o. prologue

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o. PROLOGUE
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Blue. Green. Yellow. Red.

T-O-P-S.

Blue. Green. Yellow. Red.

Sylvia watched the sign flash again, let the fluorescent glow wash over her. Blue. Green. Yellow. Red. T-O-P-S. She shut her eyes, opened them again.

All around her, people milled about the Strip. Some, she recognized― regulars who spent all their nights and all their caps at the slot machines. Others, she didn't― a group of friends on a first-time trip to New Vegas, a couple celebrating their early days of marriage.

She shut her eyes again. A few feet ahead of her, Billy Knight started up his usual roadside stand-up routine. He wasn't going to get anywhere with those one-liners, but she had to respect his determination.

Billy Knight's sardonic jokes faded into the general noise that filled the Strip. The chatter of gamblers as they moved from casino to casino, the hum of the electronic billboards, the whir of Securitron wheels as they rolled through the street.

Red light greeted her as she opened her eyes again. She took a deep breath in, then reached down to tug the hem of her skirt further over her thighs.

She stood there, bathed in technicolor, her satchel bumping against her hip. The sign's lights winked at her. Inviting― no, daring her. Come on, they seemed to say, twinkling bright white against the pitch black sky, like man-made stars. Just for a little while. Are you scared?

No, Sylvia wanted to tell them. I'm not scared.

The pit in her stomach betrayed her. She inhaled again, relishing the crisp night air as it filled her lungs. And she turned her back on the sign, headed instead for the casino it advertised.

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Cigarette smoke wafted through the air of The Tops, mingling with the smells of liquor and mahogany. Over the years, Sylvia had more or less become accustomed to the atmosphere of the casinos on the Strip, but she couldn't stop her nose from wrinkling as she stepped through the door.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER ― fallout: new vegasWhere stories live. Discover now