Frumentarius Decimus, the man who once went by the name Follows-Chalk gasped for air as he dropped to one knee. The blow stung but compared to the hardships he had survived it was nothing. A bullet hurt, some of the veterans used to say, but it was nothing compared to a caning from your instructor if you messed up during training. And it was true the pain from Sulla's cane was worse than the bullet he took in the Battle of Nipton where Hsu, the only enemy Caesar credited with competence, was cut down and the NCR thrown back to the Core Regions. Nor did any number of the wounds he took during the civil war compare for they were all blunted by the euphoria of victory – the sight of Hsu's body as it was thrown down, pierced by a dozen blades and the sound, smell and sight of the bombs dropping on Gaius Magnus' last holdout, a display of raw power to cow any other would be traitors if they still had a mind to rise up after the traitors were bested in the field three times. But there was no euphoria in training, no victory, only survival – and that's why there was no pain after training was done for there was only victory, the Legion could not be stopped.

"He's got fuck all in here." Growled the raider who now rummaged through his bag. Decimus cursed silently – he had been sloppy and been too tired to place pieces of broken glass and plates at the doors and windows of the house he had called home for the night, a trick which twice already had saved his life and now he paid the price. A baseball bat to the stomach and a knife to the shoulder later Decimus watched as the four raiders went through his belongings, none of whom seemed rich enough for a gun (probably the reason they got into raiding in the first place, Decimus thought). One was working through the closet as another flipped the bed.

"Look at me!" Demanded the fourth – a giant with the baseball bat. Decimus glanced up and grinned. "What are you smiling at you stupid fu…" The Frumentarius launched himself forwards, dragging a knife from the inside of his belt as he did. The blade entered the raider's throat before he could even draw back for a blow. The blade was torn out and Decimus was on the man by the closet in a second. The knife stabbed in between his ribcage and stuck there. The raider dropped to his knees as Decimus rolled under a blow thrown by the third man, scooping up the baseball bat as he went. The Frumentarius spun round, swinging the bat as he did. It took the raider in the forehead and crushed his skull with the force of a Brahmin's kick. He lay on the ground twitching uncontrollably as Decimus advanced on the final man, who stood dumbstruck – bag still in hand.

"Where's the nearest settlement?" He asked of the frozen enemy. The raider, who seemed no older than thirteen made a strange noise halfway between a beg for mercy and the mewling noise made by mole rats as they died. "Answer me or I'll break every bone in your body." The soldier promised.

"It's about six, seven, maybe near ten miles to the south east – it's got big walls you can see it from ages away." The raider stuttered through.

"Thank you." Decimus replied before caving in the boy's skull. The elation of victory came over him as he packed up his gear and left. He strolled out the door and did the same thing he had done in the month since his bicycle broke – he walked towards the sunrise.

"What awaits us when we march east?" Caesar, the blood of his enemies still in his greying hair, had asked after the Northern Campaign that pacified the 80's, the Dog Soldiers and Nampa Coalition.

That day Porcino had despatched dozens of squads of Frumentarii and Speculators. At least one was to stop at each major population centre they came across – gathering information and establishing contacts. In this manner a chain was created which information from even the furthest flung town could reach Caesar and his faithful spymaster. Decimus was the last of his squad – twelve men settled down in towns and cities and three dead from the dangers of the wasteland – and once he reached this new town he would stay there and establish contact with the previous man.

Once the Legion reached a town with a Frumentarii or Speculator in residence the scout would follow the chain down to the farthest away outpost and establish himself in the next town. In this manner the Legion could march all the way to the east coast and never march into unmapped territory. Decimus surveyed the hills around him, a wasteland different from the Mojave – one born of Mars' fire not nature – it had felt the full wrath of the god and the earth had been moulded by it. The Profligates in this area before the judgement must have truly been weak to deserve such a punishment.

Before long Decimus found a caravan path followed it in the direction the raider had pointed him and marched his way down it with the casual arrogance the older Speculators had told him to adopt. Raiders will shy away from a walking armoury wearing power armour they said but most times walking without fear with even the lightest of protections was enough. A lightly armed man on an un-policed road should be afraid and the simple act of not being afraid when you should be, they had said, scared the shit out of your average raider. It worked more than well enough Decimus had discovered on several occasions.

Three weeks ago he had even heard the raiders arguing as he passed. They knew he had seen them but he did not run – that, they had argued, meant he was either a psycho or had some friends nearby either meant they should be "getting the fuck out of there" the leader so eloquently put. After an hour and a half of a strong pace the road turned towards the towering walls of the decedent cesspool Decimus would now call home. At the gates a fat merchant scrambled out from the shade to his stall as the Frumentarius came into view. A robot waited by the gates and a sniper lounged on a walkway above – light security compared to many of the towns he had passed. Weak, he concluded, grown soft behind the safety of their walls.

"Water, weapons, food and board." The fat man called out to him. "I got all of them, come on son – cheaper than you'll get on the inside." Decimus ignored him and continued on his way – how sweet the victory over these profligates would feel after time among them he considered – if anything they should feel honoured to receive the attention of Caesar and to be pulled kicking and screaming from their pathetic, weak lives. As he drew closer to the gate the robot turned to him.

"Welcome to Megaton. The bomb is perfectly safe, we promise."

Once more please review or give any indication if you liked or disliked this

I'm sorry to see this story coming to an end but I couldn't see anyway to continue on after Cato's rise without the story dragging and eventually becoming either an abandoned fic or ending at an arbitrary.

I am however considering writing other stories in the fallout world - though I'm unsure whether to set it in eithier the Mojave, Capital or a completely OC story set in Texas. I may set a poll up or you can just tell me through the messaging if you like my writing and want to see more