The moon peaked out from behind the low cloud cover, its pale light turning the sky a grey-blue in the midnight hour. From a hill overlooking the barren Wasteland, a pair of eyes, as blue as the ocean before the war, scanned for activity. It was silent, the way she preferred it. Her only company was the wind, quietly whipping up dust as it gently blew across the desert before her. She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath and centering herself. As she opened her eyes, she became aware of a presence approaching her from behind.

"Hello, Charon," she said as the sound of footsteps behind her came to a halt. There was a momentary pause before she received a response.

"Clover," he began, his gravelly voice unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night. "How'd you know it was me?"

"I could smell you," she said, a smile flickering across her face. Charon didn't rise to the bait, much to her disappointment.

"You know what's happening?"

"The Brotherhood hit Reilly tonight. Lot of her people died," she replied. "Did I about nail it?" The ghoul grunted before responding.

"More or less," he began. "You know Talon Company is on our side now, right?" Clover made a sound of affirmation.

"I got it. I'll stop killing so many of them," she answered. Charon made a sound of amusement at that.

"What're you going to do, then? Reilly's people and the Talon crew are making their escape."

"Figured I'd go give them some cover, figure out how the Brotherhood pulled this off so easily. Too many people going in would draw attention. I can do it easier alone." Charon didn't respond to her plans. "I'll meet you back here tomorrow night, fill you in on what I find so you can pass it along." She looked over her shoulder at Charon, before pulling the hood of her stealth suit up and over her head. Charon gave her a short nod of the head in reply.

"Happy hunting, Clover." She activated the stealth suit in response, turning invisible and blending in with the night; leaving Charon with only the wind to keep him company.

Achilles looked out over the Mojave from the hill that the Goodsprings cemetery rested upon. In the far distance, almost on the horizon, the lights of New Vegas lit up the night; appearing as a neon sunrise from where he stood. Behind him he could hear Veronica and Gale quietly talking, standing around the grave that he had been pulled from months earlier. Achilles closed his eyes and, not for the first time, took in the enormity of all that had happened since Victor had pulled him out of his grave. He had shifted the balance of power in the Mojave. He was the kingmaker, and by his whims the future of New Vegas would be decided. It was almost too much for one man to take in. Almost, Achilles thought, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. Too much for an ordinary man, perhaps. Veronica's voice interrupted his meditations.

"You ok, Achilles?" He paused for a moment before turning his back on the Wasteland before him, facing Veronica and Gale instead.

"I am," he began. "Just replaying the past few months in my head." Veronica nodded in understanding, having been the only member of their group to be party to his feelings regarding what they had done across the Mojave.

"Why is this place so important to you?" asked Gale, picking up where Veronica had left off. "I would think you'd never want to see this place again."

"Goodsprings is…hope, to me," he replied, an uncertainty at his choice of words in his tone. "It's what life could be if things worked out differently. The people in this town didn't know me, but they came together to save me. I'm indebted to them," he continued. "I'm not Courier Six here. These people know me for who I am, not the rumors that get spread about me."

"That sounds like how John has described Megaton," Gale replied, smiling at the thought of her friend.

"How so?" Veronica asked in reply. Achilles folded his arms over his chest, curiosity getting the better of him as he waited for Gale's response.

"He told me he met the people there when he first left the Vault. Because of that, they knew who he was before he became the Lone Wanderer of the Capital Wasteland, when he was still just the kid from the Vault."

"Makes sense," Veronica replied. Before they could continue, Achilles interjected.

"Let's get back down to the Pioneer," he said. "It's still early, most of the town will be there. Get in out of all this dust, at least," he continued. As Gale and Veronica turned to head back into Goodsprings, Achilles shot one last look at the horizon, towards the lights of New Vegas. My Wasteland. My city.

The slide on the 10mm handgun pulled back smoothly, chambering a round as John loaded the weapon. Checking the safety, he slid the pistol into a holster on his waist; before throwing on the duster the Regulators had given him, obscuring the pistol from prying eyes. In a stark contrast to everywhere else he had been, people carrying weapons in the Boneyard drew attention. He had felt naked at first, walking around in the sprawling city with no weapon, but he had come to be accustomed to not feeling the weight on his waist. As John had discovered when they had visited him at the hospital, the Boneyard's police force was extensive and well-funded.

Reaching the front door of the Followers' facility, John stepped out into the night. He had a target tonight. In the back of his mind, he was aware he was breaking the one rule he had set for himself when he had set out from Megaton, those many months before: don't get involved. That was naïve. Didn't account for what may happen along the way, he thought to himself as justification. The soft sounds of the city at night-the humming of electric streetlights, the distant sounds of bars and nightlife echoing through the canyons, accompanied him as the city rolled past. San Piedro, the area of the city that the victims of the gunfight he had treated were from, was his destination. He had been visited by the girlfriend of the man who he had operated on, the one who had died and whose death certificate he had signed. The one that had led to the two detectives visiting him several days prior.

It was midday, and John was sitting across from Emily in the cafeteria, idly talking about the experts the Followers' had recruited to go east with them, when one of the receptionists walked toward him.

"Hey, Dr. Thompson?" she began, catching him off guard with the honorific before his name.

"You can just call me John," he replied, smiling at her. "What's up?"

"There's someone here for you up front," she replied. John's stomach dropped at that.

"Oh God," he began as he stood up. "Is it two men in cheap looking suits?" A look of confusion crossed the receptionist's face.

"No…it's a girl. Younger, dark hair," she replied. A palpable feeling of relief washed over John, one that was quickly replaced by confusion as he wondered who it could be, as he knew no one in the Boneyard by that description. The walk to the lobby of the building was brief, through the winding corridors to a large foyer. In front of the reception desk John saw a young woman, close to his age at first glance, with dark hair that fell to her shoulders. As the duo approached, the woman turned, fixing a stone face and a pair of eyes that were brilliantly blue on John.

"Ma'am? This is the doctor you asked for," the receptionist began, gesturing to John before moving back to her position at the receptionist's desk. John extended his hand to the woman, being met with a soft hand and a surprisingly solid grip.

"My name is John Thompson," he began, releasing his hold on the woman's hand. "I'm told you were looking for me?" The woman nodded.

"Kelsey. My name is Kelsey. You signed Hector Spanjol's death certificate?" she replied. John took note of a slight rise and a subtle break in her voice at the mention of the man's name and death. His mind immediately began making connections-she was connected to the man somehow, perhaps a family member.

"I did. I was assisting in the E.R. when the victims of the shooting in San Piedro began to arrive. I did everything I could for him, but his injuries were too severe," he explained. "Is there…something specific you wanted to know?" There was a pause before she responded.

"What…what happened?" she responded, her voice breaking with emotion as she asked. Lover, John immediately thought. She was the young man's lover, the emotion gave her away.

"Why don't we go sit down and I'll answer your questions, Kelsey?" he asked in response. She nodded at him, tears forming in her eyes as he gestured down the hallway that would lead to the office the doctors allowed him to share.

The conversation that had followed was what had led John to the San Piedro docks that night; why he had a 10mm pistol concealed beneath his duster. The weight of the handgun after so long not carrying one was reassuring, familiar. Simultaneously, it was exciting in a dangerous way; the threat of being caught with it, the promise of potential violence quickening his pulse as he made his way through the streets. Moving away from the center of the Boneyard and into the side streets, the silence of the night prevailed; his only company being the faint sound of wind and the hum of electric lights. In the distance, from the direction of the docks, the faint cries of birds were carried on the wind. The residential neighborhoods of San Piedro formed a horseshoe around the industrial grounds of the dockyards, large apartment buildings forming the core of the community. Adjacent to them was a marketplace, a post-war development judging by the ad hoc nature of the buildings, from which shone lights and the vibrant sounds of nightlife. The flicker of a smile passed across John's lips at that. Humanity. Nothing if not predictable. The nightlife was helpful to his mission, a further boon. It meant less likelihood of goons on the docks, and more likelihood of any witnesses being intoxicated by the time he was done.

With a quick glance back over his shoulder, John turned to move towards the decrepit fence surrounding the dockyards. There were visible gaps in the fence, large enough for him to slip through without drawing attention by approaching the primary entrances. Dropping into a low crouch, he gently eased through the hole in the fence, before dropping to one knee when he was through. Reaching down, he drew the handgun from its holster, flicking the safety off instinctively with his thumb before standing back up, holding the handgun at the low ready as he gently began to move towards a nearby warehouse.

There was a gang operating out of the docks, running black market weapons into the Boneyard and selling to the highest bidder. That was what he had gleaned from his conversation with Kelsey when she had come to visit him. She had told him about Hector, the young man he had tried to save; about their relationship and dreams and the all-consuming emptiness that had defined her days since he had died. The fact that even she, an upstanding citizen who had no connections to crime, knew about the gunrunning operations of the gangs in San Piedro, spoke to the possibility that someone with money was paying off the Boneyard's police department, convincing them to turn a blind eye to their activities.

Blending with the shadows, John quickly darted towards the wall of the warehouse, pressing himself flat against the corrugated steel next to an open bay door, one designed to allow tractor trailers access to the building. Closing his eyes, he focused his senses, reaching out with his ears to listen for sounds of life; centering himself as he did. When his eyes opened again the Lone Wanderer was there, ready to hunt. There was one person in this building, on a rafter that ran along the side wall of the building. He was relaxed, his footsteps shuffling, idle; moving without any purpose. The perfect target. A smile crossed John's face at that, a predatory grin that no one that was still alive had ever seen. Quickly, John moved through the bay door, crouched low and darting towards the stairs that would lead him to his prey.

"They're so young," McPherson said, as he looked out at the group of recruits that stood in the courtyard of the Citadel. The other Drill Sergeants were laying into the group, introducing them to the Brotherhood's way of thinking with alacrity. Next to him, propped against the wall, was Star-Paladin Gunny. Both men were attired in their dress uniforms, a field grey uniform with a soft cap on their heads. Around his neck McPherson wore the Order of Maxson that he had been awarded. To him the medal meant next to nothing; it merely symbolized his commitment to his men and his mission. To Gunny, and to the other Drill Sergeants that had been assigned to the recruits, it was a teachable lesson.

"We all were once," Gunny replied, pushing off the wall as he responded. In the courtyard, the Drill Sergeants were forming the recruits into something resembling a formation; four ranks deep. "Let's go introduce ourselves." McPherson followed, a step behind Gunny, towards the front of the formation. Their comrades were still berating the formation, with any fidget, any incorrect posture, being met with a barrage of invective. It was only as Gunny and McPherson approached that the assembly fell silent. Both men stopped, appraising the group for a moment, before Gunny began addressing them. McPherson brought himself to as rigid a position of parade rest as his injuries allowed him to as Gunny spoke.

"My name is Star Paladin Gunny. For the next 14 weeks of your training, you'll know me as 'Sir.'" I am your Senior Military Instructor. I have been a member of the Brotherhood of Steel the entirety of my life. Before any of you were born I crossed the God-forsaken wastes with the others of this chapter to reach the Capital Wasteland," Gunny said, his tones clipped and formal. It was a far cry from how McPherson and the other Drills knew him to be in private. "To my left is Paladin McPherson, your Senior Drill Sergeant," Gunny continued; McPherson snapping to attention as he did. "You will note that Paladin McPherson wears a medal around his neck that none of the rest of your Drill Sergeants, myself included, possess. It is the Order of Maxson, the highest award a member of the Brotherhood can receive for heroism in combat. Paladin McPherson was shot multiple times and still managed to kill several Talon Company mercenaries and drive the survivors from the field. He is an example of what it means to be a member of the Brotherhood," Gunny continued, before turning to McPherson. "Anything you'd like to add, Paladin?" McPherson thought for a moment before relaxing and stepping forward. He scanned the group with an appraising eye, looking at a gaggle of bewildered faces and shaved heads. Had I ever really looked like this, he wondered, before addressing them.

"If you're here for food, for shelter, for a free ride and easy caps, you came to the wrong place. If that's why you're here, fall out and get back to your waster lives now," he began, pausing after for added effect. As he expected, no one moved. "If you want to be part of something big, if you look around you and can feel that this isn't the way the world should be; then you're in the right place. But you have to earn it first," he continued, before glancing at Gunny. Gunny merely nodded at him, before Liam turned back to the formation. "Let's get to work."

It was early morning when Lucas Simms heard Stockholm shouting for him to come to the gate. Grabbing his rifle, he quickly made his way up the hill from the Brass Lantern, in time to see an exhausted looking group of heavily armed men and women, their attire a mix of Talon Company black and Reilly's green. A dark haired, olive skinned woman was at the front of the group; carrying a laser rifle at the low ready. She stepped forward to meet Lucas, before looking past him. Looking over his shoulder, Lucas was met by Jackson and his Talon Company men quickly making their way towards the group; Reilly running to catch up to them. Before Lucas could say anything, Jackson spoke to the mercenary at the head of the group.

"Mia. What's your status?"

"My mercs are fine. We didn't get hit. This is all we could collect of Reilly's crew, though," she replied; Reilly looking crestfallen as she frantically scanned the few mercenaries in the green of her outfit.

"What happened?" Reilly asked, a plaintive tone to her voice. One of her people stepped forward to join Mia at the front of the group, others moving to get out of their combat armor and unload their gear as he did.

"Brotherhood came out of nowhere, Reilly. Butcher and Brick stayed back with some others to hold them as long as possible. We didn't see any of them after that. Brotherhood was on us the entire way until we linked up with the Talon group." Reilly's face dropped into her hands for a quick moment at that; before composing herself and looking back at the man.

"How did you escape? We heard from Jackson that the Brotherhood has new power armor, something our weapons aren't effective against," she replied. The man drew a deep breath before responding.

"Well…Mia's people distracted them for a quick minute. But then…" the man trailed off, sharing a look with Mia as he did, who nodded back at him.

"Then what?" Reilly asked. Lucas couldn't help but notice Jackson shift as Reilly asked, something in his posture looking almost uncomfortable to Lucas' practiced eye.

"Someone came out of nowhere. Power armor, plasma rifles that tore through the Brotherhood that was on our tail. Reilly…Mia and I, we talked about it on the hike here. We think it's the Enclave," the man answered. Reilly's eyes went wide at that, a sound of shock catching in Lucas' throat at the same time.

"What?" Lucas said, straining to get the word out.

"Explain," Reilly commanded.

"It was them, chief," Mia answered. "Power Armor, black as night and with a helmet that has eyes like an ant. And they swooped in on a Vertibird. I saw the markings on the tail of it, it wasn't the wings and sword the Brotherhood has. It was the letter E in a circle of stars." The blood had drained from Reilly's face as Mia had answered her. Before any of them could speak, the mercenary continued. "They must have had a sniper out there somewhere too. There were a few times as we were escaping that Brotherhood or Raiders got a bit close to us. We didn't even notice them until they were shot; couldn't see from where." Reilly drew a deep breath before looking to Jackson and Lucas.

"We need to get everyone and meet right now about this," she said. Lucas nodded at her.

"Go get your people and meet at my place as soon as you can. Grab Evan and the group from 101 while you're at it." Jackson had stepped forward to address his mercenaries as Lucas spoke.

"Good work, Mia. All of you. Good work tonight. Expect a bonus at the end of the month for that," he said, being met with appreciative hoots and whistles at the promise of extra pay. Lucas spoke up as the noise died down.

"All of you, go get yourselves set up with food and drinks down at the Brass Lantern. Tell the Stahls that it's on my tab. Just behave down there," he said, a smile crossing his face as he spoke. He was met with more cheers and hoots as the group of mercenaries set off down the hill.

"Where are the weapons going?" John demanded, followed by another punch into the prostrate man's face. He was met by a grunt of pain and blood spattering on the floor as a response. The first man he had encountered, at the warehouse, had taken considerably less abuse before breaking and telling him where to find the local boss of the operation. The same boss' face was now a mess of bruises, his nose broken from repeated punches. John was still uncertain if the man had risen to the top of his organization by being tough, or simply too dumb to feel pain. A labored breath, thick with phlegm and blood, dribbled out of the man's mouth. With a frustrated sigh, John pushed the man onto his back, before wiping blood off on his duster. Time to change tactics, he thought, as he scanned the room. On the floor, his victim had rolled onto his side, curled in the fetal position. John dropped to a knee alongside the man, before whispering to him.

"I know you're scared of whoever you're working with, but I promise you, I can hurt you 100 times worse than they can," he began, the man's labored breathing falling silent as he spoke. "I didn't grow up here, I'm not from here. I'm from the Wasteland, and I've killed people, tortured people, crucified people for less than what you've done. I promise you, if you tell me what I want to know, I'll leave it at that. You won't hurt anymore. If you keep fighting me, I will cut out your tongue. Then your hands, then your feet. And before I take your eyes, I will find everyone you hold dear and make you watch them suffer, unable to scream without a tongue. Now tell me. Where. Are. The. Guns. Going?" he continued, his whisper becoming a snarl as he did. That was well done, I think. The man moaned before responding.

"The Mojave. They're going to the Legion in the Mojave. They come in from the Shi in San Francisco, we give the Shi gold Legion coins in return. Then we run them to Legion agents who smuggle them into the Mojave. That's all, we're just middlemen," he desperately explained.

"Shootouts aren't discrete. How haven't you been caught by the Boneyard's Police yet?" John demanded.

"We pay off people in the department. Chems, girls, money. You name it. Ever since the Brotherhood wrecked the NCR's economy by destroying their gold the government boys are getting desperate." John grunted at that. I should have guessed. He gave the man a soft pat on the head in response, before turning and hurrying back into the now still night.

Sarah quietly paced the perimeter of the Great Hall, arms crossed over her chest and stewing in thought, when she saw a Knight entering the room in her peripheral vision. Turning to face him and cursorily returning his offered salute, she gestured for the man to speak.

"Elder. We have two Vertibirds inbound to the Citadel. The Pride are being accompanied by Paladin Danse and Knight-Sergeant Masterson. They respectfully request an immediate audience with you upon their arrival," the Knight reported. Sarah raised an eyebrow, glancing towards Scribe Rothchild and Star-Paladin Cross before responding.

"Very well, Knight. Direct them to us here upon their arrival," she replied; again returning a salute to dismiss the man back to his duties. As the door closed, Sarah turned to face the two other leaders in the Great Hall. With the Pride's raid having achieved its objectives, the room had quickly emptied out; the varied Paladins and Scribes preparing to go about the duties they would have in the aftermath of the operation.

"That certainly sounded ominous," Rothchild commented, drawing a sound of agreement from Cross.

"Likely just coming in to report on whatever intelligence they recovered in the compound," Sarah mused, more to herself then to anyone else. The room fell quiet again at that, all three of the occupants choosing to take seats and await the arrival of the strike team from the field. They did not have to wait long; as from the hall, the audible thud of T-60 armor grew increasingly close. A moment later the door opened, and the senior members of the Pride-Colvin, Kodiak, and Glade entered, accompanied by Paladin Danse and Knight-Sergeant Masterson; who acted as the senior Knight advisor to Danse. All had their helmets removed, and the expressions on their faces took Sarah aback, as she looked up to meet Colvin in the eyes. As soon as the door was securely closed behind them, he spoke.

"The Enclave attacked, Sarah." Lyons felt her stomach do several flips in the span of a second following that. Before she could say anything, Danse spoke; his tone more aggressive than she had ever heard it before.

"I lost men tonight, Elder. They had no idea what hit them." Sarah met his gaze, unblinking, before responding.

"What's the tally?"

"Eight dead, another nine wounded, and one missing in action, likely captured." Sarah's eyes went wide at that.

"Captured?" she replied, her question serving as a demand for explanation.

"By the Enclave, Elder. Three of them, by all accounts from my soldiers, completely drove off a platoon of my company that was pursuing the remnants of Reilly's Rangers that escaped their compound. The Enclave came out of nowhere. The MIA is Knight Daniels. He was equipped with T-60 armor and an AER laser rifle. My men report that, as they fell back, they saw a Vertibird land and the three Enclave personnel carry him aboard. He's at the very least severely wounded, if not dead." Sarah fell into a seat at that, her hands forming into tight fists before looking to Colvin.

"Get your people refitted and as rested as possible," she began, before turning to Star-Paladin Cross. "Cross, activate the QRF that has been on standby. Begin search protocols for isolated personnel. Get on the horn to Adams, have the Vertibirds there begin spinning up for Search And Rescue operations," she began, the words spilling out, before Colvin interrupted.

"Sarah," he began, snapping her attention to him. "We'll search, we'll do what honor demands we do. But Daniels is gone. He's likely dead, and if not, he will wish he was shortly. The Enclave knew. We have to assume they've been listening to our communications, monitoring our movement patterns, and have informants in the Wasteland that can somehow contact them."

"Recommendations?" Sarah replied, scanning the room. Danse immediately speak up.

"No more secrets. No more lies. My soldiers might still be alive if they had known they had to worry about the Enclave. As soon as they revealed themselves, my soldiers began jumping at shadows. I lost three of the eight dead to sniper fire while they continued pursuing the Rangers and Talon Company." Sarah drew a deep breath, before nodding.

"Alright. At first call this morning I'll address the chapter and brief them as well as possible," she said, before turning her attention to Colvin. "How soon do you think Gallows could be ready to get back out there?" Colvin pursed his lips in thought, before responding.

"Before first light. You know how he is. He doesn't require the things us mortals do," he replied, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Sarah nodded in response, as the group dismissed themselves; leaving her and Rothchild to contemplate what had happened.

January 20, 2282

John had come to expect having bad news delivered in the mornings. It was as he sat with Emily, quietly eating breakfast, that he spotted the morning receptionist making her way towards him with an apologetic look on her face. With a sigh, he straightened up, turning to greet her as she approached.

"I'm sorry, John…someone is here to see you again." John stood up, Emily mumbling a goodbye from her seat, as he looked to the receptionist.

"Don't suppose it's the young lady from last week, huh?" The receptionist shook her head, as she turned to lead him to his mystery caller.

"No. Someone else. Wearing an Army uniform. Wouldn't tell me his name," she shrugged. That description did not fail to alarm John, as his mind began racing on the short walk to the doctor's lounge. With the receptionist stepping aside, John entered the lounge; finding a man that looked as if he had stepped off a pre-war recruiting poster. He was of a similar height to John, with neatly combed, blonde hair and blue eyes; attired in an immaculate, olive green uniform that contained a chest full of ribbons. The man offered his hand as John approached.

"Dr. Thompson. Colonel Rogers, Office of Strategic Services. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he began, his words accompanied by a warm smile and a gesture to sit.

"Thank you, Colonel Rogers. I see my reputation precedes me," he replied, smiling in return at the man.

"That it does. Your Wasteland Survival Guide has become required reading for trainees entering the OSS." John laughed at that, before responding.

"I'm not entirely sure Moira envisaged her book being used to train soldiers, but if it's saved some lives, I'm glad." Rogers nodded at his answer.

"It has. Are you familiar with the OSS, Doctor?"

"John, please. Nobody calls me Doctor. And I can't say I've ever heard of your outfit."

"Good, it means we're doing our jobs right," he responded, chuckling as he did, before continuing. "We are responsible for…extraordinary operations. Beyond the purview of any of the specialized units in the NCR Army you may be familiar with, such as the Rangers," he explained.

"Extraordinary operations, huh?" John responded, curious as to where the man was going with this.

"Indeed. Extraordinary operations being a bureaucratic way of saying fighting dirty. You can imagine the need for a group like us, in light of the war we're fighting." John nodded at the response.

"That I can, Colonel. What brings you to see me, though?" The Colonel smiled before responding.

"We've been aware of you since before you ever came to the NCR. We've known you were in the NCR almost since you arrived. You've been remarkably peaceable and civilized while you've been here; moreso than most people from the Wasteland when they first integrate into the NCR," he replied. John raised his eyebrows at the response.

"I'm not sure if I should be offended by that, Colonel Rogers."

"No offense is intended, John. We were more than content to let you go about your business here and return to the East Coast without ever contacting you, despite how beneficial having someone of your talents on our side would be."

"Then why are you contacting me now?" John replied, now thoroughly lost.

"You contacted us. Your adventure on the San Piedro docks two nights ago." John blanched as his heart skipped a beat. "I have no doubt that you are more than discrete enough to avoid untrained eyes in the Wasteland. But to those that know what to look for, you're fairly easy to track." John stared, stone faced, as the man continued. "The operation you attacked. It was a front organization for the OSS. The goons you beat up really are just dumb goons. They aren't running the guns to the Legion in the Mojave. They're going to NCR funded militias. The Shi think they're weakening our Eastern border, drawing us off of the Bay Area so they can reinforce their little fiefdom, perhaps even expand it. You can imagine how surprised they will be when they have their own weapons turned on them."

"And the members of the Boneyard Police that they claim to have paid off?" John replied, dropping his façade of ignorance. Colonel Rogers had him dead to rights.

"Informants, mostly. One or two are actually crooked, they'll be getting picked up by Internal Affairs once this operation is concluded."

"And what do you need with me?" John asked. Rogers met him, eye to eye, before responding.

"We need you, Mr. Thompson. The OSS needs people of quality, people of unique talents. And you are remarkably talented at violence."

"Didn't you just say I'm easy to track?" Rogers smiled at his response.

"That can be taught. Its what's intrinsic to your personality that makes you unique. Like your friend, Yudhajit Smith." John sat back in his chair, a feeling of utter resignation coming over him.

"So you know about Yudhajit." It was a statement, not a question.

"Of course. We've known about him for as long as he's been worth knowing."

"So what do you want with me?" John asked, bracing himself for the blow that he knew was coming.

"We want you to fight the good fight-" he began, being interrupted by raucous laughter from John. A nonplussed expression came over Rogers' face at that. "I'm sorry, was something I said funny?" John quickly composed himself before responding.

"Don't call it the good fight. One of the biggest douchebags I ever knew, back east, used to call what I was doing that. It was gross propaganda," John began, continuing before he could be stopped. "You need me to kill people for you. I can do that. I've certainly killed people for a lot worse reasons than protecting the NCR." A thin smile crossed Rogers' face at that.

"You sound like an honest to goodness Californian, John." The Lone Wanderer shrugged before responding.

"I like it here. You have electricity. And good bars," he began. "I'd be lying if I didn't say I've been bored working in this hospital every day. My knee has been fine almost since they operated on it. I'm just not in any rush to go home, honestly," John continued, more thinking aloud than conversing.

"So we have a deal?" Rogers asked.

"I suppose it would be poor form if I didn't ask what you'll do if I say no?" Rogers laughed before responding.

"We arrest you and your friends Emily and Yudhajit as enemies of the state and members of the Brotherhood of Steel, and your friend Bonzo for conspiracy against the New California Republic," the officer promptly responded. John nodded vigorously at his response.

"That's what I thought. When do we start?"

What a weird year and a half it's been. But yeah, I'm still alive. I decided to cut this chapter in half, otherwise it would have gotten out of hand. Hopefully have the rest up soon. Sorry for the delay. Happy New Year, everyone.