“A More Perfect Union”
1st Lt. Alexander Flint is one of only a few dozen surviving personnel alive on the West Coast after the Fall of the Rig and Exodus of the Enclave. Right now, the survivors live with the shadows in New Reno, but deserters are routinely hunted and killed within the New California Republic. Hearing whispers and unlikely tall tales of NCR scouts finding a city of starlight, Flint is commissioned with a small force to run a reconnaissance mission.
Chapter I: City of Lights
Acclimating to the harsh and sweltering sun of the Mojave Wasteland was an arduous task for Flint. Looking down from the blazing sky and pulling the tattered brown hood back over his grime-caked face and mangy black hair, he muttered something under his breath, a wish for a nuclear winter. he paused and took one last glance at the dusty and decrepit gas station before continuing down the road. He considered himself lucky for finding it in time, for if he hadn’t he would have likely succumbed to the relentless battering of the desert sandstorm. He kept a steady and enduring pace, his worn black leather hiking boots treading rhythmically over the now ancient cobblestones of Highway 95.
The weary traveller had endured his share of hardships making his way here. He steered clear from settlements if he could help it, for the secret he held would have him killed on sight if it was known. He had been beset by raiders, mutated animals, and the occasional trooper patrol. He only had a couple interactions with Republic soldiers, and each one filled him with the urge to run like a demon in the presence of holy men.
The sun had at last gone down, and Flint didn’t like the idea of being stalked by the things that lurked in the freezing Mojave nights. Climbing up to the peak of a ridge, trying to find a safe place to make camp, his mouth suddenly went agape as his eyes met with the mesmerizing sight to the southwest. Hundreds of points of light, more than he had ever seen before. Intact skyscrapers surrounded by a concrete wall, pristine and untouched by the atomic devastation that was evident in the surrounding areas. Beacons of light shone high into the night sky, illuminating what seemed to be the crowning jewel of the place he recognized as New Vegas. He stood in place for a few minutes, drinking in the view. He had heard stories about the newly discovered oasis during his travels but wrote them off as being exaggerated lies from NCR propagandists, intent on justifying yet another annexation war. Even though he received the mission brief before starting his mission, reliable intel about New Vegas was scarce. That was why he was there, after all.
Making camp for the night, he resolved to set out in the morning. Dawn couldn come soon enough, and without much delay, The young sojourner packed up his sleeping roll and resumed his journey. Shortly after continuing down the highway, Flint spots the smoldering aftermath of a sacked caravan. Drawing an uncharacteristically clean plasma defender pistol from under the folds of his ragged cloak, he advanced cautiously.
Drawing nearer to the carnage, he would find the sides of the pack animals singed and scorched with laser marks. Inspecting the bodies of the caravan guards, he would find that one of them was nothing but a pile of glowing green goo. He’d recognize the signature smell of plasma residue anywhere. From the fact that the laser marks were still fresh, he could tell that he’d been only a half hour too late. Inspecting the scene further, he found dozens of drained microfusion cells and a single discarded plasma rifle. He hadn’t been in the Mojave for very long, but he knew that energy weapons were only fielded by groups with enough resources to secure and maintain them, and those were few and far between. Picking up the weapon, he could easily tell it had jammed due to overheating. He also noticed that engraved on the side of the rifle read “PROPERTY OF VAN GRAFF CO.”
Looking around him, he tried to work through the incident in his head. He didn’t have the slightest idea why or by whom the caravan had been raided. Nothing had been taken, but the trailer had been flipped and it’s cargo lay strewn in the desert sands. He didn’t have much information about the major players of the Mojave, only that the Brotherhood was rumored to have been hunted to extinction by the NCR, and wouldn’t have attacked something like a travelling merchant so carelessly. No other faction had the technology to do something like this, and he couldn’t find any documentation on the corpses. Not wishing to become one himself, Flint grabbed the rifle and hastily moved on, should the attackers come back for clean-up. He’d have to learn more about this “Van Graff Co.” later.
With the incident still on his mind, Flint continued on to the lights of New Vegas, which shone prominently in the night sky. He hadn’t run into much trouble on his way, only having to turn a pair of Fiends into glowing piles of plasma. Making his way into the ruined outskirts of New Vegas, he found a graveyard of bombed-out concrete husks. Keeping the hastily-repaired rifle at the ready, Flint proceeded through the streets.
It wasn’t long before the sound of not-so-distant gunshots echoed throughout the streets, the fighting couldn’t be more than a couple blocks away. Cautiously approaching, Flint found a large band of about a dozen attackers laying siege to… something? What looked like townspeople standing on ramshackle scrap walls returned fire with rifles and pistols, but were simply outgunned and outnumbered by the assailants, who were clad in leather armor and wielded an assortment of laser weapons and automatic rifles. The gangsters hadn’t noticed Flint, who was conveniently positioned behind them.
Without wasting time, Flint climbed to the second story of a half-collapsed building and took potshots at the thugs from the window. He took out the closest one, and then a second. By the time he moved his crosshairs to the third, a few of them had turned around. Lobbing a bright green ball of plasma at the third raider, he was now under fire from some of the gangsters. He moved behind cover and switched windows to take out only a couple before they could return fire.
Melting another unlucky couple of Fiends, he moved out from behind cover to fire another burst when one of the closer ones got lucky. He sustained a glancing shot from a laser carbine to the left side of his head, causing the entire left side of his face to explode in pain. He cried out in anguish as he clasped his hands over the wound, feeling the heat of the smoldering burn fresh on his face. Backing himself into a wall he let himself slide down to the floor, it felt like his skull was on fire.
He tried not to pass out from the pain but his vision was fading to black. He wasn’t paying much attention but he thought he could hear shouting. The last thing he saw before succumbing to the shock was an old man in a red baseball cap running up the stairs onto the floor of the building he was on. Seeing Flint, he holstered his pistol and stretched his arms out towards him.
Chapter II: Back In The Saddle
Opening his eyes… Eye? Why couldn’t he see? Where was he? Something was strange, the air felt… Cold? He didn’t recognize the room he was in. A makeshift lab? Dirty beakers bubbled and hissed, and sunlight filled the foreign, worn-down room. Rolling over in the cot, he was seeing double but could still make out the face of an old man, sitting in some kind of… lab coat? Who was he?
“You’re awake, how about that.” Putting his hands out to keep Flint from rolling off the cot, he spoke again.
“Woah, easy there, easy. You’ve been out cold for a couple of days now. Why don’t you just relax a second, get your bearings? I’m Doctor Henry, welcome to Jacobstown.”
Squinting his right eye, Flint blinked a few times and let his sight refocus. He felt like the name was familiar, but from where he couldn’t quite remember. The splitting headache made it difficult to focus. In any case, the man seemed to have answered the first set of questions he was going to ask, so he came up with a third.
“What… What happened?” Flint asked, weakly
“You took a laser bolt to the side of your head, that’s what happened.” The Doctor explained.
“The blast was from a low-charge laser carbine. You were lucky to get by with only 2nd degree burns, but I’m afraid your left eye couldn’t be saved.”
Before Flint could even process what he had just heard, an old man in a red baseball cap appeared in the doorway. He couldn’t quite make out the expression the man was wearing, but he could see what he was holding. When he did, he thought he could feel his heart stop.
“Mind telling us how you managed to end up in a place like this…
Lieutenant Alexander Flint?”
The blood drained from Alexander’s face, his emerald green eyes, or eye, widened in alarm. He knew that the Mojave was occupied by the NCR, and being identified as an Enclave survivor was grounds for summary execution. He was in no condition to fight, he didn’t even know if he could stand. He opened his mouth to try and come up with a quick lie, or some clever excuse, but produced nothing but stammers.
The doctor and other old man locked eyes for a second, before seeming to have wordlessly agreed to some strange question neither had asked. They both turned to him and the man in the doorway moved closer before finally speaking.
“Son, we don’t know where the hell you came from, why you’re here, or how you’re even still alive, but before you go ‘head and piss yourself, the name’s Kreger. Captain Kreger.”
Rolling up his sleeve, he displayed an Enclave insignia on his forearm. Even though it was heavily faded and hardly visible anywhere but indoors, it was still there.
Flint was speechless, he felt like he had just received several sucker punches in rapid succession. He was confused, afraid, ready to fight, but also dumbstruck at what he had just been told. Another survivor? He had to be at least 80 years old, which would mean he was alive before the Fall of the Rig.
Chapter III: Extended Family
LuminousInk 