New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Welcome back to Galaxy News Radio! This is Three Dog with an important public service announcement! Listen here, children, I know that sometimes the wasteland may seem bleak... but promise me that you will never give up hope! Hope will keep the world alive. Hope will be your light in the darkness... or at least, the radiation. Always remember that for every asshole, slaver, raider shithead out there, there are just as many people who will stand up by your side and help you fight back! So keep fighting the Good Fight, children! We're Radio Free Wasteland, and we'll be here... for you.

"I can't convince you to stay, huh?" I asked, watching as Chris made his way to the Roadkill. Fawkes was leaning against his giant gatling laser, calmly smoking a cigar, and Dogmeat was leaning out of the open canopy, panting away happily. Chris turned on the spot, smiled at me and shook his head.

"Nah... My work here is done." As he spoke, he struck a heroic pose and looked to the sky. The over-the-top, melodramatic way he started speaking next, it sounded like he was quoting something, but I couldn't place it:

"I'm needed elsewhere now! Wherever outlaws rule the west... wherever innocent women and children are afraid to walk the streets... wherever a man cannot live in simple dignity... and wherever a people cry out... for Justice!"

There was a very long pause where neither of us said anything.

"Bull. Shit." I stared at him, folding my arms across my chest. He dropped the melodramatic nonsense and loosened up, shrugging at me with a laugh.

"Alright, you caught me. But speaking the plain truth is getting pretty damn dull around here!" I buried my face in my hands, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Seriously, though. What are you gonna do?" Chris shrugged.

"Quite a lot! I've got plenty of stuff yet to do, you know? I still need to get to Mariposa to help out Harold, and I'm sure that I'll run into a massive plethora of side quests along the way to keep me busy! Plus, you and I both know there are gonna be rogue pockets of Enclave out there that need to be squashed. There was enough time before the base went boom for at least some of them to have escaped. I mean, I survived, you survived, your two girlfriends survived..."

"Wait, what?" I hadn't told anyone that Tuera was still alive! How did he know about...

"My point is this: what you're doing here in Vegas is really noble. It's great and all, but... the politics, the factions, and the... responsibility? This really isn't my style. I'd just get in the way if I stuck around. Besides..." He started laughing heartily. "With both myself and Christine here, we'd definitely be going over the One Chris Limit. And I don't want to do that."

"Uh... Riiiiight..." Just smile and nod, Sheason. That's all you can do here.

"So, I'm gonna head back out into the wasteland, and do what I do best: walk the earth, get into adventures, meet interesting people, maybe cause a few massive explosions here and there..."

"You're just gonna fuck around, basically," I said flatly. Chris laughed and nodded.

"Now you're getting it!" He gave me one last smile and shook my hand heartily before turning back to get into the Roadkill. "You take care of yourself, Bro."

"Don't worry about me, you just watch your own ass out there," I smiled, giving him a lazy salute/wave. "Think we'll ever see each other again?" Chris nodded enthusiastically, and the Roadkill hummed to life.

"Oh, sure! I mean, you've got Zeta's number, right? If you ever want to hang out, go for drinks, or just blow shit up for shits and giggles, you know where to find me! And hey, if nothing else, I'll probably show up again in the Epilogue!" The Roadkill started slowly spinning on the spot, the humming giving way to a dull roar. "Until next time, this is your friendly neighborhood Lone Wanderer... signing off!"

There was a sonic boom, a cloud of smoke and dust was kicked up in its wake, and the Roadkill sped off down Vegas Boulevard, away from the 38. I stood on the steps, waving as he vanished into the distance. When he was gone, I let out a heavy sigh, and started chuckling to myself as I made my way back up the stairs.

"Fuckin' tourists..."

Ding.

I stepped out of the elevator and into the suite, with the intention of finding Boone; we had some work to do today, and it was probably best to get started as soon as possible. I decided that the first room to check would be the living room; Boone had taken to playing darts a lot recently... when he wasn't out hunting for Fiends or Legionnaires, that is.

I didn't find him there. Instead, I found Veronica and Christine fast asleep on the couch. Seeing the two of them just cuddling with one another was adorable, it must be said. And yet, I couldn't help but laugh quietly to myself: Christine was merrily snoring away, complete with a dopey smile on her face, as her head rested against Veronica's rather... ample bosom.

I guess Cass hadn't been exaggerating, after all.

Quietly (so as not to wake either of them) I ducked into my room, grabbed a blanket, and carefully draped it over the two snoozing lovebirds. Veronica stirred, and her arms wrapped around Christine even tighter.

"Heh heh... ah, you kids..." I chuckled softly, shaking my head and smiling to myself as I left. The sight of those two had filled me with so many warm fuzzy feelings, that I almost didn't see Boone when I walked into the kitchen.

"Fisher," Boone grunted at me with a nod; he was sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning his revolver.

"Ah! There you are!" I said. "You ready to get to work?"

"It's that time, huh?" he asked, looking down the chambers one last time before spinning the cylinder and snapping it in place.

"Yep! Grab your gear. It's time for us to ingratiate ourselves with the people running security for President Shithead."

"Kimball," Boone corrected gruffly. I shrugged, nonplussed.

"Whatever."

The trip from Vegas to Hoover Dam was rather uneventful, but mostly quiet... even when I told Boone the big news I'd heard the other night. His response to the bombshell that Caesar had kicked the bucket and was now currently an ex-shithead was... silence. And that is not what I was expecting. I would've thought that Boone – of all people – would've been happy to hear that Caesar was currently six feet under.

"Are you alright?" I asked. Boone grunted as he stared out the passenger window, watching the scenery roll by. It took a few more seconds for him to actually say words.

"His death isn't going to stop anything," he grunted. "I doubt it'll slow them down."

"Yeah... you're probably right," I agreed. "Still feels good to know that he's worm food." He grunted.

"Yeah... one last thumbs down for that son of a bitch..." he said with a brief laugh. And then, his expression fell again. "But even with him dead... We still have to worry about the one who'll replace him."

"Is this going to be one of those 'the devil you know versus the devil you don't' kind of situations?" I asked. Boone shrugged, shifting in his seat.

"Sort of," he turned away from the window to look at me. "Have you ever heard the name Legate Lanius?"

I racked my brain as we continued on down the highway to Boulder. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd heard it... if I'd even heard it at all.

"Not sure. Who is he?" I asked.

"Legate Lanius. The Butcher. Back when I was in First Recon, I heard stories about 'The Monster of the East.' And..." Boone trailed off and went back to looking out the window again. It was a solid minute before he spoke up again. "He's the only target First Recon was never able to bring down."

"What, was he too fast or something?" I asked, but Boone shook his head.

"No. He just wouldn't die." Boone growled. "Never seen him in person, so I don't know for sure if it's true. But I've heard the stories. A First Recon squad was sent deep into Arizona two years ago to try and kill him. They scored at least ten headshots, with two fired from anti-materiel rifles." Boone turned to look at me with clenched teeth, his jaw set firmly. "Nothing could bring him down."

"So, what happened?" A sinking feeling took hold in my gut. I had a feeling I knew already, without even needing to ask, but...

"He caught up to the squad, and tore through them like they were nothing. There was only one survivor... because he let him go. Lanius wanted him to come back to the NCR with a warning. When he did..." Boone cleared his throat. "He came back with stories of... of fire, blood, madness, and... and crows."

"Crows?" I asked, perplexed. Boone just shook his head.

"That was the first and last time he ever let anyone go. Every other hit squad the NCR has sent, no one has come back. With Caesar dead... Lanius is gonna be the one in charge of everything. Assuming he's not here already, that is. And when he tries to cross the dam, he won't leave anything standing."

"Ah, don't worry about it," I said, flashing Boone a grin. "I can take him."

Boone just grunted, and went back to staring out the window.

I pulled my Corvega to a stop, parking it out of sight behind a ridge. We were about 6 miles from the outskirts of Boulder, but the only way from Boulder to the Dam was funneled into a narrow canyon, with no reasonable way in or out along the way... and I finally understood how the NCR retreat 4 years ago had worked, when they drew them into the city and blew up the town: Legion didn't have anywhere else to go but to follow.

"So, do you really think this is going to work?" Boone asked as I grabbed the last few bits of gear from my Corvega's trunk. I nodded, but I was beaten to the punch before I could answer.

"Don't worry!" Sue said in a delightful little sing-song. "No one will be as unseen as us!"

"You go on ahead," I said, clicking the button on my belt; I shimmered into invisibility. "I'm right behind you." Boone grunted, turning on his heel with a nod.

The two of us made the short walk to the Dam in silence. When we rounded the last ridge, I finally saw Hoover Dam – the whole reason for everything that had happened here in the Mojave - clearly for the first time. And calling it a 'wall' across the Colorado wasn't really doing it justice. It had to be the most massive pre-war structure I'd ever seen in one piece. Even a lot of the buildings in the Angel's Boneyard (many of which where bigger, certainly) couldn't hold a candle to just how... solid it still looked. If I didn't know better, I would've said that the smooth concrete face of the Dam had been carved straight out of the rock itself. Hell, it was so massive, so impressive, and just so solid looking that... it was a little hard to believe that it had been built by human hands at all.

Now I knew why so many people were in awe of the damn thing: it was a reminder of what the human race could do before the bombs dropped... and just how far we had fallen.

"Em, you reading me?" I whispered, keeping my invisible form as close to Boone as I could.

"Loud and clear!" Emily replied, safe and sound from her workstation in the 38.

"Good. We're just about in. I may need your help." There was a muffled snicker over the line.

"Don't worry about a thing Bruce, Alfred is here to help." I chuckled softly, shaking my head.

"Get military," Boone grunted softly, gesturing vaguely in my direction. "All the troops are on high alert here."

The closer we got to our destination – the two story building ahead of us labeled 'Visitor Center' – the NCR additions became more and more obvious. There were dozens of fortifications, in the shape of sandbag barricades, gun emplacements, and who knows what else. Near the sheer cliff face to my far left, I saw a flagpole sticking out of a solid black stone base, with a large NCR flag flapping in the breeze; it was flanked by statues of two bronze men sitting down, with disproportionally large wings pointing to the sky. Those statues must have been an original part of the Dam rather than a new addition, as they definitely didn't look to have been built with scrap metal. NCR troopers were on patrol everywhere, acting like insects scurrying around a massive hive. A stage to the left of the Visitor Center was being constructed by a good two dozen people in maintenance jumpsuits. When I saw the massive artillery piece mounted just behind the stage, I realized why they were building it there.

That was going to be quite the statement.

Boone made a beeline for the Visitor Center entrance, and did his best to keep the door open long enough for me to slip in undetected. The inside of the building was an even bigger bustle of activity than outside, with NCR personnel – soldiers, civilians, and engineers – absolutely everywhere. They were all bathed in a soft orange glow, as the lights in the ceiling bounced off the art deco mural built into the floor.

"I'm looking for Ranger Grant," Boone said, stopping one of the nearby troopers (who seemed to do a double take, after noticing the bright red First Recon beret). "Do you know where I can find him?" The trooper nodded quickly, pointing to the large curved counter in the center of this large circular room. It was obvious who he was pointing to, as only one person here was wearing that olive drab armor and the stiff campaign hat ubiquitous to NCR Rangers.

"Hey, Graham!" Boone called out above the commotion. The ranger perked up at the sound and turned to face him. He was a black man with a square jaw, an enormous handlebar moustache, and stern expression only partially hidden by a patch over his left eye. When he saw Boone, however...

"Boone?" he said, utterly bewildered before laughing heartily. "Craig Boone, as I live and breathe!" The two of them shook hands and met in a sort of half-hug. "How the hell have you been, man? I haven't seen you in, what, three years?"

"At least," Boone grunted with a nod.

"Shit, time flies, doesn't it?" Grant shook his head. "Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm really busy right now. We all are." Boone nodded again.

"I know. That's why I'm here." Grant briefly looked confused before Boone continued. "I heard the President is coming to visit tomorrow. I thought I'd see if I could help. After all, I know how shorthanded we are lately." Grant shook his head and chuckled, adjusting his eyepatch.

"You know... if it was anyone else – anyone at all – coming in out of the blue saying they wanted to help, I'd tell them to go fuck themselves. But because it's you..." Grant sighed and shook his head. "You're absolutely right. We are really shorthanded. This whole visit is a really delicate matter, and I can't afford to turn away someone I know I can trust."

"So, what can I do to help?" Boone asked. As they talked, the two of them started walking around the building; I kept out of sight, close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough that my invisible form wouldn't draw attention.

"Frankly, I'm just glad to have a fresh set of eyes on board," Grant said. "Do whatever you can. Security sweeps, talk to people, keep an eye out..."

"What about possible threats? Any leads so far?" Boone asked.

"Legion will definitely try something, I'm sure of it... but our G2 section doesn't have anything solid, yet..."

"G2?" I whispered softly. I heard some quick typing over my headset, before Emily responded.

"It's a code for military intelligence among an army General's staff," she said, clearing that up.

"I'd almost expect a direct attack from them," Grant continued, thankfully oblivious to my hidden form behind him. "But given the circumstances, there's a strong possibility of something more subtle – like sabotage."

"But you don't have anything solid?" Boone responded, and Grant shook his head.

"No. And it's putting everyone on edge."

"What kind of security have you arranged so far?" Boone asked, before quickly adding: "I don't want to step on anyone's toes."

"I've been able to requisition a few Rangers, apart from myself. Some will keep an eye on the crowd, while others watch the perimeter..." The two of them stepped through a set of double doors, and exited onto a platform overlooking the under-construction stage and the Dam behind it. I slipped through the door quickly before it shut. "I've got a few sharpshooters that I've assigned to key locations around our garrison here, and there will be special K9 units sniffing out members of the crowd."

"Doesn't seem like there's enough space for a big crowd," Boone commented. Grant nodded, leaning against a nearby concrete wall.

"It's true, we're limiting the size of the crowd to a small number to reduce the number of people who have direct access to the President... but there will be a lot of people back in California who'll witness the speech."

"What do you mean?" Boone asked, his confusion mirroring my own.

"Alongside the troopers stationed here to witness the speech in person, the President has insisted several members of the media be here. Most of them will be recording the speech, and transmitting it live to various radio stations around the Republic... but there will be at least two television networks recording the speech as well."

"Wait, TV?" Boone asked incredulously.

"Oh yeah, you haven't been back west in a few years, have you? I forgot. Kimball has been trying to restart some of the old TV stations from before the war. This speech is going to be the first big broadcast; he wants to have it transmitted live to the main square in Shady Sands, as well as the networks in Vault City."

"So, the whole world is going to be watching, huh?" Boone asked. Grant chuckled, shrugging.

"Near enough. And that means it's all the more important that we don't fuck this up..."

Boone made his way around the NCR garrison, inspecting everything, and continuing to coordinate his actions with Grant. Meanwhile, I was busy sneaking around undetected, doing my best to try and glean whatever other information I could.

"Did you know about the TV stations?" I whispered to Emily, as I ducked into an alcove inside the Visitor Center.

"I'd heard rumors about it, but I didn't think they'd got any of the stations up and running..." Emily said, amid a hail of clicks as her fingers danced along her computer keyboard. "Even so, if his speech is transmitted back to the NCR by radio, it's going to reach a whole lot of people."

"And that means if he gets killed, everyone will know about it immediately..." I muttered. "Great." I quietly made my way back to the main desk in the middle of the Visitor Center: I'd seen a terminal there, and if I could hack in, then it might tell me something that Grant couldn't...

"Are we recording?" I asked, approaching the terminal. I couldn't dare risk dropping the therm-optic camo in full view of everyone, so I did my best to judge where my hands were based on feel and the subtle shimmer of distorted light around the edges.

"Don't worry, I've got you covered!" she said happily.

I started typing carefully – and slowly. Even if I could see my hands to go faster, I almost didn't want to; if I made too much noise typing away at the terminal's keyboard, then people were definitely going to notice. So I took it slow and careful, and cracked into the terminal without anyone the wiser.

There wasn't much in there that I didn't already know – or, at least, that I hadn't already figured out. All the troopers present for the speech would have to relinquish any and all firearms before the speech, which was honestly no surprise. The only ones who were (officially) going to have weapons were the Rangers running security.

This computer terminal also listed where the sharpshooters were going to be stationed. Three locations were listed: the ridge overlooking the stage, near that flagpole I'd spotted earlier, the roof of the visitor center (where the President's vertibird was going to land), and the roof of one of the four towers I'd seen along the edge of the Dam. Interestingly, Grant had written in the file that he wanted the tower to have a radio, specifically...

The last thing I found was an engineering report from someone called Mike Lawson. Apparently, he was the chief engineer here at the Dam, keeping the turbines running, and he was made aware of an issue with the flight control computer. He was going to have an engineer waiting on the roof to take a look at it when the President landed.

That was the first red flag.

On the second floor, one of the engineers was acting frantic. She was a squirrely little blonde girl in huge horn-rimmed glasses, asking questions to almost everyone she ran into, trying to find out what happened to her friend. She was looking for a fellow engineer, named Ben, who she hadn't seen in several days.

That was the second red flag.

After finding out about the missing engineer, I thought it was best to try and see if I could find him. But I didn't – at least, not directly. What I found was a supply closet, secluded and out of sight of nearly everyone... and the floor was stained with dried blood. It wasn't completely obvious; someone had tried (and failed) to clean it up, but it was still there, partially hidden by a toolbox that had a (bloody) wrench tucked away in the bottom.

That was the third red flag.

"So, what do you think?" I asked Boone, as the two of us stood on the ridge overlooking the stage and the Visitor Center. We were far enough away, that I felt like it was safe to become visible again.

"It's bad," Boone said, staring at the horizon with his arms crossed over his chest. "Grant and the other rangers are doing their best, but they're way too shorthanded to deal with a job like this. If they had more time..." Boone trailed off and shook his head.

"It looks bad," I agreed. "I did a bit of digging, and... yeah. We're going to have to keep an eye on the engineers. I think one of them met a sticky end, running afoul of a Legion spy."

"Fuck," Boone grunted. "It's worse than I thought."

"So, what do you think?" I asked, looking out all the NCR troopers and construction workers, still busying themselves with preparations. "Where would you be, if you wanted to kill the President?"

"Right here," he said gruffly. "If I wanted to escape, at least..."

"And if you didn't?" I asked. I remembered how suicidally loyal Legion troopers tended to be... and I knew that if they truly wanted to kill someone, they'd still do it, regardless of their own safety.

"That tower, closest to the stage," he said, pointing at it. "That has the best line of sight – even better than here. Or maybe the landing pad."

"I think Grant is going to have Rangers stationed there already," I said with a nod. "Still... might be good to keep a close watch, just in case."

"I will," Boone grunted, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Get out've here. If Yes Man is right, you've still got a bit of work to do. I can keep things locked down until the President arrives tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" I asked, uncertainly. Boone nodded.

"Don't worry. We'll be fine."

I nodded, pulling the Big Mountain Transportalponder! out of my duster.

"I know you will. And that's why I love ya, Boone: I can always count on you, no matter what."

He gave me one final nod, and saluted crisply as I pulled the trigger on the Transportalponder!, disappearing in a flash of light and electricity.