"I should have known it would have come to this." she said sadly. "You've got too much of a one track mind to have it any other way."

"And you've got far too much of a closed mind to believe in me." he shot back.

"I just thought maybe it would different between us." she said. "I don't know why."

"Everything could have been different between us, Cass. You chose to hunt me, set the NCR dogs on me, chase me across the wasteland. None of this had to happen but you chose to make it. Don't talk to me about what could have been different. I would have made you a goddess among men. Burned Shady Sands to the ground and wrote your name in the ashes."

"And I'd become your accomplice." she shook her head.

"No. As you can see I never needed your help. I would have taken care of you but you never let me. We could have spent the last seven years finding some measure of happiness in the hell this world has become. But you threw it all away for your pride."

Cassidy was quiet and when she spoke again there was a finality in her voice that the Word Bearer knew well. "You promised to write about me, about your followers if you made it out of here. You made it out just fine. Was that an empty promise or did you mean it?"

"I've never lied to you, Rose of Sharon Cassidy. You have no idea the personal sacrifice you ask for me to reveal this history of mine but I agreed to do it for you. Your name will live on in the Word, even if you yourself will not."

He walked past her and set his hand on her trembling shoulder. She looked at him with scarred eyes and he kept going towards the waiting exit. It was another mile on the road, another pitfall in the many that had dogged his every step since picking up that fated Platinum Chip. Everything had been a falling line of dominoes since that very moment that had led him inexorably to this one. The death of his last true friend was just another in the long line of things he had given up to make the world a more sane place.

The Word Bearer was nearly out of the base when he heard the single gunshot. He stopped for a moment to pull the two bullets out of his pocket and jingle them in his hand. Turning around he threw them back towards the base and headed out into the desert.

The small rest stop was little more than a couple of shacks serving wasteland food which amounted to rad animals killed that morning. The Herald of Ulysses hefted his pack and headed inside despite his reluctance to patronize such a place. A wasteland pit stop like this one was begging for a Mark. Ducking into the makeshift door Marcus nodded to the shop keep.

"What have you got?" he asked.

"Fresh iguana and bighorn meat. Guaranteed not to give a stomach ache." the wasteland woman said.

"Caps?"

"Ten."

Dispensing the payment Marcus scanned the diner. There were few other patrons as he suspected and he set his pack down in one of the somewhat clean booths. He was about to sit down when he heard the distant blip! of a gun being fired from far away. Something hit nearby and a woman screamed from outside.

"Raiders!" a man yelled just before another pop took out someone else. Marcus got low to the ground and the few scared patrons of the diner tried to make for the exit. A wastelander man got to the doorway before a round from a massive gun tore his chest apart. The shop keep screamed and there was mass panic all around the Herald who managed to keep his cool. Raiders were never going to take him alive and as long as he put down a few before he went he could die happy.

People tried to escape out of the back but Marcus heard the pop pop pop! of successive shots and the thud of dead weight hitting an uncaring ground. When all was quiet Marcus pulled his weapons from his bag. Crafted from wood was a pack of flame hardened throwing spikes that were to be launched from his personally made spear thrower. He could nail the weak points in armor at close distances or put one into a moving target's eye socket and would drop a raider or three for sure. For when they came in close he pulled on a leather gauntlet with a single sharpened metal spike made from the barrel of a gun.

Staying quiet he waited until he heard movement from outside. The smell of burning gasoline hit his nose and for a moment he had to wonder if he'd run into the Word Bearer. That didn't make any sense though so he crept towards the door and peered outside with his spear thrower at the ready.

Not seeing anyone he was confident enough to step out into the waste. The gasoline smell returned as the spear thrower was knocked down his hand in a flash. Turning to face his assailant he came face to face with a gas mask wearing, duster clad man pointing a flaming sword at him. Too shocked to even move Marcus simply held up his hands at the sight of the Word Bearer.

"I...I...I..." he stuttered.

"Good tools. Original. Not some cheap knock off." the deadliest of any wasteland wanderers growled from underneath his full face mask.

"I mean you no harm, Courier!" Marcus managed to get out.

"You harm me? Don't be ridiculous, Herald."

"Was this location to be Marked?" he asked timidly.

"No. I was just having a bad day." the human nightmare said.

"I...I was heading north. Going to start a new nation. In Ulysses' name." Marcus said and wondered if this would even matter to the other man.

"Do you want to live?" the Courier asked as if Marcus hadn't said a word.

"Yes! Yes. I...I have good left to do, Courier."

"Gather these bodies and burn them along with this hellhole of a wasteland stop. I'll be watching you and this new nation of yours." he said and got in Marcus' face with that burning blade. "And if you and your friends fuck up, I'm going to slaughter the lot of you."

Shaking Marcus managed to nod as the Courier turned away from him. Looking over his shoulder at the Herald he disappeared into the dust and the image of his star-spangled back would haunt Marcus for years to come. It was many minutes before he could think to do something other than stare stupidly in the distance. Snapping out of it he dutifully began to gather what was left of the other wastelanders and dragged them back into the diner for a final rest. He would have quite the story to tell when he made it North.

The End