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Jessie-ica Diaz · (02-17-2014)

Somehow, some way I managed to run right by the bloodthirsty mob of Powder Gangers that were trying to force their way into the building after a stick of dynamite did its job and blew the door to kingdom come. I assume it was due to the lingering smoke as well as their own tunnel vision but no one saw me sprint by, or if they did didn't think too much of stopping the woman they were going through all the trouble of capturing. Meh, I wouldn't put it past them. They never struck me as too intelligent. However, they aren't important at this moment, and really won't become important until much later. Anywho, unto the wonderful adventures I went on after putting the surefire massacre at Goodsprings behind me. Physically, at least.

A series of minor stops along the way that proved themselves to be inconsequential followed, which dampened my spirits a bit and left me unsure of how to proceed in this barren, unfamiliar wasteland. That was however, until I stumbled into a little place called Nipton.

The town was burning to a crisp before I even set one foot in its limits, and I think that's in part the reason why I decided to continue the trek towards it, though I could see the fire from a ways away, thanks to the blackness of the night. The road into town was like the others I walked; lonely, barren and yet there was one major difference. Dirt and dust scattered across the road, in the shape of footsteps. Whatever was going on here, it had to have been done recently. So, against my better judgment I ventured further into the town. Amidst the crackling of the fire and explosions of burning wood falling from buildings and smashing against the ground I could hear faint whimpers of agony and the occasional sound of footsteps, always in a pattern, always in formation it seemed. My pulse raced as the steps grew louder and clearer. That's when I first saw them.

A group of no more than five or six men dressed in what looked to be armor reminiscent of roman legionnaire armor, only made of much, much poorer quality materials. One of the men, the one in the middle wore a helmet made out of a fox's skull as opposed to the football helmets his contemporaries were wearing.

This was my first encounter with Caesar's Legion. As they approached, my eyes wandered to the sides of the main road, lined with bodies lashed to crosses. I recognized a few of the men's clothing as belonging to the Powder Ganger gang that I ran from, a sight that didn't do too much for letting me antagonize the armored men marching towards me. However, that didn't stop me from tensing up and wanting to bolt off into the night once more. I swallowed hard and tried to shield my eyes from the crowd.

"For God's sake lady, help us!" screamed one of the men writhing on the cross.

"Don't worry, I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates," the man in the fox head said in a cold, almost disinterested monotone. Despite the lack of emotion in his voice, he cracked a smile at me and shook his finger dismissively at the wailing Powder Ganger. "As if by chance, there's something that you can do for us. Are you interested?"

"Wha-what?" I stammered in response. I could feel the color draining from my face, and I once again gulped, trying to look down at the ground and away from the unfolding terror. The man simply snickered in response to my apprehension and grabbed my chin between his thumb and index finger before forcing my head back up and my eyes on level with his.

"Don't worry! If we were planning on killing you, it would've already been done. Now, are you going to help us?"

"What, what did you even do here?"

"You see, that's part of what I'm asking. Look what we did here. Commit what you see to your memory and spread the word."

"Why?"

"I presume that asking nicely isn't going to persuade you, is it?"

"Look, I don't know where I am or who you are. If this is supposed to be some symbolic gesture, I'm not getting it one bit."

"Hm," he said, stroking his chin. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

"Huh?" This was starting to go a bit over my head; why would he think the fact that I had no idea where I was, who I would tell, how I would go about helping him would in any way benefit his ulterior motives? He smirked, producing from his side what appeared to be a knife or a dagger, only with what looked to be chainsaw blades attached to the already existent knife/dagger blade. Redundancy to the max, but terrifying if you don't think about it. With a push of the button, the blades began to spin and as he raised the weapon further up and to the right, I could see I wasn't the target. He drove the blade right above the bound ankles of the man screaming moments prior. The screams erupted once more, as blood sprayed out of the man's wound and splattered against the man, myself and the ground around us. My stomach churned in disgust, and my eyes darted down and to the left, focused on a patch of unsoiled ground. I shoved the palms of my hands against my ears to block out the cries, but no matter how hard I pressed, it just kept on getting louder.

The shrieks, the slicing, the splattering, and to top it all off, the fucking buzz of the chainsaw dagger. Louder and louder.

Finally, after striking the wood of the crucifix, he stopped. I waited. Waited for the pair of feet to fall to the ground and landed with a thud. A sound that never came. That's when I remembered something about crucifixions. His feet were nailed, too.

"Do you think that I'm playing some sort of game with you?" he snarled as he powered down the weapon and fussed with sticking it back in its resting place. Slowly, I drug my eyes back to his, and met his cold, blank stare once again. "Well? What do you think that was?"

"Um..."

"Do I have to spell it out for you? That, just like all of this, is a message. A message to the profligate west regarding the Legion's tolerance of its sins."

"The 'profligate west'?"

"Those who align themselves under the mark of the Bear. A land of whores, and Nipton here? Nipton was a perfect example of the pandering that all those under the mark of the Bear are guilty of."

It's here when I asked the million dollar question: "What did they do to deserve this?"

"Were you not listening? This haven for whores deserves this treatment for its reprehensible behavior but if you must know the deciding issue; they were so willing to sell out those they offered shelter to. My, how the tables turned on them." That smirk was aggravating, infuriating and yet no longer sick or repulsive. His explanation, in a way made sense. Maybe they did deserve it. I swallowed hard once more and look up at him, and mimicking his ice cold delivery, choked out my response:

"Where do you want me to go to deliver this news?"

"Aha! I knew you'd come around! To the southwest you'll find a trading outpost run by the profligates, the denizens of Nipton used to conduct business there. No doubt, they're wondering what happened. You go there, break the news."

"Then what?"

"Then, nothing. We won't be here long, if you're planning on turning us in. Commit this message to memory and retell it. Time will tell if the Legion will require your assistance once more."

And with that, he alongside the group of five around him, turned around and walked off into the night. I tried to look at the men strung to crosses and the piles of bodies on the ground, but couldn't keep my eyes fixed on any of the displays of brutality for longer than a few seconds. The men were still screaming, occasionally penetrating my attempts at blocking them up, causing me to jump each time I heard their cries but as soon as they pierced my ears, they stopped. My eyelids grew heavy; the wear of the long day wandering aimlessly in a desert wasteland appeared to finally be getting to me.

This was bad for a few reasons.

First and foremost; I had nowhere to go. Nowhere to sleep safely. Sure, there were buildings that looked to be untouched by the fires, but how would I be able to trust that the situation, the fires, wouldn't escalate and leave me stuck in one of those buildings to ultimately burn, another victim of this brutal "cleansing." Furthermore, how would I be able to sleep here, with the pounding eyes of the dying peering into my soul? I knew, I fucking knew I was going to be having nightmares already, but between the bystander's guilt that plagued me, the sense of helplessness, not only for myself, but for the victims, and their ear shattering squeals. No.

Were they deserving of this?

Second; My navigation abilities? Nonexistent in the best of conditions. Factor in the night and my own tiredness and southwest could be northeast for all I knew or cared.

Lastly and going back to something I told earlier; I was not eagerly anticipating the nightmares. In a sick way, I wanted to stay awake as long as I possibly could just to prolong the inevitable.

And as I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind, I started off towards what I thought was the southwest.

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