Rubicon | Vulpes Inculta

2

New Vegas, Nevada
November 9, 2284

This is, without a doubt, the dumbest thing I have ever done.

He didn't look particularly threatening. Unconscious people rarely did, though. It was what could happen when he woke up that concerned her. The longer she had to think about it, the more this seemed like a disaster in the making.

Shifting in her seat, Six once again confirmed her gun was loaded, fingertips absentmindedly tracing the engraving. She glanced at the ground, her eyes lingering on his weapon. The light hit the pitted blade of the machete and she shuddered slightly.

Yep, dumbest thing ever.

The air underground was cool and dry, only the slightest hint of the punishing sun's heat overhead made it this far down. The abandoned farmhouse had seemed too easy a target last night, when she decided to sleep in the barn instead. That hadn't changed: the basement was a compromise. She certainly couldn't perform surgery in the burned out hulk of the barn... especially not when it was still actually burning.

Part of her was astonished he was even alive. She had picked tons of bullets out of people over the last few years... herself, her friends, even her dog. Medicine had become something of an obsession after nearly dying. Six wanted to make sure she would be able to take care of herself if she was going to keep getting shot at. She'd never had opportunity to heal a head wound, though.

The bullet was a small caliber, and nothing special. No hollow tip, not armor piercing. It entered, didn't go far, and didn't exit. As far as getting shot in the head went, it seemed he got off easy.

The man on the cot stirred. Standing up, she stretched and walked over, wiping his face once more with a damp rag before injecting him with a stimpack. He mumbled something and she leaned closer, one hand on a pistol just in case. "What?"

Coughing, he struggled to open his eyes. "Filth," he repeated, this time more clearly. "Don't use that filth on me."

"What, you want some healing powder?" she asked archly. "You were shot in the head. I don't think broc flower would have done much good." With that she swiftly dosed him with Med-X to knock the man back out while the stimpack did its job. Considering the ethical implications of saving someone's life against their will could wait for when she wasn't thinking about the repercussions of getting in a shootout with the NCR.

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Nipton, California
October 26, 2281

Too many green recruits, he thought, glancing around. "Sir?"

His second in command was looking in the same direction, watching one of their men throw a rock at a crucified gang member. They shared a glance of disgust. "I need scalpels, they send me sledgehammers," Vulpes said, gesturing with disgust. "That is no frumentarius. It never will be." He suspected this was the Legate's doing. Lanius had no respect for him, or for his job. Vulpes would not have been shocked to discover the man was intentionally passing along unsuitable candidates for the frumentarii, if only to discredit Caesar's spies.

The entire Nipton operation had been far messier than he would have liked. Too slow, too sloppy, and far too undisciplined. He had even caught men killing townspeople as they entered, in direct defiance of his orders. Those men would not be pleased upon their return to the fort.

All told, they had been here since dawn, and were only now preparing to leave as the sun set.

Deterrent. He had tried to explain it once, late at night with Aurelius. This was before Vulpes had been made head of the Frumentarii; before Aurelius became a centurion. They were both only beginning to distinguish themselves. They thought they knew everything, and would spend hours sharing stories and talking about how they would remake the world. It wasn't cruelty for the sake of being cruel. That was a bully. That was, although he would never say so aloud, the style of Legate Lanius. It was about a public demonstration, so others would see and learn to bow before the will of Mars. Surgical, precise. Controlling what happened, and how it would be viewed.

It could, in the end, save lives: both Legion and potential Legion, by intimidating communities into surrendering without a fight. "How many die fighting us, when if they only knew more they would gladly join us?" Vulpes had asked him.

Vulpes had come from one of the original tribes, Aurelius reminded him. Of course he saw them as valuable resources. The soon-to-be centurion had been born among the Legion, and considered himself superior to the tribal converts for it. It was a constant source of friction in their otherwise amicable friendship.

Aurelius didn't get it. He shared the Legate's attitude, and thought a fair fight was an open fight. Frustratingly, no one seemed to understand it: no one but Caesar. Certainly not these pathetic excuses for recruits he had been sent.

Despite that, he was proud of their work at Nipton. The lottery was genius... probably one of his finest ideas yet. "Make an example," were the orders from Caesar. He could have simply slaughtered everyone, but that lacked finesse. Vulpes didn't want the NCR to merely know the Legion had arrived. He wanted them terrified of what the Legion could do next. He wanted Nipton to stand as a bright, shining example of their powerlessness against Caesar's might. He wanted the whole of the Mojave to tremble in the face of the Legion.

It wasn't just about force, though. Nipton's punishment would fit their crime. It would demonstrate the moral superiority of the Legion. A victory over the disease of dissolution: addicts, pimps and whores all bent under the boot of the mighty Caesar. The mayor didn't understand. He expected to be rewarded, assumed the legion would be glad to see how easily he turned on both the NCR and the convicts. All Vulpes saw was a dog that would eventually bite any hand that fed him.

He still had hope for others in the town. His standards weren't high- these people were ignorant savages, after all. All he wanted was proof they were better than mere animals. If someone, anyone, managed to meet his expectations, to show some semblance of humanity, he would spare the town. It wasn't what Caesar had ordered, but Vulpes knew his lord well enough to know he would understand. They could be the first Legion settlement in the Mojave- the legion could raise them to prosperity from the pits of dissolution. That, in itself, would be a powerful message.

They disappointed, but did not surprise, him. No one actually tried to fight. No one moved to protect a loved one. No one argued with his proclamation of their crimes. They were no better than brahmin, wide-eyed and mindless. They were worse, since a brahmin at least had the sense to try and back away from the knife at its throat. His own men were, sadly, not much better. It was one thing to take pride in your work, to be happy because you're performing the will of Caesar. To take some sort of perverse pleasure in the actual act of crucifying someone, well... that was not much better than the depravity of the people they punished. Words would be had. He vaguely wondered if anyone in his squad would survive this day, save himself and his second in command.

The 'winner' of his lottery was leaving town. Waiting for him to go, Vulpes glanced around one final time. Was anything forgotten? Anything undone? No. He never left things half finished. They were ready. The survivor was the final piece. He would spread the word. That was, in fact, the only reason he had been left alive and functional. It was a slight fixing of the numbers, true, but the small dishonesty was worth achieving their overall goal. The young man was an imbecile, the sort who would spill the contents of his mind to anyone and everyone. He was perfect. It would be days, maybe hours, before all of New Vegas was discussing Nipton.

A gunshot drew his attention. The lottery winner crumpled, a young woman looking down at his body. Of course, he thought, trying not to groan aloud. It wouldn't do for anything to go smoothly today, would it? Without pause, she dropped to root through his pockets, coming up with a handful of ammo and looking rather pleased with herself for it. She began walking towards them, tucking bullets into the various pockets on her leather armor as she moved. The woman was halfway down the street before bothering to look up. He could see her eyes widen, as she went stumbling and stepping back at the sight of the crosses. "Would you get a look at that?" one of the men said, laughing and following it up with a crude comment. Vulpes glared and he fell silent.

She had killed his messenger. He needed someone to spread word of what the Legion had accomplished. It wouldn't do to leave town and simply hope their work was eventually found by someone who just happened to stumble through.

Mars will provide, he reminded himself, approaching the woman and trying to see this as an opportunity. She looked as though she was preparing to sprint back the way she came. "Don't worry," he called out, offering a small smile in the hopes of calming her. "I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates."