstool, “I hear you had quite the little adventure in Freeside.”

“That I did Lucrezia.”

“And?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Well don’t keep me in suspense, what’s the bad news?”

He sighed, then took another drag on his cigarette stub, “That conman? Tommy? He was working for Swank.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, “Don’t be dramatic Abe.I know you hate the Chairmen with an admirable fucking passion, but this isn’t all that surprising. I’ll admit this is a new low but…”

“That ain’t the bad news,” Rockwood interrupted, shaking his head, “The bad news is it isn’t a one-off. The Chairmen are building a network of thieves, with the sole goal of driving away traffic from Gomorrah and stirring up shit with the NCR troopers to boot. He’s directly, blatantly, violating The Contract.”

“Ah, well that’s different then,” It was Lucy’s turn to sigh, “Tommy told you all this then? How can you be sure he wasn’t just making shit up to save his skin?”

“Let’s just say I corroborated his testimony,” Rockwood smirked, then took one last drag on his cigarette before smashing the tiny remnant into his ashtray, “I had a feeling something was off. A lowlife pickpocket like Tommy wouldn’t have had the balls to try something like this on his own. Someone had to be offering him something else.”

Lucy leaned back in her chair, “My father won’t like it.”

“No he won’t,” Rockwood rubbed at his forehead, “I’m not a psychic, but…I can guess what will happen next. The Don will ask for a sitdown of the Families to resolve this, as he well should to be seen as reasonable, and Swank will flatly deny everything. When negotiations fail, we’ll be left to resolve this on our own, which means taking down this little network of Swank’s cell by cell. Inevitably someone, somewhere, is going to do something stupid, and we’re going to end up fighting Chairmen associates if not Chairmen button-men themselves in the streets.”

“The makings of a war,” Lucy finished his thought.

“Mark my words…It’ll only escalate from here.” Rockwood nodded.

“About time,” Lucy smirked, “The Slitherkin and the Mojave Boot-riders have a score to settle, once and for all. This has been a long time coming.”

“You know your father has banned those names.”

“I prefer them…..it's important to remember where we come from, or do you disagree?”

Rockwood smiled, he had to admire Lucy’s tenacity and admirable fondness for the old ways. Even if he couldn’t publicly do so,

“I don’t disagree,” He said plainly.

Lucy gave a devilish grin, “Good, then when my father puts me in charge of fighting this war, and he will, we’ll be settling this the old way. The tribal way.”

Veteran Ranger Dina Medina
NCR Safehouse – Black Mountain
Sometime After Midnight, October 18th

Something had seemed off with Gloriana since she joined up with the duo at Wolfhorn Ranch and it hadn’t been getting better since they left. Dina was quiet and seldom spoke up about how she felt but this time didn’t feel right. She had a 10-ton weight in her stomach that kept nagging at her all day, it kept her on edge the entire trip, and it kept her from falling asleep after her sentry post.

Now she couldn’t sit still. It had been a few hours since they were ambushed but Dina’s heart hadn’t stopped hammering in her chest. Too many things reminded her of her time in the NCR, the Legion’s nighttime raids across the Colorado, the terror and the bloodshed as her friends lay died around her. Her adrenaline was compelling her to bolt into the mountains, but her feet kept her frozen inside the safehouse. Amidst the internal turmoil her eyes stayed transfixed on Gloriana, and the wounded NCR soldiers strewn about the safehouse.

“Why isn’t she saying anything!? Why hasn’t she said anything!? Why are we not doing anything!?” Dina’s internal monologue was becoming more and more frantic. It felt like she was screaming without saying a word. Her body was trembling and drenched with sweat, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails were causing fresh blood to drip from her palms. “Why am I not doing anything!?” It felt like Dina had crashed through a brick wall and landed back into reality. From where she was standing Dina yelled to Gloriana who was tending to the wounded.

“Gloriana! What are we doing here!?” Even though her voice was distorted through her helmets’ vocalizer it struck Gloriana like a lightning bolt.

Gloriana looked up from the soldier to acknowledge Dina, her face pale and expressionless as if she wasn’t entirely present in the room herself.

“We’re tending to the wounded?” Her voice almost sounded confused and despite Dina’s minimal interaction with her it sounded wrong. Like someone else was speaking through her.

“We should be out there! Hunting those bastards down!” Dina gestured towards the door and out into the wasteland. Her body was still trembling from the stress, but her voice was stern and carried enough authority that the other Rough Rider took notice and came in from outside. Gloriana remained where she was transfixed on Dina for a moment before returning to her patient almost as if nothing was ever said.

Dina snapped and ran up to Gloriana grabbing her by the shoulders of her jacket. Spinning her around to face her, Dina felt the other Rough Rider put his arm around her chest pulling her away, but her grip was locked onto Gloriana’s jacket. “They can’t fucking get away with this Gloriana! This is bullshit!” She was crying under her helmet hoping that her vocalizer would hide it. “What the fuck is wrong with you!? This isn’t what we’re about!”

Gloriana’s face looked shocked for a moment before she composed herself. Her eyes filled with fire as she looked at Dina but she didn’t fight her grip. Instead, she spoke softly as if talking to a child. “Go.”

Dina’s grip loosened at Gloriana’s response and without hesitation she broke from the other Rough Rider’s hold and ran out the door grabbing her rifle and pack on the way. As she switched on her night vision someone else followed her out the door. It was August the other Rough Rider that had tried to pull her away. Dina turned slightly to face him, but her body language showed that she was ready to bolt. “August don’t get in the way of this.” She snapped at him, but it almost sounded like she was begging him. Just as she was nearly pleading with Gloriana through anger and frustration a moment before.

“I’m not Dina. I’m heading to Sloan so we can radio for help. You’re right we need to act on this.” He paused for a second before continuing. “A man who is laden with the guilt of human blood. Will be a fugitive until death.”

“Another verse from the bible? What does that make us?” Dina softened her tone, but her posture remained wound tight.

“It makes us fugitives.”

Ambassador Benjamin “ Benny” Watts - NCR Embassy - Midday, October 17th

Benny cocked his head slightly as he studied the painting unveiled before him. The man he had met the night before paced anxiously next to the easel they had set it up on. Behind him Marisol tried to explain something but he couldn’t tear himself away from the painting to pay her any attention. He was solely focused on the canvas in front of him. He reached out to touch the mountains but a worried flailing from Mr. Floyd stopped him. His eyes lingered on the solitary bear amidst the vast wilderness. He wanted to say it was beautiful but there was an unnerving feeling he got as he watched the clear water turn opaque and the dark clouds obscure the white mountains. Benny’s vocabulary was inadequate to describe the subtle horror contained in the scale of the landscape.

“Mr. Floyd…thank you.” He smiled, “It is an unexpected and welcome gift.” he shook the man’s hand. His eyes returned to the lone bear. “What did you say the name of this painting was?” The man answered but Benny only grunted in response. He couldn’t help but feel there was a warning here, an ill omen. A bear alone in a landscape that dwarfed the creature. Was it a threat against the NCR? Against himself? Was it just a coincidence?

Benny was unsure and the anxiety of his meeting with Mr. Dominic came rushing back. He felt unsteady and moved to sit down.

“I do appreciate the gift.” He smiled weakly again at Mr. Floyd. “Seems I am still tired from my journey yesterday. I don’t believe I have much in the way of business that I need to discuss with you now. But you will hear from us soon.” He shook the man’s hand again and bid farewell to them. He remained there staring at the canvas for another few minutes before Marisol tapped him lightly.

“What?”

“Would you like it moved to your office?”

Benny stared at the small bear. “Yes please. Behind the desk.”

Followers Holotape Archives, Maximum Security Clearance.


Jakobov, A. April, 2282.

Begin playback

“This is Andrei Jakobov, Camp McCarran. Opening case file on Patient X, an NCR private admitted to infirmary three days ago. Patient symptoms consistent with pneumonia.

“I’m worried about the patient’s outlook. He’s deteriorating slowly but steadily. Based on interview and previous medical file, this is a young and healthy soldier.

“The NCR hasn’t left me much in the way of supplies. The Fiends cleared this place of any useful chems. Unrest in Vegas is occupying the top brass’ attention. Most of the Followers left the camp during the riots. I’m one of the few remaining here. We’ve had little news.

“I asked the patient about his previous whereabouts and was fobbed off. NCR medical and military personnel were also cagey. They’re usually helpful. Everyone insists the Fiends probably left some pathogen behind in the camp, maybe even deliberately. Evidence of heavy drug use was present everywhere in the camp when I got here… it’s likely many of the Fiends suffer from immune suppression, making them vulnerable to long-term opportunistic infection. Given their high mortality and short life expectancies, and constant exposure to deadly combat, they don’t seem to have developed anything beyond basic medical care.

“I suppose with their lack of concern for hygiene, the Fiends would make an ideal population for new pathogens to emerge from… but the NCR cleared Camp McCarran almost three months ago. I haven’t seen any sign of unusual illness, until this young man, three days ago. Something doesn’t add up.

“Given the respiratory symptoms, this could be an airborne illness. Patient X was placed in the corner of the infirmary reserved for respiratory diseases. We are attempting to ventilate the room, and medical staff have followed my requests to practice containment measures. It’s impossible to quarantine in a camp like this, though. The troops were celebrating day and night after retaking the camp. Then news came back about the Freeside riots. Were there actual riots? We don't know how many civilians or soldiers were killed. Some of the troops are angry and confused. They’ve been arguing with each other. Morale is low.

“The last thing anyone gives a shit about is locking down the hospital bay, even if we could. I tried not to push the issue too much. A lot of Followers were involved in the riots. That’s what I’ve gathered, anyway. No one tells me anything, but the uniforms have their own lines of communication. I’ve seen groups of soldiers giving me funny looks once or twice, and breaking off their conversations when I get near. I don’t think they want to take orders from me.

“I just hope no one blames me if this kid dies. All I can do is lower his fever for now and try to ease the cough enough for him to breathe. I’ve been trying to borrow imaging equipment from those assholes at the OSI, but Hildern is saying no just to spite me.

"I’m trying to impress upon him that I need to know what I’m dealing with. The more I emphasise how dangerous an airborne pathogen could be, the more he shuts me down. He’s been avoiding me for days. I’m going to speak to Angela… Dr Williams, again. I can see she wants to help, but Hildern has her under his thumb.

"Oh well. Service to one's fellow man is life's highest calling and all that. Jakobov out."

Playback ends