"We could probably just go around them," Arcade mumbled uneasily "they might not even spot us."

Boone grunted in response, tightening the grip on his rife as he watched the movements of the people below the ridge. He peered through the scope and shifted, settling down on one knee. The Courier sat next to him, his blue eyes shining with eagerness as he looked up to Boone.

"How many?" He asked, pulling a combat knife from his boot. Boone kept his focus ahead, barley mumbling his response.

"Three, all scouts."

"Weapons?"

"Spears and caravan shotguns…. Maybe a hunting rifle."

"Any pants?"

"… Nope."

"IM ON IT!"

The thin brunette vaulted over the side of the ridge with nothing but a knife in hand and a grin on his face. Boone just barley caught his movements from the corner of his eye and reached out in hopes of snagging his jacket.

"No! DAMMIT COURIER!"

In the end it came down to a decision. It was either let go of his rife and grab the kid, or let him go bolting into a blood bath and save the gun. The excuse he would later tell Arcade would simply consist of "It's a really good gun."

Arcade probably would have dropped a sick puppy to save the kid, but he didn't notice until it was too late. "A day late and a cap short" The Courier would later inform him. Right now, he was skidding down the incline, knife in hand. He hit the ground and lunged, bringing the first legionary he could grab down like a sack of rocks. The man only had time to let out a surprised yelp before having the knife driven into his neck, right between the typical weak spot of legionary armor.

"Courier!" Arcade called, pulling out his defender. He didn't get a chance to use it however, since Boone picked off the other two as they turned to see what had become of their partner. Blood leaked onto the sand in thick puddles as both men started down the ridge, sending loose sand and rocks down as they slid.

"Are you mad?" Arcade asked, gaping. The Courier frowned, obviously disapproving of what the dead legionary had been carrying.

"Yeah, I'm a little miffed now that you mention it. You'd think these fuckers would at least have good weapons on them. If I see another fucking spear I'm sending it through someone's eye."

Arcade rolled his eyes and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He turned to Boone, who simply shrugged as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"At least he's killing Legion and leaving the villagers alone." He mumbled, cigarette bobbing up and down between his lips as he spoke. Arcade shook his head, looking slightly worried. He wasn't exactly a fan of The Legion, and Boone had understandable motivations against them. But he didn't really understand why The Courier seemed to have such a grudge, other than the fact "those skirt wearing pussies need to put on pants," as he so eloquently put it.

Arcade grimly figured he just liked killing, but was a step above murdering civilians.

"Ohhhhhh, look what I found!"

Both older men looked over curiously. The Courier produced an almost full bottle of vodka, the label scratched off and caked with dirt. He grinned with triumph before ripping the stopper from the top of the bottle with his teeth. Arcade jumped forward and snatched the bottle from his thin hands.

"No." He ordered simply, as if disciplining a dog or a small child.

"Aw, come on Arcade!" The smaller man laughed, reaching for it. Arcade held it away with one long arm, using the other to hold The Courier back.

"You're to young-"

He stopped in surprise as the bottle was grabbed from him. He just caught Boone out of the corner of his eye as the man passed behind him, bottle in hand. Arcade sighed as the sniper perched himself on a nearby rock, prize secured.

"To drink." The blonde doctor finished. The Courier smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm old enough! I'm like what, eighteen?"

"You might be eighteen," Arcade corrected, adjusting his glasses "You very well could be younger. I'm only guessing here."

"He needs a name."

Both turned towards Boone, who had been totally silent up until this point. The Courier tilted his head.

"Huh?"

"You need a name." The sniper repeated, blowing smoke out of his mouth. Arcade nodded, turning to the younger man.

"You do. We can't keep calling you courier. You deserve a name."

The Courier shrugged sluggishly, and then smiled.

"Can it be Gunner?"

"No." Arcade groaned.

"Farley?"

"No!"

"The Avenger?"

"You're not picking!"

"What? That's bull!"

Boone looked up at the night sky, admiring the blaring stars as he took a swig from the bottle of vodka.

"He's courier six, just call him Six."

Arcade raised an eyebrow.

"That's not very crea-"

"I LOVE IT!" The Courier yelled, his words toppling obnoxiously over Arcade's. The middle aged doctor sighed and shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

"If you like Six, then Six it shall be."

Six pumped his fists in the air, letting out a satisfied "I WIN!"

Six is a character I randomly though of while playing FNV the other day. I could make this a series if enough people like it.