Fallout: Rise Of The Burned Man

Chapter II

16: Repent; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth. [Book of Revelation]

The journey from Cottonwood Cove to the Fort was always a restful one, the Courier had always thought. He often slept on the barge, making a pillow from his Merc Adventurer jacket as a legionary looked upon him with barely concealed contempt. Not that the Courier cared for the opinion of such a low-ranking official; not when the barge offered him the best rest he ever got in the Mojave. He'd slept in the Ultra Luxe on the New Vegas strip, pre-war beds in Vaults underground and had rested his head back in the coloured dirt of the Mojave more times than he could count, but the rocking motion of the barge as it moved up river and the soft mutter of the water as it slid past always gave him the better sleep than anywhere else in New Vegas. Or, out of it, as the bedrolls in Zion hadn't been much of an improvement.

Don't think about Zion, the Courier was irritated he'd even drudged up the memory. Zion is not your business. The Dam is your business; the Legion is your business. The Burned Man can go hang for all the good it'll do.

As soon as he'd seen the Burned Man walk out of the stories and into the harsh Zion sunlight, he had already decided not tell Caesar that the Malpais Legate lived on. Joshua Graham was no threat where he sat and anyway, it was likely Caesar was well aware of the fact that he lived. Graham had killed enough of the Legion sent after him by the man to justify that.

The barge ground to a halt at Fortification Hill and the Courier cursed inwardly that he'd frittered away his prime sleep-time with thoughts of Zion and the Burned Man. He wasimmaterial; it didn't matter if he still breathed or not! Anything outside the Mojave wasn't worth contemplating, particularly ghosts like Joshua.

"Ave," the main gate guard said. The Courier ignored him; there had been a time when he had had to relinquish his weapons to the man as a visitor to the Fort, but no longer. The Courier didn't like to think of himself as Legion, merely as a supporter of the cause but the truth was he was recognised as part of it now by the NCR and Caesar combined. He knew if he had been Legion officially he would have reached the rank of Legate long ago, the assassination of the degenerates' President Kimball would have confirmed that.

Degenerates; he was even starting to think like them. The thought shook him; it was a realisation which had been growing larger and larger in his mind ever since he had returned.

"Ave," a Praetorian guard offered has he passed him on the way into Caesar's tent. He was ignored.

"Ave," Caesar raised his head at the arrival, a white scar courtesy of the Courier glinting on the apex of his forehead. It was all that remained of the great tumour which had been slowly destroying the great leader. "You have been outside my knowledge for some time, Courier. My explorers tell me they saw you leaving the Mojave; Lucius here feared your desertion."

Of course he did, the rat, the Courier thought. His face was impassive though, and he was grateful as ever that most of it was obscured by the goggles he wore.

He had first begun to wear them as habit due to the amount of explosive work he had pursued, but now they were simply another barrier between him and the world. It helped him remain impassive and logical; a spectator to the game.

"A deserter does not return," he said quietly. When he spoke, his voice was always low and quite; from disuse, most likely. He did not like to bring himself to crack his lips apart to speak unless necessary.

"A good point," Caesar said, "What was it you spent your time doing outside our cause? Where did you go to?"

Not that it's any of your business. The Courier thought, irritated, I am not Legion, I do you favours for your cause. There is a difference; I am not one of your mongrels.

"I assisted a caravan," he replied, "Crossing into Utah."

"A caravan?" Lucius frowned, "What would be the purpose of that?"

The Courier noticed Caesar was paying him some attention and replied; "I've never been to Utah."

"The Mojave not interesting enough for you, Courier?" Lucius snickered.

"Just because you are chained to the Fort and Caesar's throne does not mean there are not others who have interest in walking the map," the Courier said quietly.

Lucius looked furious, but Caesar burst into a bark of laughter before the Praetorian Guard could rebuke and the Courier allowed himself a wan smile. Fuck you Lucius, fuck you.

"It's good that you happened by," Caesar said as the smile wore from his face, "The assault on the Dam is three weeks away and Vulpes tells me there have been stirrings about Vegas about organising a resistance when Hoover Dam is Legion, especially about Freeside. I want you to find out who the leaders are and if it's those damn Kings, get ready to wipe them out. Don't kill anyone yet, there's no point in starting a civil war before we even arrive."

"It's probably the Followers of the Apocalypse," Lucius commented, "I hear Julie Farkas has been planting ideas in Freeside citizen's heads."

"You know fuck all Lucius so I suggest you don't go running your mouth," Caesar snapped aggressively, making the Guard's face flash red. Lucius muttered an inaudible response before storming into the back room, where the Courier could make out a scowl etched into the man's face. A similar expression was mirrored upon Caesar's: his friend had put him in a bad mood.

"Do you have any questions?" Caesar snapped.

"No," the Courier said.

"Go on then," Caesar said, turning away, "Vale."

The Courier turned away without another word, purpose in his step and his role upon his mind. He was grateful his work would take him to Freeside; he enjoyed the area and speaking with Arcade Gannon at the Old Mormon Fort. Perhaps if things had been different, he would have joined their cause and put his medical knowledge to better use.

No, no you wouldn't. That would never happen, he thought, angry for romanticising his nature. He wasn't like them. But then, nor was he like Caesar.

"Some of the slaves have been spreading stories about the Burned Man again," a legionary muttered as the Courier passed. The Courier turned to face the man, anger flashing behind the goggles.

"Never raise your voice to speak of that man. If you do so again," he said softly, "I will destroy you."

The Courier left the camp.